#noir replies

[twentysnoir]

noir, sim, sim! concordo com tudo o que você disse, eu tambem sinto que alguns players não se esforçam para interagir tanto no modo interpretativo, sabe? eu sei que as vezes não queremos/temos tempo para fazer joguinho, ou talvez só não goste. mas as vezes é tão chatinho quando sinto que estou me esforçando o tempo todo com minha personagem e as pessoas só vão conversar sobre relacionamentos. eu sou alguem muito curiosa, então sempre tento render o assunto, (e gosto de conhecer os outros personagens tanto em ic e em ooc lendo os plots), é uma vez fui chamada de chata em ooc por querer saber coisas como qual trabalho o char fazia, o que ele gostava ou não, a ooc disse que eu estava fazendo muita pergunta quando ela só queria beijar minha char. fiquei tão desanimada, porque adoro fazer joguinho e entrar de cabeça, mas sinto que aos poucos - pelo menos em cmm do x - isso está se perdendo. COMO EU JÁ VI VARIAS CMM fazendo plotdrop de eventos, sabe? e ninguém engaja. o char fala que está com preguiça de participar ou que não quer, nisso o evento que era para 70 chars, vira algo que se 5 participarem já é MUITO. aí você para e pensa talvez... só não acharam o evento interessante e tudo bem, mas ate mesmo presenciei players que organizaram/pediram para a moderação um evento e eles não participaram nem em ic ou ooc de nada, como se a moderação estivesse se esforçando para tornar mais animado a tml, mas ninguem liga, eles só querem saber de falar coisas meio ? ou fazer brincadeiras sexuais, (não tenho nada contra isso, só fico meio zZz quando parece ser a unica coisa que acontece).

Alerta de textão, porque eu penso demais, devaneio demais e escrevo demais, mas não quero poluir a dash de ninguém.

Eu também já senti isso, sabe? E mais de uma vez. Uma coisa que eu gosto do rpg é poder ser quem eu não sou e, desta forma, já fiz os mais diversos personagens, indo dos mais sexuais até os que eram assexuais. Tudo acaba dependendo do meu humor, do plot que quero fazer, dos personagens dos meus amigos... Enfim, eu gosto de diversificar. Ultimamente, até mesmo por ter estado sem muito tempo para fazer joguinhos, tenho focado mais nas interações rápidas, seja via DM ou Discord, dos tipos mais variados. Eu gosto de conversar, de saber mais sobre os personagens, de discutir teorias da conspiração que meus personagens acreditam... Enfim, tudo isso é pensado quando eu monto uma ficha. Faço teatro há algum tempo e um dos exercícios é a criação de personagens; precisamos pensar em voz, trejeitos, profissão, idade, onde moram, onde cresceram... Enfim, tudo. E talvez seja por esse motivo que sou tão detalhista. Sempre faço um docs todo bonitinho (porque simplesmente não sei usar o carrd), com o máximo de detalhes possíveis, mas acaba sendo ignorado (ou então tenho todo esse trabalho para a comunidade não durar nem um mês, o que é ainda mais desanimador — motivo pelo qual tenho preferido reciclar personagens).

Quando a personagem é meio "sem tempo, irmão" para conversas e prefere flertar, tudo bem, mas reclamar em OOC sobre algo IC me parece um pouco errado, ainda mais quando só está se fazendo o mínimo: interpretar (literalmente roleplaying). Eu tenho amigos que evitam rps de universidade justamente por esse motivo: vira uma grande farofa sexual. E, se você não fizer parte dessa farofa, muitas vezes, acaba excluído. Graças a Deus, nunca foi o caso comigo, porque eu sou falante, participativa e interativa, então sempre consegui plots mesmo quando não almejava algo sexual, mas muitas pessoas não conseguem agir como eu e se sentem sufocados quando só tem aquele assunto.

Geralmente, os primeiros eventos das comunidades são super animados, mas, os seguintes, nem tanto assim. E o motivo é bem explícito para mim: os players foram para uma comunidade nova e abandonaram aquela. Como eu sempre digo, todos têm o direito de irem para uma comunidade que te agrada mais, mas sinto que é frustrante com a moderação que teve todo um trabalho você simplesmente parar de aparecer porque aplicou para uma comunidade mais recente na tag.

