#JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THAT WAS A LOT

[atlaswav]

CATACLYSMIC ☾

INFO: 5252 words..... dr ratio x fem! reader SYNOPSIS: You hate him, of that you're certain. You hate the man behind the alabaster figurehead, and you want to see him unravelled, but you don't know exactly what you do to him. WARNINGS: um alcohol and one kiss. also some swearing but mostly fine AUTHOR'S NOTE: rising from the grave to bring to you this thing i found this in my drafts from who knows how long when I was obsessed with this man (still am). someone help. i can no longer write this much for one fic. what was i on.

Veritas Ratio made it no secret that he despised those who lived in ignorance. He openly shunned those who were stupid enough to turn their eyes from knowledge – they’d be beggars in due time. They didn’t know how the world was governed, and ignorant fools would play victim to fate’s cruel touch.

With this philosophy of his, you often wondered whether or not his ivory figurehead would soon burst with the tumultuous storm of the man’s self importance. You wondered what would lie underneath. Surely, the divine makers would’ve allowed balance in his creation – surely, his face was horribly disfigured in exchange for such otherworldly intelligence. 

He was both delightfully astute and horrendously ill mannered at once. Brighter than your entire class combined – your entire university combined, no doubt – but his pretentiousness was overflowing, and you believed he was in dire need of being put in his place.

Arrogant and pretentious were two of the words that came to mind when someone mentioned Dr. Ratio, and you were sure you weren’t the only one who refused to worship his word like the gospel. In turn, he seemed to despise your very existence, as if you were merely a faded annotation in the footnotes of an ancient epic. Vandalising a work of art. A moustache on the Mona Lisa. Circe in the Odyssey, if she’d welcomed sailors with open arms, allowing them to degrade her as they would a common concubine, not a descendant of the gods.

Yet instead of sharing the witch’s beguiling, seductive nature, you only shared her mortal voice. Thin, reedy, quiet, compared to the booming voices of gods. The voice of Veritas Ratio. Your achievements could only pale in comparison to his, and it took everything within you to clap politely as he received his third – fourth? (you weren’t intent on keeping track) – diploma.

God you hated that man. You’d muttered as much under your breath countless times.

“Dr. Ratio is fine. No need to worship me.” he’d once corrected. But the attempt at humour was lost on you as your classmates began to laugh. The divine makers likely brought him into existence just to spite you. Oftentimes, you fought your urges to hurl the nearest textbook at his caricature head and watch the plaster crack, fall to the floor, and reveal his disfigured face. 

Not that you’d seen it before – lingered around him enough to see it disappear.

His scorn held no favourites, and certainly not when it came to you. He’d openly dragged your work through the dirt a couple of times before, and it was only a matter of time before he did it again. His words were scalding, leaving burns across your thin skin and leaving your mouth tasting of ash. Your voice, faint and human, fell quiet at his ‘gospel’. 

If it weren’t obvious, the hatred was mutual. He’d never admit it outright – he was far beyond these meaningless, trivial things such as immature hatred – but you felt his scathing glare in your soul, even through that perturbing headpiece, and that was enough. 

“Have you found it?” 

You turn around, meeting the cold, blank, unseeing gaze of his caricature head behind you. It was disconcerting to say the very least, but no one else had asked him about it, so you never pushed him further. None wanted to invoke his wrath, no matter what circumstance. It was a miracle neither of you had exploded at each other yet, but you suspected that he’d gladly put aside any type of loathing he harboured for you so that this project would get done faster. 

You were happy to oblige as he took the lead. A free credit was a free credit. But you did have your limits.

“Nope. The text is ancient. I doubt this library has it.”

“Nonsense.” he clicked his tongue, glancing to the side. “I’m asking the professor. Go work on your part.”

Patience is a virtue, as you keep reminding yourself. 

“Sure. Let me know if you find anything.” you say instead of the retort that sits on your tongue. False niceties and biting, underhanded remarks. This charade was entertaining, at the very least.

How did everyone love him? There had to be people like you who shared your dislike towards that conceited scholar. With a long suffering groan, you took a seat at one of the plethora of tables in the university’s library, clicked your pen and began to write. 

Maybe the reason he despised you so was because of your ideas, arguably the opposite of his own way of thinking. Where his twisted logic, rearranged rationality and pulled apart natural reasoning to formulate new material, you cut and stitched the work of others together to create your own emulations. (Frankenstein's monster. Was that a cliche? For Ratio, it probably was.)

He’d likely scrap what you’d written as soon as he returned, but that didn’t stop you from trying to spite him anyway. You hoped your readings wouldn’t go to waste as you recorded your findings, then started to draft an outline for your project. 

The scratch of paper became white nose, your hand struggling to keep up with the pace of your mind – was it even worth it? He’d likely call it worthless, snatch it from you and throw it into the recycling bin, then start writing his own outline. It only angered you further as you frowned at the page, wondering how he’d approach the project. 

The thump of a heavy tome on the wooden desk snapped you out of your sombre thoughts. 

“Here.” Ratio took a seat at the chair opposite of yours, brushing the dust off the thick text, leafing through its yellowed pages. “I told you they’d have it. You just need to search better.”

You offer him a tight smile. “Noted.” More false niceties, more flat remarks.

Then the figurehead disappears in a blink, and you nearly drop your pen. He barely pays you any mind as he runs a hand through his hair, flipping through the text. You’d heard the rumours of the handsome face beneath the statue, but you’d never have imagined him to be so disgustingly perfect. 

Statuesque. 

