#i'm not very practiced with action scenes so feedback is welcome!

[sio-writes]

Witch's Gambit - Chapter 3

< Chapter 2

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Summary: Lucy Breban, a witch living in the magical city of Grayslate, has just found out her good friend has been murdered in cold blood. When the cops dismiss the case, Lucy must employ the help of her reclusive, skeletal neighbor Weston when the answers the police provide aren't enough. As they get closer to the truth (as well as each other), the two begin to unravel an underground secret that could rock the very foundations of the place they call home.

Weston told me it'd be better if we waited a few days for any police to come sniffing about before even scoping out the crime scene. I was inclined to agree with him, if only to delay seeing that study again.

So a week and a half later, I'm meeting him at my shopfront, an empty bag at my side. I've traded my skirts for a flexible pair of leggings and a tunic just in case. In case of what, I'm not entirely sure, I've never done this before.

The streets are quiet, the lamps have been dimmed. I'm so used to seeing these sidewalks filled with people, bustling with activity. But now, anything that may have told us that the city is alive? Gone. It's creepy.

Weston leads me through the back roads, worried beyond worried that we'll run into someone. His hand in mine is solid underneath the glove, like there's flesh underneath, something I could grab onto. He's not warm, but he's not cold either. It's strange, he's the first reanimated being I've ever met, so many of them are cagey like Weston. I want to ask about it, but I don't want to be rude. I keep my mouth shut as we stop in front of Elliot's workshop.

The storefront is covered in bright yellow police tape, and I want to let out a giggle as we duck underneath it and wedge ourselves through the open door. It's cold and dusty inside, the few days since I've been here allowing the police to come in and out, tracking footprints. But there has to be more, there has to be something that's missing. 

My heart thrums in my chest at the idea of being caught. This is beyond illegal, and if Alma finds out, she'll have my head on a plate. I'd never be allowed near another scene again.

"Okay," I blow air through my mouth and look around, hands on my hips. "Where to first?" 

"You don't know?!" Weston whisper-shouts at me as he climbs in the door, his foot catching on some of the tape. "You don't know where to go?!" 

"Not exactly," I admit, scuffing my boot along the floor. 

He rubs his temples, annoyed. "We're going to be arrested. Do you have any idea what a life sentence is to someone who can't die?"

"What're you, scared?" I tease, quirking an eyebrow.

He pauses for a moment, indignant, then plants his hands on his hips and throws his head to the side. "No."

I snicker. "You can leave at any time," and tuck a piece of hair behind my ear as I sweep my eyes over the foyer. "Sorry Elliot," I say to the air. "Can't solve your murder because my undead neighbor is scared of jailtime."

"I'm not leaving," he slices his hands through the air. "You're going to get in trouble, and then you're going to need me." 

I bark a laugh, accidentally, that quiets down into chuckles, my shoulders shaking. Weston folds his arms, fingers drumming over his radius bone. After another moment of my giggling, Weston lets out a breath, and I idly wonder if he truly needs to breathe. 

"This is your plan, Lucy. Where do we start?" 

The study, my heart says. But even the thought of going up there fills me with dread, runs cold over my body. And suddenly this whole plan seems ill-formed, hasty. I'm second guessing my decision--we could get in serious trouble if we're caught. But I already brought Weston here, we need to see it through. 

I shake my head to banish the anxiety, and plant my fist in my palm. "Let's start down here." 

The floor is an open plan. On the right a dining room that leads to a kitchen, on the left a living room, with a hallway in the back that connects the two sides. 

Starting in the kitchen, everything's where it should be. Elliot had dishes drying in the sink, there's fruit going bad in the basket. I spy the first teacup I'd gifted him, hung up on a rack of other gifted cups. 

The dining room is messy like Elliot would hate, and I imagine this is where the police set up their things. There's a lot of dirt on the floor and bootprints that branch through the house, stains from spilled coffee and the residue of forensic magic. The whole room has been sloppily cleaned, if that, and there's nothing left for us to find.

We run along every baseboard, every molding, every open surface in the living room and back hallway. We tap every open wall space, tamp our feet on the floor, and flip the couch on its end. It's dusty with more forensic magic, but still, we don't find anything. All the while I expect the police to kick down the door, arrest us on the spot, send us straight to jail like Weston worried about.

