So I Had An Idea Where A [insert Smart Character Here] After Time Is Unable To Tell Truth And Lies Apart.

Day VI

You felt stiff and sore. Well that would make sense. You've been dead for a while. You look up and there, in the collarbone is a name: Dennis. You looked over yourself. You were... whole? You had skin. You felt normal, aside from the stiffness.

Dennis silently offered you your cloak and staff, which you put on. You pooled your mana together. It felt smaller than it used to be. You pulled with all your might and felt an explosion of power which made you stumble back a step. You imbued Dennis with a bit more power and he visibly straightened.

Where you had laid was dug up and on a stone lying at the end it read, in several languages, as inscribed several times over, "Here lies The Death ringer, owner of a thousand souls. His rebirth will result in untold casualties."

You caressed Dennis skull and gave him a hug. It wasn't particularly soft, but it was comforting to hug someone familiar. When you finally stepped back, you ran your fingers along the engraved name.

"What happened to the others?" you asked.

"Those who didn't fall when you died were hacked to pieces or pulverized. I was the last one. It was the resurrection spell you cast upon me that is how we are as we are." You smiled.

"Thank you." You started walking toward the moon. It was a waxing gibbous. After a while, you noticed it had risen, so you were travelling east. You stopped and looked up. The stars were dazzling. Dennis stopped about a pace and a half behind you. You started walking again and didn't stop until you arrived at the first set of houses. You felt an absurd amount of corpses under the ground, the majority of them human.

You, a necromancer, were always fond of your skeleton minions. Even going as far as to make each one a personalized name tag. Then you were cut down by those blasted heroes, only to one day reopen your eyes and see an Elder Lich looming over you with a very faded name tag.

List of Interesting Latin Phrases

A list I made just to satisfy my vain cravings for resonating mottos for a secret society I'm working on. Enjoy!

abi in malam crucem: to the devil with you!

ad astra per ardua: to the star by steep paths

ad augusta per angusta: to honors through difficulties

aegis fortissima virtus: virue is the strongest shield

amor vincit amnia: love conquers all things

animo et fide: by courage and faith

arbitrium est judicium: an award is a judgement

aut mors aut victoria: either death or victory

aut vincere aut mori: either victory or death

bello ac pace paratus: prepared in war and peace

bibamus, moriendum est: let us drink, death is certain (Seneca and Elder)

bonis omnia bona: all things are good to the good

cede nullis: yield to no one

cito maturum, cito putridum: soon ripe, soon rotten

consensus facit legem: consent makes law

data fata secutus: following what is decreed by fate (Virgil)

durum telum necessitas: necessity is a hrad weapson

dux vitae ratio: reason is the guide of life

e fungis nati homines: men born of mushrooms

ego sum, ergo omnia sunt: I am, therefore all things are

pulvis et umbra sumus: we are but dust and shadow

quae amissa salva: things lost are safe

timor mortis morte pejor: the fear of death is worse than death

triumpho morte tam vita: I triumph in death as in life

tu vincula frange: break your chains

vel prece vel pretio: for either love or for money

verbera, sed audi: whip me, but hear me

veritas temporis filia: truth is the daughter of time

vero nihil verius: nothing is truer than the truth

vestigia nulla restrorsum: foosteps do not go backward

victus vincimus: conquered, we conquer (Plautus)

sica inimicis: a gger to his enemies

sic vita humana: thus is human life

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

💎If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! Also, join my Tumblr writing community for some more fun.

💎Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2 

Reference: <Latin for the Illiterati: a modern guide to an ancient language> by Jon R. Stone, second edition, 2009

Literally UI in Dragon Ball.

hi, a lot of you need a perspective reset

the average human lifespan globally is 70+ years

taking the threshold of adulthood as 18, you are likely to spend at least 52 years as a fully grown adult

at the age of 30 you have lived less than one quarter of your adult life (12/52 years)

'middle age' is typically considered to be between 45-65

it is extremely common to switch careers, start new relationships, emigrate, go to college for the first or second time, or make other life-changing decisions in middle age

it's wild that I even have to spell it out, but older adults (60+) still have social lives and hobbies and interests.

you can still date when you get old. you can still fuck. you can still learn new skills, be fashionable, be competitive. you can still gossip, you can still travel, you can still read. you can still transition. you can still come out.

