#but logic and sadness speak different languages

[madolecence]

I really am so very sad today, and it would be nice if it felt like someone cared

[jaslan4f1]

She chose me - Did she?

pairing: Charles Leclerc x Lando Norris x femalereader

summary: Charles, Lando and you and unbreakable Trio but what happens when you find out that they both have feeling for you.

warnings: /

(a/n): English is not my native language so this may contain consistency errors, i would really appreciate the corrections but please, be kind. feedback is also appreciated ♡

It all started because of a stupid interview you had with an mega hyped motorsport podcast.

One of them asked you “So Y/n we all know that due to your job as an f1 journalist you are really close to the whole grid. But our listeners would probably like it if you would share who your fav is”

You chuckled at the question, knowing that this question has just one logical answer.

“Oh I could never choose one. I like them all really, they all have different personalities and I really enjoy spending time with them” you said politely.

The podcaster just looked at you and smirked, knowing that they had some proof which 2 drivers you are definitely more around.

“Oh really we have seen you many times around with Charles and Lando. These two are definitely up on your list right? They have also shared that they enjoy having you around or during post race interviews with you.” You laughed at their statement. “Really they said that? Wow I feel so special. Yes ok fine, Lando and Charles are definitely up there” you had to keep your big smile back thinking about them.

In reality Lando, Charles and you were extremely close. You 3 had your own post race traditions and made movies nights after each qualifying.

You liked hanging out with them you would even describe them as your best friends on the grid.

What you didn’t know was that Charles and Lando weren’t actually that close and played friends in front of you. Both being lovesick idiots for you. They both were desperate for your attention. Lando did not hate Charles but he despised the fact that Charles could be a perfect match for you.

Charles thought that Lando would be a good friend for you but he was too childish for you. Charles was convinced that he was the man you wanted.

- present -

You were sitting in Landon’s driver room because he wanted you to wait for him there after practice 1 ended. You scrolled through your phone and read some comments about your interview in the hyped motorsport podcast. Some people shipped you with Lando some said that you and Charles were definitely an endgame. You shook your head with a smile on your face. “Who got you smiling like that darling” a male voice said.

“God Lan you scared me” Lando chuckled at your words. “You didn’t answered my question” he started walking towards you and sat next to you on his couch. He took your phone knowing that you trusted him and he could see what got you smiling. You watched his face and analyzed his reaction.

“ I think they are right” he suddenly said and turned his head to look at you. “About what part? Shipping me and you or that Charles and I would be the perfect endgame” you teased him.

Landos eyes got smaller, jealousy started growing in him. “Don’t do that” you looked into his eyes. They looked like tears were forming. Did that made Lando emotional? His lips were in a tight line. He didn’t dared to speak out his thoughts. I like you y/n please don’t choose Charles.

You started deep in his eyes. Suddenly the room was filled with tension and hot air. You could feel the need to kiss him. Fuck no that wasn’t right, he was your best friend right?

You could answer your thoughts because in the next moment your phone vibrated.

“Yes” you picked it up still haven’t stopped the eye contact.

“Y/n it’s Charles where are you I have to see you mon amour” the monegasque said.

Landos eyes filled with more sadness but instead of saying anything he took your phone and answered Charles for you.

“Yo it’s Lan we will be there in a minute ok bye” and with that he ended the call. “That wasn’t very nice Lan” you laughed. “Who said I have to be nice all the time”

After 5 minutes you found Charles. He tried to overplay the feeling of jealousy that he felt every time when he saw you alone with Lando. “Hey Charlie” you said and hugged him. Charles and Landos eyes met during the hug. Charles smirked knowing that you were the only one that gave Charles that nickname. Landos blood boiled and his face couldn’t cover that he didn’t liked Charles hands on you.

But somehow you were always the only one who didn’t seem to see the behavior of both boys.

After the hug you 3 went to the cafeteria and ate some post race day snacks. Of course the boys choose something more healthier that fitted into their diet.

“I will use the restroom for a second if you’d excuse me” you said and left the boys alone.

“Did you have a great time with her in your driver room?” Charles asked with a raspy voice. Lando laughed because he nodded with a smirk on his face. “You know little Lando in the end it will always be me” Charles said confidently.

“And why would you think that” Lando laid back into his chair. “Because she already chose me” Charles said and emptied his drink.

“Did she?”

a/n: Hey guys long time, no see. I had some busy months but I’m back and had this scenario stuck in my head since the TikTok sound started trending. Hope you like this one xoxo 💋

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

want talk about how important have AAC in your language.

language of birth country, of family, big language, so many native speaker, even more second third learned language speaker. but, even that, is language not often seen in robust AAC apps develop by western countries—because not one of big western countries.

there only one robust symbol based (or TTS tbh) AAC app have that language: TD snap.

which mean. must make it work.

how important it is have AAC that fit your needs: right grid size, right motor plan, right access support (switch, eye gaze, etc), right editing, right symbols, right color & color coding & contrast, right everything. n so much of this, actual need, and not preference.

which why there so many english symbol based AAC apps, each with different logic to where words are, how word organized, what symbol use, what editing feature have, all backed by their research & tech development… you get choose. if one app not right for you, have others. sometimes is prefer one over other, but other times is, some apps unusable for you, conflict needs for you, cannot understand it (e.g touch chat for me).

TD snap organization not work for me. core word not enough, fringe word organized not fit way my brain work, n overall not enough words that match own daily life.

but have to make it work. because it between this, or not communicate in words with family & with world in country where everyone speak this language.

so, am deleting everything, all words, all boards, & remake, reorganize. trying make it work. begging make it work. pay no mind how it take tens even hundreds of hours (years in making, still not finished). …it my only option.

n, this lucky case scenario—

people who cannot, or not allowed to, edit their AAC in such big way. people who cannot use that sad one app that contain your language.

or, especially: there languages & speaker of those language who need AAC but have no AAC because there no AAC that support their language.

their voice robbed.

but that not all. for longest time still not able use AAC in birth country language. because have no voice go along.

want talk about how important have useable voices in AAC in your language.

in gender that reflect you, tone & personality that reflect you, pronunciation & accent & everything that reflect you.

using voice that not used to, already feel like speaking through someone else mouth. very odd feeling—it you speaking, it you communicating, but it coming out of someone else mouth, in their voice, not yours. where yours?

even with voice that like, still take me while fully connect with voice. with voice mere tolerate, always feel discomfort, not fully mine. with voice that opposite who you are?

averse. rather not talk at all.

not willing choice. but physical reaction, recoil, hate, uncomfortable deep under skin, disgust.

between acapella voice group & IOS voices, there maybe 5-6 voices for birth country language, all very gendered, middle age “karen” sounding, robotic unnatural, unclear, hard hear what trying say, tele-announcer tone. 5-6, but somehow all sound same.

and, make no mistake, 5-6 badly made ones. is lots. other languages, have 1, or 2. or none. this, lucky.

so, not communicate with words at all. completely nonverbal all the time, so gestures, noises, grunts, is what left. need parents with 24/7, because other don’t know why not talk, don’t even know can not talk, don’t understand what mean with all these body language noises/-n, by the way, parents is part reason have cPTSD, but have be around them, because nonverbal high support needs, what can you do, what other option you have?. and, still, frequent meltdowns n tantrum—because often no one understand.

have words that cannot use. in language that itself is trauma trigger.

today, found that apple/ios now expanded voices for birth country language. so many now! so many also have enhanced & premium options, that come with ios, no extra cost. so many different personalities, tones, inflections. and, sound so natural.

cried. because. finally may able communicate with words in birth country language again.

don’t know how explain to people who, never had go through forced silence, how important and huge and even life changing this is.

won’t take away communication disability, won’t take away other AAC difficulties, won’t take away trauma, won’t make birth country language any less of trauma trigger, but—

it there when ready.

—to all my AAC users who speak language that not commonly supported by robust AAC apps on market. especially those BIPOC, those diaspora and those from the country. those who speak language with few speakers. especially those nonverbal nonspeaking who have no other option. those who cannot type, who can only use symbol base AAC, so effectively stranded without one that support their language. love you all, see you all, even if AAC companies don’t.

[blackstarchanx3new]

FSR rambles 18 dreams about being gannon

Direct parallels to Gannon/OOT.

Sweet time to mention Shadow can play the piano haha. I have a plan for a comic on HOW he learned but that's a later date type thing.

HERO OF TIME HIIIIIII. 💖 Also Naavi.

He's here to murder shadow. Noice.

Seems like Shadow's just getting haunted by this guy considering his appearance earlier in the comic in page 290 -

Seems like Hero of Time just isn't a fan of him or smth. XDDD

Ouch. That looked like it hurt.

Also hi who are you.

Also considering I know who you are...Why are your eyes Blue buddy? :D

"Aw shit. I got sliced"

"Also I'm younger"

Ah dream logic.

Hi Perry-

I mean uhhh

Totally mysterious purple clad hero.

This is a character from the planned sequel of FSR. and I can't speak much about him. You'd know a decent amount about him if you've seen the FSRA posts.

Also his eyes changed...Again...

When I dream I have nothing but nightmares too shadow. Smh.

Oh Hi Link. Why are you wearing white and black. Basically the reverse of Dark Link's fit? Not weird at aaaaall considering that wasn't what he was wearing before he pulled the sword...

It's been around for awhile NOW but Shadow's hair changing to have a red streak...much like a certain gerudo man we know isn't odd at ALLLLLL.

Also nice Malice eyes Shadow.

Yeah I'm sure the magic demonic 8 ball will have the answers you seek Shadow.

Considering the Gannon flashbacks we just saw...Who's "him" Dark? Because Dark could just as easily be talking about Vaati here. But really it's up in the air on who he meant exactly.

Dark keeping his horns from his vaati convo and it appearing on his human ish form was a fun detail to add.

Random note to think about: Dark had to put himself back in Shadow's hat after sneaking off to vaati's house and that imagery is funny so I'm sharing it with you.

Dark's hair is still vaati colored as well and his behavior is reflecting him still.

Link talking about food and sleeping is just about the most link thing ever so Dark gives absolutely no shits about it.

Haha you should have chosen your words more wisely shadow...

It ALMOST sounds like you don't WANT Link here...which Dark can pick up on pal-

Oh shit. You repeated it you meant it.

Yeah don't shout Link could wake up.

Dark kinda SORTA seems to know what's happening...

But he's using "I think" and uncertain language. (You know he's not sure of smth if he's using phrasing like that hah. Since he's usually so self assured in his assumptions.)

Lol ignore how often my dumbass forgot to keep Shadow's hair right. Mistakes happen. 😅

Hey Shadow, abusing the nutcase isn't gonna get you very far.

Especially because he hates your guts.

Dark's kinda right here tho. Shadow's being selfish as hell rn.

The phrase "Does the word "HERO" just have no meaning to you? You disgust me" specifically gets a chuckle out of me considering who's mouth it's coming out of.

Dark continues to miss identify Shadow as Gannon when he said "you're as old as time" (More of a reference to demise depending on how you look at it but same diff)

Dark sweating visibly showing he's still very much scared of Shadow.

Shadow pulled his head out of his ass for a second and realized Dark's acting weird. (Like Vaati)

Dark's instant snap back is amusing but also sad. Like. Shadow doesn't "know him" not in any meaningful way. But he does yield and admit he was looking at memories for... YEARS in the head space.

Which is just a level of horror beyond comprehension.

Imagine spending YEARS looking at other people's memories just to get yanked out of it randomly by mr root of all evil himself bitching at you about smth you don't even know about, some guy you had a single conversation with YEARS AGO. But oh yeah. It's only been maybe 8 hours in the real world and all perception of time and reality was thrown off and you're being accused of being a different person after all that shit.

To say Dark Link isn't having a fun or good time would be an understatement.

I touched on it in a fic where Link and Dark bang of all places but Dark's existence is an existential nightmare.

Dark Link's EXISTANCE isn't fun for him. He's gonna mention it later too but he's MISSERABLE and vocal about his misery and pain just being alive.

Something weird to think about: Who's memories was he even looking at?

Really from his vague description it could be ANYONE.

I personally like to think it's vaati's considering he still has his hair shifted to be vaati's tone, is acting like vaati and mentions shadow being "Annoying"

though Link and vio are high possibilities too haha.

A mix of all of them aren't off base either.

Identity crisis how fun...Dark struggling to separate himself from the memories he's witnessed is concerning to say the least.

At least he's willing to be helpful with what he thinks is going on.

Really he could have just said "Fuck off figure it out yourself" but he offers to try and explain shit to Shadow from his perspective.

Dark's openness to cooperate despite everything is smth noteworthy.

He has literally no reason to do shit like this (Even if it fails) ESPECIALLY considering his distaste for Shadow. He just does shit that's helpful or nice cause he can.