Then, with Weston in the kitchen again, I find myself at the foot of the stairs. "I'm going upstairs," I announce to the empty air, as if Weston wouldn't hear me press down that third creaky step, or hear my footsteps along the second floor, because the baseboards along the top are garbage, and Elliot had been meaning to move for months.

I take a hard left towards the guest room, where the police had set up shop. Like the dining room, there's dirt tracks everywhere, the duvet is askew from people sitting on it for days. I've slept in this bed, always pristine for guests, not covered in remnants of police tape and evidence bags.

It takes me far longer to search this room than it does downstairs, partially because there's more drawers and crevices and places for things to hide, partially because I'm biding my time. After this is the master bedroom, and then the study.

I'm saved the shame of digging through my friend's bedroom when I hear Weston start up the stairs and head to the right. Hypocrisy burns through alongside the shame-- I broke into his house, what's one more room to look through? That doesn't stop me from feeling like I'm breaching some form of social contract. I wouldn't go through his things if he were out of the house and left me alone. Yes, he's gone, but he was still my friend, and he's entitled to his privacy, even in death. That's what I'd want, at least.

I exit the guest room just as Weston exits the master bedroom, gently closing the door behind him, and we meet at the wide open door of the study. It's crossed in police tape, and it takes more maneuvering to get around than the front door. 

My heart is pounding, my hands are shaking. Logically, I know Elliot isn't in here, that they moved his body days ago. 

Stepping into the room, I'm hit with a wave of grief. There's a dark stain in the shape of a body in the center of the room, seeped thoroughly into the carpet, murky and undefined. Yellow tape wraps around the room, most of it over the walls but some of it ripped and laying on the floor. There's small place cards, white and pristine against the dark backdrop of the study, each one with a number that must have corresponded to some piece of evidence. Emotion clogs up my throat. I've been in this study, looked out the window to the street below, sat on that unbroken desk and chatted with my friend.

Elliot wasn't the type to shutter his problems away. We didn't exactly share secrets, but I always thought he could tell me anything, come to me if he needed help.

A hand falls heavy on my shoulder, and I startle out of my own thoughts. Weston is looking at me, and his eyes seem dimmer than before, half the size like a shade has been pulled. 

"You don't have to do this," he says quietly. Not a plea to leave like before, but a reprieve from the emotional toll of being here.

I shake my head. "I do, though."

We scan the room like we did the floor below, examining baseboards, crevices; we pull on every book on his massive shelves, and there's nothing. I eventually work my way to the desk, a massive oak fixture, dark wood splintered right down the middle. I'm on my hands and knees, not really sure what I'm looking for, when I see a small impression in the bottommost drawer. I press it, the button depressing and a the bottom of the drawer hinging open-- a secret compartment. 

From the compartment slides a thin book, thunking lightly to the floor, along with a fountain pen.

"Weston!" I gasp, scrambling for the book. The cover is soft leather, with the same sigil on the silver piece embossed on the front. In my excitement to stand I hit my head on the underside of the desk, but I slap the book onto the portion of the desk that's still upright, ignoring the flare of pain in my head.

Weston is at my side in an instant. "What is that?"

"No idea," I breathe, straightening my tunic and flipping to the first page. "Found it hidden in the drawer. A journal?"

Opening the book, I'm hit with a burst of negative energy. It's gone as quickly as it came, like a ward against intruders. I look to Weston. "Did you feel that?"

He nods, and I open it again, a little more careful. 

We flip through pages of nonsensical jargon, mixed up sigils and corrupted runes. The source of the magic burst doesn't make itself known until we hit the dead center, where a glittering red symbol takes up both pages. The configuration is bold triangle with a rune in the center, and corresponding runes on each side connected by lines leading to the center rune. It looks like a communication line, but I don't know these runes. Was Elliot talking with someone? Someone he couldn't reach through ordinary channels?

I open my mouth to turn to Weston, when the front door slams open and a voice booms through the shouse.

"Police! This is a crime scene! You are trespassing!"

Shoot - We must've triggered some kind of alarm system.

Weston's hand on my head pushes me down behind the desk just as the bright light of a flashlight sweeps over the door. I recognize one of the voices as Martinez, the cop who questioned me at the scene. Great.

