Avatar of Sniblet

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Recent Statuses

2 yrs ago
Current Erotic Role Play (threat)
3 likes
2 yrs ago
Someday we will be old, and we will be calling our spouses that we have come to hate maidenless and unbased while being old
2 yrs ago
Hello, would you like to purchase 100% legal German Austrian Estonian Luxembourgian Leichtenstein Belgian Italian Polish Icelandic driver's license passport ID card pass no test no exam legal online?
10 likes
2 yrs ago
1x1s seem so popular but they all happen, like, underground... maybe there's a thriving hive of ERP underneath our very feet... I'm tempted but I will never go down there
1 like
2 yrs ago
i will allow you to have a preference but i dont understand why almost everyone has one rule saying "i will not accept any character that is pictured with/out big eyes and a small mouth"

Bio

I still feel new here

I will always play as an anime girl. This is not a point of pride, only the tragic truth

I'm not here for anything dirty leave me alone

pfp is a work by 貓臉 (Māo liǎn, or cat face) except I took away the background and most of the detail

A summary of almost every character I've ever made, if you want to gauge me or reference something or something

Most Recent Posts


This has probably...
No, it's certainly been the worst day of her life.

It's not that Private Brave couldn't have seen it coming. Every army instructor she's ever had to listen to had at least one message to share in common: when the day came that she had to face down a real Arms Master, she was going to learn a lot about her place in the world very fast.
Well. "Face down" is a funny turn of phrase. For... a few reasons, at the moment, but for a start she didn't see any faces. She didn't see anybody. One moment the sky was clear; then it was on fire. One moment the ground was one of the few stable things left in the world; the next, she was... in it.
Private Brave has never really been claustrophobic, but there's nothing irrational about this fear. She can't move anything. She's pretty sure she's on her stomach, but there's no way to know that. She's breathing somehow, but for all she knows she's just in denial and suffocating even at this moment.

There's time, now, down here, for regrets, if she has the patience and presence of mind to think about her past. She doesn't, now. Not yet. But given another minute or two, she might come up with a lot of regrets going back years.
What she has the patience and presence of mind to think about is OUT OUT GET OUT, but there remains the issue that she can't move. She can't hear her radio, can't reach her radio to try and transmit, and if it's not receiving anything it probably isn't going to get anything out anyway. This is the calm and rational recital of her thoughts that she might have if she ever lives to look at this moment with hindsight - in this moment, these thoughts read as NO ONE CAN HEAR ME FUCK I DON'T WANT TO DIE PLEASE.

Well.
What does it matter what she wants or doesn't? She knows, or she should know, because every instructor said it: she's as good as nothing down here, right now.
When the dirt begins to shift around her, she doesn't feel like nothing. She feels like the whole world is coming to a screeching end.
NO - NO - NOT ME - WHO ARE YOU? - PLEASE!
It only takes a few clumps to seal off her breathing hole. She's not an Arms Master. She's nothing. She does need to breathe, or she will die, very fast, unlike them.
WHAT WAS THAT?
This force, this being that she never got to see, must be feeling more merciful than usual. But that doesn't mean that it's nice. It doesn't wait for her to suffocate, but neither does it do her the kindness of spearing through her skull first.

Her thoughts are no longer possible to transcribe. We use letters to encapsulate words, and there are no words in her mind when the enemy's Noble Arm sets to leisurely work at grinding her into viscera. The eloquent part of her brain, the one that lead her through her education up to high school, the one that impressed her parents more than she felt she deserved and the one that enables her to think in words, isn't destroyed just yet. It's just been roughly shoved aside by the animal consciousness taking full control to madly and fruitlessly throw its strength this and that way in its last ditch to save the body, which never moves. Not now. And never again.
One body of fourty.
Another soldier presumed KIA.
Thank you for your service, Private Brave.

Alright, but sometimes target assessment is necessary.
Many people that Astreya's known have had a hard time remembering the simple fact that she isn't stupid...
...sometimes...
...and that, when something actually has her attention, it damn well has it. Her laughter dies down, that mad stupor of violence fading as she takes in the last few seconds in which she doesn't seem to have, actually, killed the big demon. Her eyes dart all across its mass, scanning for everything worth noting. Cogent thoughts form a group and set to a race through that handful of well-developed pathways in her brain.

Her laughter picks up again, this time starting as a low, devious giggle - she's got it figured out now, she holds all the cards! She shifts her aim to the greater beast's arms, looking for joints to lock in on.
Her laughter isn't alone anymore. She sort of notices the newcomer, peripherally, but it doesn't have her attention. It's another demon, probably. Deal with it later.

Target assessment isn't the fun part. Astreya takes a quick scan around at the creatures surrounding them, and doesn't exactly decide to delegate, but quickly picks where she wants to shoot and where she'd rather have someone else take care of it.
Somebody else can figure out the tactics. She points her big gun center mass at the big thing.