His deep violet locks looked unbelievably soft. His crimson eyes showed laser focus as he scanned the text in front of him, ignoring you completely as he noted something down. After a brief silence where you skim over your outline and he presumably attempts to decipher the undeniably unreadable and ancient text which you were opposed to reading in the first place, he turns to you with a sigh. “What did you do while I was gone?”

“I wrote an outline.” you hand the papers to him begrudgingly, fidgeting with the pen in your hand. You don’t meet his gaze, afraid that his calculating gaze might see too far into your soul. 

“This?” his distaste seeps through his tone. You don’t need to look at his face to know that he’s frowning. 

You say nothing as he skims through your work, twirling your pen between your fingers.

“...It’s not the worst thing I've ever read.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. 

“It’s not good, either.”

You scowl at him. 

“I can salvage it.” he nonchalantly throws it back onto the table, returning to the text at hand. 

You want to shove his grotesquely perfect face into the book. He really was put on this earth to spite you.

“Don’t just sit there. Go look for texts on criticism of our stance.”

You don’t know how you’re going to find the patience to survive this project. If anything, it irked you further to find that there wasn’t some monstrosity hidden behind that figurehead. In everything he did, he seemed to be inventing new ways to get on your nerves. However, unbeknownst to you, Veritas Ratio held you higher than you gave yourself credit for. He believed your ideas to be invigorating. Refreshing, almost. A welcome reprieve from the same reiterated, chewed, swallowed and regurgitated approaches that your other classmates had. 

You weren’t like the rest of the mindless, studying machines at the university. You could be brilliant, and it annoyed him that you didn’t know this. He’d admitted as much to himself before, but he’d never tell you. But it was still not good enough for his standards – far better than what the imbeciles in your class could’ve come up with – but still far behind him. Or so he kept telling himself. 

Days passed by without a word from either of you. You were content to write your part in the solitude of your dorm, and he seemed perfectly content mulling over whatever he’d found in that indecipherable ancient text. By the time you’d nearly finished your part, he decided to meet with you once again to share your findings. 

His definition of deciding to meet with you meant simply cornering you after class and asking you to follow him. 

You started to protest, but he’d already turned and briskly walked out of the classroom, so you groaned and followed after him, winding up in the library again. This time, in a secluded corner with the late afternoon sun pouring through the window, illuminating the small table and workspace with a warm glow. 

You wondered how he wasn’t winded after trekking across the entire campus. You certainly were. His muscled build suggested that a mere leisurely walk couldn’t possibly have tired him out. What did he eat? Was he what Nietzsche had in mind when he wrote of the Superman? 

“What are you doing? Sit.” he gestures to the seat across from him, and you sink into the armchair, taking out your papers. His headpiece disappears once again, and your breath catches in your throat. 

His hair cast a faint shadow across his face, and his eyes seemed to glow. As you leaned in closer, you realised there was a thin ring of gold around his pupils. 

“Are you done with your part?” he demands, breaking you out of your trance. 

You silently hand over your drafts, watching his eyes flit across your paper. His eyebrows furrow slightly, eyes narrowing, but he remains quiet. Were his eyelashes always this long? They created an indistinct shadow on his cheeks. His skin was pale, fair. Not the sickly kind of pale you thought he’d be. Did he exercise? You wouldn’t be surprised, with all your classmates always fawning over his broad, strong chest and narrower waist. 

Was it your imagination, or were his cheeks slightly flushed? It might have been the light. 

“It’s deplorable.”

Your heart sinks in your chest as you sit back against the armchair. 

“Your ideas are rudimentary. Have you been reading at all?” he sighs, holding his head in his hand. “No matter. I can fix it. I don’t need you to do anything anymore. You can go.”

You stay seated in shock, unable to move. You’ve heard the anecdotes of people crying over being scolded by him, but was he always this harsh? 

“You know it’s a group project, right?” you begin before your better judgement can decide against it, “My work is just as important as yours, it doesn’t matter if you think my work is ‘deplorable’. I’m in the same class, I take the same course, I learn the same things as you do, you don’t get to look down on me no matter how stupidly smart you are.”

He raises an eyebrow, unamused. “Why not?”

“Take that stick out of your ass, Veritas Ratio. Get off your high horse.” you snatch your papers out of his hands and take your leave, ignoring his calls of your name. 

Were you dramatic? Yes, but not without reason. Given Ratio’s reputation for prioritising academics over everything else, you suspected that it wouldn’t take long for him to find you, either. 

You were so wrong. 

More days passed with no contact. He didn’t seem to be affected by your dramatics, and never once batted an eye in your direction unless necessary. It seemed your hypothesis of him inventing new ways to get on your nerves was on the track of being proved correct. But if you didn’t do something within the next few days, you trusted him to turn in the project without your name on the paper, resulting in a zero. 

He was just as stubborn as you, and though you were nothing compared to him in actuality, you were so close to grabbing his face and forcing him to look at you for who you were.

Seemingly, even in the battle of wits, he seemed to emerge victorious. 

“Ratio.” 

He barely glances up, engrossed in his writing. “What?”

“Are you done with the project?” Biting the bullet stings your teeth and left a bitter taste on your tongue. 

“No. Not yet. Why? You’re finally going to help?”

“Are you going to stop looking down at me?” 

The library is nearly empty. The sun is barely a sliver on the horizon, and the voices of students float down the corridor beyond the grand stacks of books, yet you’re here. Why do you bother? Are you really that desperate for his validation?

“Are you going to keep writing such reprehensible work?”