"What're they--?" Weston covers my mouth, and gestures to the window behind us.

"Before they get up here," he whispers.

There's a latch on the window that thankfully opens silently, and I thank Elliot again for his impeccable housekeeping skills when the window also pops open without a sound. I snatch the journal off the desk and shove it into my bag before Weston helps me out, his hand resting gently on my lower back as I step over the sill and onto the narrow fascia that separates the first and second floor. 

My heart is pounding, my grip on Weston's hand has to be grinding his bones together. 

"No," Weston says. "You need to go lower."

My stomach drops. "What?!" 

"I've got you," he says, his hand moving to clench over my wrist. His grip is painful, but steady.

"O-okay." I grip the sill with my free hand and flip myself so I'm pressed against the wall. At that moment, my foot slips, and I swallow a scream as my arm on the sill fails and I nearly pull Weston out the window.

I may as well be three hundred feet in the air. Sweat rolls down my back and I'm having a hard time breathing. Weston is halfway out of the building, still holding onto me.

"I'm going to drop you," Weston says, and my heart launches itself into my throat.

"No, I--!" Weston doesn't wait for me to reply, his hand releasing me, and I do my best to keep in my scream. A small squeak comes out anyway.

But my feet hit the ground nearly instantly. Oh. Right, we were only one story up.

I take a few calming breaths to ease my racing heart, and just as I have my breathing under control, Weston slams into the ground next to me.

"Wes--!" I gasp, but he scrambles to his feet and grabs my hand before I can finish his name, and we take off down the back street. We just barely miss the beam of a flashlight as it sweeps around the corner.

"Stop!" Another voice yells. It's Mr. Klangston, another officer from the precinct. He's not in the best shape, so I ignore the burning in my lungs and keep running. Maybe we can outpace him.

The buildings and streets are set on a grid, so it's easy to turn out of sight, but easy to find us once again. We duck under clotheslines and dodge trash bins, ignoring the litany of shouting behind us. My legs are burning but I cant stop, not with this notebook in my bag.

"There!" Weston points to a dark alley, and I take a sharp right. Dead end.

There's a fire escape to the right, a ladder just out of reach, but before I have time to turn and shake my head I'm being hoisted into the air, and I scramble up the escape, ignoring the slip of my hands on the cold metal. Weston is right behind me, and we both collapse onto the roof just as we hear two sets of footsteps catch up to us below.

I stare at the sky and try to catch my breath as quietly as possible, gulping down air as snippets of their conversation drift up to us.

"I just saw them!"

"They were right here!"

It's  a suspended moment of terror when Mr. Klangston mentions the ladder. 

"Do you think they--?"

"It's too high up."

I breathe out a sigh of relief as my heart continues to hammer away in my chest. Weston and I wait as their footsteps fade away, the muttered conversation of what the intruders could've wanted fading into the background. 

"That was too close," Weston says, making no moves to sit up or even look at me. "Never ask me to do that again."

With what little energy I have left, I bat him lightly over the chest. "I didn't ask you to do anything. You came along."

"I told you that you were going to need me."

I scoff, smiling. "Shut up."

We climb back down the ladder and to the street as quietly as possible, even though the cops are long gone. Dropping down the ladder is much easier than dropping down the building. 

I fish the journal out of my bag and hold it in the moonlight. No damage, thankfully. Despite going through Elliot's things, I'm glad we found this. A grin pulls at my cheeks-- we found something! Something that can explain what's happening!

At my side, Weston crosses his arms. "You're not going to take that to the police, are you?" His tone is flat, as if he already knows my answer.

My grin widens as I stuff the journal back in my bag. "Nope! And I could use your help in deciphering some of these runes."

As I start to walk off, Weston sighs, "As you wish."

[fitalich]

There's Always a Tell

Jake Kiszka x Reader (Post-Band Film AU)

[Edited - 11/9/23]

After lurking here and there, I finally caved and incorporated Jake into a short piece I'd started for a college class. No, I have no shame.

I hope you find it titillating.

Feedback is welcomed and greatly appreciated 🖤

Contains: Alcohol, cursing, sexual situations...hand kink?

