𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔦𝔞'𝔰

ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰʟᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ ᴏꜰ ᴏᴜʀ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴍᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢ

[sereniscia]

˚⊹✿⋆ෆ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴍᴇ ෆ⋆✿⊹˚

ꜱᴇʀᴇɴɪꜱᴄɪᴀ | 18 | ꜱʜᴇ/ʜᴇʀ | 🇵🇭 | ꜰɪʟ/ᴇɴɢ

“𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻 𝓪𝓶 𝓘 𝓲𝓷 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓗𝓾𝓮?”

| ꜰᴀɴᴅᴏᴍꜱ |

| ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ |

| ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴀʀᴛɪꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ ʀᴇᴄꜱ |

l ʀᴜʟᴇꜱ l

| ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ |

| ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛꜱ: 𝕮𝖑𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖉 |

[danijaci]

the bucket tool when there's a small gap:

[silverflqmes]

I want doctor ratio he's so husband ☹️ This may sound corny but I've always wanted to read a ratio fic where the reader is a vampire or werewolf and how that might play out so this ask is basically my equivalent of throwing a coin into a wishing well and hoping it comes true.

໒⦂ 𝐖𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄.

notes. hello anon! i want veritas too, i hear you bro💔 he is so very husband indeed, and for that i thank you for asking for him in these droughtful times.. i chose vampire!reader hope that’s cool!

genre. suggestive

tw. vampirism, descriptions of blood, biting, suggestive themes, mentioned death, biting, use of ‘dear’

dr. ratio x vampire gn!reader.

the doctor doesn’t care to cover up, does he?

you’d counted five hundred and forty two seconds since your gaze drifted from the stretch of his exposed arm — the right, to the sliver of skin divided by a buckle on his side, then, shamefully, to the near diamond shaped window on his chest.. then to that pale, barren neck. unblemished — pristine like those alabaster sculptures he often makes ( and tragically wears at times ).

no one was keeping track, but about three pens have already yielded to the occasional squeeze you would give — snapping into two, and you were on your final one with the work day far from over. just what exactly were you to do?

it wasn’t like he was entirely aware of your struggle, being as engrossed in his research as he was. the primal hunger of a vampiric entity like yourself was.. not of much significance in the grand scheme of things.

though you had to admit, he had trusted you very well to have you present like this, knowing full well what a loose canon a vampire starved could be. maybe it was a test?

whatever it was, it left your tongue dry — akin to that sandpaper-like texture from a cat you had pet just earlier in the day from a fellow scholar at the intelligentsia guild. a single drink could solve all of that, but with veritas hardly sparing you a glance, what were your chances?

as much as you had wanted to approach the man and sink your canines into every surface of skin that had been unshielded by fabric, you knew better than to potentially bleed the man dry. sweet as he was, a sample unlike anything you had ever had the pleasure of drinking, it would be a real shame to be unable to drink from him ever again.

so you waited.

and waited.

and.. waited some more.

twelve hundred seconds had passed.

he shifted a little in his seat, and the snap of plastic echoed louder — far louder than the third pen, causing his head to lift up.

amber orbs met your dilated gaze, a dark brow seeming to raise at the way your body had stiffened before a low hum filtered into your sensitive ears. “another pen, my dear? that’ll be the fourth one today. fifth if we count the one that had snapped twelve minutes to three in the morning.” veritas spoke up, the scratch of his pen slowing, lowering onto the paper with a soft thud; the echo that signaled he might have finished for the day.

well, hopefully at least. sometimes they were false alarms, if only to assess your behavior.

embarrassed, you turned away, pursing your lips together as you brought your hands to your lap. “lost my metal pen that i normally use..” that was a half-lie, it was somewhere in another pencil case — probably. but it certainly was not here, that was to be sure.

but even then, metal pens yielded to your strength after a few squeezes too. it just withstood better than plastic, and rather than a dramatic snap in two, it merely bent to the point of being unusable.

your partner didn’t need to know those details, however, but knowing him and his perception.. he likely already knew.

what didn’t he know, anyway, when it came to you?