You glare at him. “Guess not.” you turn on your heel.

“You’re absolutely infuriating.” he sighs, leaning back in the armchair. “You’re not aware of what you can do, are you?”

You glare at him. Your chest stings. 

He looks at you, then. Truly. His complexion relaxes, and he rubs his temples. “Sit. Let’s go through your part.”

“Why?”

“I mulled it over. Your part is brilliant.”

Your eyes widen.

“But your expression and research is appalling. Have you learned how to write academically at all?”

You’d never simultaneously wanted to slap and kiss a man at once until today. “What happened to getting off your high horse?”

“I got off it. Now sit and listen, I won’t repeat myself.”

You supposed that was the closest to an apology he’d ever give you, so you sat. It pained you, but you did. Besides, he had called you brilliant – your part – but still, you couldn’t force the smile from your face as you listened to his instruction. 

“Your ideas in your introduction are well formed, but from there, it all goes downhill. You have to reorder your logic for it to make sense, and we will be deducted points if you don’t elaborate on the principles of your concept first.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “So how would you do it?”

“For one, I’d restart completely and get straight to the point.”

You sigh exasperatedly. “Show me, then, if you’re so good.”

His eyes narrow at you, but he says nothing as he motions for you to come closer. 

The librarian was likely too scared to kick either of you out after closing time. Your arguments were heard by all of your neighbouring desks, and whenever there was a break in conversation, it seemed as if everyone held their breath. There was pin drop silence except for the two of you – but neither of you realised it. 

He was blunt, and had no idea what you were thinking, but perhaps this is what entrapped him. 

You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about how he had called your ideas brilliant. 

You quickly learn how good of a teacher he is. Maybe it’s his forced patience or once-in-a-millenium genuine praise that spurs your decision, but you find yourself so willing to prove yourself, and he finds himself willing to help. 

Maybe this wasn’t so bad. 

“Just fix it, stop arguing with me. I’m right.”

“Why? Do you know every single thing about our topic?”

“No, but I have four degrees and more experience than you.”

“Jackass.”

“Change it.”

You grumbled another insult under your breath, yawning as you scribbled out the section you wrote and began to reword your thoughts. The sudden quietude was jarring, and as you looked around, you realised the overhead lights were off, the only source of light from the lamps illuminating the desks. 

“Is everyone gone?” you ask, sitting up straight and stretching. 

“Who cares? Finish up, then we can head back.”

“Fuck you, give me a break. I don’t write at the pace of a robot.”

“Then learn.”

“Fuck you too Veritas Ratio.”

“Expand your vocabulary while you’re at it.”

“Why are you so intent on irritating me?”

��You get irritated easily. Not my problem.”

“If you know I get irritated easily, why do you keep provoking me then? Do you want me to hate you more?”

He seems to pause. Minisculely, almost unnoticeable had your gaze not been trained on him for the past few hours. He had a habit of pausing and furrowing his brows when you said something slightly out of line. 

“Just finish the paper. You talk too much.”

You sigh and get back to work as he leafs through his own research. 

Amicable silence passes. The night is alive outside, gleaming and glistening with the touch of benevolent gods and whispers of long gone wishes – pearls stitched by fate’s knowing hands. 

“I’m done.”

“Show me.”

You pass the paper to him as you watch his expression carefully. 

Crimson eyes flit across your work, gold ringed irises flickering in the scarce light. If you could capture the way the light reflected in his eyes in a jar, you think wishfully that you’d stare at it forever; Until the light died out, or it decided to escape the ephemeral glass confines. 

But you’d never admit it out loud. It was wishful. If Veritas Ratio could read minds, he would undoubtedly reprimand you.

He clears his throat, and you snap to attention, swatting away your fantasies of stealing and bottling evasive light. 

“It’s good.”

You wait for him to speak further, but he says nothing. “Just good?”

“Well, by my standards, no, but for you, it’s good.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean,” he leans on the table, forearms flexing. “That you’re finally starting to live up to your potential.”

“Huh?”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

“What potential?”

He shakes his head absently, almost in disbelief. Forget light, you’d barter with the lady of fate to let you preserve this moment in a frame so that you could glimpse this expression forever. You’d never seen him so dumbfounded and awed at once – you doubt anyone ever has. He’d always been a man of knowing, and whatever he didn’t know, he would find out. Nothing was ever a “maybe,” or a “probably,” it was always absolute. It had to be absolute in his philosophy. 

You happened to be the one exception. 

“You’re not aware of the potential you have?”

“You think I have potential?”

“Aeons,” he murmurs under his breath, before standing and gathering his belongings. “I’m going to bed. See you in class tomorrow. We’ll finish up then.”

He leaves before you have the chance to question him, but as you slump back in your armchair, you can’t help but smile. 

Potential was as close as you’d ever get to a compliment from Veritas. 

—

The lady of fortune and lady Themis looked him in the eyes and saw their mortal emanator at his birth. He’d never been certain what he was made for, but he never let it burden him. Things like these weren’t made for him to ponder, that was up to the dreamers and inventors. 

He was a being of logic. A doctor of calculations and reason, and everyone knew him as such. 

But he simply couldn’t figure out what it was about you – your naive gaze or that pout that absently curved your lips – that had your words and scent and eyes lingering in his mind like a vengeful phantom. 

You were the being of all chaos and irrationality, but you were so bright. Unhoned, rough and unhewn. A gemstone shining with impurities but shining still, casting a beautiful mosaic cast across the ground with indecipherable shapes and patterns. 