Lead-in: You've overworked this scene to smithereens, rewriting the score, recuts, to where the original scene has been completely abandoned. All to avoid telling the director that you need to reshoot the practical effects that were half of the film's budget. Musician blames the edit; Editor doesn't think it's salvageable. The Musician [Male, sat left] and Editor [First Person, sat right] are reviewing the sequence on the projector. 

“It's just not cutting enough," you said. 

"Mmm.” He took a generous swig of neat blanco from his hatched rocks glass, audibly forcing the liquor down. The long silver pendants around his neck fell forward, dangling in front of his chest whenever he reached for the coffee table. 

His severely unbuttoned shirt did the same, black linen separating past his sternum and joining just below his ribcage, opening itself to expose skin you hadn’t seen. Jake’s body was akin to his other features–His frame was soulfully edged, strong-knit like a craftsman, but his flesh was gentle, supple, a little romantic. 

"I think we’re just gonna have to reshoot it," you said. "Build this up properly." 

His eyes fluttered shut. All the work he’d done, it wouldn’t be lost entirely, but the time wasted pained him. The entire night had been a battle over the pacing, and why it felt so awkward. He had already written the score, so you were left to the task of cutting the film to tempo by hand. If you even alluded to the issues within the raw footage, he’d shoot you a look, don’t say it. One time you muttered, you can put glitter on a piece of shit, it’s still a piece of shit. His best suggestion of the night, I could use a drink, so could you. 

He finally agreed, nodding his head reluctantly. "I'll talk to Josh, see what we can do." He patted the top of your hand twice, resting it there loosely. "What you've done here is fantastic, I'm sorry if I–I didn't mean to insult you–"

"You didn't," You chuckled. "The blind leading the blind," you said pointing between the two of you.

His head fell back with a soft laugh. "Right you are," he said, emphasizing his words with another pat on your hand, resting it there yet again.

You've never rejected his touch, but you've felt the need to question it. You wouldn’t put it past him, whether his actions were intentionally absent-minded, or he was simply unaware of the effect he had on you. Neither he nor his brother were ones to be very shy of physical affection. After a drink, however, he would languidly dance the line of professionalism and flirtation, making himself impossible to extrapolate. That was when you realized, this was the first time you too had been drinking.

He began to tap his thumb against your skin rhythmically, contemplating, while his eyes rested on the frozen film. You watched the tendons in his strumming hand twinge and flex, his middle finger joining in for what was some pattern playing in his head. 

Then the tapping faltered, slowing to a stop. 

You could feel him watching you now, no longer lost in thought. For once, this felt unadorned, forthright, like he was asking for your permission to continue. You looked to him, searching his face for a tell of some kind, but he was only doing just the same. Like you, he had no intent to speak.

You were taken aback by his pupils, so clearly blown out, even with only the flicker of a projector. His lips fell apart from how shallow and desperate his breathing had become, but he tried to hide it. He sucked on his lower lip, softly dragging it out against his teeth, wetting it with his tongue. You felt his hand begin to stir, gently pressing the entire surface of his fingers into your skin. Neither of you had blinked. 

You began to turn your palm over. He took over naturally, leading your hand to be fully encased underneath his. It was warm, almost hot, and it flooded your body. Slowly, he curled his arm, lowering his head slightly as he brought your hand to his soft mouth. He paused. 

A small breath that had escaped his nose tickled your skin. He became entirely transfixed in your eyes, silently ordering them to stay locked on his, before moving again.

He pressed his lips delicately to the base of your thumb, again along the joint, and once more against your knuckle. You pulled a long breath through your nose. 

He looked pleased with himself, wearing a small smirk as he extended your thumb with the coaxing of a finger. He then wrapped his lips around the sensitive pad, watching your mouth part for him. With a gentle squeeze to your hand, he started to suck lightly. A jolt shot up your arm when you felt the brush of his tongue.

"Fuck," you whispered. A small, sweet sound pressed in his throat. He looked to your forearm, catching the trail of goosebumps he'd left behind. You needed to touch him. 

You brought your other hand up the side of his neck, weaving the tips of your fingers through the hair just behind his ear, lightly tracing your thumb along his jawbone. He gave a final kiss to the pulse point in your wrist, and you closed your fingers around the roots of his soft hair. He blew an impish wisp past his lips, shaking his head as if he were trying to taunt you. You tugged harshly. 