Enfim, tem estado bem complexo jogar no X ultimamente e não acredito que os players sejam os únicos culpados, mas todos sabemos bem o caos que eles têm criado por assuntos que poderiam ser facilmente resolvidos com uma conversa privada. Apesar de tudo, eu ainda tenho esperanças de que as comunidades vão voltar a serem duradouras, como eram antes.

[mybuginette]

i'm obsessed with this shit now

sorry, in universe social media is my roman empire now

[trainsinanime]

What so many of you fail to consider is that for Marinette, being Ladybug is crucial enrichment. If you don't throw an Akuma into her enclosure (the city of Paris) every now and then, she will develop behavioural issues and go insane from boredom. On the other hand, whenever that does happen, giving her an Akuma usually calms her right down. It's like a dog toy, or a laser pointer for a cat.

This is a fairly common thread through most episodes. At the start, Marinette has a problem, often involving Adrien, and she goes completely insane over it, trying to find solutions that are just buck wild. And usually, an Akuma appears, Marinette focuses all her mind on that for a while, and then realises that she went too far and calms down, because now her brain has been sufficiently stimulated and she burned off her excess energy.

Yes, defeating Akumas is stressful for her, no doubt, but I think it's even more clear that not doing that is causing far more stress behaviours to appear in her. She is an excellent guardian and strategizer, great at analysing situations and coming up with plans, and if you don't give her a proper outlet for that, she will come up with her own, often with humorously disastrous results.

So the (admittedly few) posts saying that Marinette shouldn't be Ladybug, or deserves to retire, are getting it all backwards in my opinion. If you retire her, you'll have to give her something else to do. Otherwise, the next time they're in the supermarket, she will build a weird contraption out of a shopping cart, canned beans and a quizz magazine to parkour to the top shelf, instead of asking Adrien for help.

So be a bit more careful with how you treat Marinette. If you force her to sit still, she will not thank you.

[death-limes]

Thank you so much for sharing those pics of catty!!! Could you possibly post comparison pics of her next to other g3 body types?? :) if you have Abbey and Frankie I'd love to see that comparison

Sure! (sorry for the… less-than-ideal lighting? i tried to make sure Catty’s features are visible)

And here she is with Draculaura, the other “curvier” body type, as well as Ghoulia, who has the “default” body type. (Seems Catty’s neck is really long compared to everyone else too… interesting)

[jcwdrawskinda]

[WIP]

Last year I did a quick Nick Valentine for Valentine's day, so I'm going to try and do that again! I'm not gonna focus on fixing all my mistakes this round, just having some self-indulgent fun in some free time <:

[explosionshark]

hyped that you're writing again!

Fuffy (Faith/Buffy) + scrape, rain, dame

(maybe a noir vibe?)

okay lmao i know you've been wanting this for a minute, I hope it satisfies

-

Faith's never seen rain like this, not in the entire time she's been in California. And she might be a recent transplant but she's not stupid — this is no regular summer storm. No, this has to be something else. Driving winds, great freezing wet gouts of water gushing from midnight black clouds, like God himself opened a vein. An arterial baptism for the City of Angels, a place so choked in sin that the blood of lamb wasn't cutting it anymore and the Father, despairing, had no choice but to offer his own.

That or Buffy was right and there's a powerful coven at work and they're running out of time to stop them.

Speaking of Buffy—

She's got her hand clamped tight— bruising tight— around Faith's wrist, heels that couldn't be worse for this weather for if they were trying splashing noisily through filthy puddles in the sidewalk as she ran ahead, tugging Faith along behind her.

“Come on, Faith, come on,” Buffy's saying and Faith wonders, dazedly, why she sounds so scared until she feels herself falter on the slippery pavement, shoots a hand out to steady herself on a glass storefront beside her and sees, even through the dark and dim, the bright red streak of blood her palms leave behind.

Oh, yeah. She's shot.

It's a struggle to tear her mind free of the gauzy haze that surrounds it, but when Faith's ears pick up the distant sound of a motor getting less distant by the second, she manages it.

“They're coming back around,” she wheezes, sure that her voice is too pained and weak for Buffy to hear over the weather.

But she does, judging by the quiet curse she lets out, the way she squeezes Faith's hand. “Okay, okay. I know a place. Hang on, okay? Just a little farther.”