“you forget your strength quite a great deal.” he mused out, leaving behind his desk with the scrape of his chair against the cool flooring before slow, measured steps were taken towards you.

each matched what would have been beat in your silent heart, as the echo spoke over it- wrapping your nerves in a way that nearly had you jumping out of your seat to attack his ivory skin right then and there.

you held back, naturally.. but the urge was present, as jasmine greeted your senses, blended with the lightest hint of iris and a soft sandalwood to tie it together. saliva seeped onto your tongue, rolling to the back of your throat as you swallowed thickly.

this man was going to be the death of you, but you might very well be the death of him before that.

together in death, you supposed.

flesh pressed to your cold cheek — ungloved fingertips — as your head was tilted up to meet his gaze from where you still sat, violet curls spilling with the tilt of his head. it was dizzying, and you were almost sure he had heard the low gulp seventeen seconds ago.

still, he pointed out none of the sort.

a thumb pressed to your sealed lips instead, dangerously close to where your canines occasionally peeked through.

your insides churned, lips parting shortly after. “doctor — if you tease me so, i.. won’t be able to stop myself from what might happen next.” from putting two fresh punctures into his wrist regardless of the accessories he wore. so close to your face, thrumming with the steady flow of ichor that might as well belong to someone divine.

his appearance gave off that impression, anyway.

the warning all but went over his head, however, as ratio let out a low hum that more or less transformed into a chuckle not many had the chance of hearing. “and if i didn’t know that already, would i be doing this?” he parroted back, leaning against your desk. “you were staring at me as though you hadn’t eaten in weeks. was this morning at four, after that first pen of yours broke, not enough to satiate your palate?”

stiffening, your eyes flitted to his amber ones before you looked away, wishing to lower your head in shame, were it not for his palm holding your face hostage. “..don’t humans eat more than once a day?” you returned instead, in a voice so shaky — locked in a battle of internal restraint to remain docile.

and yet veritas leaned forward, unafraid. “indeed they do. but is that applicable for vampires as well?” he pressed, hovering over your neck. “or is this mere greed at work?”

your lover gravitated close enough for that pale neck to be hairs away from your lips — testing you and your ability to hold back.

you wouldn’t bite unless permitted, that was what you had promised him long ago.. but he was making it incredibly hard right now to uphold those words.

exhaling sharply, your lips parted, “veritas- do not tease me, please..” you breathed out, forgoing the usual formalities. “i mean it when i say i won’t be able to stop myself from..”

“from what?” he prompted, teeth brushing against frigid skin. “..biting?”

screwing your eyes shut, your forehead met his shoulder in a nod, hands trembling in your lap. even opening your mouth to answer felt like a peril in itself, with him so close.

though he had cared little, as his lips curled against your skin, the vibrations of his laugh, shaking you to the marrow of your bones. “then bite, i never said you couldn’t.”

part of you wanted to continue to question- to challenge the certainty behind his words and inquire further, but the other half was already sinking your teeth into crimson ambrosial- sweeter than anything that could ever grace your tastebuds.

amidst it all, you left your seat to climb onto his lap, digging your nails into his back while his necked craned to the side for easier access, ungloved fingers running down the curve of your spine.

“that’s it. enjoy your fill, my dear.”

notes. i feel like i was dancing between the boundary of nsfw and sfw here bro, vampires don’t make it easy💔 but anyway, coin received! hope you enjoyed this ratio drabble, it was fun to write<3

tysm for reading! consider leaving a tip if you enjoyed<3

↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask

[purpl3tulip]

"If I had a nickel every time I had a crush on a sophisticated guy with amber eyes and bird motif, I'd have two nickels...which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice"

Also after finishing Planarcadia act 2

[meebochii]

🐬❓

[ratiology]

Journey across the cosmos Ratio's Study (Veritas Ratio x Reader)

Where you spend a night alone exploring Ratio’s study, while said scholar sleeps peacefully inside your shared bedroom, unaware of what you'd been up to.

Characters: Dr. Ratio ; word count: 500

a/n: This is a rewrite of something I posted on my old blog...hope the grammar/writing isn't weird or anything ><

𝐃𝐑. 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎 .✦ ݁˖ "𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐝 𝐣𝐨𝐤𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞."

You laid in bed, letting your limbs sprawling across the entire mattress as carefreely as one could. Next to you was Ratio, sleeping ever-so-peacefully with his head slightly propped up by fluffed pillows, tousled strands of indigo framing his features. You smiled at the sight of the scholar looking so relaxed and calm after a long day. 

You gently traced his features, fingers moving along with the small bumps or crevices. You noticed the creases in the middle of his eyebrows, accumulated from scowling or frowning all day, and the small flakes of alabaster residue on his cheeks left from taking off his headpiece. These miniscule things reminded you that Ratio, just like everyone else, was human. 

Ratio’s hair was messy from your fingers running through his wavy locks. A mischievous voice in your head told you to make silly hairstyles out of it, and you did exactly that. You took three strands of his hair and began braiding it, until it reached just above his ear. You couldn’t help but let out a small snicker at your masterpiece, yet quickly stifled it when the man before you stirred, groaning while turning to his side, backside facing you. You took this as a sign from Ratio that he’d had enough with your antics (as he usually tells you so during the daytime), so you decided to lift yourself up from your shared bed and go wherever your feet took you. 