It was deplorable. He hated you for being on his mind, and hated you even more for your wasted potential. He hated how you stared, how his cheeks would redden from the intensity of your gaze, and how he’d have to pretend he was unfazed, because he couldn’t afford any distractions. 

You were the being of his undoing, he was sure. You were brought into existence to spite him, to bring an unaccounted variable into the equation of his being, and present a causality dilemma for all he was. 

He wanted you gone, but he wanted you closer all at once. 

He hated it. 

It wasn’t common for him to sleep in either, so when he woke five minutes before class was supposed to start, he cursed you with all the spite in his heart and rushed to class, clutching papers from the night before, still imbued with traces of your lingering fragrance. Just how long had you pored over those papers for your smell to latch to them? It should be impossible. Fate was clearly against him. 

Fate brought you back together as he entered the brimming lecture hall, and the only vacant seat was the one next to you. 

“Did you get the papers in order?” you asked, glancing at his dishevelled state. The Dr Ratio you knew was never dishevelled, but this was the closest you’d ever seen him to it. 

“Yes. Just write your name on your bits and sign the sign off sheet and it’s complete.”

You take the paper from him, scrawling your name across your work, then handing it back. 

With your project finally submitted, you could breathe easy again – never endure his biting remarks and criticism again. 

But as the class progressed, you realised you were in trouble. 

The professor was merciless. He flicked through the presentation on the new topic with haste, rushing through new concepts, formulae and calculations with record speeds. You’d nudged Ratio, whispering for help, but he rolled his eyes and kept his stare attentively on the presentation. 

You wanted to slap him. 

Was he tolerating you because of the project? Was he going back to cold stares and dismissive glances?

You wouldn’t allow it. Not when you were so close to discovering the man behind the alabaster figurehead. As soon as the professor signalled the end of the lecture, a collective sigh was released from the class. 

You turned to Ratio, and he was already staring at you. 

“What was it you wanted to say?”

“Tutor me please.”

He raised a brow. “Why?”

“Because you’re smart.”

“Pick someone else, then. I don’t see why I should.”

“You asshole, I’ll buy you lunch if you tutor me.”

He frowns at you as he begins to leave. You trail after him. “Please?”

He sighs deeply. Like a man burdened with the weight of his own world on his shoulders. Byron’s brooding, romantic hero, in his melodramatic glory. “Fine. Stop annoying me.”

You smile. “Thanks. Meet you at your dorm after dinner?”

He sighs again. “ Don’t be late or I'll lock the door and go to bed.”

He watched the seconds tick by in agonising motion – a man awaiting his sentence, but also his reprieve. Is this what his classmates felt before they took tests? It certainly seemed like it. Relief was on the horizon, and yet great suffering was imminent. He’d never known the feeling until now.

But as they say, the harder the rain, the sweeter the sun, and he wasn’t about to relinquish his quest to decipher you. 

It seemed mutual as he paced in front of his front door, having eaten dinner at the cafeteria early to mentally prepare himself. 

When your knock finally sounded at his door, he sighed, checked his watch, then reluctantly opened the door. 

You were a picture to behold. 

Hair slightly damp from a shower, drowning in loose, oversized clothing. It was all painfully domestic to see you walk through his doorway, scanning his living space. In the back of his mind, he thought it felt right, but he shook his head. 

You were messing with him again. 

Two could play that game. 

“Take a seat.” He pulled out a stool from his kitchen island. “Want a drink?”

“What, like alcohol?” you huffed. 

“Are you an alcoholic?”

“Only if you want me to be.” you shrug, setting down your notes on the bench.

He sighs exasperatedly, already berating himself for agreeing to this. He never agreed to tutor anyone. Why were you the exception? You shouldn’t be. 

His hypothesis: you were trying to get something out of him. A way to cheat the class, his academic favour, something hedonistic, even. It seemed plausible enough, but you listened intently as he explained the concepts the professor spoke of in the lecture, asking questions and actively engaging with his explanation. 

It didn’t seem like there was any ulterior motive. So why was he letting you break his rules and defy his nature?

“God, why didn't the prof explain it during that lesson? Everyone struggled.”

“You’re not smart enough to understand his concise methods, then.” he huffed. 

“You’re too smart.”

“You’re not smart enough.”

“Smart ass,”

“Get back to work. You did that question wrong, by the way.”

You groaned. “Where?”

He was so caught up in your quarrels that he didn’t notice the time grinding away at the pestle. It was nearly midnight when you’d finally caught up with that day’s classwork, and he sighed in relief. 

“You understand?”

“Yes. You don’t have to worry now.”

“I won’t. Now get out.”

“No drink?” you frowned, pretending to sulk at his expense. He simply stared at you, getting up from his stool and walking to the fridge. 

Remarkably, he pulled out two beers. 

“Don’t speak. If you do, I'll regret allowing you over again.”

A smile befell your lips. “I’m not saying anything.”

“I don’t like the look on your face.”

“Wipe it off then.”

A frown.  His new hypothesis: you were trying to seduce him for better grades, more tutoring sessions, or for his own downfall. 

“Drink and leave.”

“If you say so.” you take the chilled bottle and drink. He watches your throat move, and he thinks of himself as pathetic as he drinks as well, wincing at the bitterness. 

“Do you live by yourself?” you ask, head propped onto your hand. 

“I do.”

“Are you lonely or something?”

“No, people are irritating.” Like you.

“What a ray of sunshine you are.” You’re not much better.

“I don’t have to put up with any idiocy.”

“If you say so.”

