Can I ask for a platonic Dr Ratio and Anaxa fic? Like reader is their student, but they are very strict with them. And reader does not want to disappoint them so they overwork themselves, ending up ignoring their own needs. Until one day the reader and char are having an argument and reader ends up passing out because of it?
Have a good day or night, and take care and your time :-)
The Weight of Illumination
Tags: Ratio x Reader, Anaxa x Reader, Platonic Relationship, Mentor/Student, Strict Mentor, Overworking, Emotional Tension, Caring, Personal Growth.
The study smelled of old parchment, candle smoke, and rain. The air hummed with the low thrum of magical energy—residual traces of a failed experiment still clinging to the walls.
You sat hunched over a cluttered desk, your hands trembling slightly as you scribbled symbols across a parchment. Ink smudged your wrist. The quill’s edge had long since frayed, but you didn’t dare stop.
You could still hear his voice from earlier echoing in your head.
“Precision, not haste. You think meaning will appear through repetition? No—it is revealed through understanding.”
Anaxa never shouted. He didn’t need to. His words carried the weight of something heavier than anger—disappointment. And that, more than anything, terrified you.
So you worked harder. Longer.
Hours bled together; daylight melted into the lamplight’s dull glow. You skipped meals, drank bitter tea that had long gone cold, and forced your mind to decipher the labyrinth of sigils and formulas he’d assigned. Every time your head dipped, your voice would whisper: Don’t fail him.
He had chosen you as a pupil, after all. Out of dozens.
It wasn’t affection that drove him—it was belief. And you couldn’t bear the idea of betraying it.
By the time the door creaked open, you had already copied and cross-referenced half the treatise twice over. You didn’t notice him step inside until the shadows shifted, swallowing the candlelight.
“Still awake?” Anaxa’s tone was unreadable. He leaned against the archway, the faint gold of his eyepatch glinting beneath the lamplight.
You flinched and stood, nearly spilling your ink. “Ah—Professor. I was just… reviewing the analysis you asked for.”
He walked closer, his boots silent on the stone floor. “Reviewing?” He glanced down at your parchment—rows upon rows of meticulously written notes, each cross-referenced, footnoted, and then rewritten again. “This is not review. This is… obsession.”
“I just want to get it right,” you said quickly. “You said my previous theorem lacked clarity. I—”
“I said it lacked restraint.” His words cut through the air like a blade. “And now you’re proving my point.”
You bit your lip. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”
That silenced him for a heartbeat. The faint hum of his golden accessories filled the pause, resonating like a low chime.
“Disappointment,” he murmured, stepping beside you, “is not the same as failure. You misunderstand me.” His hand brushed over the parchment, almost tenderly, before he looked at you again—his eye gleaming like a fractured gem. “Knowledge demands a price, but not your life.”
You forced a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “It’s fine. I can handle it. I just need—”
“Enough.”
The word struck harder than you expected. He rarely raised his voice, and when he did, it meant he’d already lost patience.
“Your candle has burned to wax,” he continued, eye narrowing. “You are pale, your hands tremble, and you’ve clearly not eaten since—”
“Don’t treat me like a child,” you snapped before you could stop yourself.
He blinked. For a second, the composed scholar vanished, replaced by a man caught off guard by defiance. Then his expression hardened again.
“Then stop behaving like one,” he retorted quietly. “You think this is discipline? This is desperation.”
You felt your throat tighten. “I’m trying to prove I’m worthy of your time.”
“I wouldn’t have chosen you if you weren’t.”
The words should have comforted you. But in that moment, they only made the lump in your chest heavier. The room blurred slightly. You tried to focus—on his voice, the sound of rain, the flicker of candlelight—but it all started to fade, soft and distant.
“Professor…” you whispered. “I—”
The floor tilted. The world swayed sideways, and the next thing you knew, the cold stone met your cheek. The last thing you saw was his silhouette rushing forward, cloak flaring, before everything went dark.
When you woke, your head felt heavy. The faint scent of herbs and paper hung in the air. You blinked blearily—your vision clearing to find Anaxa seated nearby, arms folded, his expression a storm of guilt and irritation.
“You collapsed,” he said quietly, not looking up from the book resting in his lap. “In the middle of an argument. How very poetic.”
You tried to sit up, but he raised a hand. “Don’t. Hyacine said your vitals are fine, but exhaustion and malnourishment do not make for stable scholars.”
You swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”
“Do not apologize.” His tone softened—barely. “You mistake my expectations. I do not need another worshipper of my methods. I need a mind willing to question even me.”
Your eyes widened slightly. “But you’re—”
“Fallible,” he interrupted. “Terribly so.” He shut the book, leaning forward, his voice quieter now. “The pursuit of truth is a path paved with failures. You are allowed to stumble. You are expected to.”
You looked away, shame prickling your skin. “I thought you’d be disappointed if I slowed down.”
He exhaled, a weary sound that wasn’t quite a sigh. “If your candle burns out before it illuminates anything, what use is its light?”