In front of you was a scene far different than your quiet bedroom. Ratio’s study was anything but untidy. In fact, he tidies it every night after he finishes his work as a form of unwinding. The room was filled with fascinating trinkets and curios that Ratio had invented or had been gifted, possibly by acquaintances he’d met in all his years of journeying across the cosmos. A shelf in the corner of the room was lined with almost a dozen of alabaster heads, each with slightly differing details to them, like a slightly crooked nose or a different hairstyle. Perhaps this was Ratio’s unique (and amusing) way of experiencing variety and vibrancy in a world full of monotonous idiocies. 

On his desk was Ratio’s golden headpiece that would be tightly clipped onto his hair day to day, perfectly complimenting his beautiful features. You picked it up with ease, twirling it around with your fingers. The headpiece had small scratches and dents on it, but still shone as brightly as Ratio did. That was something you’d always admired him for, of having the ability to shine amongst others, being “abnormal” in the best possible sense. You searched for anything else that was noteworthy on his desk until a miniature statue of himself caught your attention. The statue was about as big as your palm, posing with one finger pointing forward. Even a tiny sculpture could capture Ratio’s essence of being such a self-assured and bright scholar with how it stood proudly under his desklamp and holograms. 

By this point, you’d begun to feel so tired to the point where sleeping next to your partner felt like a necessity in life. Ratio's chest was visibly rising and falling with every breath he took, almost inviting you to snuggle next to him under the comfortable blankets. That night, you dreamt of Ratio’s reaction to his hair being braided, and your failed attempts at stifling your giggles. 

a/n: THANKS FOR READING!!!! Next up is chrysos heirs as my texts w/ friends!!! eeee can't wait

[meebochii]

😲

[meebochii]

🍵

[meebochii]

🫣

[danijaci]

commissioned on vgen!

[urujsj1886]

How would DR. RATIO react when you come home with flowers that another man gave you on Valentine's day

You walk through the door, the scent of fresh lilies filling the entryway. "Veritas? I’m home!"

Dr. Ratio is in the lounge, a scroll in one hand and a stylus in the other. Veritas didn't look up from the scrolls on his desk. His plaster mask was off, resting on the table, and his amber eyes were fixed on a complex equation. When he finally turns, his gaze ignores your face entirely, locking onto the vibrant bouquet in your arms.

"Welcome home," he said, his voice crisp and clinical. "You're six minutes later than your average arrival time. I assume the added weight of that... biological debris slowed your pace?"

"They're just flowers, Veritas. A gift from a guy at work."

Ratio stands, his muscular frame looming as he approaches. He reaches out, not to touch you, but to flick a petal with a gloved finger. "A gift. From someone who clearly understands neither the scarcity of resources nor the basic principles of botany. To give something that begins to die the moment it is cut... it's a testament to human idiocy."

He pauses, his gaze finally meeting yours. For a split second, the "Doctor" facade slips, replaced by a flicker of genuine irritation. "If you wish to be courted by someone who communicates in weeds, that is your prerogative. However, I expect you to keep that... 'tribute'... out of my sight. It's distracting me from actual work."

He turns back to his books, but you notice he’s holding his chalk so tightly it nearly snaps. "And tomorrow," he adds over his shoulder, "I shall provide you with a list of reputable arborists. If you must have plants, at least choose ones with a survival rate higher than three percent."

Later that afternoon, you found a box in your shared bedroom. It had a small note on top of it. You opened the note, and it said:

“To the one who remains the only variable I cannot—and will not—calculate.

I find the concept of 'Valentine’s Day' to be a tedious celebration of the average. However, I must concede that my irritation this afternoon was not directed at the biological waste you carried, but at the realization that for a moment, I feared another’s intellect—or lack thereof—had captured your attention more effectively than my own.

You are the only person I find tolerable in a sea of pervasive idiocy. More than tolerable; you are the spark that prevents my own mind from stagnating. My appreciation for you is the only thing in this universe that does not require a logical proof. It simply is.

Stay curious. Stay mine.

— Veritas”

You set the book down and walk into the kitchen. Ratio is standing by the counter, his back to you, his ears slightly flushed pink. ostensibly inspecting the structural integrity of a porcelain teacup. He hears your footsteps but doesn't turn, his shoulders tensing just a fraction.