Quiet passes as beer fizzes in the bottles, golden liquid sloshing at the sides of the glass. 

One thing you learn that night is that Veritas Ratio, the famed multiple time valedictorian of your university, is an extreme lightweight. His cheeks become red quicker than you can finish your bottle, and he starts to grumble nonsense under his breath. 

“You’re really smart, you know?” he suddenly says after mumbling something about quantum physics.

“What was that?” 

“You’re really smart. Really smart. Impressive.”

“Really?”

“Yes, you idiot, how many times do I have to repeat myself?” he leans on the bench, not entirely aware of his surroundings as he does so.  He squints at the ground. 

He’s a cute drunk, you realise begrudgingly.

“Thanks, Veritas. You’re smart too.”

“I know.” he drinks from his bottle again, swirling the dregs. “But I can’t figure you out.”

“Hm?”

“Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?”

“Do you hate me?”

You hesitate for a moment. “Yes.”

“Then why are you like this?”

Your eyebrows raise. 

“You’re making me irrational. I can’t figure it out.”

“...Sorry?”

“You should be. You know, I was nearly late to class today because of you. You kept me awake.”

“Really?”

“I couldn’t stop thinking. Thoughts. And things.”

You laugh at his predicament, draining your beer and gathering your things. Trying to leave before he said anything that could turn the encounter south. 

“Wait. Don’t go.” he slams his palm onto your notes, determination in his eyes. 

“I need to go to bed.” you say as if scolding a child.

“I need to figure you out. You’re still an enigma to me. The anomaly of my behaviour. Is this your intention?”

“What are you talking about? You’re drunk.”

“I can think. I can move. I can see fine. I’m not drunk. Answer me.”

“Maybe I'm just so mesmerising to you.” you joke, but his brows furrowed in thought. 

“Maybe.” he retracts his hand from your notes, and you stow them away into your bag, slinging it onto your shoulder before he can do anything else. 

As you’re halfway to the door, he pushes you against the wall. 

You never realised how tall he was until then. How much of a height difference you had, or how muscular he was. He had to have worked out on a daily basis. The pungent smell of alcohol lingered on his breath, and his cheeks were tainted with deep red as he searched your gaze. 

You decide he’s officially lost his mind, but who were you to complain?

“Are you mesmerising?” he whispers, eyes trailing down your face, examining and analysing, his hand tracing down your body with those slender scholar’s hands.

“You tell me.”

Then he grabs your face and mashes your lips together. The kiss is rough, biting and rushed. You freeze for a sliver of a second before returning it, letting him decide your allure with his own devices. 

He pulls away almost too fast, lips kiss bitten, breath fast. 

“You’re a siren.”

“Am I?”

“You’re going to ruin me.”

“What a weak man you are, if it only takes one woman to ruin you.”

“I hate you.”

“Really?”

“I hate it because I’d probably let you.”

“Are you a masochist?”

“Not in my right mind. I’ll wake up and regret everything, but it’ll all be the same, fundamentally.”

“So what’s your conclusion?”

He still has you pushed against the wall, caged within himself. “You were put into this world to bring about my destruction.”

“How? Why?”

“You’re my opposite. Brash, naive, carefree.”

“Are you normally this analytical of people?”

“No, which supports my point.”

“I see. So you’re going to let me ruin your image?”

“No. I hate you for it.”

“Let me go then.”

He wordlessly steps away, and you stumble to the door. 

“So what are we?” you ask, turned away from him. You can’t see the way he drinks in your visage like a starving man, and the small, sober part of him is grateful for it. 

“Polar opposites.”

“I mean who am I to you?”

He’s silent for a while, so you turn back to him to find him leaning on the wall, gazing into space. 

“Veritas?”

“You’re my undoing. A catalyst, maybe, for my downfall. But there must be balance, right? So what are you?”

“What am I?”

“I don’t know.”

You knew then that he was beyond reason. Was this what you did to him? You took some sadistic pride in seeing a man such as himself reduced to a mumbling, questioning, incoherent mess. You were somewhat pleased with the effect you had on him., but you could never let him know this. 

He crumpled to the floor, back to the wall, clutching his head in his hands. “I’ll figure you out.”

“Sure you will. Goodnight, Veritas.”

“Night.”

Your smile was brighter than the morning as you left his apartment, embracing the night’s welcoming chill. 

written by @atlaswav , published 15th of July 2024

[mossy-paws]

Sword PHIGHTING! period cramps moodboard

Gods mightiest warrior…….

Og image:

ANYWAYS EXTRA BITS!!!! So. Yeah. I wasted exactly 27 hours and 29 minutes of my life making this over a period of like. ~a week and a half LMAO????? I THINK IT WAS LONGER?? Yeah all of these are completely redrawn from the Og “panels”, replicating the dungeon meshi style is. MISERABLE I don’t know why I did this to myself holy fucking shit, all of you blame @squiffer-salad for this monstrosity she’s the reason why this exists in the first place /silly

anyways, I highly recommend looking at the panels individually because I put a lot of fun extra bits in them and just. A LOT of effort in general, any likes, reblog’s, or comments are insanely appreciated since this did take such a long time :’DDD, everything in these minus the backgrounds are completely redrawn/shaded/and colored by hand, this includes mid/screen tones as I used specific layers for those! anyways thank you for coming to my period cramp projection ted-talk I’m going back into my Everglade hole.

