#ic tag.

[tojida]

“God, I’d demolish a bowl of udon right now…” opens wallet

"Nevermind."

[gojotm]

" はぁ？ なにぃ？ でも、それめっちゃつまんな〜い！"

[snagorre]

guy who spends his Christmas drinking whiskey & buying his cats foldable houses

[cosmicspectres]

@apexulansis ( hush hush surprise starter )

" UNREGISTERED LIFE FORM DETECTED. " extranet search protocols initiated. individual's height, approximate, 2.6 metres; sinonasal region formed by a structure radiating numerous appendages, exuding excessive heat beyond most observable organic ranges; thick fur, white, appearance suggests full-bodied coat [ data insufficient ] ; four eyes, two non-organic [ data irrelevant, removed from search ] —— no matches found in intergalactic census or medical data. no observations of similar life forms in user-operated forums.

" you are an undocumented organic species. " LEGION maintain a distance of five metres; for physical security, shepard-commander's typical proximity to crewmates is unadvised. [ the majority of shepard-commander's actions are unadvised. trajectory of career with shepard-commander's personal and military records is ordinarily highly unlikely. yet shepard-commander's upwards movement in the alliance armed forces defies this.

[ conclusion: relevant data not always considered; human judgement consistently irrational. shepard-commander consistently irrational —— accounting for this, platform advised to retreat from unidentified organic by additional 1.5 metres. ]

" we propose an exchange of information. we are geth ... networked artificial intelligences, designed by the quarian people. we served our creators through labour, technological maintenance and advancement, and a variety of additional tasks. until 288 years prior: in the morning war.

" we are called LEGION —— a terminal of the geth. we ally ourselves with shepard-commander. as do you. "

[clownquixote]

@misfitsandmusings-x said: [HC ask!] Before everything went bad, did kid!Rosinante have any particular dreams/hopes/goals/etc for the future? Does he have ideas about what his life might have looked like if Homing hadn't withdrawn from the World Nobles? // unprompted (always accepting)

trigger warnings: brief mentions of child torture and slavery; description of ptsd symptoms

the lighter illuminates dimly lit office as the navy officer leans back with a heavy sigh, denoting the end of a long day of his least favorite task: paperwork. he inhales the nicotine from his glowing crutch, as eyes close and head tilts back over the top of his desk chair. with sound barrier up, the only noise heard is that of his own soft breathing and the steady thump of his heart. and so his mind wanders, to things he didn't get done in the day, to dreaded dinner plans with sengoku and garp, then to other things — thoughts and memories that still frequently pop up.

‎​​‍‍❛ when I grow up, I want to be just like father! ❜

rosinante was pretty young, only six-years-old when his father decided to leave the heavenly life behind. so there isn't too much that is remembered from the portion of his childhood spent there, except that it was a happier, blissful time from a child's perspective. he hadn't really reached a point in his cognitive development where concrete goals for the future were forming in a young boy's mind.

but from the snippets of his early life that the navy man finds flickering behind closed eyes, he sees himself sitting in the family's garden in mary geoise, with his mother, drawing. and he thinks, maybe a younger, innocent, and untouched-by-the-world version of himself would have liked to be an artist. only recently, after he felt a new sense of peace with doffy finally locked up, had he suddenly felt the push to pick up paper and pencil again.

then rosinante begins to recall some things about being a world noble's son, though it is possible these memories are also diluted with intel about the world nobles given by sengoku or others with direct knowledge of the celestial dragons. he can't decide for sure, it's all a little fuzzy. but he knows, to some degree, that there were certain expectations in place for him from the beginning.

it's hard to recall every boring lesson in etiquette and topics deemed angelic, but the fallen dragon does clearly see one hysterical scene playing out in his head, in which a little boy tries to reach up on the table in an attempt to help arrange cutlery during a lesson, only to accidentally pull the entire table cloth from the long dining table, along with everything placed on top of it. he chuckles to himself, lips breaking into a small, melancholic smile.

yet, despite the rudimentary but necessary tutelage, his father was always one to encourage his children to find something they enjoyed doing to pursue as a passion. but now—rosinante sighs, a plume of smoke crawling past parted lips. maybe that encouragement was with the knowledge that he intended to withdraw from the world nobles from the start.

but what hopes and aspirations would a young child even start to consider to pursue? rosinante wanted what any boy his age might have hoped for, dreamt of, and taken for granted on the daily—the embrace of his mother and father, the companionship of his older brother, a yummy meal, a cozy bed, friends who made him smile, a safe place to live. all of which were quickly stripped away.

were those two years that still frequently haunted his sleep a form of divine punishment?

the blonde man suddenly sits up, quickly snuffing out half-burnt cigarette, now uninterested in its comforts. then he coughs briefly and shakes his head, chasing the unpleasant, intrusive memories away. his large figure leans over the desk, propped up on elbows, and his head bows down, boring closed eyes fiercely into the heels of his palms.