Just little characterizations that Dark Link is more like Link than you'd first think considering his introduction.

Also OOT reference again with Ganon entering the sacred realm to steal the Triforce of power.

The second Shadow mentions them splitting is a relief, Dark cosplays Vio. XDDDD

Even Shadow thinks that was Vio like haha.

Dark's avoiding Link is the funniest part of this. "Oh shit he's waking up, gotta run. Don't wanna talk to him." XDDD

Don't do it Shadow.

It's a terrible idea.

Last time Link was here he was wanting to off himself so he might not be the most mentally sound individual!

Also who's happy to be woken up...

Dark Link being the voice of reason here about the pros and cons to waking Link up or even listening to him haha.

Considering what happens HAPPENS, that probs would have happened REGUARDLESS of if he was woken up or not. The change really is down to whether or not Shadow would A. Even be around for it. B. Be the one to wake Link up and have that burden on his mind or C. Just let shit happen.

Shadow is putting a ton of pressure on Dark to give answers or be helpful AND CORRECT but like...dude Dark doesn't know, he's guessing too lmfao.

Shadow makes what I consider a very foolish choice which was waking Link up.

Dark held back the explosion aspect but he is here to have fun first so uhhhh...Well he DID say it'd be funny to him and not Shadow.

Shadow defaults to blaming Dark Link "Damn demon" which...Shadow learn some accountability.

Panel by panel breakdown cause stuffs getting jucy:

1- Interesting outfit choice Link. It's the one he wore when he was a bit younger. So he's got a younger mindset when waking up. Which is just sad.

2- his outfit changes to half blue half green with a purple sleeve, his hands are all sorts of wrong and mish mashed with red and purple nails. His eyes also have the wrong color. His body is distorting all over the place...Interesting.

3- Shadow you shouldn't have said anything. The coward's hiding too lmfao he knows he fucked up.

4- Safe to say he's not very happy.

Link's distorting and glitching is based on video game glitches. Which is fun because: LOZ is a video game.

There's something distinctly haunting and uncanny about buggy/glitchy game assets and I wanted to capture it here.

Like the reality of four people being forced into one body is quite horrifying and the idea of them just bugging out unable to process how many thoughts there are is overwhelming. Literally like overloading a computer or gaming system.

There's also something to be said about how he fully breaks after seeing Shadow Link.

This is brought up later so I'll expand upon it later but the fact literally the only words Shadow Link spoke to LINK was "I'm the hero Link" or smth like that is hysterical.

For living together for 7 years: They truly don't know each other well on a personal level considering their ability to communicate was stunted by Shadow being...Well a Shadow. And I wanna explore that more as the series goes on.

1- Lol Green hi thanks for trying to stay calm.

2- Vio's here too. Something tells me calming down isn't working considering your face is cracking more and the tunic is flashing different colors.

3- Shadow I swear to god, shut your mouth-

4- Yeaaaaaah we saw that coming. Ouch looks painful. Good thing that body is magic hahaha.

Link's just not having a good time at all. XD

I think a few people caught this but Link breaking down here was based on the forced gem fusions in SU also the distorted static version of the cartoons from learning with pibby XD

It was good inspo for how horrific this scenario is.

Really all of them are just kinda, shoved in there. Unable to truly escape and they're NOT HAPPY about it.

Blue specifically is trying to get out as we'll know later and we get more context on his thoughts about this ordeal from the Darkblue chapter... But visually you can see Link's got two faces and it remains consistent that that's Blue.

Which, is terrifying.

There's also the underlying horror that the "Why" Link is back in one body isn't truly addressed but we'll get more into that later.

Shadow running for his damn life haha.

I'd be scared too if that mess was crawling at me.

The sad thing is that Link's reaching out for help and Shadow responds by screaming in terror lmfao.

Cause Link seems monstruous at the moment but the reality of the situation is he's very clearly conscious and scared. He's reaching out to the only person he can, which is Shadow.

I think this might be my favorite design of Link in this state. It's just horrific to look at. The eyes bleeding onto both his faces which are cracked like mirrors so you can't tell what he's looking at. He has Vio and Blue's legs sticking out of his back, and entire extra head forcing its way off his main one, it's hard to tell from these but his skin is glitching in both Red and Blue's separate skin tones (Blue's being a bit darker and Red's being lighter)

His tunic is pitch black which, black absorbs all wavelengths of light and reflects none...Literally keeping it trapped haha.

Yeah. WHY IS THIS HAPPENING.

Anyway, Link/Green, Vio and red are all reaching out to shadow but blue is suspiciously absent haha.

Them grabbing onto Shadow is smth Vio would do...

The four sword's lil gem thingy is glitched to shit too. Each colored piece being a different size. Green's is noticeably larger while Blue and Red's are about the same size. Vio's is the smallest.

Shadow's hat is doing that thing Dark does when he's upset where it clings to his body.

Yeah feeling like you can't do anything would be a feeling you fall into frequently being trapped as a shadow.

Take that agency back Shadow it's been robbed from you for too long.

Blue: GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!!!!

Jokes aside I love this moment. Link getting more stable as he keeps Shadow close to him is sweet.

Link just needed a hug. UwU

Or...Less cute option: Maybe...The triforce of power had something to do with it...

Link/Red crying immediately when Shadow says a single word lmfao.

Link's so pretty I love him. I'm glad he's back a bit.

"Shadow, stop talking." could apply to everything he says to link as of rn. XD

Link's still very much emotionally distressed and I'd be too after THAT SHIT SHOW.

I do think it's funny how Link is wearing black here and Shadow is wearing white. (It's just his usual underclothes without his tunic)

Yes shut up and please just hug him it's clearly what he needs rn Shadow. X'D

Perfect cut off point lmfao.

[gh0st-author]

lover of mine

pairing: William James Moriarty x reader

tags: angst, hurt/comfort but very bittersweet

summary: when i take a look at my life and all of my crimes, you're the only thing that i think i got right

warnings: mentions of death, lots of sad thoughts

A/N: ha ha .. guess who's back ... jk jk i've been away for a little while and i dipped in true fanfic author fashion BUT HEY im back now. and i was craving a bit of pain so here is a lil something angsty. its more of a character study than anything... also could you tell that ive been listening to lover of mine lmao

The serene silence of the night was interrupted by a strangled gasp, a broken intake of air momentarily cutting through the calm as a figure arose suddenly from their sleeping position, clutching their chest. Scarlet eyes flashed open, disoriented, hauntingly glancing around the room, the man trying to gather his bearings. He felt as if the walls were caving in around him, although the logical part of his brain was aware that those notions were only in his head. But lately, there was little difference between nightmares and consciousness to William.

And that was all that this was— a nightmare. A horrible fragment of his imagination seeping into his dreams and haunting his waking hours. Usually, the myriad of thoughts and emotions was kept tightly at bay in the furthest reaches of his mind, but at night when his defenses were lowered and his being slumbered, they seeped through and poisoned his dreams, his consciousness becoming a prison, caging him in. Faces flashed before his eyes, his own bloody hands, the weight of his own deeds and sins— oftentimes he felt less like a man and more like a whirling swarm of guilt, despair, and nihilty.

He directed his gaze at the ceiling, eyes tracing the veiny cracks weaving over it like spider webs, as his mind churned with thoughts. His soul was screaming out, but no sound seeped out. Power comes in response to a need, not desire. He felt no desire for bloodshed he dished out, found no enjoyment in it, yet he continued to drag himself further into hell, each step heavy as stone but unwavering, preserving what little hope was left at the cost of damning his soul. That was something he needed to do. He even abhorred violence, deeming it an absolute evil. Violence for violence was the rule of beasts, yet most days he felt as if it was the only language he knew how to speak. Maybe before long, he will become just like them, a violent animal of claws and teeth that did not know why it bit, crossing the blurry line of this dark gray area he roamed in and passing the point of no return. 

A minuscule movement and soft rustling of the sheets at his side drew his attention away from his musings. He gazed down at the figure sleeping next to him peacefully, face serene and bathed in moonlight. Shadows splayed over her skin making her look even more ethereal, hair draped over the silky pillowcase forming a halo around her head. An angel— or perhaps divine punishment for his sins. 

She was a being pure and unsullied by the darkness of the world; the darkness in him. Sometimes, he was almost afraid to touch her, in fear of tainting her pristine radiance with his stained hands. The mere fact that a person so far fallen like him was able to bask in the warmth she provided was as cruel as it was bitter-sweet. 

She was an existence that he shouldn't have been able to approach, and the reality of that seemed too harsh and unkind in actuality, yet he often found himself wondering if that was really true, though.

Reaching out to brush away a stray lock of hair from her forehead, he once again contemplated that thought. Maybe fate wasn't evil or cruel for sending him this brilliant shard of light. Perhaps it was actually merciful, providing him with a single taste of heaven— something he thought he had no hope of ever reaching. Maybe it was kind enough to gift him with this momentary reprieve. 

Her brows furrowed in her sleep as his ministrations disturbed her slumber. He slowly drew his hand back as her eyes opened, blissfully unaware of the turmoil in his. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

She shook her head and inched ever so closer to him. "Why are you not asleep? You have to teach early tomorrow." Her worried gaze ran over his face. "Did something happen?"

"No, nothing." His throat was tight, each word rasping out almost painfully. "I am just... pondering."

She hummed lowly, considering him, then rose to sit next to him, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Hmm, a bad nightmare?" 

He sighed deeply, bone-weary, resting his cheek against her temple. "Don't concern yourself with it. I promise I am fine."

She let out another hum, and he knew what she was attempting, yet he was too weak to refuse her. She gently cradled his hands in her lap from where they'd been clutching the sheets and started tracing little patterns with her thumbs over them. "Tell me about it"

A small wry tilting of his lips, too fleeting to be called a smile, accompanied her actions. Exactly as he predicted. She knew precisely what to do to get him to talk. And that was no fault of hers, for he always acquiesced and yielded to her wants. "When I put my life into perspective, and all of my sins and crimes I committed, you are the one singular decision in it that I think I made right."

Her hands paused their movements and her gaze flew to his face, confused and slightly vexed. "What do you mean?"

Her face was so sincere, so unwaveringly loving, that he was barely able to endure the depth of her gaze. Yet he was unable to tear his eyes away from hers as the words spilled from his trembling lips. "My only right choice was meeting you, despite all of my wrongdoings. But your place is not with me, in the shadows. You should be out under the sun, never touched by our darkness."

Her brows furrowed once again, this time more severely, and he observed her face becoming even more confused and irked. "William you are talking nonsense." She clutched his hands tighter. "I chose you, William. Promised to be by your side through the good and the bad. No one else. You"

Another piece of his soul bloomed and withered away with her words, leaving its rot embedded deep in his chest. He slowly rose one hand from her grip to rest it gently on her cheek. "How I wish I could've loved you under different circumstances."

"Stop that!" she protested, shock subsiding, replaced with indignation. "You fight for equality. You are noble. You are not evi—"

"There is nothing noble about what I do." The look he gave her was cold and mournful, closed off. Any semblance of warmth leeched out of it. "Taking someone's life— even for a greater cause— is never justice." Dropping his hand from her face, he inched away from her, pulling away as the thick walls he usually built to keep these thoughts away crumbled in her presence. As he confessed to her the depths of his despair. "I never told you this before, but I plan to die." He didn't know if saying these words was a weight off his chest, or the last nail in his proverbial coffin. "I plan to atone with my death, to disappear as the last blight on society. To end the great evil that the masses depict me to be."

"Don't you dare!" Her words were a shocked gasp. And suddenly she understood— he saw it in her eyes that she did. She saw his guilt. Guilt, and grief, and resentment, and loathing. An inescapable torment weighing him down, trapping him, crushing him under the immense pressure of his deeds. A bottomless pit pulling him into its depths of despair. She understood why he condemned wrongdoings so harshly, why he mourned the loss of life. There was probably no one who valued human life more than him, yet was forced to extinguish it to save the majority. And he saw her terror. He saw her grief, her anguish, her heartbreak. 

With a sob, she threw herself in his embrace. She was shaking, trembling in his arms, and his chest caved in knowing he was the cause of her pain. Her plea was a broken whisper. "Don't you dare, William. Not like... that. Never like that. Remember our deal: Where you go, I go. If you die, I'll follow, since there is no me without you."

His mouth opened to protest, to refute her argument, to undoubtedly say something akin to her life holding more value than his, but she halted him with a firm grip on his shoulders. "Promise me!"

Her eyes were boring into his, and once again he found himself rendered speechless and unable to resist her. "I promise I won't." The falsehood tasted like ash on his tongue, and not for the first time he wanted to cut the lying appendage off. What good did it serve him if it only knew treachery and deceit? If it would only bring her more pain.

Her trembling hands wound around his figure as she hugged him tightly once again. "You are everything to me, William. I don't know what I would do without you. Please... Please never say something like that again."