He held his jaw stiff, sucking a sharp breath through his teeth, followed by a dark, full-toned groan vibrating in his chest. As your hand wandered back down his neck, he pulled you in by the lock he had on your arm, wanting your body close to his. Pressing your thumb into the hollow under his ear, you rolled his head to the other side, exposing his neck for you.

"That’s what you wanted," he said…

[coldsnapdeadflowersapril2023]

Learning GURPS 1 | Bourne Identity | what's your name?

Inspired by Mailanka's star wars breakdowns, which were inspired by Shooting Dice's action film GURPS breakdowns, I've decided to use the same practice to help me get better at running and playing GURPS.

I am learning, I will likely get things wrong, I welcome feedback. I am also working with just the Basic Set to help keep things simple for now.

The Bourne Identity - What's Your Name?

The scene starts with Giancarlo performing some first aid or basic surgery possibly with a -1 / -2 for missing equipment [B345]

Jason Bourne is at or below 0 HP and likely has very low FP as well.

Giancarlo passes a perception check on a strange scar and cuts out the laser pointer from Jason's hip - he goes into the next room to inspect it

Either Giancarlo's medical aid has brought Jason to 1 HP or more or he passes a HT check regaining consciousness. Jason then makes and passes a stealth check - moving off the table and beside the doorway

the action starts here - at the 2 minute marker

Giancarlo returns to the room, fails a perception check and sees the empty table

Jason grabs Giancarlo from behind, turns him around and throws him back against a wall. I'm not certain how to rule this, but a shove seems the simplest [B. 372] - this is a surprise attack from behind so Giancarlo gets no defense - Jason is doing a two handed shove using Sumo Wrestling

Giancarlo is likely stunned or uses his turn to attempt some diplomacy

Jason steps forward and grabs Giancarlo by the neck with one hand [B370 grappling] (-3 neck | -5 to hit the neck divided by 2 and rounded up for a grab)

Giancarlo may still be stunned taking a -4 to defense. He fails his defense check.

It's possible that Giancarlo makes a meek attempt to push Jason off - or he may still be stunned.

Jason begins choking Giancarlo, a quick contest between his ST and Giancarlo's ST or HT. Jason has a -5 for only using one hand. Jason is also interrogating or intimidating Giancarlo "what are you doing to me?! Where am I?!"

Giancarlo continues his diplomacy / answering Jason's questions "a boat, a fishing boat, you were in the water, we pulled you out..."

Jason getting tired: "what water?"

Giancarlo "you were shot, see? there are the bullets"

there are a few ways to rule what happens here - Jason appears to be bleeding - either he has been at 0 HT this entire fight and has been rolling and passing HT checks before every action and has now failed one, or the strenuous action has caused him to start bleeding [B420 optional rules bleeding] and he is now down to 0 or less HP and fails a HT check

Giancarlo "Look there is a number for a bank, why was it in your hip?"

Jason "my hip?"

...

Jason begins losing consciousness

Giancarlo grabs him and helps him to sit down "you need to rest, please lie down. I'm a friend, I'm your friend. My name is Giancarlo... who are you, what's your name... what's your name?"

Jason "I don't know. oh god"

Jason loses consciousness

[pawpadink]

Art Feedback Session - Spookydoesstuff

"Our task was to make a mock intro to a show using our own original stories, either ones we had in the past or ones we made in class. I used Adobe Animate, which isn't very traditional for art to begin with.

I wanted something dramatic and more anime-esqe (inspirations being Persona 5's 2D animation, as well as the Cowboy Beebop intro.

The render itself didn't turn out as high quality as I had hoped, but that's on me for not figuring out how to render in a higher quality. With my time crunch (I had put off working on this until I had 1 1/2 days left, on top of a project for another class.)