"I assume you've reached the index?" he asks, his voice regaining its usual clinical frost. "Or did the complexity of the introduction prove too—"

You cut him off by wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your face into the small of his back.

The Doctor freezes. The lecture he was clearly prepared to give dies in his throat. For a man who prides himself on having a retort for every situation, the physical contact leaves him momentarily paralyzed. His hands hover awkwardly over the counter before one eventually comes down to rest over yours, his thumb tracing the back of your hand.

"A statistically unnecessary display of affection," he mutters, though his voice has lost its bite. He clears his throat, finally turning in your arms to look down at you. "Well? Do you have something to say, or has your capacity for speech been compromised by sentimentality?"

"I put the flowers in the trash," you say simply, your head buried in his chest. "The vase is empty."

The change in his expression is subtle but profound. The slight furrow in his brow vanishes, replaced by a look of smug, unadulterated triumph. A small, rare smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth—the look of a man who just won a debate he didn't want to admit he was participating in.

"A wise decision," he says, his hand moving from your waist to gently tilt your chin up. "It is always better to prune away the irrelevant to make room for what is essential."

He leans down, his forehead resting against yours, the scent of expensive soap and old paper surrounding you. "Since you've cleared the space, I suppose I shall have to fill it with something... substantial. But for now," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, private hum, "I find this 'silence' between us to be the only thing in this house worth my undivided attention."

When your lips brush against his cheek, the effect is instantaneous. Dr. Ratio—the man who can lecture for three hours without breaking a sweat—suddenly looks like he’s forgotten the laws of thermodynamics.

He stands perfectly still, a soft, dusty pink hue creeping up from his neck to the tips of his ears. He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, his grip on your waist tightening just a fraction.

"Illogical," he whispers, though there is no weight behind the word. "A kiss on the cheek provides no biological benefit, nor does it advance our conversation."

Despite his words, he doesn't pull away. Instead, he shifts his head slightly so his face is tucked against yours, hiding his uncharacteristic flush. You can feel the steady, rapid thrum of his heart against your chest—a stark contrast to his cool, collected exterior.

"However," he continues, his voice low and vibrating against your skin, "I suppose I can tolerate this specific brand of... inefficiency. Just this once."

He pauses, then slowly reaches up, his gloved fingers grazing your hair with surprising tenderness. "The flowers are gone. The note has been read. The data is clear." He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his golden gaze searching yours with an intensity that feels more intimate than any lecture. "You chose the Doctor over the 'weed-peddler.' A most... intelligent conclusion."

He leans in, returning the gesture by pressing a firm, lingering kiss to your temple. It’s a silent seal of his affection, far more honest than any of his complex theories.

"Now," he says, his smirk returning as he regains his composure, "since you’ve discarded the competition, I believe we have a book to discuss. Don't think for a moment that your 'affection' exempts you from the quiz on page twelve."

Determined to see the "Infallible Doctor" crumble, you ignore his mention of page twelve and lean in again. This time, you don't go for the cheek; you catch him right on the lips, lingering just long enough to feel his sharp intake of breath.

For a man who claims to value logic above all else, his brain clearly suffers a catastrophic system failure.

Dr. Ratio’s entire body stiffens for a split second before the sheer biological impulse takes over. His hand, which was likely reaching for a red pen to grade your "progress," instead finds its way to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair to hold you there.

When you finally pull back to look at him, the sight is glorious: his golden eyes are slightly wide, his breathing is uneven, and the "Doctor" persona has been completely evicted from the premises.

"That..." he starts, his voice cracking ever so slightly. He clears his throat, trying desperately to regain his footing. "That was... highly irregular. I was in the middle of... a thought. A very important, scholarly thought regarding..."

He trails off, his gaze dropping to your lips and then darting back to your eyes. He looks genuinely annoyed that he can't remember his own sentence.

"Regarding what, Veritas?" you tease, a smug smile playing on your lips.

"Regarding... the..." He shuts his eyes for a moment, pressing two fingers to his temple as if trying to reboot his intellect. "Curse it. The neurochemical interference caused by your proximity is reaching levels that are frankly... irresponsible."

He sighs, a sound of total surrender, and pulls you back into his space. The book on the counter is forgotten. The quiz on page twelve is effectively canceled.

"Fine," he mutters, his forehead resting against yours as he admits defeat. "It appears the student has mastered a different field of study entirely. I suppose the 'nitrogen cycle' can wait until tomorrow. My current... research... requires a more 'hands-on' approach to sensory stimuli."

He gives you a look that is half-irritated and half-smitten—the look of a man who knows he’s being played but is too far gone to care.