A shuddering breath left his lips and he leaned completely into her, resting his head in the crook of her neck, feeling incredibly worn out and frail. "How do you not condemn me?"

Her hands slowly made their way up to brush through his hair, so achingly gentle. He couldn't remember when the last time that he'd been touched so lovingly was. Couldn't remember if he'd ever been before meeting her. "I love you, William, the broken parts and everything. Stained hands or not. I have always vowed to stay by your side. No matter how much our souls are tainted, we will spend the rest of our lives atoning for it— together. After all, is it better to just be born good or to achieve goodness through your own effort?"

She leaned back to smile at him, then brushed a soft kiss against his lips, still trembling from the onslaught of his raging inferno inside him. "Hurt and grieve but don't suffer alone. Use the pain as a motive to continue forward. You will heal and you'll rise above it all."

Oh, she was so cruel, unintentionally so. Her sincerity was like bitter wine down his throat or a poison slowly making its way through his bloodstream. The simple fact that she truly believed there was any chance of redemption for him hurt more than death by a thousand papercuts. "I was correct." His hand lightly traced her cheek once again. Every word was a wound slowly bleeding out, draining his strength with it. "I really do not deserve you."

She shook her head, somber once again. "Stop saying that. I can't think of a man more worthy of my love and redemption." 

Darkness without light was an abyss. Light without darkness was blinding. You could not have a coin with only one side. Maybe they were like that. She was his perfect antithesis, his other side. The one that would grab and pull him out of the bottomless abyss of living hell, and he was the one that would ground her and shield her from flying too close to the sun. She would provide warmth to thaw away his frost, and he would keep her fire from burning out too fast. He only hoped he would be around long enough for her to not need him anymore. He hoped she wouldn't be too furious with him after he'd perished. What was another broken promise added to his ever-growing list of sins?

Because he couldn't stay with her in the light. She was still so incredibly radiant, not as far gone as he was. He knew that only the dead have seen the end of war. And that has always been his plan from the beginning. For how could he, a sinner as vile as the ones he was ridding the world of so diligently, be allowed to live in this new pristine world he was trying to create? How could she still see something good in him when he was the biggest evil that had to be eradicated? His fate has been set in stone since the first day he took Albert's hand, maybe even before that, yet with every new day he found his resolve on that matter wavering more and more. With each kiss from her; with every touch; with every love-filled glance— she made his icy determination crumble under her warm light. He was nothing but a coward wearing the face of a revolutionary, desperately clinging to life— to her— when he knew he couldn't. But for her, he almost thought it was worth it to live.

Sometimes he felt as if he could feel time moving, slipping through his fingers, and that dreaded moment of judgment creeping up closer and closer behind him, breathing down his neck. A walking dead man— that's what he was. The person currently cradling her, whispering sweet lies and false promises, was just his shell, a ticking time bomb or a lit candle only waiting for its fuse to burn out. That is precisely why he said nothing more as she urged him to go back to sleep once again. Said nothing as she draped the covers over them. Said nothing as the stifling silence threatened to pull him under once again. 

He would not be sleeping tonight, although she did not need to know that.

[cienie-isengardu]

I like to imagine most Outworlders don't speak English if we were being realistic with workdbuilding. The royal family and their advisors would probably interact with Earthrealm officials during visits but regular Outwrolders probably wouldn't.

The only reason they speak English is for our convenience but realistically most probably shouldn't and it'd be funny if the language barrier popped up at times.

Like I imagine Quan Chi didn't speak English initially so he didn't register Titan Shang was talking to him when he was doing his job in the mines. Like Titan Shang thinks Quan Chi is ignoring him...when in reality Quan Chi simply doesn't register he's talking to him at all.

That is exactly my thought - worldbuilding wise, common Outworlders shouldn’t speak English or any other Earthrealm’s dialects, as they do not have a constant contact with totally foreign cultures from Liu Kang’s realm. I don’t think we ever heard of any vital trade between Earthrealm and Outworld and the portal between realms isn’t that easily accessible for people to just snuck in, and it is not just about Outworlders being wary of Earthrealmers but also Liu Kang decided to keep existence of other realms in secret from majority of his people. So the contact is limited and let’s not forget that the same as Earthrealm, Outworld is not culturally homogeneous realm either, as there is many different cultures coexisting there, like Edenians, Shokan, Centaurians, Saurian, Osh-Tekk to name few. So learning additional Earthrealm's dialects may be more difficult to some of those people than to others.

It makes sense for the Royal Family, their palace guard (Umgadi), advisors and for some military officers like General Shao and Reiko to learn English and possibly other earthrealm dialects, as such knowledge is vital to diplomacy and state security. 

It is understandable that the games use English as common language for simplicity, however 

It really is sad how the cultural/language barriers are not exploited as it has such a great potential (the closest things are: Johnny’s references to Alien that Kung Lao misunderstand as Cage calling Tanya a slur and was both offended and confused by the whole thing and Mileena thinking that drone is some kind of magic)

I don’t like the implication in Liu Kang’s timeline that Great Britain again influenced the whole world to the point English is the commonly used language because with that implication comes the question: did some Earthrealmers again suffer under the regime of other countries, be it under colonization or losing their country's independence. I mean, it is Liu Kang’s timeline, why Royal Family don’t speak in his native language as they had the longest contact with the Fire Lord and English is not, logically thinking, Raiden’s native language either?

Let’s just agree I’m very picky about this issue and I would love all the shenanigans coming from characters speaking in different languages and sometimes failing - or on purpose making it difficult to communicate well. Or, as the Lin Kuei faction has the number of native-speakers from different cultures (China, Czech, Botswana), they could utilize other languages as their “secret dialect”. Like Lin Kuei brothers waiting for Liu Kang, instead of speaking English between themselves, they could talk in Tomas’ native language because the chance Kung Lao, Raiden or Liu Kang’s servants would understand Czech is slimmer than them understanding English. 

I’m seriously crying over the untapped language potential Mortal Kombat has for years. 

As for Titan Shang Tsung, I’m gonna trust he was smarter than using English, when Quan Chi was born in mines and spent his whole life there. The mortal Shang Tsung consuming souls for ages most likely knew and could fluently use a vast number of dialects, so I imagine Titan Shang Tsung would figure out pretty quickly that no one in mines used earthrealm language and talked to Quan Chi in a way he could perfectly understand him, especially since “Damashi” needed Quan Chi’s trust to process the great plan of his.

[misstycloud]

Stranded

Yandere islander x fem reader

——————-

The first thing (Y/n) heard when she woke up was the chirping of birds. The energetic creatures seemed so sing their heart out, despite it being the early hours of the day. She wondered if he heard it too, he probably did. He was always close by. He didn’t want her to get any ideas after all. She cursed her trusting nature, it was her own fault for getting there. If only she hadn’t gone with him and instead tried fending by herself, maybe she would have been free. (Y/n) knew she most likely would have died had she attempted navigating through the jungle by herself, but she’d happily take that chance if it meant getting away from that man. 

He, the one who’d forcibly taken her against her will. The one who forces his affection and care on her, not understanding she doesn’t want his care. It was hard for him to understand of course, since he didn’t even speak her language. The man didn’t speak at all, in fact. The only sounds he made were grunts, or whimpers to show he was sad. His growls were far the worst, it was then she knew he was angry and it was never a good sign. It was so strange seeing him that way. A human acting like a ravenous animal. She trembled at the memory. 

‘It’s been quiet for a while now. Maybe he isn’t here?’ 

The young woman thought hesitantly. If she was wrong, I’d cost her. She had tried escaping before and it was never pretty and if she started walking around outside, he would think that’s her intention. She really didn’t want to run into him, but she desperately needed to relieve herself. Taking a chance, she raised her head from her sleeping position and took a look around the room. The wooden walls had many cracks in them, a sign of aging. The real alarming feature was the deep claw marks embedded into it. Making anyone who saw it think one of the island wild beast had tried tearing it apart. There wasn’t much inside the little hut besides  blankets, fabric wrapped around feathers for home made pillows, and some self carved bowls filled with food and water. 

After listening a second time and not hearing anything, she got up and slowly approached the entrance. There was no door dividing the outside from inside, instead it was a simple cloth hanging down the opening. Pushing it aside and checking in both directions, (Y/n) didn’t see her captor. Carefully walking outdoors she relished in her success. Maybe she’d be able to go without his interference. It was such a bother the way he always needed to be right there, next to her. Even when she had to relieve herself, he stood there not far away. It was utterly humiliating on her part. Her captor didn’t seem to care however and she’d found out the hard way that he didn’t deem it embarrassing. From time to time he’d do it in front of her as well, implying it’s natural. While the woman understood that it was it did not meant she felt comfortable with it. But she did recognize he grew up in a different way. On the island things were different, more primal and underdeveloped. 

As she stepped outside (Y/n) glanced around her in case the man stood somewhere nearby, watching her. Hurriedly she rushed to blend in with the large vegetation existing everywhere on the island. If simply she could do her business and sneak back in and pretend she still slept. When she slept was the sole time he let her be, and the only time he dared leave the hut to hunt among other things. To be honest, (Y/n) wasn’t sure what he actually did when he wasn’t with her. Some sort of island business she guessed, not like she particularly cared though.

When the youth had reached far enough from the cabin she searched for the perfect spot. As she did, a sudden noise sounded behind her, scaring the girl. Nervously looking toward the direction the sound came from she saw nothing out of the ordinary. 

‘Maybe it was an animal?’ She hoped, but her logical side told her that it wasn’t an animal. ‘No, he’d never let one close enough to me.’  

As (Y/n) turned back again she was met with a wall. Knowing it wasn’t really a wall, she glanced up and could make out a pair of eyes staring down at her, through thick black hair. She began walking backwards but didn’t get far because then two arms wrapped themselves around her and with her evident protests, lifted her up in the air. Carrying the young woman back to his home the tall man observed while she pleaded with him in that foreign language of hers. It was fast and odd sounding, nothing like his own tongue. 

“No, wait please! I need to pee.” Sadly the captor didn’t understand her request and brought her back inside. 

There he laid her down on the bed of blankets and pulled one over her, making sure to cover the whole body. After brushing of some free dirt, he nodded in satisfaction and proceeded to stand back up, walking over to the food bowls. This frustrated (Y/n), she didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to go to the bathroom. Or find the most bathroom-y bush she could out in nature. Not having the energy to do anything else she decided to just comply and turned her back to the man, attempting to fall asleep; it however did not come to her. As she laid under the blankets, (Y/n) thought about when she first got to the island. Since she didn’t have anything to track time, she couldn’t be sure of how long ago it was. Perhaps a month or two? Maybe even half a year. 

It had been a bright day, when the sun stood high in the sky. Blinding all those who looked up. (Y/n) and her family had boarded a cruise. They all felt that they needed some family time and a fine cruise seemed like a perfect vacation; and it was. At least in the beginning. The family had much fun in running around exploring every inch of the ship, the shops had quite interesting products and souvenirs as well, not to mention the almost godly buffet. It was supposed to be a relaxing and fun trip. So why did it all go so, so wrong? There wasn’t supposed to be a storm. There wasn’t supposed to be cheer panic. The ship wasn’t supposed to sink, and her family defiantly wasn’t supposed to sink with it. Why did only she survive? The young woman had watched Titanic but never did she think it would be her reality. The storm had also hit during nighttime, everyone was asleep by then. (Y/n) and her family included. She had been woken up by her mother frantically shaking her. She told her there was a storm and something had gone terribly wrong. 

‘’The cruise is sinking!”

Those were the last words she’d hear her mother say. If she knew it would be the last time they ever saw each other, then she would have said she loved her and couldn’t have wished for a better mom. They all ran up on deck, tried to get on the lifeboats. Because of the violent rocking created by the high waves, the first in the (L/n) family to go was her older brother. The water caused him to slip and then suddenly the waves were there to drag him down into the dark water. When (Y/n) realized her brother had just been taken away, she cried more than she ever had previously in her life. Her beloved brother, who had always been there and supported her through out her childhood. Now he was gone forever. Her parents begged and urged her on, saying she must live and that they couldn’t lose another child. So they continued running towards the lifeboats, crashing into other people in the process. Screams were everywhere, all were terrified. At first (Y/n) thought she and her family were lucky, they managed to board one of the boats. She believed they’d be able to survive despite the harsh circumstances. But she was wrong. It didn’t take long for the rest of her relatives to disappear too. A big wave had hit the boat, and dragged it under water. It was the last thing (Y/n) remembered, she must have lost consciousness after that. 

Waking up on a strange beach scared the shit out of her. By some miracle she’d survived the catastrophe and drifted ashore and island. During then, day had begun and the ferocious storm was nowhere to be seen. Like it’s never happened at all. Devastated at the loss of her family, (Y/n) decided to wander along the beach, hoping to find at least one other person still alive. Not knowing for how long she roamed around without food or water, the woman finally collapsed on the sand out of exhaustion. 