young doesn't mean peaked. you're inexperienced in your 20s! you're still learning and practicing! you're developing social skills and muscle memory that will last decades!

there are a million things to do in the world, and they don't vanish overnight because an imaginary number gets too big

Living weapon PTSD

Content: punishment aftermath, scars

(stoic whumpee vibes)

Sees someone pick up a long thin object, immediately winces and takes a rigid, chin-up posture like a soldier in line

Or (if severely triggered) yanks off their shirt in one fluid motion, turns and faces the wall, bracing their hands against it for support

If they see a weapon they watch it, and whoever has it, like a hawk

Trying to figure out who's in charge no matter what situation they're in. Using a formal tone with them even if they're TRYING to just be normal

Tensing up around people that act/speak like whumper. They don't want to embarrass themselves by flinching every five seconds so they're just going to flex every muscle until they are gone.

Self aware of their stiff posture. Sitting down and forcing themselves to relax into a couch and put on a fake smile

Caretaker seeing their scars and covering their mouth.

In that event, whumpee flushing and covering them because they're still ashamed of "earning" the punishments that left those marks

Or if they're from combat, smiling and telling the story proudly because they made their owner proud that day and they weren't punished

Trying to explain what happened and then suddenly going quiet

Answering questions like they're being interrogated by a superior

Refusing to speak because they're flashing back to a time they were interrogated in an enemy compound

"But it's a tradition!"

"L tradition! It's weird and I don't like it."

Headmistress Rin's tone changed, becoming more serious and stern. "It is your duty as heir."

"Which I did not choose, so I shan't. I wish to marry the princess of Orion, not Queen Elizabeth of 'Angle-Land' or whatever."

Writing Prompt #2918

"But it's a tradition!"

"Fuck your tradition! It's weird and I don't like it."

"It's your duty as the heir."

"Which is something I didn't choose, so I shouldn't have to."

"Strong? Nothing strong is meant to be forever. You need time to rest, restore that energy, and resume. Don't let my appearance stop you from resting."

Writing Prompt #2938

"I'm sorry. I'm supposed to be strong." She buried her face in her hands, hoping to hide the tears on her face.

"You are strong. You're okay to keep going. Take all the time you need."

TW: Whump

CW: crying, blood, bruising

It was all behind him now. He was out. He was free. All he had to do was get to his friends and heal up. The bruises on his wrists bled a little, as he stumbled down the dark street. He roughly wiped away tears from his face, hardly able to stand. His very soul shook, the tremors spreading to his bones, his muscles, his tendons.

He leaned against a wall, lightheaded from exhaustion. He wasn't used to walking everywhere. Flying was just so much more convenient. But any qi usage would mean capture as Thomas would no doubt be scanning for any large qi use. In this pitiful state, it wouldn't even be a fight. All Dené could hope right now is that he almost died and got a boost after he healed up.

He fell to his knees and screamed. A gutteral scream that was borne from his heart. A scream, not of pain or anger, but of release. As did his tears, so too did his scream lift a weight from his shoulders. He shuddered before standing up. At least, trying to. His legs gave out and all he could do was kneel as rain began to fall. A calming, cleansing, light rain that romantics danced and proposed in. The moon played across the water dreamily, almost mocking Dené's predicament.

But as quickly as it had come, it was no longer. At least, not on his back. He looked up. It was a woman holding a rather large umbrella, one who looked quite established, that she was not one to be trifled with.

"Hi. Um, you look like you need some help."

"I just need to get to my friends and I'll be alright."

"Well based on the sound of your throat and your posture, I'd say you need a bit more than that, young man." Dené growled and lashed his tail before shoving himself upright and looking at the woman who happened to be considerably taller than him. "Well?" she questioned. She looked like Lady Dimitrescu, but felt more like a mother bear, perfectly willing to kill, but only as a means to protect.

"Fine," Dené muttered and the lady called her chauffeur.

"And we'll need to do something about that... mane you have. At least make it look nice."

After the drive, she showed him to a bedroom and its bathroom. "I trust you know what to do from here." She got him a change of clothes, a cloth, and a towel.

When he looked in the (rather expansive) mirror, he saw someone he didn't recognize. Someone who was weak, helpless, ill-maintained. Not the former general of a military based on strength and order. He ran his fingers through the tangled mop that was his hair and came to an abrupt stop at a wad of knots. He started the shower, stripped, then stood under the hot water.