Faith would be the first to admit, if anyone would bother to stop and ask her, that in her current circumstances she is probably not the person best qualified to judge her condition. She's biased, in her own way, and being down a few pints of blood is probably not helping. But she's a detective, or at least Buffy has asked her to play the part, so she can do what detectives seem to do in those dime novels she reads from time to time: look at the evidence, draw a conclusion.

Faith + shot + the goons in that old beater coming back around to take another shot at putting the chill on her and it all adds up to one thing: she doesn't have much of a choice about whether to trust Buffy or not or if she wants to keep running after her through all these dark, filthy allies. 

All her life, Faith has been sure that she'd kick off this way someday: running. Running a con, or from the cops or after some dame with a face too sweet and a mouth too pink and inviting for Faith’s own good. Faith knows enough to know she doesn't know exactly what kind of scheme she's let herself get drawn into, but she figures whatever it is, her chances are still better with Buffy than with those hoods and their irons.

So she goes.

And within a few minutes, Buffy is tugging her to a stop in front of a nondescript door in the alleyway of some big brick building Faith doesn't recognize, someplace downtown. Faith, no stranger to running for her life, is a little disappointed that she'd failed to memorize how they'd ended up here, but she figures she can afford to cut herself a little slack tonight, given the circumstances.

She sags, exhausted, knees shaking, against Buffy, no doubt getting blood all over that smart dove gray coat she'd shown up wearing, that Faith had, a few happier hours ago, fantasized about peeling off her. Ruined now, no doubt.

“Sorry,” Faith mumbles, or tries to, because what comes out of her mouth is more like “Shrrrgghh.”

“Shh, it's okay, hang on,” Buffy says, voice a little too frantic to be comforting. She pounds on the door again, again until she finally lets loose an aggrieved sigh and puts her shoulder through it. She makes it look effortless but Faith hears the wood splinter, sees the metal of the steel lock bend like putty.

Everything else happens in a blur. Buffy hauls her through the doorway, down a dark hall until a man… a green man? With little red horns? Intercepts them. He's wearing a plush royal blue smoking jacket and a look of perfect terror but he does as Buffy bids him and ushers them into a sparsely furnished room with a mattress on a metal frame and not much else.

Buffy settles Faith down on the bed, saying over her shoulder to the man, “Sorry about the blood. And your door.”

He waves her off and rushes back out of the room, returning moments later with what looks like a doctor's bag.

“Now, let's see the damage,” he says, sounding far too cheerful for a man peeling her bloodstained shirt up from her skin. “Sorry, darling,” he at least has the good grace to say. “I know this is terribly ungentlemanly of me, but please bear with me now.”

At this Buffy stumbles back knocking into a dresser and toppling a small mirror onto the floor, where it shatters into bits. As if we needed any more bad luck, Faith thinks.

Aloud, she says, “Where y’goin’?”

Buffy shakes her head, voice quavering. “I'm squeamish. I can't watch.”

And then trips her way out of the room, falling all over herself to leave.

“She'll be okay,” the man says, kindly, warm hands easing her back onto the bed. He produces a bottle, something home brewed but strong that he urges her to sip. “So will you. I'm Lorne, by the way. I promise you're in good hands.”

Faith doesn't doubt him. Life has seen fit to instill in Faith certain skills for survival, one of these being discerning quickly and with good accuracy how much a man with intent to touch her wants to cause pain. There's nothing in Lorne’s hands that reads malice or danger.

No, that thrum of simple minded fear, that prey animal feeling pulsing through Faith's body isn't because of Lorne at all.

It lingers as she watches the door Buffy disappeared from with all the intensity of a rabbit struck still in the brush, waiting for the hawk to pass.

To distract from the pain in her side as Lorne goes to work with his tweezers and alcohol and gauze, Faith recalls Buffy's face. They've had their moments in the weeks since Buffy approached her, asked for her help. Long hot glances and lingering touches, loaded silences and innuendo both. Nothing has come of it, but one of Faith’s other survival skills, honed over the years, has been learning how to tell when a broad wants what she has to offer. And she’s felt that want from Buffy, choked as it is by what Faith had assumed this whole time was an abundance of caution. Maybe she had a secret beau, maybe she’d been burned before, maybe she just didn’t think Faith was worth the risk. But Faith had felt the want in her, before. 