The second time she awoke in an unfamiliar place, the feeling of softness surrounded her. Struggling first to open her eyes, she blinked at the bright light and hissed in pain. There was an underlying headache too. Carefully sitting up, (Y/n) examined her enjoyment suspiciously. It was a small house, quite outdated she would say. She was laying in some sort of bed, but it had no Madras and in its stead was a bunch of cloth piled on each other to make it thicker. The pillow looked like it was also poorly hand made. Still, she was given a few blankets too use as sheets so she wouldn’t be cold. 

‘Who brought me here, and moreover where am I?’ 

Now that she had rested a bit, (Y/n) was able to think more clearly and she wanted to know who found and saved her life. As she speculated over it, loud footsteps could be heard from outside. Scared, she hid under the fabrics and kept quiet. The footsteps were close enough to know its owner was now inside the small home. For a while (Y/n) just laid there under the blankets in silence. But she wasn’t the only one being quiet, for her companion did not make anymore sounds either. She wondered if they were still inside if if they’d left. There was one way to find out, and that was to check for herself. Before lowering the sheets enough to be able to scan the room, she braced herself with a little motivational speech inside her head, then lifted the fabric and screamed in surprise  

“Aaaaaaaah!” 

The scream of pure terror was so strong it surely echoed over the entire island. The source of that fear being the face hovering literal centimeters over her own, looking directly into her eyes. At the loud shriek, the figure above instantly pulled back at a safe distance. Breathing heavily she put a hand over her heart and tried to calm down. When believing herself to be abundantly calm, the castaway forced herself to finally look at the figure who had been continuously staring at her while simmering down. Studying it she realized it was a person, a man to be exact. It was a bit hard to notice at first because all of his hair had grown out to an absurd amount. Hanging down his back like a dark thick, tangle mane, making him appear wild. In contrast to his hair, the eyes were a pair of amber gems. Never had the girl seen that colour on someone before. She had to admit they were rather beautiful.

Tired of her adamant staring the unfamiliar man crawled forward, towards (Y/n). Because she hadn’t a clue to who this man was, she backed simultaneously to his advancing. This did he not appreciate, for the next second he landed atop of her. 

“Ooof!” She cried. Looking up, the strange man’s face was nearing hers. 

‘Is he going to kiss me?’ 

Turning her head away from him, she hurriedly exclaimed. “No, don’t kiss me, I don’t kno-ugh!” What she got was not a kiss. The man had intended to stuff her mouth with something sweet. Taking the thing out of she saw that it was some kind of fruit. 

‘He gave me food?’

She gazed up at him and saw that he was observing her as well. Hesitantly she asked. “Is..is this food, for me?”

The stranger tilted his head, seemingly unable to understand her question. Maybe he couldn’t speak? Or perhaps he could, but it was a different language. Making an eating gesture to signal her inquiries, he nodded approvingly. So it was for her, then. (Y/n) took a bite out of the fruit and was amazed at its delicious juice. The fruit didn’t exist in her country so she wasn’t sure how it would taste but it surprised her how much she liked it. It had a fresh savory taste. Her eagerness could also be a result of wandering aimlessly on the beach for god knows how long. When the woman finished the fruit, the man who’d saved her was already prepared with a new one in hand and immediately gave it to her. It continued like that for a while, (Y/n) chewing on the food and him just sitting there, waiting for her to finish before pushing another towards her face. As she ate, she peered over at her saviour and examined his facial expression. His wore a neutral face showing no anger and no happiness either, which made it impossible to know if it’s a good sign. But with his evident hospitality by feeding her, she assumed he liked her enough to not murder her. 

That was how she met Adir. It wasn’t his real name, it was one she’d chosen to call him since he never disclosed what he went by. She recalled reading a book where a background character name was Adir, meaning ‘strong one’ or ‘courageous’. Build like a mountain with arms as thick as her whole torso, she thought the name suited him well. Adir was nice to let her stay with him, even though he knew nothing about her. Like, what if she was there to kill him? Mind she would’ve failed horribly, but still. When the first week in his hit had passed she came to a conclusion that Adir wasn’t a man of conversation; he roughly uttered around ten words, and all in a language she didn’t know. It was not one she ever heard before, it’s completely foreign. The two of them worked passed the language barrier and found that they got along quite fine. 

The first week he didn’t seem very interested in her, only making sure she didn’t die when she roamed outside. One day she had wanted to explore the jungle for a bit, getting to know your new enviourment had been drilled into her skull by her grandfather from a young age. He was one of those grandpas who loved nature, camping and fishing. During the summer he would sometimes bring her with him, and it’s be just them since no one else in the family were interested. Her dad excused he had work that needed to be done and he was terribly sorry he couldn’t join in on the fun; she assumed he’d been forced on enough adventures in his youth to sustain him a life time. Her grandmother and mom weren’t interested, and preferred to stay at home where they could care for other things. (Y/n)’s brother always lied and claimed the teacher gave them too much homework; if he didn’t get to it he wouldn’t finish. As the youngest and the only one not ‘busy’, (Y/n) got the role to accompany her grandfather on the weekends, and she quite enjoyed it. Despite what the others felt, she liked hanging out with him. Being out in nature and having fun with whatever you found. 

What she found in that jungle was very much not fun. What she had run into was a freaking tiger! The feline must have stalked her while she unknowingly wandered through the bushes and trees. It managed to swipe her stomach with its claws and it would’ve defiantly killed her if it weren’t for Adir. He rushed forward and tackled the beast and attempted to hold it down. Shocked, the young woman witnessed a man wrestle the animal with his bear hands. The tiger succeeded in getting Adir wounded too, but it was like he didn’t notice; or maybe he didn’t care. Feeling blood ooze out from her gash she pressed her hands on it to stop the bleeding. A couple meter from were she lay, Adir was fighting tooth and nail. Ultimately he won by strangling the tiger, discarding the body and throwing it to the side. Adir quickly rushed forward to (Y/n)’s side, helped placed hands on her stomach. Afterward he had carried her back to his hut, and dressed the wound. 

While he cared for her, she noticed he’d become very nice to her. Of course she was grateful for his protection before, but he still felt closed off, as if there was a barrier between them. Now he met her gaze more often, spent time near her and generally interacted frequently with her. It must’ve been the fact she got hurt, he also did; though it appeared it didn’t affect him a lot. Could be because it’d happened previously, when (Y/n) looked passed all that tangled hair she could see an astounding amount of scars littering his arms, legs, and some parts of his face. The consequent of living out there. Adir’s behaviour changed further from there. He started spending near all of his time together with her. She also began seeing certain signs. His touch lingered longer than usual. His consistent staring. Never leaving her alone. It was clear he did not like when you refused him, she knew for sure when remembering certain events. One of them were during the time she first realized his attitude changed and her wound was almost healed.

Having been bed redden took a toll on (Y/n), and not wishing to be stinky and dirty much longer, she decided to find a lake where she could bathe. The only one of them who could navigate through the vegetation was Adir, therefor she resolved in asking him. The man was sitting right outside skinning a rabbit he’d caught. Normally (Y/n) would’ve looked away at the gruesome sight but after living with Adir for a while she had gotten used to it. 

Tapping gently on his shoulder, she said. “Do you know where I can bathe?” while making swimming gestures in hope he’d understand what she meant. He merely gazed up at her with a blank look. 

‘How can he not get it, I thought this sign was universal?’ She couldn’t help but think, when suddenly he stood up, towering over her smaller form. She jolted back from her position in fright. Geez, couldn’t he move a little slower. Another thing she’d noticed relating to the man; he was incredibly fast. Even though he was big and brawny, he apparently has speed on his side, too. 

Adir beckoned her to follow him and she did, together they stalked through the vast vegetation until they reached a small lake. Multiple kinds of flowers grew around and in the water; in all sorts of colours and variations. Collectively they created a magnificent view. Dipping her toes carefully into the water, checking the temperature and after approving; continuing wading deeper. Despite the water being significantly warmer than it would’ve been in her home country, it was still a bit chilly but she recognized she’d have to get used to it, whether she wants to or not. A rustle sounded behind her and she promptly turned around, only to see Adir sitting calmly on a rock a couple meters from the lake watching her intently. What was this? She thought he left after directing her to the right destination, he didn’t have any other reason to be there. Also, she very much didn’t enjoy the way he started at her. While she wasn’t completely naked yet and still in her shirt and shorts, she wasn’t sure if it’d have stayed that way for much longer. 

“Um, are you gonna stay there?” She asked even though she knew he wouldn’t answer. Adir said nothing as usual and kept looking at her. “Can you not look, please.” Keeping her voice light she hoped he would get it and not offended by it. Getting up from the water (Y/n) approached the big man and pulled gently on his arm, trying to signal for him to leave her alone. As expected, the giant didn’t move an inch. “Come on, go!” Being pulled and pushed around was something Adir disliked greatly, he started to become irritated at the action. He frowned and grunted while yanking his arm back. 

Staying was something he needed to do in order to protect the woman he found on the beach, and he didn’t understand why she was resisting him. He saved her before and then she seemed thankful, but now all of a sudden she had decided she wants him gone? That wouldn’t do, not at all. Grabbing one of (Y/n)’s arms, he forced her into to the water and started splashing her. Water got into her mouth when she tried to talk and breathe, so she quit her attempts to halter his actions after a few tries.  

Afterwards he’d dragged her back to the cabin and covered he in blankets, trying to force her to sleep. When she resisted, he pushed her down and held her there until she stopped struggling. The man became worse subsequently and it was obvious what he wanted. For some reason he began thinking of her as a romantic partner and when she rejected him he’d just put her to sleep, like it’d help. It probably did in a way, because when she awoke later she was a lot calmer than previously. He showed his affection by feeding her those delicious fruits, and making her gifts from multiple different things he found. It could be a little wooden figurine he’d carved himself, or giving more types of fruit to try. Though he didn’t say much, he made it clear he liked physical touch. At night or just in any situation, Adir wrapped his arms around her and held her long enough for her legs to fall asleep. During nighttime he slunk down beside her in the bed and cuddled her. 

If (Y/n) tried to escape he’d bring her back with him and preform his ‘sleep tactic’ on her. It was after her eight escape attempt she realised that she’ll never get rid of him. 

————————-

A/n: so this kinda sucked. But it’s because I’m busy and don’t have time or energy to write a proper ending to this :(

Sorry,

[dorotontheglow]

Why Would You Not Want Change?

Think of it this way: Why would you want to suffer? And if you don't want to suffer, why would you dwell on your sadness?

It took me a while to realize that I was going to live and it meant that if I did not change my ways, I was gonna live like this my whole life. If there's no way out, the only way is up. Or do you wanna stay in your rock bottom? Is your lowest point, also, your comfort zone?

Yes, things could have been different. I could have learned two-three languages but unfortunately, I lost that time to mental illness. The thing is that, though, if you do not take action, a few years from now the future you will be looking at you, thinking "damn, I could have studied a language at that time. I would've learned two-three languages by now." You are never late. Get that idea out of your head. The future you is still being built by YOU. You choose who you'll become. Push yourself a little. You don't have to study Spanish for two hours every single day, you don't have to learn it in three, in six months. What you need to do now is to start. Doesn't matter if it's 2 minutes or 2 words a day. Just start.

You are going to live this life. That distant future you're so scared of will become your today one day. It is scary I know. But if you're going to do this, do it right. Prepare yourself. Do something every day that will benefit you in the long run. You might not have defined muscles right now, though you're working out. But do you know who has them? YOU if you keep working out. You might be A1 in Spanish but do you know who speaks it fluently? YOU if you keep studying. The fact that the future you might be doing these means that you are also capable of making it happen for her. Yeah, she knows how to speak Spanish but it's you that made it happen. You are capable as you are now. Your potential, your best-self, higher self is not some mystical creature detached from your current self. Without your current self, she would never exist. Believe in yourself.

Also, we are doing this right? We are living this life, we'll continue doing so. So why would you want to stop at this state? Since we're doing this, why not make it a pleasant life for you to live in? Why not become a little healthier, a bit smarter, happier? There's no logical explanation as to why you wouldn't want these for yourself.

Sadness, anxiety, depression sucks. Sometimes the best you can do is to survive and that is valid. But there's a point where it just becomes comfortable. Make yourself a little uncomfortable and step towards your best self.