One spray of buckshot lets off, accompanied by a puff of steam from one of the more wildly angled pipes on her weapon, and it visibly staggers her. Keeping an eye on the beast's reaction, she adjusts her posture and fires another, then another, then another, getting faster, steam bursts chugging along at smaller and smaller intervals, empty belt feeding out the side. The sound is... louder than gunshots, for sure, but she doesn't seem to mind at all.
Of course she doesn't. She's laughing now. Cackling, actually, her tail swishing with wild energy. In a fairer contest, against any other opponents, she could possibly be the most disturbing thing on the block right now.
Seemingly unhurried but without hesitation, Astreya skips over to the railing to peer over while Myrilla is still talking. They’re allowed to murder here? Or is that just a command privilege?
Whatever becomes of the Kat, she’s still watching over the railing when Leoniya has to tap her for attention to hand off the supplies. Ammo, in Astreya’s case, is a belt of 12-gauge shells. Not a bandolier, a belt, in the sense of something belt-fed. She grins as she takes it.
“I’m gonna make a biiig mess,” she whispers, in Krysa.

After a short diversion to actually get her gun - she hadn’t really thought it was droptime when she was called up - Astreya runs up to the deck again and leaps overboard without pause, something very large and tubey and brassy cradled in her arms. Pulling her cord without dropping the thing is a bit of a messy affair, but those quick panicky moments of turning a corner and almost bumping into death aren’t out of place for her brand.

Astreya lands lightly, and settles heavily. She looks around, the grin still on her face - indeed, healthier than before - and something questionable in her eyes as she goes about slotting belt into feed by muscle memory. Her ears lightly swivel to track the various catastrophic noises abound.
“North to be too late to save people, east to meet a problem…”
Her attention lingering to the east, she hefts the weapon. It clinks and hisses, pressure shifting in unseen chambers as the first round is pulled into firing position. In her application, Astreya used the word “shotgun,” but apart from the ammunition it’s really a tough thing to stick that word to - asymmetrical and apparently so far from ergonomic one must think the designer was avoiding it, with all visible signs pointing to it using a bizarre and surely unnecessary synthesis - or at least amalgamation - of steam and gunpowder propulsion together. Supposing this doesn’t just explode on firing, one must dread to imagine the kick…

Astreya’s shoulders are shaking, not with strain from the weight, but with laughter. She is imagining the kick.
I'll approve Nico as he is currently @Creative Chaos
Alright, more thorough power review.

Power: B = 4
Speed: C = 3
Range: C = 3
Persistence: D = 2
Precision: B = 4
Potential: D(S) = 2
Adds up to 18, divide by 6 for the average of all stats
3 = barely C

Mathematically speaking, Helios Rod is a low C-rank. Being able to access incredible A-rank Power at range for 2 hours each day should bump this to B for in-universe purposes, but in-game, it's not guaranteed that Nico's going to be fighting at noon very often at all - a competent enemy will certainly avoid challenging him at this time.
The fact that he can only fight in melee at any other time of day might limit him more than you expect. If you don't mind that, go ahead and keep it - it would line up with his personality - but if you think you might regret having an NA that necessitates getting in someone's face without being blown away on the approach, this is your warning. With a potential stat of D, this weakness is unlikely to get any better with practice.

The full effects of Sun Stoked and Sunsetter aren't perfectly clear to me. Do they boost Nico's own physical abilities, like letting him run faster and lift great weights, or does boosted speed and power mean in the sense of making Helios Rod more responsive and hotter? Both?
And what does greater defense mean - does Nico just get harder to harm? Does his usual regeneration get stronger? Does Helios Rod manifest a forcefield?
And greater precision - does this mean he can more reliably land "critical hits," or that Burning Edge will no longer harm his allies?
Does Burning Edge radiate heat, or does it only burn those who come in contact with the fire?

The bio and personality look alright to me, especially since Bee was willing to pass it.
I’ll look at this more in-depth in a bit, but for starters, you have potential S. There’s no precedent for S as a stand-alone rank, it’s a qualifier. C (S) means generally C with a strong but attached.
S on its own doesn’t mean much, unless you’re trying to say that his power’s adaptability and growth is all over the map.

Astreya has been paying... maybe less attention than would be wise in her position. She's already seen what the deck looks like, but she's also already seen what Myrilla looks like, and assessed her at a glance as "some kind of authority person," so her behavior now is explainable and thus not interesting. She's been more focused on her peers. Though even that needs a qualifier - she's trying to "focus" on all of them at once.

Blue-haired cat, looks to be enjoying herself already. Oh-
Dark-haired girl (blue or black?) giving the cat a weird look, she was speaking foreign earlier too. Ah-
White-haired young lady with a plate of... those are called macarons, right? Uh-
Uh, an elf. Interesting. Anyway-
What a bright shade of pink!

Astreya is something of a sight with her attention darting around like this, her tail swinging left and right in an overstimulated wag. She barely catches the passing glare from Myrilla. She answers it with a grin, entirely out of the loop on why she might deserve that kind of venom.
"We don't know what went wrong-"
Oh, something went wrong? Anyway, that's got to be a dark elf, right?...

"-dead. Any questions?"
A few seconds pass without Myrilla saying anything. Astreya blinks, lets her attention shift to where it was supposed to be a minute ago. Well, she's never had a good enough reason not to ask a question when invited.
"Who's dead?" she asks.
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