"Zero points for academic discipline," he whispers against your skin, "but... full marks for execution."

HAPPY LATE VALENTINES 🫶 🌹

(人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+

(I LOVE YOU, DR. RATIO)

[liangtea-brew]

Ratio Drabble — #001

The little things

One thing about Ratio is tha he's observant. He notices every little thing about you. How many sugar cubes do you put in your coffee. Your habit of putting your alarm through 7 snoozes. The fact that you never actually used your bookmarks and ended up forgetting where you left off on your book.

He remembers every thing, and because of that, he also tends to realize when something is wrong. Especially when you keep rubbing the side of your neck repeatedly throughout the day. The fact that you so subtly try to hide the fact that you probably have a neck pain right now.

Being the gentle and caring partner he is, he decided to check you out.

You felt a gentle tap on your shoulder, you thought it was just one of your co-worker who is dropping another pile of work to your desk. So, you decided to not turn around and dismiss them as soon as possible, as you don't wish to be disturbed right now, "Just put the documents on my table, thank you."

Seeing this, Ratio sighed and shook his head. He cleared his throat to make his presence known, "It's me, dear."

You jumped at the familiar sound coming from the back of your shoulder, "Oh— Hi Veri, is there something wrong?" You turned around slowly.

He noticed it, you would usually turn to the right, but this time you're turning to the left. Something is definitely wrong with the right side of your neck. He frowned at the thought of you hurting yourself, "Are you okay?"

You were taken aback by his sudden question, "Uh, yeah? What's up?" You definitely won't tell him that you messed up your neck or he'll be worried sick!

He sighed, it seems like you won't admit it. He decided that he'll take a more direct approach, "Is your neck okay? You've been rubbing it all day."

Of course he noticed. Out of all the things that he could be paying attention to, he paid attention to you. If you think about it, it's really sweet of him, but you didn't want to make him worried. It's quite common for someone to wake up at the wrong side of the bed, and to have the possibility of their neck all sore and stuff.

"Huh, yeah it's okay! I just used the wrong pillow, nothing too serious." You laughed it off, hoping that he wouldn't pry too much into it.

He stared at you like he didn't believe a single word you just said, well, obviously he didn't.

"If you're going to lie, atleast do better." Walked off and returned with a pack of ice to help you soothe the pain.

"Show me where it hurts," he carefully moved your hair and gently pressed the icepack on where it hurts. You could feel the ice burn against your skin, but it would be a lie if it didn't slightly make your neck feel better.

"Thank you Veri," you held onto the ice pack and put a bit of preassure on it as Ratio lets go of it.

Extra:

The next day he took the effort to gift you a brand new pillow. He said that he picked it himself and he claimed that it's scientifically proven to prevent neck pain. He really goes the extra mile just to make sure his loved ones are well and happy.

[urujsj1886]

Hi its me again ♥️

Can you pretty please with a cherry on top do a Dr ratio x reader fluff fic where Dr ratio finds an embarrassing photo of shy reader and he basically confronts and asks about the photo

Stay safe, drink water, take your time, and always thank you ♥️♥️🎉🙏

Sorry for the long wait, hope you like it tho 🫶

The desk lamp cast a warm, golden circle over the heavy mahogany wood of Ratio’s study. He was meticulously grading papers, his red pen cutting through poor logic with surgical precision. Beside him, you sat curled up in an armchair, completely absorbed in a book, occasionally hiding your face behind the pages whenever he looked your way. You had always been shy, a trait Veritas found both endlessly endearing and mildly baffling.

He reached into his leather satchel to pull out a reference text, but his fingers brushed against a glossy piece of paper that didn’t belong. Curious, he pulled it out.

It was a photograph. Specifically, a photograph of you.

It looked to be from your academy days. You were wearing an oversized graduation gown, clutching a diploma, and tripping spectacularly over the hem. Your eyes were wide with panic, your hair was a chaotic nest, and a stray piece of cake was smudged prominently across your left cheek.

Veritas stared at the photo. A rare, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

You caught the sudden silence from across the room. Peeking over your book, your eyes landed on the glossy paper in his hand. Your heart dropped. Your face instantly flushed a brilliant, burning crimson.

"Veritas! No, give that back!" you squeaked, scrambling out of the chair to snatch it.

He anticipated your move, smoothly lifting the photo out of your reach while keeping his expression perfectly calm. "Calm down, my dear. Panic is an enemy to reason."

"It's awful! It's the most embarrassing photo in existence!" You covered your burning face with both hands, wishing the floor of the Intelligentsia Guild would open up and swallow you whole. "I was supposed to throw that away years ago. Please don't look at it."