[onlyplatonicirl]

i have so many error hcs because he is the silliest billiest guy to ever exist

this is more so just a hc i have about like every glitched skeledude and that is they function a lot similar to like computers/robots if you get what i mean? like they are very strict about their logic and any deviation can cause them to break down, i.e. crash and reboot

since they can peer into the code they can also use it to their advantage, whip out a command terminal and ask it all the questions youve ever wanted too such as why is my ex wifeboy such an annoying bitch?

error is a glitch he lives outside the code, code is often translated in binary, if he lives outside that he is then nonbinary, although i like to think he throws the idea of gender completely out the window, agender error real and true

he can speak both english, spanish and french, spanish because he felt he needed to watch his novellas in the og language (subs not dubs) to properly understand them, and french because he was paranoid ink was insulting him to his fave whenever he spoke in french in front of him

my guy has no senses, his eyesight, more like eyeshite, taste? nope, bro eats tin cans for breakfast, hearing? also poor, try having a million people screaming in your head day in day out, common sense? certainly not

he does however have a heightened tactile sense, all errors/glitches do, in a meta sense i suppose you could say his hurtbox is slightly too big because he'll flinch and pull away if you get a bit too close to him

on that note, autism, all skeletons originate from sans and that man is autistic

he will burn anything containing he doesnt like so if you wanna get him some nice clothes for his birthday, which he does not at all recall the day it was (he choose 4/04 because it was funny), you better make sure it isnt crush velvet or sherpa

he gets very easily overstumulated because hes spent years in the antivoid which is a blank white void that is always silent and nothing ever changes, i swear to god cq this man is so autistic was this intentional??

needs glasses, refuses to wear them

cant really feel temperature differences, he'll rock his stylish socks and sandals in -10°C (im sorry im british)

a lot of his old memories from his life before he became a glitch are gone, or are incredibly fuzzy, it also doesnt help that he's lived for so long since that there are plenty of more memories he can pull from, so for error a lot of things are new to him, the first time ink showed him a bath bro was flabbergasted, stayed in there for 6 hours didnt even care the water was cold

he had a cat but yknow the anitvoid is uhhh a big open, endlessly infinite void of white nothingness so he kinda lost it, he cried for 7 weeks straight and still does everytime hes reminded

error starts with negative friendship points with everyone, doesnt matter if youve done nothing untoward him, he hates your guts

as much as he hates to admit it, hes picked up a lot of inks traits, and he tries desperately to do the opposite of everything ink does because god no he cant be like him hes annoying and weird and silly and kinda funny and cute?

i like error 😐👍

ALL OF THESE ARE SO REAL AND TRUE AND A LOT OF THESE ALIGN WITH MY OWN HEADCANONS!!!!

BUT THE CAT ONE...... OUGH...... AUGH........... THATS SO SAD................ waAAAAAAAAAA

[spidermilkshake]

Requisition

More RE fanfics--more mutants, more corporate shenanigans. There is fluff! Also, deep sadness.

Rating: Teen (TW for suggestive language, human experimentation, dehumanization, medical/lab settings and stuff, plus also human adults cuss like human adults, some obvious child neglect and endangerment, alcohol abuse, implied animal abuse)

Mr. X and Mariposa's rapport becomes stronger--but nice things don't last, and when you are a bio-engineered sentient creature but you count only as property of a cutthroat, eugenicist corporation, you come to know that all too well. This one takes place right before RE2/RE3, by only a day or less.

 6: Requisition

           For a time the pattern continued, and Mr. X did abide about as well as he could. The new wrinkle in the routine of weekend visitations by Mariposa had become a welcome change, and the girl slowly but surely became somewhat used to having an immense, inhuman, and mostly silent shadow. The Tyrant also grew accustomed to the tiny human and her curiously vulnerable status, drawn towards placing itself as a shield between here and even the most minor misfortunes in a way that it could not quite categorize. It was not the placid, logical, natural inclination of loyalty it regarded Dr. Ramirez with (though it did also regard the man, warts and all, with a sort of respectful fondness given that he had been the first to speak to T-00, and of T-00, with the correct regard for its awareness and intellect.) The child brought out… something else, partly an instinct, partly a thought that it could not collect the words for but did feel some control of—and a willingness to continue to feel this… something. It often wondered during the off-time late at night if this perhaps was a feeling that had to do with friendship, and from that it considered that it had not had a friendship before. Docile acceptance of its former neighbors in the holding chamber, yes. Acquainted with the names, faces, and general habits of it first set of handlers, trainers, and keepers—sure. Obedient to its master and willing to work for him until it became impossible, of course. But the other Tyrants, the most reliable trainer, and even Dr. Ramirez were not what Mr. X would call “friends”. The doctor and the trainers were sources of orders and tasks and purpose—they stood well on the rung of authority over any Tyrant’s head, and however kind some of them were at time this felt always incorrect… too distant for the type of bond that it felt must be required. As for the others of its kind… acknowledgement of their sameness, ease of understanding each other’s cues and moods, none of that changed that T-00 had spent precious little time freely around them. Calling something that razor-thin a “friendship” felt presumptuous, and premature.

            But the small girl… she and her Tyrant chaperone were different. Yes. Mariposa and Mr. X perhaps were now friends.

            Through the boiling heat of August, the doctor paid less and less attention to his visiting daughter, and became far more willing to allow T-00 alone to watch over her, as he opted to focus manically on the take-home aspects on his work. As the incidence of stressful, heated phone calls increased, so too did the outings farther and farther from the small back garden plot and its shady patio. Mariposa was adventurous, and while she was hesitant at first she quickly concluded that getting some distance from her father’s distracted cussing was worth whatever danger might be out in the wooded hills and wider pastures of the property. And she also reasoned that there was no danger out there that her monstrous follower could not render utterly harmless with a slim fraction of his strength and lightning-like reflexes.

            Sitting in the shade by the fence line where Mariposa could watch the cows grazing, Mr. X eyed the structure being twisted together and formed in her hand with an expression of contented interest. The long, dried strands of yellow grass here were tough and fibrous, as were the other mixed species of flora poking up through the gaps in the dominant plants. She had asked him to tear some pieces of these loose—those she could not break off herself without scraping and pricking her frail fingers—and pass them to her a few at a time. She was making something. Out of the irregular bits of plant matter, a regular pattern was emerging in a long, unified band. She asked for another of the flowering species. “Daisies”, she called them, by which point he knew she meant the white colored ones that had yellow centers and many small petals arranged in a single-layered radial pattern…

            “Almost done,” she smiled, holding the long, woven piece up and stretched to its full length, squinting appraisingly at it for unknown reasons. “Just one more piece of grass, please!”

            Between two giant fingers, the bioweapon fulfilled the request, and then leaned down a few more inches to watch her looping and twining the grass around both ends of the creation. In a matter of moments they were joined into a continuous band, which she displayed proudly over her outstretched palms.

            “What do you think?”

            Mr. X bobbed his head, though twitched up a wrinkled brow to try and express its confusion. It was unclear what the circle of combined plant matter was for; perhaps it did not have a purpose, and was merely decorative. It did have a pleasant balance of colors and details from the placement of different flowers…

            “Can you duck your head down, Mr. X?” Yes. It could. And it did, holding still as it felt its hat shift somewhat—and the pressure of two small hands pushing on it, and tugging the trilby back into its standard position. Mariposa giggled, “Okay, you can sit back up now.”

            The Tyrant gradually straightened up, noting the absence of Mariposa’s creation with a questioning rumble. Giggling harder, she pointed up to the top of his head, and upon probing with a few fingers he found the delicate flowers encircling the brim of his hat.

            “I wanted to see how it looks on you,” she stifled further laughter, wriggling in place from the effort of containing her mirth, “It looks kinda silly though.”

            Mr. X half-closed his eyes and uttered a low grunt; it did not care particularly if it looked “silly”, excepting that silly always made the child much happier. Mariposa allowed the nearly eight-foot bioweapon to wear the flower crown a while longer, only scooping it off right before returning in sight of the house—unsure how her father in a sour mood might react to seeing his personal Tyrant bodyguard so peaceably “emasculated”.

------

            September changed—though the visits remained. The nature of them grew stranger. Mariposa relied on her backpack more, fussing over the heavy texts and notebooks contained within. Their explorations were fewer (but thankfully much cooler as summer’s heat started to die), and more and more of the child’s time was spent indoors. She very often could be found only in her room which Mr. X found her could just barely squeeze himself into and sit cross-legged in the last remaining open floor space, relegating Mariposa to the bed with her plush toys and her mysterious written materials. If Dr. Ramirez’s slurred shouting over the phone was too loud, she would retreat to the kitchen island, the mutant in her wake.

            Thankfully, that Sunday night the doctor had retreated into his bunker lab for a few more hours, and his daughter had the benefit of a quiet room to spread out her papers and concentrate. Once more, the Tyrant leaned closer to the top of the bed from where he sat, eying and uttering a skeptical grunt over the open textbook and single-subject notebook. Mariposa fidgeted with her pencil and sighed.

            “I know it don’t make sense, but if I don’t do it I’ll get in trouble. It’s homework.”

            “Rrrgh.” Mr. X uttered a groan. Dr. Ramirez had not followed up on his hopes to teach the Tyrant how to speak, but in the meantime it had become practiced in use of tones, pitches, and even exercising its tough, calloused vocal cords enough to try out a number of clumsy, bestial phonemes on its own. It could form an “M”, or an “R”, an “H”, and even “S” and “Ch”—and could distinguish how to make them and choose when to do so. The breathy, plain growls were not gone—but the creature was now far closer to language than most T-103s ever came. The girl shot him a sad but understanding look, catching the low snarl’s meaning from her own long practice.

            “It’s math homework too. I hate math homework…”

            Mr. X glanced at the upside-down numbers and symbols on the pages, one milky-white eye squinting as he struggled to make them out. There was that word again: Homework. Work… Mariposa seemed very young and underdeveloped to be expected to do any sort of work, in the Tyrant’s silent opinion. It would be like barking orders to a being like himself while it was still a half-formed fetal blob in the growth tube. But it did understand very well the concept of grudgingly following a trainer’s commands through a testing range, and so likened it more to that. Mentally at least, she was very much not half-formed.

            Frustrated by the long page of simple math, the ten-year-old finally flopped back and grabbed onto one of her larger plushes—a bizarrely-proportioned and colored horse-like creature. Settling more comfortably, she turned the text and notebook around so that T-00 could properly read the contents.

            “Ugh, it’s giving me a headache… Do you wanna try one?”

            Mr. X peered back up at her, eyes widening with brows raised in alarm. She wanted it to… what now? Her index finger poked out and landed on a short line of words, the only form of instructions that stood out on the page above a few columns of numbered equations, “There, that’s what you’re supposed to do for this row. They’re not hard, but my teacher Ms. Ingels makes me ‘show my work’. I dunno how to ‘show my work’ of just… knowing seven times seven, ugh.”

            “Hmmmmmgh…” Mr. X was not sure what to make of any of it: The teacher’s bizarre expectation, the wording that Mariposa was using for the task, and the threadbare instructions on the page. Times? What times? How does one “times” something—especially an abstract number? The instructions were only more puzzling: “Solve problems No. 13 through No. 21 with multiplication.” “Solve problems” it knew, and it could see the numbered chunks of numbers and symbols, but numbers on a paper and various “X”s and lines did not seem like a problem to solve to the Tyrant. They just were.

            But they made Mariposa unhappy. They were a problem, a very different kind of problem than the monster was used to.

            It picked up the pencil with some awkwardness, its fingers far too large and thick for the thin spike of wood and graphite. Holding the item up stiffly, T-00’s brows screwed up tightly as it studied the little girl’s work so far for clues to what the strange orders meant. She had finished two earlier sections, and had made it to copying the numbers and symbols beside No. 16 before giving it up to the Tyrant’s attempts. It glanced back to No. 15: It had said “11x3”, and the girl had arranged the numbers vertically instead before filling in below the number “33”.

            Wait a moment—

            Multiply. Three groups of eleven. Thirty-three. Now it made sense! Why the book did not just ask, flatly and sensibly, to write what the numbers multiplied together were Mr. X didn’t know. Somehow the compiler of this textbook had less of a grasp of how to communicate than the completely non-verbal non-human.

            “Mrph,” It looked back to No. 16: It read “8x8”. It was childishly simple—not too much to expect for the most mathematically-challenged ten-year-old—but Mr. X still wasn’t sure what Mariposa’s teacher could mean by “showing her work” aside from recording the answer. Now, for the difficult part; the Tyrant moved the tip of the pencil down to the targeted spot at an achingly slow pace, trying its best to not press or move the flimsy implement too hard. It had seen humans write before, and it had seemingly awoken with an innate knowledge of all the shapes signifying the sounds and meanings for English and Spanish at the very least… but it had never attempted to write anything before. A jitter shot through its chest, and it could sense the pores on its forehead beading up with a nervous sweat.

            —very slowly, with the pencil clenched in almost a whole fist, the Tyrant scratched out the number 64 in much rougher, fatter lines than Mariposa could manage. She opened her eyes wide, and exclaimed:

            “Oh! You never told me you could do math!”