❛ what would it have been like? what if we never left? ❜ he doesn't like dwelling on these thoughts, the what-ifs. it's not healthy. it makes the nightmares worse. but rosinante can't help it, he's stuck in the mental loop now.

he imagines it again, growing up with a comfortable and generic life, brought up with the mannerisms and teachings that the dragons receive, with the belief that they are greater beings and all others are subservient. the muscles in his hands strain as rosinante entangles fingers into wavy, golden locks, and digs nails into his scalp. but the flashing images keep going — an arranged marriage, a relatively carefree life, his older brother eventually taking over the household as the elder son, pursuing art or whatever he felt like.

❛ but at what cost? ❜

rosinante's mind drifts to all the slaves owned by the world nobles, and the pain and sheer rage that this brought to the surface of ordinary, kind villagers outside the confines of mary geoise. how that same rage drove them to torture children—his elbows give out beneath him, and he allows his forehead to drop to the mahogany desk surface, fingers white knuckling in his hair. with russet eyes now squeezed tightly shut, he releases a shaky breath.

with where he was now, with what he had seen and experienced, he loathed the alternate possibility of becoming one of those people that could cause such pain and hatred — of being one of the few to maliciously, or even ignorantly, rob people of their autonomy and humanity. and even more so, after seeing the harm that people in power had caused to those he came to love, rosinante no longer wants to consider that a life he might have led.

[shannaroka]

HARUNO SAKURA DREAMS OF LOVE.      she sings its praises,      holding it across her shoulders like a honored badge.      all that is left is love.      sakura's heartbeat thuds, a caged organ to a body rotting, aching.      (anything to be with him. anything to be away from him.)     emerald eyes do not meet his, her head is so heavy : the weight of it all too much. why is he here, why is he here, why is he here?   this is no dream,      her chest tightens, in a twisted way (it's always shattered in front of sasuke but not like this. or maybe she didn't remember — maybe they're right, her own memories the product of her unreliable narration.    thud. against the tree. cut. as her hand holds her weapon like a lifeline.     ❛ i — what — 𝘪 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥.    ❜     the words come out rotten. sakura's choking on her own nerves,  

her heart clouding her mind,      green eyes lost.      he looks so tired. in her youth, she thought of him like light    —      so radiant it shone the darkest times.    she loved the light. the feeling of it across her pale skin, the backlight turning her pink hair so soft it became a beacon. she loved him like she loved the light, so much so that she dreamt of it. but dreams are scarcely reality — and no trick can hide the fact that it's over. she loved him. (she loves him. she loves him.) but she watched him die. if sakura closes her eyes, she's back there, watching sasuke suffer.     ❛  i saw you.    ❜    she’s confused,  betrayed.  vaguely distrustful. it's not him, it can't be. — she, she would know.    HARUNO SAKURA DREAMS OF SEEING HIM AGAIN.   but not like this.

@chidorike             ---       plotted.         

[tigrdia]

                    “ i have no idea what you’re saying ... ”

                      what was he talking about ? being a virus ? that didn’t make any sense . ... not that any of this made any sense either . being isekai’d was a little more believable ... just a little bit at least . his original statement was muttered under his breath , but he now speaks up a bit louder .

                    “ sorry . i don’t know much about computer viruses turned people . ”

@love-shutdown​

[acidicles]

world's shittiest rp memes™ ; accepting

ryuusake sent: (scanning over the complete disaster in the kitchen like a cop at a crime scene) "okay, so very obviously, there was a struggle, right."

Adorning an expression that screamed, not a single thought behind those eyes, her confidence never wavered with a shit-eating grin plastered across her mug, “what d’ya mean?” 

“I only made a tiramisu!! And I found an easy no bake recipe!”

Only a tiramisu– the kitchen behind her was an absolute wreck; for a no-bake dessert, there was various spoons used for mixing and taste testing misplaced around the room that she continuously couldn’t find, berries scattered across the floor, cream decorated the walls in a spattered design, which was artsy and awfully considerate of her– the walls were looking a little bland. The cutup head of the undesirable, leafy part of a strawberry was sticking to her left cheek, complimenting her single brain cell demeanor. There was not one, two, nor three, but five bowls, displaying her multiple attempts–and what’s that white stuff stuck to the ceiling? 

“I gotta say, I’m pretty impressed with my skills.~ You should try some.” she scattered to find her tiramisu dessert and held her rather small creation for the other to see.