You didn’t have an answer.
Silence stretched between you—thick, but not uncomfortable.
At last, he stood, adjusting the chain that ran across his shoulder. “You will rest. Eat something when you can stomach it. And next time, when I demand progress…” His gaze flicked back to you, a faint, almost imperceptible smile curving his lips. “…understand that I am asking for insight, not martyrdom.”
And for the first time, his voice carried something gentler than authority.
Almost—affection.
You nodded weakly. “Yes, Professor.”
He turned toward the door, pausing just long enough to add, “And… never call me ‘Prof A.’”
Despite your exhaustion, a soft laugh escaped you. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Show your work,” Ratio said curtly, tapping the corner of your datapad with a gloved finger. “If I can’t follow your reasoning, I’ll assume you don’t have any.”
You bit your lip and adjusted the projection hovering in the air. Rows of formulas rearranged themselves in midair, glowing faintly blue. The classroom around you was quiet—too quiet. Only the faint hum of the holo-screens filled the air.
He stood behind you, perfectly composed, violet hair catching the artificial light. He didn’t speak often when you worked; his silence was worse than criticism. You’d rather he say something, even if it cut deep.
“I can handle it,” you murmured, mostly to yourself.
Ratio glanced down at you, his expression unreadable. “No one said you couldn’t. But haste and comprehension seldom coexist.”
That had been the rhythm of your mentorship: precision, discipline, brilliance—or nothing. You admired him endlessly, even when he frustrated you beyond measure. He made you want to earn your place beside him.
But admiration had its price. You found yourself staying later and later at the Guild’s observatory, recalibrating calculations, checking your logic, chasing perfection. Sleep became optional; food, a distraction.
The next morning, he caught you slumped over your datapad, equations half-finished, eyes bleary.
Ratio frowned. “You look like you’ve spent the night losing an argument with your own mind.”
You rubbed your eyes. “I was revising the theorem you mentioned. I think I almost have it.”
He studied you for a moment, then said coolly, “Almost is a word that hides exhaustion. You’re overextending.”
“I can handle it.”
He sighed quietly. “So you keep insisting.”
He moved to the console, scanning your calculations. His finger hovered above one line, then stopped. “Your variable substitutions are correct. But your proof collapses under its own ambition.”
“That’s not—” you began, but he raised an eyebrow.
“You’re trying to impress me,” he said simply. “That’s unnecessary.”
You froze.
“You think my respect must be earned through endurance,” he continued, voice low but firm. “It isn’t. You’ve already proven yourself capable. What you lack is moderation.”
The words stung more than you expected. “You’re saying I’m reckless.”
“I’m saying you’re human,” he replied. “Try to act like one.”
That was the spark. You’d been wound too tightly for too long. “I’m trying! I don’t want to fall behind everyone else!”
Ratio’s expression sharpened. “You’re not competing. You’re learning.”
“I can’t afford to slow down!”
“Then you will collapse,” he said flatly. “And what will that accomplish?”
His calmness was infuriating. You opened your mouth to retort—something about being strong enough, being worthy—but the words tangled in your throat.
The room tilted slightly. A ringing started in your ears.
“Dr. Ratio…” you said weakly. “I just need a moment to—”
You didn’t finish. The world dimmed, the light from the holo-screens bleeding into nothingness as your knees buckled.
When consciousness returned, you were lying on the couch in his office. The lights were dimmer now, tinted warm instead of cold blue. A faint blanket covered you. You could hear the soft scratch of a pen—Ratio writing something nearby.
“You fainted,” he said without looking up. His tone was as precise as ever, but quieter. “Dehydration and fatigue. Predictable.”
You groaned softly. “That’s embarrassing.”
“Not embarrassing. Merely… predictable.” He set the pen down. “You remind me too much of myself.”
You blinked up at him. “That’s supposed to be flattering?”
“Hardly,” he said dryly. But then, after a pause, his tone shifted—softer. “You push yourself until reason collapses. You forget that intellect requires rest as much as rigor.”
You swallowed. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
Ratio exhaled slowly, eyes half-lidded. “Disappointment would require expectation. I already expect you to err, to fail, to learn. That is what study is.”
Silence filled the space between you.
“Knowledge,” he said finally, “is not a race to be won. It is a mirror. And you cannot see clearly if you’re too exhausted to lift your head.”
His words carried no scolding, no condescension—just quiet certainty. You felt something uncoil in your chest.
“I’ll try to rest more,” you murmured.
“Good,” he replied. Then, with a faint smirk: “Because if you faint in my lab again, I’ll assign you to catalog minerals for a month. By hand.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “Cruel.”
“Efficient,” he corrected.
He stood, adjusting his gloves, and added, “Now drink something warm. And next time, when you think working harder makes you stronger—remember this moment. Even brilliance breaks if pressed too thin.”
You nodded, smiling faintly. “Yes, Dr. Ratio.”
He hesitated briefly before turning away. “And… well done, by the way. Your proof was closer than you think.”