            Mr. X’s mouth twitched into the closest semblance of a proud smile as its tough, warped face could manage. It had never seemed necessary to prove its own intelligence. Mariposa had never needed the proof, and had never insinuated he was stupid. Unlike most other specimens of humanity it had met…

            “And you can write!”

            That much the Tyrant hadn’t even known, but the confirmation relaxed the twinges of tension in its neck. It rumbled softly and focused on the next problem. The girl did try to pull the homework away, but with a planted palm and a shake of his head, T-00 assured her that he was willing to finish the task at hand—with an increasing confidence in its ability to not destroy her belongings it filled in the solutions in a matter of moments. Barely containing her excitement, Mariposa swept aside the dull school drudgery and dug out a different notebook in its place.

            “What else can you write? Maybe you can talk to me by writing back!” She had also dug out a different writing implement—a pen, more importantly one with a thicker, chunkier handle—and gave it to the Tyrant. Mr. X tilted its head; it… had not thought of that possibility before. Of course, it had not thought to try and mimic how humans wrote either, and had considered its progressively greater mastery of its voice to let it communicate just fine.

            But the idea seemed to thrill his friend, and he was now curious to give it a try. It hunched its heavy shoulders over the fresh lined sheet and held up the pen:

            I write words.

            Name Mr. X.

            Mariposa. Friend.

            I do good?

            “Yes!” She giggled, “Yes, it’s good! My old 4th grade grammar teacher wouldn’t like it, but he’s a baboso, so he doesn’t count.”

            The Tyrant produced a deep grumble that was practically a purr, and glanced to her meaningfully as he scrawled out another line:

            We talk like this?

            “Yeah,” Mariposa grinned and hugged her rainbow-hued fabric equine tighter. Her tone was excited, in a way that suggested she and the bioweapon were getting away with something. Nervous, and playful. “I wanna know more about you. Papá doesn’t tell me nothing, of course—but you can tell me what you remember.”

            It took several of these nighttime weekend sessions for Mr. X to adequately describe not only what it was, but how it had lived in the spring month prior to coming to her father’s secluded estate. Many times he had to stop, as Mariposa became distressed almost to tears—but rather than becoming afraid of what she was reading she surprised the giant living weapon by insisting upon crawling up into his grasp and clinging onto his Limiter’s lapels, speaking in a cracking, tiny voice how sorry she was.

            She was unable to read his broken messages when tucked up against him like this, so the Tyrant tried its best to let her know the worst of its cold, coarse introduction to life was over, and it was all better now with a deep rumble and a palm resting carefully on her back and shoulders. After the roughest parts were over, it could much more happily recall to her their first meeting from its own eyes.

            First day. I scared you. You scared me.

            Small. Small, but scary.

            … embarrassed.

            She collapsed into giggles at the revelation, unfathomably tickled by the reminder of that day’s terror and the hindsight that came with now trusting “el monstruo” implicitly with her own safety. She read the last little message she had missed earlier and grinned, laughed, all over again. That one word was in the most miniscule letters she’d ever seen the creature manage—their very hidden nature adding further to their meaning.

            You gave ice cream. First ice cream.

            Friend then.

            GOOD friend.

------

            It was a Saturday, with September almost yellowed into nothing like the dry carpet of pasture grass. Mariposa was sleepily sprawled out on the carpet in front of the television with Benji, and old episode of some sort of Western drama playing out before the unimpressed dog and girl. Dr. Ramirez was working on breakfa—er, lunch, nearby in the kitchen—a towel from the freezer wrapped around his neck and the lights over the range in as low a setting as they went as the second grilled cheese sizzled away. A small saucepan sat on another burner—slowly heating up a can of condensed tomato soup. Mr. X leaned against the kitchen’s corner—an eagle’s eye on both of those he had to protect—gnawing contentedly at the reward which Dr. Ramirez had given him for its very punctual reminder that his daughter needed someone awake and sober enough to receive her at 11 a.m. It was something which he’d seen the man given to his daughter before: A “jawbreaker”. The name did not seem all that appropriate—as its jaw seemed to be easily breaking off pieces of it instead. But it crunched pleasantly, and was packed with sugars, so T-00 counted its blessings, ignored the illogical naming, and enjoyed the treat.

            There was a loud series of rapid knocks on the front door. Ramirez almost dropped the grilled cheese he was mid-flip, and he choked audibly before whirling around to the entry hall. Mariposa scuttled up to a seated posture, hidden partly by the couch.

            “Mr. X—see who it is,” the man ordered, and it was clear by his disheveled and tense response that no one was expected. The bioweapon set down the unfinished half of its treat and strode heavily, assertively, to the door, its brows twitching down in irritation. Its hearts thudded in readiness to destroy whatever threat was invading this house:

            —When it opened the door, the Tyrant was faced with a relatively tall man in a dark suit, and darker shades. He faced the huge being with absolutely no shift in his pale, wrinkled face. His black hair was streaked with grey, and T-00 could not miss the hump of fabric on the front of his suit jacket that announced to its sensitive eyes the concealed handgun. The bioweapon reflexively broadened its stance, blocking more of the doorway with its body and leveled a sour glare down into the slick shades covering the intruder’s expression.

            “Stand down, T-00,” the man ordered, and the Tyrant’s hackles pricked up as he silently refused. This was some Umbrella Company personnel, but he’d offered no proof of that beyond knowing its designation, nor any proof whatsoever that he outranked Dr. Ramirez.

            Mr. X instead moved like a striking snake—a fist bunching around the bundle of fabric he’d grabbed by the man’s throat and collarbones—and lifted the pathetic man half a meter off the ground. Before the man could finish yelping in fright the Tyrant’s other hand flicked out and ripped the small pistol out of the harness hidden under the suit jacket.

            “Who is it, Mr. X?” He paused at the voice close behind him, and answered by shifting its broad shoulders more sideways and smoothly displaying the confiscated weapon as the captive intruder’s struggles became visible, “A-Ah! Easy, T-00! Let him down—carefully!”

            Grunting with bemusement, Mr. X obeyed to the letter and gently let the man down onto his feet again. He waited until the stranger seemed to be stable and balanced before loosening its grip on his collar. Gasping, the suited man recoiled for a second as he caught his breath, then adjusted his shades.

            “Very good.” He croaked, “Not to worry, Dr. Ramirez. I didn’t present I.D. or offer any other proof to your Tyrant here. It did very well,” He let out a breath of relief, “and I didn’t even get whiplash, like the last time. A gentleman, this one.”

            “Ah, er, well,” Ramirez blustered. “I’m sure he thanks you.”

            “I apologize for the rude interruption,” the man said, fishing out a company Identification Card as he continued, “My name is Mr. Winters. Operations Director Winters. I’ve come on behalf of Umbrella’s executives of the U.S. branch to discuss something, ah, very important.”

            Dr. Ramirez was already half-sobered-up from the shock, and as he made a show of handing the agent his firearm back he snuck a glimpse past him to the gravel turnaround, and his eyes widened. The Tyrant could see clear over their heads and the rock half-wall of the front garden, and noticed the large, boxy, white commercial moving truck parked next to the unmarked black Crown Vic. As well as the two armed guards by the former, and a Tyrant handler in their uniform gray jumpsuit and heavy boots.

            “Uh. What’s with the truck?”

            “That’s for later. Come, shall we talk somewhere more private?”

            Ramirez curiously took to the polite suggestion as if it were a harsh command. Mr. X allowed them to pass through, but shut the door meaningfully hard in the nosier of the two approaching guard’s face.

            “Mariposa, go play in your room.”

            “Papá?”

            “Go on now. I need to talk to this gentleman here—so go upstairs.”

            The Tyrant watched her climb the stairwell, then as he shifted one foot to follow the doctor stopped him with a harsh command:

            “No, you stay here.” Ramirez then pulled out a chair by the kitchen island for Mr. Winters to make himself comfortable, “I apologize—I send it to guard her when I can’t keep an eye on her. Learned response, y’see.”

            “I see. Rather quick adjustment for a T-103.”

            “Oh yes. This one learns very quick.”

            The agent and Ramirez were soon facing each other across the kitchen island, a glass of iced lemonade out for the guest. Mr. Winters hardly looked at anything, even as he commented on it—and this included the nearby Tyrant.

            “Dr. Ramirez, I’m sure you’ve heard the news by now. Internally, or otherwise,” the man quirked a dark, dry brow at him.

            “Yes…” Ramirez’s face was quite troubled. His forehead was coated in bullets of sweat—and not the heady, steady hangover-sweat he often wore after a night of drunken phone-line shouting matches. “I always had a bad feeling about Birkin… Can’t help but feel the bastard did something to start this off.”

            “Well, regardless of his past transgressions, we won’t have to worry about that man anymore.” Mr. Winters daintily sipped at the lemonade, “Unfortunately, it does seem he managed to release some form of the t-Virus either right before, or as he was terminated. He was not the only source of the situation in Raccoon City, though.” The man leaned closer to the doctor, face completely flat and unreadable despite the grim facts he dispensed, “You know very well, even as far back as July, that the incident with the Ecliptic Express and the Arklay Labs had caused some level of environmental contamination in that area. Ms. Teifer herself consulted you at the time, and thanks to you both exactly 37 infected wildlife and four infected humans were discovered and terminated. I’m afraid that by the time Teifer had any words with you that the waters of Victory Lake were exposed, to some degree, to vector of the Beta strain.”

            “Oh. God.”

            “Yes indeed.”

            “So… the so-called ‘football riot’, and the so called ‘new serial killer spree’..?”

            “An escalation of infection. It’s worse than that by now,” Mr. Winters said flatly. “Which is why I’m here. The board is in damage-control mode, and they have requested certain resources to deal with it.”

            “I-I—”

            “It’s not a request, of course, but I would prefer to make this even an amicable one.”

            “Of course,” Ramirez breathed, defeat and resentment beginning to spring up in his eyes.

            “Dr. Ramirez,” Mr. Winters removed his shades, revealing the pale brown eyes and their softened shape as he stared hard at the dark, worried ones of his subordinate, “Corporate is requisitioning Tyrant T-00 for their own purposes. I’m sorry, but we do in fact need this Tyrant more than you do at this time.”

            “Sir,” Ramirez’s tone grew more incredulous, “Umbrella has… has well over forty unsold and unpromised Tyrants in retention all across its facilities, and you need my prototype?”

            “Yes.” Mr. Winters said, deadpan. “Especially since the first five Phase 4 T-103s were completed in May, and have only recently entered their first training cycle.”

            “What?”

            “Goldman had your specs, and process notes—and all the techs knew what to do. At the very worst, they could be a study group sent to R&D.”

            “I was on vacation.”

            “Sure you were.” The agent stared, “Some people relax at home with… family.” The word seemed to be sneered. “Others arrange a stay by the beach, or in a fine multicultural European city, or on a national parks tour. Some even go swimming with sharks, or they for some reason think they can crawl up Everest. Very few opt to stay actively in their home office, and keep grinding out hours picking apart microbes in a secret laboratory bunker.”

            “So. Why wasn’t I informed regardless?”

            “Obviously… I was not privy to that decision. Not to speak ill of my employer, but such things occur regularly with the board’s decisions.” Winters seemed to smirk, “You love your daughter, yes?”

            “Oh, fuck you, you—”

            “Not so fast. Think for a minute. How many daughters are there, right now, in all the 100,000 citizens of Raccoon City?”

            Ramirez gulped.

            “What does that have to—”

            “This is a disaster, Julian.” The agent’s tone raised. “And you live far from it. For now. All emergency plans of Umbrella’s directors are on a ‘for now’ basis. But that always means that ‘for now’ will mean ‘now’, if nothing is done. 100,000 people is a lot. Even if it doesn’t mean Zombies crawling up into your cushy California home, anywhere close to 10,000 infected without some containment will still mean negative consequences… and believe me, you’d wish this was the Apocalypse if the U.S. government got wind you were involved with that damn virus.”

            “Okay… Okay…” Ramirez appeared to compose himself, licking at salty lips and mustache stubble, “I… I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand.” He sucked in a breath, “My daughter’s going to miss the big lug, you know…”

            “And she can say so, once this mess is over,” Mr. Winters made a face that may have been intended as a smile, but was so so desert-dry. “Its own considerable intellect is what we need. Adaptable. We need T-00 in Raccoon because what’s going on there is changing in scope and severity every day. Infected aren’t even the worst of it, and we need every advantage on the ground we can get.” His jaw went tight, “Umbrella already tried the ‘human touch’, and that first squad are all skeletons by now. If they’re lucky.”

            “A—ack—okay now, I get it,” the doctor winced. He lowered his head a moment into his wrapped arms, and then raised back up with a dazed, sad expression. “I assume you will… collect T-00 within the day?”

