* cogito ergo sum. @veritvincit - Tumblr Blog

#VERITVINCIT. ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤa private, selective, and perpetually low activity interpretation of ㅤDR. VERITAS RATIO ㅤof ㅤHONKAI STAR RAIL. ㅤ as scrutinized by ㅤATLAS ㅤ( 27. he/him ). ㅤat points canon divergent and unaffiliated with any particular fandom. ㅤOC &&. CROSSOVER friendly.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤcarrd • headcanons • prompts

LEARNING ALONGSIDE: healingscars/wisteriaorchids, yingren

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤrules and credits under cut

#PINNED POST DNI.

Health has been a little hit or miss as of late (nothing serious it's just been causing a lot of exhaustion) so once more apologizing for the inactivity. I will probably be prioritizing asks once I get the motivation to write. 👁️

#⤬∶ ❛ pride comes before a fall; ( ooc. )

yingren

no, ren doesn’t expect veritas to become anything else after he dies, as though his existence will simply fade, returning to the earth in whatever place he’s finally laid to rest. his body will turn to dust, and with it, all that they shared. no more late-night debates, no more affection woven through playful sarcasm, no more them. eventually, when the time comes ( and ren would argue that time could never truly be right ) , veritas will die, and ren will be left alone.

it’s strange, really, to even imagine that kind of life, the same kind of life he once had before meeting veritas, before he knew the sound of his voice, the way his eyes caught the light, or the familiar comfort of his home. he’s lived without veritas before & in some ways, he’s lived many lives without him. but after he is gone, any life ren continues will be changed irreversibly. something crucial will be missing, something so deeply entwined with him now that its absence would feel like a wound that never quite heals. how fucking ironic.

is it irrational to hold onto that? to think that something this essential could never truly be gone?

ren’s back presses against the wall as he leans there, feeling a familiar discomfort, though he suspects it has more to do with the subject they’re skirting around than with any physical position. it’s so tempting to brush it all aside, to live in their usual way, playing house, bickering over minor things that don’t matter, and avoiding anything serious. that way is easier. simpler. foolish, maybe, but far less complicated than the truth that lurks beneath.

this isn’t just jealousy or possessiveness. there’s a greedy streak in him, a deep-seated need, selfish as it is, to know, to hear it said, that even after death, this will have meant something. that whatever undefined thing they have, however untraditional or makeshift, holds some weight, even to veritas. ren is fairly certain it does. he’s not so blind as to miss the way veritas lets him into his life, opens his home to him, and even entertains ridiculous talk of a wedding they may never properly have.

“ i was fine before you, i’ll be fine again without you. ” the words slip out sharper than he intended, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, stinging as if he’s swallowing shards of glass. he forces himself to meet his lover’s gaze, swallowing hard against the rawness in his throat. telling him he’ll be fine isn’t entirely untrue, in some ways, he will be. he’ll have no other choice. but that doesn’t mean he’ll have to move on, as though it’s something he can simply do. the very thought seems absurd, even repellent, touching on a fear that feels foreign and unsettling.

“ bullshit. you'd rather i move on ? i don't believe that for one fucking second. i can live for myself, with myself, ” he speaks, voice steady, “ and i don’t need anyone else. you’re out of your mind if you think you’ll be replaced that easily. for all your cleverness, you seem clueless about the impact you have if you think you’re that easy to move on from. this isn’t one of your stupid diplomas, left behind and useless once you’re gone. this— i will still be here, so you will still be here. i have every right to remain rooted in the one thing that truly matters to me. it doesn’t mean i can’t branch out in other ways. ”

veritvincit

Ren’s response, no matter how sharp, don’t so much as nick Veritas’ own disposition. Strangely enough, there’s a strange sense of comfort to be found within the words themselves — a reminder, a reassurance. He WILL be fine. He WILL persevere. He has no choice, and though that in itself elicits another round of tumultuous, conflicting thoughts and feelings on the matter, for if nothing else Ren deserves that opportunity to truly rest, to know Ren will continue even then offers some consolation for when the inevitable comes to pass.