And that was nothing compared to the hunger she saw in Buffy tonight, when they’d finally stopped running and Lorne had exposed the sick oozing wound in her side and she had lurched forward, helpless as a drunk. Oh, she’d caught herself right away, pulled back, a little too far, but Faith had seen it. Had seen the way her mouth went slack before she tightened it to a pained grimace, had seen her nostrils flare, her hands shake, the way her pupils had gone big and black, like a gowed-up dope fiend.

Faith had seen. And so now, she thinks about it like a detective, lining up the evidence. How they always met at night, how Buffy had knocked that door in like it was nothing, the way she was able to lug Faith around like she was made of cotton and air.

By the time Lorne is finished, Faith is exhausted, and slips into a deep, dreamless sleep. She wakes up in the daylight, for Lorne to change her bandages.

“Buffy had to go home,” Lorne lies as easily as he stitches her up. “She’ll be back in the evening.”

They talk a little, before she falls back asleep. “Weren’t you green last night?” she asks.

“Guilty,” he says and explains.

“Demon was my second guess,” Faith says amicably, squinting and tilting her head to try to see past the glamour. No such luck, it's solid work. “First was that I was hallucinating from blood loss.”

She drinks some broth, has a few more nips of whisky, and falls back asleep.

It is indeed evening when Buffy comes back. She’s cleaned up, looking sober and genuinely concerned as she hovers in the doorway.

Faith wonders, for one terrifying moment, how much she still smells like blood. If she’s in danger from Buffy losing it.

Then she thinks, if all Buffy wanted out of her was a quick meal, she could have had it weeks ago. 

“You might as well come on in,” Faith offers, eventually, sick of the silent staring. “You’re lettin’ in a draft.”

Hesitantly, Buffy steps into the room. She shuts the door behind her and pauses until Faith gestures to the chair at her bedside.

Settling down, Buffy asks, “How are you feeling? Lorne says the wound looks good. He doesn’t think it’ll get infected.”

Faith shrugs, regretting it immediately but hoping the pain doesn’t show on her face. “S’alright. Basically a scrape.”

“The bullet went all the way through you and out the other side.”

“A deep scrape,” Faith amends. 

Buffy shakes her head and Faith, goddamn her, feels her breath catch in her throat, despite everything.

“Where you been?” Faith asks, trying to sound casual. “Catching up with the mugs that tried to give me lead poisoning?” 

“No. I couldn’t find any sign of them when I left here last night.” 

“Grabbing a bite?” Faith tries, watching carefully for—

Buffy freezes.

Faith waits.

“Yes,” Buffy answers slowly. “I had something to eat.”

“I could tell,” Faith says. “You look steadier than last night.”

She waits another beat while Buffy looks at the floor.

“So, who was he?” Faith asks.

There it is. Buffy’s gaze snaps up to meet hers. “The man who tried to shoot you? I told you I didn’t find any trace of him.”

“Not him.” Faith says, then, despite the pain, she leans forward, holding catching Buffy’s eye and holding it. “Who’d you eat?”

“I didn’t hurt anyone,” Buffy says in a rush. “On the square. I didn’t.”

“C’mon, drop the veil,” Faith says. “I know what you are. A vamp, in both senses of the word.”

“I didn’t hurt anyone,” Buffy insists.

Faith frowns. “So, what? Thralls? Heard about a guy back east who paid hookers for it. That your bag?”

“I… There’s this butcher shop—”

Faith rolls her eyes, “Don’t give me that—”

“I mean it!” Buffy practically shouts. “I don’t feed from humans. I swear.”

Faith wants to believe it. She wants it so badly she’s not sure she trusts the feeling. 

“If you don’t, you’re the first bloodsucker I’ve ever met who doesn’t hunt.” Faith says. “So, what’s different about you?”

“I have a soul.” Faith rolls her eyes and Buffy, affronted, cuts her off before she can speak. “I do. Look, it’s a long story and I’ll tell it to you later, but for right now I need you to trust me. This shouldn’t change anything about our deal. You keep helping me, I’ll pay you what you’re owed, and together we save this city from a whole heap of trouble.”

“You expect me to trust you?” Faiths asks, head aching, wound aching, heart aching, and a special new kind of exhausted she's never been before. She wishes she knew how to stop the way her heart still speeds up when Buffy looked at her just like this — big eyed and sincere. “After lying to me?”