            “As soon as possible,” Winters said, though the age lines around his mouth and nose slackened, “I’m willing to give you a brief preparation time, however.” He leaned closer, “Don’t take advantage of it. If the sun sets and that Tyrant isn’t in the truck, things will be poorly for you daughter’s future.”

            Mr. X finally felt his spine unstiffen at the… the… perplexing and terrifying information it had overheard. It finally had processed what this had meant; its gorge rose, and eyes began to water though nothing seemed to have gotten into them to cause the irritation. It was going to leave this place. Leave his friend.

            “Mr. X,” Ramirez’s voice cut into its thoughts, and it fixed its blurry gaze onto its master, “go see if Mari’s alright. Be ready for further orders!”

            The Tyrant’s fearsome, beady pupils tightened with urgent focus, and then it slowly turned to face the stairs and took them at a soft, light-footed march. Once upstairs, it crept fast and suppressed its weight as much as it could and made its way straight to Mariposa’s room. His friend.

            Only friend.

            She was almost spooked at the unusual speed which he had opened her door with, but brightened as she saw the Tyrant squeezing its way in and settling in his usual seated pose by the foot of the bed.

            “Mr. X!” She ducked over the footboard and squeezed the creature’s hefty neck in a hug, “I was scared something bad was happening… You okay?”

            The Tyrant could not muscle out any affirmative noises or motions, though it desired to. It would preserve the joyful relieved mood that his friend had adopted in this moment. Instead, it cinched its brows together and let out a low, toneless groan, reaching out a hand to tell her to provide the thick-handled pen and a source of paper.

            “What’s goin’ on?” She squeaked, “Who is that guy?”

            Mr. X slowly began to scratch out:

            He is Agent. Papá’s superior.

            “What’s he here about?”

            He twitched, the likes of which he would normally reserve for unexpected physicals and harsh training checks, and tentatively started writing again.

            He will take me away.

            I am sorry.

            “But why?” Mariposa whimpered, “You didn’t do anything wrong!”

            No. It wrote, and then: There is city with danger. Infection. Threats. Extreme danger.

            “What… What kind of danger?”

            Released virus. Dangerous infected people. Many people. It tried to explain, in as soft of words it knew without leaving anything important out, then added: They want me. Need help to stop it. Stop it going outside city.

            Mariposa’s eyes became glittering wells, wincing with the pain of what it meant. Their guardian would rip a seam in their brief bond. She was technically twenty times his actual age, but her maturity took the blow much like you would expect for a child.

            “No,” she wept, diving off the footboard fully, knowing the giant form would catch and cushion her against any harm, “Why you? Why now? I thought they put you here! I thought dad was in charge!”

            Mr. X cupped the sobbing form below the shoulder-blades with one hand, the other finding one of her own minuscule hands and enclosing it softly. He let out a very low, very bassy rumble. The vibration seemed to always comfort her, and maybe now it would settle her enough and give them more time. There was never going to be enough time.

            She tucked herself closer, letting tears drop onto the leather and steel of his Limiter’s neck buckles. “I don’t want you to go,” she hiccuped, “You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met, since…” she cut off, and cried hard into the creature’s shoulder. The Tyrant groaned, lightly tightening its grip around her fingers. She wept, “I don’t want you to go.”

            For a long while, the Tyrant held her as she sobbed and vented the fear, and the vulnerability. The beast relaxed and let her be, calm so long as his friend was safely close by and content to let her cut loose the emotions into his own heavily-padded armor. At some point, her grip tired, and with one arm supporting her back, his other arm scooped up the notebook and the thick-handled pen. He balanced the former upon a raised leg, and she hiccuped again as she turned to see what he was writing:

            I do not want to go.

            Her eyes beaded with new tears.

            I will be forced to.

            He groaned, low—plaintive. There wasn’t any other tone or attempt at any consonant that would properly capture how sorrowful the Tyrant was to admit it. Its hand holding the pen moved, flicked, and scratched again:

            Friend. I will miss you.

            I will try to come back.

            Mariposa managed a weak, watery smile, hopeful that this at least was something temporary. Her only very reliable, unjudging companion would return—after the distant, abstract disaster beyond her young mind’s conception. He’d return, right? Nothing would happen… right? The Tyrant was indestructible… right? Right?

            The Tyrant tightened its grip around the child’s back and gave another low, placid-natured grumble. Things were bad. But things could be okay, for the moment.

            “I’ll miss you too, Mr. X…” she said, muffled into the monster’s thick clothing, “Please come back as soon as you can, please…”

            At this point, a heavy, stoic knock sounded through the wood of the child’s bedroom door. Still cradling the girl, Mr. X had stood up by combative instinct, and had to pause himself to set Mariposa safely down on the bed, and then return the notebook and pen to her.

            “But—”

            T-00 grabbed the pen again, and in larger letters wrote:

            STAY. BE SAFE.

            —And then set the pen down. The door hammered again even harder, interrupted by the massive Tyrant opening it in the face of a body-armored and heavily-armed man, who staggered back before reaching up to his radio.

            “Confirmed, we have T-00 in sight.”

            T-00 huffed, aggravated and impatient. Of course he had the thing in sight: It was four feet wide at the shoulders and the guard had been told where it was. Stupid…

            When it ducked under the doorway and stood up into the upstairs hall the encounter could have gone very poorly if not for the booming yet high voice of the handler accompanying the retrieval:

            “Stand down! You fucks, it’s docile. It’s complying. Dumbasses…” T-00 stood still as the handler darted the rest of the way up the stairs and set a palm on its chest. Handlers often did this, whether the Tyrant in question was at risk of damage or not. Usually because even the most fierce, tantrum-ing bioweapon wouldn’t try to hurt a trainer or keeper who had treated it well, or given it any particularly good rewards. But for the most part it was purely a tactic of handlers to stop more idiotic bullet spray from jittery UBCS newbies—unnecessary and ineffective to a great degree. Mr. X would not have tolerated a single stray bullet where Mariposa was concerned. It rumbled—angrily—but fixed the handler with a sharp, eager expression which possibly shocked him. The man hopped back as the Tyrant descended the stairs almost casually, and he called out ahead of the bioweapon his warning that the creature was docile. It ducked its head under the front doorway, the drop of eye contact hopefully communicating it was not going to be resistant to the process.

            “They call you ‘Mr. X’, eh?”

            It froze, lowered head training in the direction of the voice. It would recognize that dry drawl anywhere now as that of Mr. Winters, and followed up with a low growl. It raised its gaze and found the shades a few meters away, and froze again.

            “You’re magnificent,” the agent said as he stepped up well within a range the present handler was wordlessly panicking over, “And you know what’s going on, eh. Well, you know by now that you must go in that truck. Not to worry. We won’t hurt the doctor or his girl if you cooperate.”

            With a low nod, the Tyrant growled a low affirmation, and the man raised two fingers up and towards the waiting truck’s open rear door. Mr. X growled once more in a higher tone of warning as one of the guards it passed by prodded it in the back with the barrel of his rifle, unneeded. It cast a long look around, catching the glare-addled shadow of Mariposa’s face peering through the upstairs hall’s window before he was prodded again and stepped up the ramp into the darkness.

[deathbydarkelves]

In your AU you talk about calling Common "Human" instead. Why is that? Also, wouldn't something like Stormwindian or Elwynnian make the most sense considering how other languages like Night Elf are Darnassian?

(Disclaimer: I am not a linguist.)

Short answer: I don’t find the semi-colonial implications of a “common language”/lingua franca in any fantasy setting very fun to think about (at least when they're literally not explored at all). I also feel it cheapens interactions between characters from wildly different places. I understand why a “Common” must exist in video games and RPGs. Your players need to be able to communicate. But in the context of writing and even specific RP scenarios, I think excluding a true lingua franca allows for more creativity in inter-character interactions as they try to navigate that. It also gives more weight to multilingual characters being multilingual.

Long answer:

I simply don’t like the idea of a global lingua franca in fantasy and… in general honestly lol. Again, I understand WHY they need to exist in video games and RPGs like D&D, but I find it much more interesting and realistic to exclude them. And again, this is certainly something more suited for writing than MMOs.

The EXISTENCE of a lingua franca on a global scale — by my non-linguist understanding — relies on some sort of colonial history and/or a global, instant communication system. Azeroth doesn’t have an internet, and I just… don’t like colonialism. Crazy take, I know.

My narratives recognize the Alliance as imperialists unlike Blizzard’s, so it’s not like I took that out of the picture. They are absolutely colonialists lol and that is absolutely something that must be dealt with in my AU. I just didn’t want their influence to be that far-reaching, because honestly, I find that sad and unfun to think about. I do use WoW and this AU for escapism, among other things, so some decisions are motivated in part by that.

SO, I made Common a non-universal language and renamed it to Human to subtly imply that. I went with “Human” because many other languages in similar fantasy settings are named after the races that natively speak them and not the country (see: Dwarvish, Orcish*). It fit in a lot better to just go with that. Worth mentioning though! It does have regional dialects, some of which are so different they could really be considered separate languages. But they all originated from a group of humans, so they’re put under that umbrella. I suppose it’s more like a family of languages in that case then, like I made Zandali…

((*on that note, Orcish also isn’t universally spoken within the Horde.))

So yes, there would be a Stormwindian/Elwynnian dialect and an Alteraci dialect, etc. The Stormwindian dialect is probably most common because of the existence of the Alliance and of Stormwind’s place as a major trade city. Many dwarves in Ironforge speak that dialect, but inversely, many Stormwindians also speak Dwarvish (which also has its own dialects. All the languages in my AU have dialects to some extent). Or at the very least they’ll use Dwarvish words and expressions even while speaking Human. Like I’m doing right now with Italian (“lingua franca”).

There are mages who make livings off knowing translation spells (and even those can only translate literally). Travelers and traders are by necessity going to know the trade languages, Stormwindian Human being one of them (if we’re talking about the Alliance). But the average, non-human person very well might not.

I’ll end that whole ramble with a specific example of an OC story that couldn’t have worked if I went with Common as a true lingua franca: Cathala was stranded on Pandaria for about fifty years pre-MoP, and she had to learn Pandaren to get by. Eventually she all but forgot how to speak Darnassian. It’s a major point in her story when she meets Tarinne and Tarinne helps her relearn Darnassian. If I went by the game’s logic, there would’ve been almost no need for Cathala to learn Pandaren, and no need for her to relearn Darnassian. Which just feels so flat to me, and would take away a huge part of the foundation of hers and Tarinne’s relationship. Additionally, Cathala’s character heavily focuses on finding identity, and that whole history with language is a large part of it.

So TL;DR I renamed Common to Human as part of reducing its presence as a global lingua franca, which is key to the stories I want to tell.

[cupiogirl]

Headcanons for some of my favorite fandoms!

Hey! Sorry for being gone for so long, I have IRL priorities to attend to. Meanwhile, here's some headcanons. It won't be too much, but enjoy anyway! :)

Trigun: (Stampede)

They don't speak any languages we speak on earth. Hear me out on this one, okay? Every human there is a descendant of people from earth and a lot of people aboard the spacecrafts were probably of different ethnicities. There's three ways this could go in terms of languages:

Everybody speaks different languages similar to the ones we speak here, Everybody speaks one common earth language since it's one they're all familiar with, or the people on that planet gradually developed one common language unlike any we speak on earth, obviously for the sake of safely understanding one another.

Pokemon

Ingo and Emmet, silly as they are, are both very strong and strategic mentally, especially before Ingo's disappearance.

I know this one seems a little obvious, but let me clarify: Ingo and Emmet are the subway bosses for a reason. They have to be strategic to be able to have challenging pokemon battles with trainers, make sure absolutely everybody is following the rules, and whatever other responsibilities they may have. I've read a lot of fics where these two aren't as intelligent as they really are. It's funny, but not quite what I imagined.

Also, I said before Ingo was brought to Hisui for a reason. I have a headcanon, like a lot of the fandom, that after Ingo disappears, Emmet slowly starts to lose it, but that goes for his job too. He doesn't quit or take a break, no, instead I feel like he tries to overwork himself and multitask to compensate for the fact that Ingo isn't there, but is slowly losing himself while trying to convince himself that everything will be fine and that Ingo's still here, but having to fill in for Ingo both at work and taking care of his brothers team is driving him into depression. He can barely think straight anymore. People he knows like his co-workers or friends often try to get him to take a break but when he does, he just spends his time trying to find his brother.

Ingo obviously doesn't recall his brother at all, but I feel like in Hisui he often overworks himself as well with his warden duties either in hopes that it'll spark a forgotten memory or that it'll drown out the unexplainable sadness he feels when starts to recall Emmet. For that reason, I feel like Lady Sneaseler and his team all worry about his mental health to an extent.