[buglaur]

i've been playing the game in my own time but i gotta share this lil angel cus she's the cutest toddler my sims have ever had

[splatoongamefiles]

wawawawawa i got themmmm sorry the preview is so shit i'm so excited for these

they're just the straight DAEs spit out from switch toolbox but in the next bit i'm gonna fix up the models and stuff dw

[puppyeared]

my stardew farmer ^_^ he doesnt have a green thumb for shit so he keeps animals and does mining

some tidbits i came up with while playing hehe

reclusive and doesnt really go out of his way to talk or visit people unless its an errand. but he also doesnt try to befriend others to get something out of it, so he has a very easygoing approach to making friends. on good terms with linus and sebastian since he runs into them most often.

if he respects or takes a liking to someone, he'll greet them with miss/mister (name). if you get close to him he starts using first name basis. if he doesn't like you, he'll refer to you by your title without using your name. only a few people have caught on to this.

the farm he inherited, Milky Way Farm, was the site of a meteorite crash and sometimes you can find shards of meteor debris littered around the farm (i picked the hilltop farm bc of this lol)

lost his sweater and pants a long ass time ago and doesnt have the time to look for them, so hes been working in his sleep clothes ever since

isnt actually grandpa's real heir to the farm... ;)

[oplishin]

Wrestlemania 40 April 7 2024 | Wrestlemania 31 March 29 2015

[eddievedders]

BELLA RAMSEY and PEDRO PASCAL as ELLIE WILLIAMS and JOEL MILLER. The Last of Us – 1.06 “Kin”.

[skyberia]

i would like to take a moment to describe something that happens in the moralist route that drives me absolutely insane, for the sake of the people who've played through DE but cannot be bothered to be a centrist, just so you can... idk, inherit my brainrot (endgame spoilers ahead):

in the moralist route, the event quest you get for it is one where you get soona (or noid? potentially?) to help you turn the statue at the roundabout into a huge antenna to contact the moralintern airship that's flying above revachol, in order to tell them about the upcoming civil war in martinaise and/or the 2mm pale hole in the church and so on.

while you're trying to establish communications, you run into a lot of radio interference. it's a lot of people speaking in different languages, number stations, and so on, but then all of a sudden, you hear kim's voice.

"it's cold now..." he says. "... someone's been maintaining it, the wiring has been repaired..."

when you turn to look at him, kim's just as confused as you are. he insists he hasn't said anything, he doesn't know where that's coming from. it sure SOUNDS like him, but how can it be him when he's right there next to you?

soona cuts in and explains, this is just some pale interference. entroponetic crosstalk, it happens. "a particularly eerie speciment, but still just a harmless piece of the past returning to surface." and kim's like "right, i just wish i could remember what i was talking about..." that mystery solved, you resume your mission and continue trying to contact the airship.

but then, much, much later, after the tribunal, when you arrive at the island, you both walk into the seafort to find a generator. kim places his hand on it to check for warmth and then announces to you:

"it's cold now, but someone's been maintaining it. the wiring has been repaired."

neither of you acknowledge it out loud. there's no time, you have to question the suspect, you have to close the case, you have to move on. but still, inland empire reminds you, haven't you heard that before?

(and if kim doesn't make it to the island somehow, if he gets shot during the tribunal and you end up taking cuno with you, he's the one who checks the generator instead. "this shit's cold," he says. and inland empire Immediately senses that something's wrong.

"'It's cold now,' he was supposed to say. 'But someone has been maintaining it. The wiring has been repaired'..."

"But he's not here to say it. Something *else* got in the way. Events *intervened*...")

[zeinkblotpot]

As atonement for all of the angst for the last few posts, I offer up some fluff <3 because god do we all need it right now with the impending doom looming above us

Please consider reblogging, likes don't do anything on tumblr and reblogging is the only way to keep traction on a post <3

[the-casbah-way]

forgive the brief jesus chris superstar rant but. there is a very important difference between the pharisees being villains and the pharisees being antagonists. they're technically antagonists because they're actively working against the interests of our protagonist, but i don't believe they should ever be played as villains. they're not evil or bad or wrong. they're terrified just like literally everyone else in the show is, and their actions are completely justified. to me that's the entire point of the musical. it's not about christianity; it's about the impact the roman empire's brutal and violent imperialism had on everyone on all levels. including jesus and judas, but also including the pharisees, and even herod and pilate. when a powerful coloniser forces their presence on innocent people they are the only winners. everyone else suffers, even the puppet kings and high priests who look like they're reaping some sort of benefit from it all. that's roman propaganda. the romans kept native rulers like herod and caiaphas in power to maintain the illusion of provincial autonomy, and keep populations appeased and therefore under control. everyone in the show is acting out of fear of the romans. the one roman character we do see (pilate) is acting out of fear of his own emperor. it makes no sense to cast the pharisees as two dimensional Bad Guys, especially when the same productions that do that usually offer a sympathetic portrayal of pilate. it would be so easy to stage and direct a production in a way that makes it obvious that the pharisees are doing what they're doing because they truly have no choice, and not because they're pure evil and want to kill jesus for the sake of it. it's not only an antisemitic trope but also undermines a really important theme of the musical. if you can see the humanity in the violent roman governor installed forcefully on conquered land then you can afford some humanity for the pharisees too. they are victims of pilate and victims of rome just like everyone else

[p0pcorn-hearts]

Aphmau headcanons yay!!