Veritas set the photo down on the desk, face up. He stood up, closed the distance between you, and gently took hold of your wrists. With a softness he rarely showed the rest of the galaxy, he pulled your hands away from your face. Your cheeks were still hot to the touch.

"Look at me," he murmured, his deep voice dropping to a soothing register.

You reluctantly looked up into his striking, golden eyes.

"There is absolutely nothing in this image to be ashamed of," Veritas said, using his thumb to gently brush your cheek. "You view it as a failure of poise. I see a fascinating, endearing glimpse into your past. You survived the rigors of academia, even if gravity gave you a brief challenge at the finish line."

"I have cake on my face, Veritas," you mumbled, looking down at his chest.

"A minor calculation error regarding confectionery transport," he teased lightly, a fond rumble in his chest. "It adds character. Tell me, how exactly did the cake end up there?"

Seeing that he wasn't mocking you, the tight knot of embarrassment in your chest began to loosen. You let out a tiny, self-deprecating laugh. "My friend tried to surprise me with a slice right before they called my name. I panicked, hid it in my hand, and when I tripped... well, the cake met my face."

Veritas chuckled, a sound that vibrated warmly against your hands. He pulled you into a gentle embrace, wrapping his arms securely around your waist and resting his chin on top of your head. You buried your face into his shoulder, finally feeling safe from the embarrassment.

"A highly illogical sequence of events, but a charming one nonetheless," Veritas whispered into your hair. "I am keeping the photograph."

You stiffened slightly in his arms. "You're what?"

"It will reside in my desk drawer," he replied smoothly, squeezing you a little tighter. "To serve as a daily reminder that even the most brilliant minds are wonderfully human. Now, shall we return to our reading, or do you wish to confess any other hidden culinary mishaps?"

You smiled against his shoulder, your shyness melting away into the warmth of his embrace. "No more mishaps, Doctor."

"A pity," he murmured fondly. "I find them thoroughly delightful."

If you would like to continue this scene or explore another scenario, let me know

(人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+

[sereniscia]

Love this 🤩

[sugiliteful]

something something Dr. Ratio x merfolk! reader yet again for mermay (continuation of this ficlet and also this one). 1.1k words.

warnings: eating, injury mention, hearing voices (kind of).

The raw sunlight is easily the most appalling thing you have ever seen.

Ratio has repeatedly tried to nonverbally communicate to you that the sun will not burn you any faster than it does him, but you think that’s easy for him to say when he stands tall and light brown and warm all the time. Clearly, he has never had to work for the heat as you have—that much you know just from observing how little he appreciates the various sources of it in and around his dwelling.

For instance, the human sleeps in the rectangular nest on the far right side of his room instead of anywhere near the patches of floor warmed by the filtered, comfortably tepid sunlight pouring in from the window—you can very personally confirm that the best naps on land always take place on the floor. Yes, even if you spend most of your time in the bathtub.

But that’s hardly relevant to your current position—clutching a post of the shaded front porch for dear life. Your claws dig into the wood more than you mean to, etching thin lines into the areas with easier give.

Ratio’s hand remains extended before you, patient despite what you’ve come to recognize as his expression for annoyance. He says something you believe to include “here,” but you only dig your claws into the wood so suddenly it screeches more than enough to express your disinterest for you.

At that, the human sighs and pushes his lenses back up the uneven slope of his nose. Signaling for you to wait, he leaves, exiting your peripheral and soon returning with something held behind his back. Your eyes widen the moment they catch the familiar scent—fish. Still fresh. The faintness of it has to be cod. You perk up to confirm your suspicions, and had you been less distracted would have noticed a (however weary) slight smile come over Ratio’s face. But you are very, very distracted, so all your eyes wind up seeing is the fish as the man—practically taunting your senses now—holds it up in the air.

He extends his hand again.

Offering, no? You should accept. You want the cod, after all. The human feeds you, of course, but usually not whole, raw fish at a time this large. It’s not the biggest you’ve seen, no, but the size genuinely resembles that you would find and be lucky to catch in deeper waters than the humans surely found it; funnily enough, the length is close to the man before you’s height. It’s easy to guess which will taste better. So you want the fish. You want the fish very, very much. And it looks like all you have to do to get it is…move forward. Into the strange brightness, not…too difficult of a sacrifice for a fish that big. Yes, it is not difficult. The reward is (by a thinness) enough to be pursued quickly while water still drips from the lower end of your desired meal.

Breathe, you think.

Reluctantly, you permit a single finger to reach for the light, bracing yourself for a sting as the small part slips past the border of the shade.