They weren't in Unova when it happened. Also, it might not have been specifically Arceus or Giratina. What if they were on vacation? It would only make sense, but if that's the case then where? Surely you'd think it was in Sinnoh which would be logical, but what if Ingo accidentally got caught up with Celebi in Johto? Or made a vague wish to Jirachi in Hoenn? There's a ton of possibilities.

Bungo Stray Dogs

This one's gonna cause some complaints, I just know it, but now that I think about it, Ranpo might be Aroace. PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD HEAR ME OUT! It's partially because I'm Cupio, sure, and I understand that different people have different types and all, but Ranpo, whether playfully or not, is always complaining about how everybody around him is inferior to him mentally. And for Ranpoe shippers, I don't wanna make you mad but I personally don't ship them, I think Ranpo likes Poe platonically. I know it's typical Ranpo behavior to brush things off and act nonchalant about things he doesn't care about, but he makes it very clear that he was friends with Poe. Friends. I know the real life Ranpo Edogawa was gay, but nothing about BSD Ranpo points to him being any more than good friends with Poe in my opinion. Again, just an opinion.

Hope you likes them! :D

[gutsfics]

pls tell me all about devi before the events of ilitw!! what kind of activities did he do? who were some of his friends? did he still talk to any of the people from his childhood friend group? if so, who? etc. etc. anything else you want to share!!

ok this is gonna kinda jump around a bit bc thats how my thoughts are rn :3 i love this ask though thank u for letting me talk about my special guy

so after Jane's death, he did try his best to hang onto the friend group for a while (especially Noah) but due to not having a very good therapist, his kid logic made him think "thinking about Jane makes me sad, and not thinking about her i can be happy, but i'd rather think about her and be sad forever than evetually move on and forget" so he kinda shut himself off from everyone so he could hold his memory of her forever

his parents tried their best to help him but the therapists they took him too didnt believe him when he told them about Mr Red (or when they did believe him, they only believed him if they were reading lines that weren't there and assuming that Mr Red was a real living guy in the woods and jumping to conclusions about it) so maybe like a month or two after Jane died he just... stopped talking, bc what was the point of speaking if no one was going to listen? and then he stopped talking to anyone ever until half way through his freshman year of highschool when he told Cody to "gargle my cock and balls"

because of Devi being mute for all that time, he didn't really have any friends (which he was fine with for reasons stated earlier) & a lot of people found him kinda weird and offputting for the most part, especially when he got really into expressing himself through art, specifically photography. a lot of "ew that weird quiet kid is taking pictures of things again what a creep" but for the most part he just shrugged it off

Cody used to think he was kinda cool bc he was quiet and goth and in 6th grade asked him to the fall formal but Devi turned him down and that's when he started bullying him. he tried to turn it into a "HAH WELL OBVIOUSLY NO ONE WOULD WANT TO GO OUT WITH YOU YOU CREEP WEIRDO YOURE STUPID TO THINKING I WANTED TO GO WITH YOU" which somehow worked on everyone around them despite the fact Devi turned him down

after he started talking again, he joined the yearbook club & got really good at the composition of pictures of people & formatting them on the pages, but bc he was still a bit of a loner at this point no one else in the club realized just how much he did? especially after the older kids in the club graduated, bc they were the ones encouraging him and teaching him how to do the formatting and stuff. ive actually been rotating a fic in my head where post ilitw Lucas goes to the yearbook club to see how theyre doing bc its almost time to get em printed and its like. not even half done and also theres a memorial page for Cody but not for Devi????

in Sophmore year he took a Japanese class for an easy foreign language credit, which Tom was also in for the same reasons and they became friends :3 not as close as Tom and Andy at this point, but they'd hang out at lunch when Andy was busy and sometimes go to eachother's houses after school. but after that year the teacher for the class made sure to put them in different periods bc they would kinda. make fun of him a little bit in japanese bc he was a white guy who thought he was way better at the language than he actually was and that made him big mad

of the original group, he was probably closest with Lily when he started talking again. and then not as close w Ava and Andy but he talked w them fairly often. Lucas, Stacy, and Dan he really only saw when he was doing yearbook stuff, w that conversation he had w Dan junior year being the longest conversation he'd had w any of those three in a while (all three 100% knew he was the backbone of yearbook btw. & when people were being like "ew that weirdo goth kid w the camera is here again" they were the ones to be like "ITS FOR YEARBOOK, ASSHOLES.")

he and Noah avoided each other as much as possible. sitting next to Noah during that assembly the first day of senior year was the first time in years that one of them didn't immedeatly turn around and walk out of the room upon seeing the other in it (they lowkey had each other's scheduals memorized to better avoid each other) (for the most part Any picture of Noah that might show up in the yearbooks were not taken by Devi) (although. ngl. Devi did take a few candid photos of Noah occasionally. which he promptly would delete bc he felt bad about it. a little bc he and Noah hadnt talked in forever but mostly bc he felt like "creep weirdo with a camera" was an accurate description of him when he did that)

[cannibal-nightmares]

just an incoherent thought dump. this is for me and no one elss

first of all

just found out that thank god i don't work tomorrow.

secondly they sent me home early. it's so humbling and confusing. it's strange you always think youll know when it happens and then it does and you don't. you might have a faint idea but I never know how to stop it. people always ask me "what's the tell? how do I know?" and I always tell them *you will know.* you will know before I do, most often. the way I set myself up for failure though is always say "I'll tell you if I need something" but it's so endlessly hard to actualize how this shit robs you of your words when you're not in the thick of it. I've realized that a surefire tell is when people speak to me and I can't decipher a word they're saying; i have to think hard and they have to repeat themselves and it all still sounds like a jumbled up mess, lime a different language. and what's worse is the words out of my own mouth don't sound luke they're in my voice, like someone is doing the relay for me. I can't think too hard about it in the moment because otherwise it just gets scary

lastly

im realizing that I have to remember what I said about this being cyclical. I have to. we depend on that fact. it just *is.* it forever *will be.* im not scared or sad about actualizing this, im just tired, momentarily defeated. I'm realizing that my time between October through december-january-ishh was the wave of good. and im grateful. it's weird meeting new people when you're in a good wave. it's less alien meeting people in a bad one, in ways. that's a whole other tangent. bad waves can,make you seem skittish and untrusting (well, true), but at least that's the expectation thereafter. maybe this logic is backwards. i am so used to looking after myself--and I'm not saying this for pity, I'm stating it as fact--that it's strange bonding w people during a good wave and having them see you shift. it's confusing for them, and rightfully so--what im trying to say is it's hard to articulate that *it's okay.* then, what's selfishly(?) maddening, then, is having to console others while, well, *everything else* is happening. I know all the tricks, is what im saying. I've been here before, you just have to take my word. I'm not saying I don't need help sometimes, but that itll be okay. it will be fine again. if I have to promise that to myself, I have to promise that to you.

anyways

it's time,to try and have dinner. perspective for you.

[astrophelstella]

Lumine and Languages

Part of my Immortal!Traveler Headcanons

Lumine and Aether have been thru plenty if worlds. They probably had to learn multiple languages just to inderstand anything. You know the more languages you learn, the easier you pick up on them.

So Lumine could know hundred of languages and tongues. Though she might be rusty in some of them bc she hasn't had to speak or practice after leaving a world. It also makes her either very skilled or a master at grasping languages.

Let's be real. Paimon wouldn't be the most talented teacher. It's canon at the beginning that Paimon was the first person she met after 500 years and that landed her the job of teaching Lumine Teyvat's language. But while Paimon could have lots of knowledge idk on how good she would be in teaching a whole language to an alien.

Unless Lumine is already used to picking up different ways of speaking. All she needs is a few pointers and some interaction then she's made incredible progress. Practically learned how to read and write the native tongue in a month.

Also on Teyvat's language. In-game it seems to be English and thats it. (minus Hilichurlian ofc dam u Ela Musk and maybe Khaenr'iah but I mean commonly used languages) But in a world building and logical perspective, it made sense if every nation had its own language. Obviously it the language of the country each nation was inspired by. (Monstadt = German)

Honestly there's a lot of shenanigans that could ensue with different languages in canon and the Traveler.

Lumine could just easily pretend to not understand a lick of Inazuman. All the while she's picking up everything people say around her bc they lower their guard around a foreigner.

Childe not knowing Lumine could speak Snezhnaya until she gets annoyed enough at him to cuss him out in his native tongue. (He thought her accent was cute, also wow he didn't even know some of those swear words)

Lumine calling her friends in Monstadt endearing terms in their language for the first time and it puts some of them in shock then flustered. (I wanna call Diluc Liebling to his face and watch him turn red)

Conversing with Zhongli in Liyuean (idk if that's what its called) bc he talks so much maybe he'd be happy speaking in his native dialec. Also using an ancient Liyuean dialect makes him nostalgic.

Saying Sumeru character names how a native would say it. They're all impressed at Lumine's pronunciation. Al-Haitham digs for info on how many languages she knows and is surprised to know she can speak one from every nation and some ancient ones.

(I just realized Al-Haitham in game says u had to know at least 20 languages to graduate the Akademiya. But we never hear anything about other languages besides a few?? Do ancient languages count? How many are there in Teyvat? I wasn't expecting double digits)

And lastly....

Lumine and her brother speaking to each other in their mother tongue. A dead language at this point, with only two people knowing and using it. But they had always made sure to speak to each other that way. One part to keep it alive, and two, to keep private conversation private.

Now she's alone without her brother. Sometimes she'll speak to herself in her language or sing a song from home. It never fails to make her sad but comforted too.

Then one of her friends hears her. Curiouse, they ask her to teach them a few words. Her heart feels just a little bit lighter when they say a sentence in her mother tongue.

[lookslikethatsallthetimewehave]

How do they present themselves to others?

Do they like animals?

How do they dress?

How many languages do they know?

How big is their family?

What is their purpose in the story?

Do they know how to fight?

What is their back story?

Why is their name, their name?

Do they have any nick names?

Do they have a romantic interest?

How do they cope with struggles?

Do they have anyone they can lean on?

How do they react to someone dying?

Can you name 5 personality traits they have?

How did they become a character?

Do they get along with others?

What flaws do they have?

How do they influence the story?

What do they look like?

What are their hobbies?

What are their ticks?

Do they like children?

How do they react to being around wild animals?

If they were given the task to prank someone, who would it be, what would they do, and would the prank work?

Do they have any survival skills?

Are they more book smart or street smart?

How do they get out of a difficult situation?

Do they use their body, mind, personality or force to get what they want?

What music do they enjoy?

How do they overcome obstacles?

When faced with a difficult decision do they get stronger or break?

Do they have any special powers?

How do they change throughout the story?

Do they have any friends? If so, are they close knit?

How is their family life?

Are they likable?

Are they the hero, or anti-hero?

Do they make questionable choices?

How do they become who they are?

How was their childhood?

Are they close with anyone who is going to screw them over? 43.How do they adapt to different situations? Do they adapt at all?

How do they speak? Examples - Are they soft spoken, hot heated, vulgar

Are they opposed to violence?

When is their birthday?

Are they quick to judge?

Do they have anything they are trying to hide from others?

Do they act different around different people? 50.Do they enjoy the arts?

Do they like science?

Are they more emotional or logical?

How do they deal with their emotions?

How do they cope with sadness?

What is something they care about?

Would they die for anyone/anything?

What do they do when they are happy?

How would they come across to other characters? Examples- messy, lazy, childish, caring ect

Do they have a phrase they use over and over?

In a crowed room are they in the corners, sides, or in the middle?

Are they comfortable being in a crowed room?

How do they relax?

Have they ever harmed anyone and regretted it? Verbally or physically?

Do they like to dance?

How do they get around their environment? Examples - horses, bike, vehicle

What is their pet peeve(s)?

Do they have a disability?

How do they react to getting flowers?

Would they ever wear a flower crown?

Do they like themselves?

Who do they dislike?

What is their motto?

Do they have any markings on their body?

Have they ever been abused?

What is their biggest fear?

What are their goals?

How do they go about achieving their goals?

Do they have a fight or flight response?

Is there someone in their life that they care about more than themselves?

How would they fair in zombie apocalypse?

Do they have any tattoos? If so, are they significant?

Are they good at mental math?

Do they get along with others? 84 Are they lazy?

Are they self motivated?

How do they cope with anger?

Have they ever been in a situation where they were helpless?

Are they organized or messy?

Can they remember a lot of information at once?

What is their occupation?

Do other characters respect your OC, if so, is it out of fear? Or do they respect your OC because they like them?

If they were given minutes to live, what would they do? Who would they want to see and say?

How do they deal with stress?

Do they have a more submissive or dominate personality type?

Do they have a pet?

Do they have a stash of weapons?

Where do they live? Who do they live with?

How do they calm themselves down?

Are they co-dependent?

Are they a day, or night person?

I think you are trying to send me an OC questions ask post. But this is quite long!

You must ask a few questions at a time, so it's less long.