(Except its just four main characters and a handful of miscellaneous headcanons because writing more than that is too much effort and also painful)

Aphmau

She has ADHD that's usually inattentive but sometimes is hyperactive

Both a cat and a dog person

Had a bit of an anger problem in high school but is much better at anger management as an adult

Because of her half-werewolf blood her teeth are slightly more pointy

Listens to dubstep and 2000-2010s pop music

Has chronic insomnia but can and will sleep the entire day away

Rejection sensitive dysphoria. Would do anything to make sure you don't hate her

Would chug a bottle of imitation vanilla extract to prove she's sorry

Super competitive though

Would chug a bottle of imitation vanilla extract to prove she's right/better

"If your friends jumped off a bridge, would you?" "Yes"

Aaron

It gets really cold where he lived so he used to draw stick figures in the frost on his bedroom window

Has a few tattoos, nothing serious, just a moon on his back and a full sleeve inspired by his favorite band (okay so a bit serious)

Listens to exclusively rock but is fine with Aphmau’s pop music. He doesn't get it, but he loves her too much

He got the tattoos like right when he was free from his dad and now he kinda regrets them, but he has to admit, the full sleeve is fuckin awesome

Writes songs for his guitar, although he doesn't show anyone because they range from love songs about Aphmau to full blown vent songs about his PTSD from his dad

Speaking of his PTSD, he gets frequent nightmares and even when he doesn't or when he can't remember his nightmare, he'll still jolt awake in a cold sweat

Used to have a pet rock that he'd throw at kids who bothered him

His dad made sure to take care of that one

Still draws stick figures on frosted glasses, but while as a kid he'd draw his family, he now draws his friends and Aph

Actually decently friends with Garroth and Travis. They shit talk people together

There was once one time Aaron hung out with Laurence, Garroth, Dante, and Travis, and they ordered pizza but they couldn't pay so they played rock paper scissors to see who would negotiate and Dante lost, so he attempted to sway the pizza guy into lowering the price while fucking 6'5 Aaron stood ominously over Dante, piercing into the guy's soul

It actually worked

It never worked again though

Hanami (Kawaii~Chan for the uninitiated)

Autism

Is the token straight friend although she acts super gay, like she doesn't like girls but she *will* kiss the homies goodnight

Bakes even though meif'wa literally cannot have sugar

She has perfected her own recipes for sugar-free, sugar, and sweetened cupcakes

When she's angry her whole body scrunches up. Like she tenses, her ears lay flat on her head, her arms are pressed tightly to her sides, and her face scrunches up

Has almost sent Lucinda to the hospital because they'd get in play fights and meifwa claws are sharp

Best girl scout in the business. Literally created her own cookie because of her love of experimenting with baked good

Would eat plain rice. Just a ball of plain white rice

When startled, she jumps like three feet horizontally

Always lands on her feet. Except for when she doesn't

Knows how to sew and often modifies her clothing to add more ruffles and bows. When Katelyn wanted to put on a play her and Cadenza worked on the costumes together

Super competitive also

Would chug a bottle of imitation vanilla extract-

Highly empathetic. It's to the point that people being upset around her can get very overwhelming very fast

Ran a meif'wa colony in high school. She was often underestimated by the other colonies but she ended up being front and center a lot of conflicts and her colony remained standing after The Jury

She only has like three people in it though. Aimi (OC because there aren't enough meifwa), Xin (OC because there aren't enough meifwa), and June

Zane

Autism

Also has asthma, ASPD, depression and PTSD

Like pick a struggle 🙄

Was in a gang in high school but luckily has a rich daddy who can afford a lawyer to get Zane out of the legal trouble

Greatly regrets it now as like his only options for work are minimum wage and Aphmau and Aaron’s business

Lacks a lot of empathy but still good at comfort. He just somehow knows the right things to say even if he doesn't really get what they're upset about

Not actually emo, he's goth. He was emo back in high school because Gene is emo but only knew My Chemical Romance. He realized that he actually much preferred goth music and had a trad goth phase in college before settling on just more casual outfits during a massive depressive episode

How much Zane dresses up is a legitimate indicator of his mental health

Is he just wearing sweatpants and hoodies? Depressive episode

Is he wearing jeans and jewelry? He's fine

Also genderfluid (he/him or she/her, depends what gender hes presenting as)

Didn't really explore that side of himself until he was friends with Aphmau

Trauma :(

Likes vocaloid (Hanami's fault)

Miscellaneous that might get their own posts

Dottie, Daniel, and Blaze were in an open relationship until, yknow, Blaze kinda died

After that, Dottie and Daniel continued dating but decided to close their relationship until they properly got over Blaze dying right in front of them

The Shadow Knights are also dating, but they specifically date after high school after they went through their character arcs and became better people

Sasha dated Michi once

You can imagine how bad it was

Canontypical first Sapphic relationship

Melissa likes Twilight but hides it

Travis is essentially one of the girls. He mightve flirted with every one of them but Aph swears on him being cool. They invited him over for a sleepover once and they had so much Travis is just automatically invited to the sleepovers and girl nights out. He is very happy

Imagine getting invited to every outing with the girls but you cannot get a single chick. Even Zane, who is an honorary girl like Travis some days and an actual girl other days, has a girlfriend

It's okay, he has Dante

Dante is like "bro I just cannot pick up chicks" and Travis is like "me neither :(" they turn to each other. "I would date you if you were a girl" Dante said. "Me too" Travis said. There's a pause. They begin making out

Dante did have Nicole but they broke up on good terms because Nicole pursued a master's in engineering and it required too much attention. They're still besties though and hang out whenever Nicole is in town

Nicole is steampunk goals

Okay that's it. You may exit the theater carefully on your right

[dynjay]

Yo what the fuck

The Florida Senate passed a bill that would ban Chinese immigrants from purchasing any property in the state. It was passed to the State Affairs Committee last week (4/12/2033) and I cannot find it on the headlines in any major news source anywhere:

https://www.flsenate.gov/Session/Bill/2023/1355/?Tab=BillHistory

This is really bad.