It does not hurt.

It does feel wonderful.

Although jarring, the light warms what little you offered it down to the bone, and for a moment you wonder why you were ever afraid of touching such a thing.

You blink once, then twice, before allowing your whole webbed hand to enter the unshaded air. Wait, wait, and wait. The pain you had prepared yourself for never comes. A laugh you forgot you could make leaves your throat—although it’s not one identical to a human’s, judging from Ratio’s brief concerned look, you couldn’t feel more light-hearted at the sound of it. You move your whole body forward a little too eagerly, earning you and Ratio both a faster heartbeat at the thump of your tail leaving the porch. The flesh beneath the bandages wrapped round your midsection are, thankfully, mostly spared the impact once you hit the dirt. The same cannot be said for your caretaker, who gets the breath knocked out of him. Unceremoniously.

Time briefly slows in the moments in which you lie directly on top of him, but you’re not stunned enough to be slow to end it. Snatching the fish in your claws and promptly rolling off of his torso to tear into it sideways on the ground, the situation is forgotten to you as quickly as it began. With this, you succeed in your goal, though leaving Ratio to stare blankly at the sky, rub his eyes and sit up. The human starts pawing around for his lost aid while you make sure not one bit of flesh is wasted. The fish is exactly as tasty as you thought; though you find yourself wanting the crushed pale rock from earlier meals to accompany it, the size makes up for it.

Ratio quickly finds his lenses. He exhales with relief before wiping the smudged pair off on his shirt and returning them to his face. It’s then that he turns to you—still gnawing away, but slowing one bite at a time once you feel his gaze focus on you. He’s caught his breath. Finishing swallowing your latest mouthful, your eyes wind up coming to meet him.

Here, the light hits you two in full. It is pleasant to revel in, you think, not bothering to move from the hard, stable ground fully exposed to it. Your sight could still use practice; it is good that most days are much less horribly bright, because even now you are forced to squint and focus on a single thing when you look. You see mostly a blur of red and lighter shades you can’t name yet in the shape of overlaid circles. There is a stronger shine overlapping the border and darker lines in the corners from the radiance of everything, bringing out a view extensive enough you feel you don’t have enough eyes for it and lending to the single gaze a certain depth of once-muddled intention as he looks upon you not unkindly. It occurs to you, suddenly, that his fall could not have felt good.

You still. (If such an action is even possible anymore, given how severely his eyes stuck you in this same place.) Then raise both hands to extend your food to him. The best translatable apology you know to give.

The man’s face visibly softens at this—though he pushes the fish back towards you, refusing your offer. Within a minute, he is letting you off with a long sigh and some pats from his hand to the top of your head that you find yourself—without thinking—leaning into. With that, you resume occupying your claws with familiar wet flesh.

You do know, the voice at the back of your head begins again, you cannot stay here forever.

Yes, you say in return. I know.

You have only ever been trying to forget.

[danijaci]

source: trust me bro (1) w/ phainon

LS! YN is still dedicated to the act even while tipsy!!!

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[sereniscia]

IWJSISHSISJIA AAAAAAAAA 😭😭

[notesfromthemirror]

Is it alright to have if I could ask for cozy reading night in (maybe rainy maybe snowed in) with ratio and his snack daughters?

-🦉

Bookmark Behavior Under Novel Conditions (Dr. Ratio x Reader)

A/N: Hi 🦉 anon! :) Thank you for the request and for your patience. Writing Ratio makes me a little nervous, but this idea was far too cute to resist. :)

I tried to keep him true to himself here. He’s just softened a little by familiarity and domesticity. Hope you’ll enjoy!

Tags: Family Fluff. Dad Ratio. Rainy Day Vibes. Established Relationship. Soft Dr Ratio. Dr Ratio Being Dr Ratio. Children. Slice of Life. Bedtime Stories.

Word count: 842

⋆ ✦ ⋆

Rain taps steadily against the windows.

It’s been at it since mid-afternoon. The lamps are on. Someone has dragged every spare cushion in the house to the living room floor, for reasons that made sense to your daughters and were not fully explained to anyone else.

The result is something between a nest and a minor structural project, and both girls are very satisfied with it.

The younger one is sprawled across the carpet with a blanket around her shoulders, dramatically upside down against the couch cushions in a position that looks profoundly uncomfortable and apparently isn’t.

The older sits cross-legged beside the coffee table surrounded by half-finished snacks and a notebook she’d insisted on bringing “for observations,” the nature of which she has not yet seen fit to specify.