I feel this could have been better? But I'm satisfied with it. I just wished someone had said something, even just asking about my characters (I dont generally ask here, at least about these specific ocs, just because I've had them so long and I want to give out more of their story through context and art. But in that class no one had seen them before and I would have loved explaining their story better than just 'alien cats')"

-- Spookydoesstuff

So! Let's start with the good. The color contrast is lovely, the bright red against the monochrome is a classic high tension color combo that really sells the adversarial stress of the scene. The characters themselves each have their own unique silhouettes, which means if you just filled each of the characters in with pure black and then showed me their reference sheets I could easily identify which character is which. The line work here is very crisp and clear, which for animation lends very well to streamlining and simplifying things. Your style itself applies very nicely to an animation style, again, thanks to its general simplicity will make the whole animation process much easier than a more detailed or complex style or design.

When thinking of areas of improvement, the first thing that is brought to my attention is expression. With the four-eyed cat in the second image, at a glance it's hard to see he's furrowing his brow a bit and his current expression comes across more as a neutral expression than a concerned, worried, or frustrated expression. I would recommend here adding a bit of emphasis on the expression with the eyelids or eyebrows so that it goes into the general shape of the eye instead of just above it or add a stylized eyebrow so it is more visible against the dark fur. Due to the thin line art, the line that marks where he's furrowing his brow is hard to spot.

Your art would also benefit from expression through body language! Cats, in particular, are incredibly expressive through body language. The ears in particular here are showing no emotion- Cats when anxious, scared, or angry will pin their ears back. Perhaps a bit more emphasis on bristling fur too- in the nape of the neck and the tail. Fluffing of tails is not just fear, but also aggression when raised high or thrashing. When curved it's fear. The nervous cat in the second picture might want to be keeping her head a little lower, as nervous cats will duck down, especially if submissive. Of course, since these are not standard cats, you are welcome to take these cat behaviors and alter them to your alien culture's standards! Go wild!

Also, look into playing with the line of action a little more. Even with characters that are standing still, exaggerating some curves in their body will add a hearty dose of personality. Plus, look into the 'law' of stretch and squish- I use the term law here loosely, it's more of a guideline.

(Here are some image scans from a book called Cartoon Animation by Preston Blair, and there's a lovely tutorial on expressions from the comic Lackadaisy here!)

Next I'd like to mention the shading. There is a bit of an inconsistency between the way you shaded each character. Although lighting direction was ignored for style here, the particular techniques used for each piece should remain the same throughout each frame of an animation, each panel of a comic, or between related images in general. In the second photo, the highlights on the four-eyed cat almost looked like fur patterning, so maybe refining that highlight by making it a little darker would make it more obvious it was a highlight and not a change in fur color?

I think if you were given a little more time you would have managed with the shading, but still something of note to keep in mind for the future~

Finally I would like to address the environment... or the lack of it. The bright red background is lovely, especially in this grey scale-pop style of colors. My only issue is that it feels like they're floating in some red void- you have the darker red to denote the ground, but it doesn't feel very consistent with where the characters are placed and there's no shapes in the background to denote any kind of environment- no tree silhouettes, no building silhouettes, or any other objects that could denote where the characters are.

Above is an example from Persona 5 which kind of shows what I'm talking about. Looking at some perspective tutorials will actually show you a way you can manipulate the floor or gradients to help add some solidity to the ground. With this style I wouldn't even say you would need to add nearly as much detail to them as Persona 5's art- just some dark shapes and perhaps a gradient of sorts to give a sense of location to the scene would help.

Overall, wonderful job! My first impression was 'Oh hey this looks like something from Persona 5!' so you really got that feel you were looking for. You also immediately get a sense of relationship here- from an outsider's perspective with zero previous information on who these characters are or how they are related. You can clearly tell the four eyed cat is protecting the female cat in the back, and there's a sense of either accusation from the one-eyed cat or threat, and that the other two almost seem to be distressed as if they were once close to this character.

Keep up the good work, don't feel discouraged with the lack of feedback from your class. I really feel with a bit of practice in terms of expression and body language you can really make some great waves with your art! You have a great foundation.

In terms of art program recommendations, my wife and I both use Clip Studio Paint. You need the EX version for feature length animations unfortunately, but the PRO version is much cheaper and lets you do some very short animations however it is a very powerful illustration and comic tool as well. Krita is a totally free program that will let you animate as well and has a pretty robust illustration feature itself, but I'm not sure if it has anything specific for comic making.

A big thank you to Spookydoesstuff for being our first review and for being so pleasant to speak to! Please check out more of their art and their blog by clicking here to go to their tumblr!