If this passes and gets turned to law, it will become effective July 1st this year. If this passes, it's not just going to be the Chinese who'll get hurt; everyone in the asian community is going to suffer from way harsher racism.

Information about what you can do to help can be found here, but I'll copy-paste a small blurb of it here:

https://www.ocpa-usa.org/urgentaction

How can you help?

Make a call to the State Affairs Committee with phone number list below. (*List with a phone call script on what you can say will be in the link to aid you!)

Sign the petition to STOP Senate Bill 264 & House Bill 1355! Say no to discrimination! Sign the petition -https://chng.it/WcTZBqQvZd (The petition probably won't sway these people, but it's something)

Attend State Affairs Committee hearing and have your voice heard!

Date/Time: Wed April 19, 7:30 am

Address: 513 The Capitol 402 South Monroe Street Tallahassee, FL 32399-1300

Contact: Susan (susanchintek@gmail.com)

[comradekarin]

when you’re in a “shipping random white m|m/w|m ships to spite the bwwm ship” and your competition is every fandom ever like you guys fucking suck lmaoooo suddenly it’s no chemistry! heteronormativity! he’s gay and she’s a lesbian! platonic only! poor acting! she is an independent woman! even the elite ships aren’t safe for as soon as the girl looks physically different than their (usually book) canon counterpart, the people are up in arms. like suck my dick

[so-very-small]

(tw for violence/death in this post; it’s about horror movies but g/t)

im in my Horror Movie era and like. i keep thinking how terrifying would a g/t horror movie be. a tiny protagonist in an oversized world could be so so scary. bugs, animals, unaware humans, even things just like struggling to get consistent meals or finding somewhere genuinely safe enough to rest. you could go psychological thriller about a recently shrunk person struggling to cope. you could have a slasher flick where the slasher is just an unaware giant.

i want Midsommar but it’s a borrower joining a fairy cult. i want Saw where it’s a borrower making traps for humans because they just hate giants. i want Hereditary with the added struggle of a mixed size family dynamic. i want whatever batshit original concepts A24 could do with a g/t dynamic

anyways i think there’s a huge potential for size horror and man. a movie like that would terrify me

[neostellarjpg]

if you generalize act 6/the retcon arc as "the worst part/narrative decision of homestuck" or genuinely say things like "it ruined the story" or "it ruined x character" or "it only happened to make x ship canon/because hussie likes vriska", you HAVE to smell my farts. obviously its valid to dislike it, and to question behind the motivation behind such a drastic story moment, but it's in bad faith and a huge waste not to even try to understand how it fits with the story's themes.

EVERYTHING matters. even the failures, even the wasted successes, even the things that don't "really" happen. because really, they DID happen. both the readers and the characters can see with their own eyes the ghosts of those lost timelines. "this version of the character is the REAL character." "this event happens in the REAL timeline." repeatedly and deliberately, the classification "real" is called into question; even to the point of tying into subjects like fandom and reader interpretation. characters in homestuck wave off this topic, but the structure of the story demonstrates the idea of "canonicity" to have very little meaning in the first place. there is a possibility of something happening, and the very fact of that possibility harbors its own strength.

the entire purpose of the multitimeline storytelling in homestuck is to frame the story as a single possibility of victory built upon countless failures. in the alpha timeline, an infinitude of bad possibilities are dodged, but there is an equally infinite loss of growth and personal potential.

the characters are trapped inside a story, and they suffer for it. skaia is an unfeeling god with unfathomable plans for its players. it exacts pointless cruelty, but also rewards handsomely: with the gift of existence. there's no throughline in its actions. there's no messaging. a lot of the time, the point of sburb appears to be "personal growth." but for whom? certainly not the billions of innocents wiped out on whatever planet the game appears on. and at what cost? contradictorily, at the cost of many players' lives. if the real purpose was to nurture all players to their personal potential, then surely with its inexplicable omniscience and infinite powers of creation, things would end up this way.

i view homestuck as a very hopeful and pro-human story, but also nihilistic, in a way. deaths are callous, happen casually and quickly (even comedically!), and often have no significance. success doesn't end with everyone happy, or becoming the best version of themselves. outcome is arbitrary and without real meaning. the kids enter this story traumatized, get re-traumatized a billion times over, get chewed up, spat out, and wind up depressed or misguided. the line blurs between existence as a "reward" and as a "burden." it simply is, and no matter what happens next, the characters are stuck with it. after all, it's what they worked so hard for. and after they scrape and claw their way towards survival, once they end up on the other side, they are forced to look back, stunned at the amount of fight and determination that has completely left their spirit, wondering where it came from in the first place, and what it was really all for, in the end.

the retcon comes from the sheer force of will to create a better future. to keep fighting for an outcome where you and your friends are happy, painstakingly continuing to build upon a foundation of infinite failures. accepting that there is always another alternative, that sometimes things go wrong because you trap yourself into a binary way of thinking. and taking in stride that those mistakes, and the hindsight that comes with them, are essential in making the right decisions going forward.

the retcon is epic and it ties together a lot of big ideas of the story in a fascinating way. i am so sick of people casually treating it like this massive evil that has no redeeming qualities. HUFF my shorts

[catinasink]

whoag 👍

thanks guys