You looked up, startled—but he was already gone, his coat fading beyond the door, leaving only the echo of quiet approval lingering in the air.
It's been a while since i last wrote so i'm working ts up twin❤️🩹
I'm not really good with fanfics n shit + i'm very tired but i hope at least someone will enjoy this🥹
it was 2AM, and your boyfriend, Law Trafalgar, wasn't home yet. He got things going on and left hours ago. You were waiting for him,the big space in the bed too overwhelming for you to relax. Just as you were consumed by your thoughts, you hear something ;
Click
The door opens, and you find law at the entrance. You get up to greet your boyfriend with a soft "welcome back home,honey" and lean against him. His dark circles were deeper than usual, mostly due to his plan against doflamingo, not like he was getting any sleep anyway.
He leans against you,his head resting on your shoulder,his arms finding purpose around your waist as he relaxes in your embrace."You're feeling sleepy, dear? Let's go to bed an-" you didn't get to finish your sentence as you heard soft snores against your skin. "Don't tell me you fell asleep while standing up" you thought to yourself.
Thanks to the chores you've been dealing with penguin and bepo,you lifted him up quite easily (this guy is just bones n sticks icl) and threw him on your shoulder like a sack of potatoes, your hand grabbing his ass for support. "Let's go, law" you chuckled.
Once you were in bed, you gently laid him down, and put him in more comfortable clothes. You took off his hat and put it aside before rolling him around the blanket,like he was in a cocoon.
You lay on him,arms wrapping around his sushi-like silhouette while giving soft kisses all over his face and a last one, longer, on his soft lips.
Finally, you lay beside him and lazily put an arm around him, holding him tightly as your eyes slowly closed.
And now it was 5AM, 3hours later
The sound of the rain hitting against the window ended up disturbing your sleep. You opened your eyes and noticed that (somehow) Law got rid of the blanket and wrapped himself around you,his legs and arms caging you against his body. You look up to his face and notice the small blush and redness on the tips of his ears. "Cute" you thought to yourself, your smile growing.
Your hand reaches up to cup his face, squishing his cheek. Then, you reach behind his head, massaging his skull. He groans sleepily,leaning against you for more,you can feel him starting to relax,little by little. "You must've worked so hard,huh captain? It's time to take a break" you said as you kissed him on the lips.
Your hand goes to his back, softly massaging his tense shoulders. You hear him saying weak "thank you"s, his nonchalance fading away as you both drift off to sleep.
Robot Whumpee working long beyond their human friends' capability in an emergency situation, staunchly ignoring the alerts that they're running lower and lower on power and there's no time to recharge
hyper-specific whump scenario that has lived in my head for months and I swear I will write the fic that goes with it someday:
Whumpee gets a promotion / new job in the wake of some kind of disaster or attack, which left them wounded. (Their predecessor probably died in the event, or, if you want some drama, was the one who caused it.)
By the end of the (very brief, no time for fancy shit now) ceremony, whumpee is already pale-faced and swaying on their feet, and when they eagerly report to Leader asking what they can do, they're told to lie down and rest. When they try to protest, Leader adds, "That's an order." (The first one they've gotten since their promotion / new job.)
I just love the idea of someone who is so eager to help, to prove themselves, to be good at this job, and how disappointed they would feel being immediately told to rest.
And imagining whumpee pushing themself to be on their feet again, lying through their teeth to Medic and Leader that they're totally fine and can handle all of the new responsibilities.
How long before they overwork themself and collapse from exhaustion or fall ill or have some other issue because they never truly recovered from whatever hurt them in the first place? Is Leader aware of what whumpee is doing? Is any other member of the team? If not, how do they react when they find out? Angry at whumpee? Angry at themselves? Guilty? Just plain worried? Panicking because they can't lose anyone else? (I love a good leader character with some intense trauma that they are firmly ignoring because they just don't have time to unpack that right now.)
I love when a whumpee is trying to prove themself to a carewhumper, or perhaps a bad caretaker, and they work themself so hard to prove they can be useful and worth keeping around that they end up making themself so tired that their quality of work goes down and they get in trouble for it. Whumpee feeling like there is nothing they could possibly do to pull themself out of this hole. Eventually Carewhumper realizes how much Whumpee has been working and they understand with dawning horror how much they misunderstood the situation.
The ticking of its soul, the movements of its gears. Tick, tock, tick, tock. Another minute has passed. Tick, tock, tick, tock, a task to complete.
Tick, tock, tick, tock. The sound of a ticking clock.
Slowly, it begins to break. A tiny crack at first, but it quickly spreads. Tick, tock, another ~~minute, hour, day, year~~ has passed. Tick tock, the cracks have spread.
Tick tock
It's broken
How could this have happened?
It cries out, ~~blood~~ the oil that had once kept it going slowly pooling
It lays there for a bit.
And then it stands back up
And the cycle begins anew
Tick tock goes the clock
Another task, another job. Another to care for. Don't wander. Focus. More.
It's slower now, but it keeps going. As it should.