The concept of attachment isn’t lost on Veritas. It’s one that, despite his insistence Ren learn to enjoy life separate from him, he wholly understands. He isn’t perfect, isn’t so flawless, nor even above sentiments such as jealousy or possessiveness — all traits are too human, too real, and while Ren makes it easy to keep that ugly sensation from twisting in his gut and festering into something all the more hideous as it does in the moment, he’s by no means immune.

Yet there Veritas remains the catalyst to that detestable sensation at the pit of his stomach — while many may perceive him as some unlikely paragon of selflessness, He too is selfish. He curbs it, keeps it under wraps, recognizes the irrationality of his own selfish nature and doesn’t allow it to dictate his actions, but it’s undeniable in this moment. He wants Ren to be capable of moving on should he so desire it, but by the Aeons it's the last thing he wants to come to pass.

“You misunderstand.”

Ren grows more agitated. Steady as his voice may remain, Veritas isn’t blind to that conflict simmering beneath the surface — dread, that desire to want and to be wanted, FEAR. Veritas’ own cadence remains as unwavering as ever, but there’s an unmistakable, foreign softness to his eyes as his lips pull tight, gaze darting to the side.

“I… admit I don’t want you to find someone else, yes. Should it come to pass, so be it. It’s in that way I don’t wish to hold you back, but I am under no illusion you need anyone. That could not be further from my perception of you.”

It’s a rare show of vulnerability for them alike; Veritas exhales, head shaking as he pinches the bridge of his nose to stave off an impending migraine.

“Nor would I want to be replaced. I trust you wouldn’t find me so interchangeable with anyone else. If you did happen to find someone else, I would expect that to be something separate from this entirely. Down the line — need I remind you how long an eternity is? I think not, when you’ve been experiencing it first hand.”

This conversation was just as inevitable as their fate. Veritas often found himself dwelling on the very subject, for as uncomfortable as it may be to dwell on the circumstances of one’s own demise and those who would be left alive in the aftermath, it’s too important given Ren’s own state of being.

“Never have I for a moment thought you wouldn't be fine,” Veritas reasserts. “Believe it or not, I have a modicum of more faith than that. No matter what happens to me, none of this will be for naught.”

#yingren #⤬∶ ❛ the divine is in the details; ( ic. )#⤬∶ ❛ verse; ( main. )#ummm so about that #:bongshatter:#don't go on hiatus im so nice

librarivs-deactivated20250203

her sweet disposition is a facade, a delicate veil of insincerity sewn into the curve of her lips, which rise like a crescent moon greeting the ink-drenched midnight sky. the passage of time drips by, dilatory & deliberate, much like her own expression — methodical & unhurried, as if moving through molasses. each word she speaks is carefully chosen, not so much to wound, but to assert her point with a sharpened edge. even in this, she wields her verbal blade with a certain reluctance, always angling it away from her target. she has no real desire to make enemies, no appetite for conflict, even as the disdain of others lands upon her seeking to puncture her calm.

his derision is something she can rationalize easily. he has every right to feel it, she muses, for her actions — however unintentional — have burdened him once more, an outsider to her research, someone swept up in the turbulence of her pursuits. yet, this is no new occurrence for her, & she dismisses it with the same indifference she extends to all collateral damage. wherever her work takes her, there will always be someone, a shadow in her wake, tasked with cleaning up her messes. it is this very cycle, this well-worn pattern, that allows her to move forward unencumbered by concern for others — or even for herself. her research, her ambitions, are the only compass by which she navigates the world.

surely, there are those who would find twisted amusement in witnessing the esteemed veritas ratio scold what is essentially a brick wall. his reprimands, his thinly veiled frustration, are arrows that fail to pierce her impassive exterior. not a word he says stirs any reaction from her. in fact, she seems almost serene, lulled by the rhythmic cadence of his voice, like a distant hum she has long since grown accustomed to. perhaps, in a way, she is at peace. fear is a foreign concept to her, as is discomfort. she finds that listening — merely enduring the storm of his words — is far less taxing than speaking, an act she has always loathed to engage in for any prolonged amount of time.