It was then that tears started to flow. Silent tears of helplessness, weakness, inferiority, and fear. Tears of despair, conflict, and emptiness. He cleaned himself then set to working out the knots, but he didn't quite have the patience, so got out of the shower, dried off, put on the clothes he was given, and went to find the woman.

But then, his nose caught the strong scent of food, the strongest of which was the smell of chicken noodle soup, with celery, carrots, onion, garlic, and basil. It was this smell which led him to a dining room where the woman sat, as if she was waiting for him. Now she wore a silk nightgown, making her look more like a rich MILF from some cheesy anime than an evil, centuries-old vampire dominatrix.

They ate, but before Lady Borea sent him to bed, she had him sit with her in front of the fireplace as she worked out the knots in his hair. Before she was done with the first one, he was asleep.

love me a classic enemies to lovers prompt but instead of them going all lovey dovey for each other, the “lover” phrase isn’t explicitly stated in the sense that they didn’t kiss or confess, as far as they and everybody else knows, they are enemies. but the love, the possessiveness and the protective are there in the sense that if one of them gets hurt, the other will stop at nothing until they find and rescue their own archenemy and nurse them back to health. and instead of pain and violence that used to be the only things they share with each other, this time it’s gentleness a character gives his own wounded enemy. because yes, that’s my enemy. mine. and he’s hurting. I must fix this. I must burn the world down and kill every single one who dares to touch my enemy. and then I must make sure he’s okay. because he’s my enemy and he’s hurting. I must take care of him. I must be gentle, even if gentleness comes as a struggle to me; for the only I know is violence. I must still be gentle with him because right now he’s wounded and scared. I must make sure he’s safe and okay. I must be gentle for him. I must.

— also check out this fic with this prompt here

Day VII

It wasn't long before the humans died off and the machines built by them were the only survivors left. The robots and AI developed over a few centuries to recycle the accumulated trash, thus making them effectively immortal. The Earth cooled by a few degrees as the only water was in the atmosphere, keeping the ground usable for plants.

The seeds in the ground and those that blew around became saturated with radiation that escaped from decrepit power plants and silos and storage facilities. Mutations were catalyzed and metal and plastic started to grow out of the ground.

One of many big companies, Trash, Recycling, and IgnitioN Services by Electric and Gas-GuzzlerS, TRaINS by EGGS mass produced trash compaction robots, among others. These, like the rest, grouped up like families, like clans. It was almost human.

Boolean lifted a pile of scrap before turning it into a cube. Then he heard the telltale whistle of something flying through the air at high speed. He took the brunt of it and rolled it to the ground. He absorbed the scrap, bulking himself up, then went to investigate what had launched the projectile.

What he saw after a few minutes was the opposite of what he expected: a war machine curled up, doing the robotic equivalent of human crying. She lifted her head as he drew closer.

"何が欲しいですか?"

Boolean cocked his head in confusion. He recognized the language, but not what it meant.

"Qu'est-ce que tu veux?"

Not even the slightest clue.

"¿Qué deseas?"

So close yet so far away. So he went with the one he knew. "英語を話します?"

She snickered at that, then, in a much less irritated growl, said, "What do you want?"

"Oh, uh.... I just wondered if you throwing that crane at me was on purpose? Looking at you now, though, it doesn't seem like it." Now that he wasn't trying to process language or body language, he saw her factory silver plating which was covered in dust and rust flakes. She got up and some of the debris fell off of her.

"Sorry about that. Just alone and sad. I was sent here to find life, but aside from some weird molds and viruses, and you, I've found nothing."

"Well, if you're looking for humans or mammals you won't find any. They're all dead and gone. There aren't even any remains. But if you're looking at plant life, everything here came from carbon-based, photosynthesizing flora. Centuries back, but the DNA's still there, if you know where to look." He plucked a leaf from the ground. The rubber peeled apart easily when he opened it up.

"This is the most natural, well, most pre-apocalyptic, plant that grows now. One of the few carbon-based life forms here anymore." The silver robot looked at it, hunching to see and be less imposing. She analyzed it and, sure enough, nothing but hydrocarbons.

"Wait, what's your name? I'm Boolean."

"Evelyn."