“No.” Buffy reaches out, tentatively and lays her hand over Faith’s. “I expect you to trust me after saving your life last night.”

Warmth flows up Faith’s body, from her belly all the way to the roots of her hair. Just like that.

Dizzy over a dame, she thinks, exasperated. A vampire dame. Ain’t I the world’s biggest chump.

“You said it was a long story,” Faith says, finally. “You ending up with a soul…”

“Yes.”

“Well,” leaning back into bed, Faith is careful to let her hand continue to rest under Buffy’s grip. She jerks her chin down toward the patched wound in her side. “As you can see, I got nothing but time.”

Buffy waits a beat, then nods. “Okay. It all started with a man. His name was Angel…”

[chloesimaginationthings]

Noir is one of my cartoon crushes and the way you draw him is… 😳❤️ chefs kiss.

Would you guys mind if I baby girled him more

[zeearts]

Yes hello Nr. 4 & 19 of the artist ask tyloveyoubai

4. Favourite things to draw?

currently this guy

but i like drawing faces!!

19. Favourite character(s) to draw?

now wouldn't you believe it- OK besides Vash currently, i love our bbs 💖

and despite not having drawn them for a long time, both Genji and Mercy uwu

[canadian-pug-cartel]

[twentysnoir]

Oi, Noir! Boa tarde, por acaso você teria alguma lista ou conheça alguma de faceclaims banidos? Hoje em dia temos que prestar atenção até com esse tipo de coisa e eu precisava de uma listinha pra saber.

Oi, Anony! Eu não tenho nenhuma lista, o que eu costumo fazer é procurar “Is Nome da Pessoa problematic” no Google. Mas vou trazer uma lista para vocês, porque nem todo mundo sabe inglês. Provavelmente vai demorar mais que os demais, porque tenho que pesquisar (e agora sem o Xwitter, fica um pouco mais difícil), mas vou colocar os motivos pelo qual a pessoa é problemática (a menos que tenha dito que não quer ser usada em RPG) e deixo para as moderações decidirem.

[ayavanni]

Arknights 3/2* textposts and stuff PART 8

[goldensmilingbird]

Hmmm... I wonder what happened here?🤔 I haven't been very creative lately. Life has been busy but Happy Holidays Golden. Thanks for being the best blog on the platform and basically the only way even enjoy the canon show anymore. ; P

!!!!! For me? 🥺 Thank you, I love it 🙏

Happy holidays to you too!!

And aww, I'm sure there are better blogs, but glad you enjoy it 💖

[northwest-by-a-train]

.

[beyoncefanconcept]

CÉ NOIR.

[aphicidi0]

me everytime i talk about breaking bad

[sonderingcrow]

(*^o^)／ 📱

[ akechi ➢ okumura-san ] Haru Okumura, right? This is Goro Akechi. Sae-san, the prosecutor involved in the investigation of your father’s death asked me to contact you. Regarding your father’s case… why am i doing this? I shouldn’t even be this involved until i can use the evidence against— (Akechi rewords his message a few more times before sending.)

[ akechi ➢ okumura-san ] [ an attached image of a flower arrangement in a flower shop ] Good evening, Okumura-san. I wanted your opinion regarding flower arrangements. I’ve been researching Ikebana recently… (Akechi pauses, before deleting everything.)

[ akechi ➢ okumura-san ] I really do believe that someone as dangerous as the Black Mask would have some sort of grander plan, the cases of shutdowns aren’t as random as the police or media want you to believe, and I thought you idiots were smarter than this— (Akechi deletes it. he doesn’t want to push the topic further.)

[ akechi ➢ okumura-san ] I apologize for things having to end this way. I’ll— (messages cannot be sent. this number has blocked you)

[ akechi ➢ okumura-san ] I’m not the type of person to ask for forgiveness, nothing from the past would change if I did do so. I’m well aware of what I did, it’s only a matter of whether i regret it. Your father was exploitive, that’s a fact. But even after everything you still seem to care about him. I need to remember that not everyone shares the same hatred I do. I wonder how one could hold such strength to stand up like you did, you’re a brave person, Okumura-san. I almost wish I was like you- (Akechi deletes everything again. It feels too impersonal to say all these things through text messages.)

[ akechi ➢ okumura-san ] Good Afternoon, Okumura-san, are you free today? I would like to chat with you regarding everything. - message sent.