Ratio sits in the armchair nearest the lamp, a book open in one hand.

It had been a different book an hour ago.

The first had been a comprehensive introduction to theoretical cartography that he had, in his considered opinion, selected reasonably. It covered exploration, discovery, the relationship between observation and recorded knowledge. Entirely appropriate.

“This is boring,” the younger one had announced, approximately four minutes in.

“Learning frequently is.”

“The sentences are too long.”

“Complex ideas require complex sentences.”

“Father.” The older one had looked up from her notebook. “We are nine and seven.”

A pause.

“The next chapter involves a stellar expedition,” he had tried.

“Does anyone get eaten?”

“Navigators are not typically—” He’d stopped. Looked at their faces. Closed the book with quiet dignity. “I’ll find something else.”

The current volume is an adventure, morally instructive, and the girls are significantly more engaged, which Ratio would never describe as a victory but which registers as one nonetheless.

“You skipped a page,” the younger one accuses.

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

Ratio huffs. “An extraordinary claim. Present evidence.”

“The hero was in the cave and then suddenly outside the cave.”

“A transition of location does not inherently imply missing content.”

“It implies suspicious narration.”

“…That,” Ratio concedes, “is a defensible argument.”

Your younger daughter looks extraordinarily smug. The older one makes a note in her notebook without looking up.

“What are you writing?” Ratio asks.

“Observations.”

“On?”

“Father being wrong.”

Ratio gives her a look that has, in professional settings, caused grown adults to reconsider their life choices. She meets it with perfect equanimity, having apparently developed an immunity at some point in the last year.

He turns back to the book.

You step quietly into the room carrying fresh tea, pausing for a moment in the doorway.

The scene settles into you immediately—the rain against the glass, the warm pool of lamplight, the cushion-nest on the floor, the notebook-observations, the open book in Ratio’s hand.

Ratio looks up first.

The shift in his expression is subtle enough that the girls likely miss it entirely. You don’t. The faint easing around his eyes. The immediate, undemonstrated awareness of you.

“You’re still awake,” he says.

“You say that like you aren’t.”

“I’m correcting papers after this.”

Both girls groan in theatrical unison.

“Father,” the older one says, with the measured disappointment of someone twice her age, “you are ruining the atmosphere.”

“The atmosphere,” he replies, “was already compromised when you attempted to feed biscuit crumbs to the bookmark.”

“That happened once.”

“Once is sufficient.”

“It was an experiment.”

“In what?”

She consults her notebook. “Bookmark behavior under novel conditions.”

Ratio stares at her for a moment with an expression that is doing several things at once. Then he turns back to the book with great deliberateness.

You laugh softly and move toward the couch.

As you pass his chair he catches your wrist and draws you close enough that the kiss he presses to your forehead is unhurried and unself-conscious. Then he releases you and turns back to his page as though nothing has happened at all.

Your younger daughter’s hand shoots up immediately.

“Bias.”

Ratio does not look up. “Correct.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Life rarely is. Pay attention. The hero is about to do something inadvisable.”

She subsides. The older one makes another note.

You settle into the corner of the couch with your tea, pulling a blanket across your legs.

You listen to the rain and his voice and the occasional scratch of a pencil, and think that some evenings simply ask nothing of you except to be present in them.

Ratio reads on.

When he reaches the end of the chapter, the younger one is mostly asleep, blanket pulled to her chin, one hand still curled loosely around the edge of her cushion. The older is still writing with great concentration.

“What now?” she asks, without looking up.

Ratio glances at her notebook. Then at you.

“One more chapter,” he says. “For the sake of completion.”

She looks up then. Something in her expression that is very much his. The faint, private satisfaction of someone getting what they wanted without having asked for it directly.

“Mm,” she says, and turns to a fresh page.

⋆ ✦ ⋆

A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. :)

Masterlist.

[sereniscia]

I love this 🤩

[skeletonenthusiasts]

〔 🌐 〕 KING OF SPADES LAYOUT ♪

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┊⌦  𓎟𓎟　art credits ﹕ _tunabelly on twitter

┊⌦  req by anon ﹕ thank you for requesting !

┊⌦  𓎟𓎟　character(s) ﹕ king of spades ( deltarune )

┊⌦  𓎟𓎟　tagging ﹕ @webmush

♬  f2uwc & reblog ﹕ terms of service ﹕ req info

pt: title. contains: banner, dividers, icons. art credits: _tunabelly on twitter (link). req by anon: thank you for requesting! character(s): king of spades (deltarune). tagging: @/webmush. f2uwc & reblog. terms of service (link). req info (link). end pt.