she doesn’t bother to scrutinize his words, words that, in her mind, are likely laced with some form of thinly veiled concern beneath the layers of admonishing. but even if there is a spark of worry hiding within his sharp tone, it’s irrelevant to her. a man like him, so deeply entrenched in his beliefs, could never thrive in the chaotic world she has crafted for herself — a world where logic & ambition reign supreme, where others’ lives & opinions are mere obstacles to be sidestepped. & perhaps, she reflects, it’s fitting that people like him exist in the world. people who are so consumed by their principles that they feel compelled to interfere, to insert themselves into the affairs of others simply to make a point. but as for her ? she may very well dismiss it all with a casual wave of her hand.

ruan mei shifted, her fingertips skimming the cold surface of the bench as she rose with an almost ethereal grace. she stood before the doctor, a paragon of intellectual virtue, a man whose morality pointed true in ways the genius society could scarcely comprehend — herself included. not out of arrogance, but due to the frozen wasteland that was her emotional core, a vast tundra where any attempts to thaw her heart or evoke warmth were futile, destined to freeze in the air.

her gaze, affable yet inscrutable, met his. it was the gaze of a still, hidden lake deep within an untouched forest — a secret place, inviolate by the world’s turmoil, a refuge for those lost in dreams. her expression was as prudent as a painter’s stroke, giving away nothing, revealing nothing. “ always so direct, ” she notes, her tone as placid as the surface of that imaginary lake. the observation was more fact than critique; their encounters were rare, infrequent disruptions to her preferred solitude. privacy, for her, was an asylum — her chosen exile from the world.

" & yet, you persist in challenging my decision, " a muted murmur, her voice carrying an effortless poise that barely concealed her disinterest.

a faint sound escaped her, something that straddled the line between an exhaled sigh & the ghost of a laugh — light, airy, almost as if it floated away on the wind. her detachment from the stirrings of emotion remained intact, but she had long since perfected the art of mimicking sentiment, an actor in the play of life. perhaps she found delight in his concern, much like the idle amusement she felt for her creations — those that vied for her attention, though she gave them none. they were, after all, objectively charming, a fact as pococurante as she.

to say she had no desire to trouble him would be a falsehood. complacence, rather, was her true feeling, if such a word even applied to the void where her feelings should have been. nevertheless, his continued interference in her affairs would no doubt become irksome. “ i shall take a reprieve. for the time being, ” she concedes, the words spilling forth with the same withdrawn elegance as everything else about her. “ there is no urgency for me to immerse myself in my research again — not while i still have recent data to collate. that, i imagine, should ease your anxieties ? ”

though she posed it as a question, the answer bore little weight in her estimation. his persistence was like sour wine — acrid, something that might eventually corrode if left to fester. but before the silence could stretch too thin, she offered him an olive branch, her tone light, almost teasing in its suggestion. “ since you seem intent on watching over me, why don’t you join me for some cake ? ”

there was no subtext behind the invitation, merely an attempt to diffuse the tension, to sweeten the bitter edges of their exchange. “ if cake doesn’t appeal to your tastes, i can offer something else, ” words spoken, measured, like honey trickling from a spoon. in truth, whether he accepted or not was irrelevant to her; the offer was more symbolic, an attempt to alter the course of their conversation. softening the brittle fractures of their discourse with something far less volatile.

veritvincit

The stark juxtaposition between them both has never been lost on the doctor. Her actions, her methodology, her perspective — that very tranquil disposition, aversion to conflict, a facade so saccharine like the sweets she so preferred above seemingly all else. Then there stood Ratio, well-known to the point of outright notoriety for how abrasive he is. He doesn’t balk at the notion of conflict, going as far as to thrive in the midst of debate (provided the debate warrants both his time and effort).

Speech is so carefully chosen on both fronts, words painstakingly assorted to further their respective goals — though Ruan Mei takes great care in angling her proverbial, verbal blade, ever sharp as the one Ratio wields, away with intent to defuse, the tip of the Mundanite’s own creates a path towards that beating heart, angled just right to slip between individual ribs. Though its intent may be to pierce, there’s a mercy to be found in an approach so direct; to leave a lingering pain in its wake is never the intent. A wound inflicted swift, words meant to serve as a finishing blow with the express purpose of keeping things succinct — yet it’s never so simple. Still, she’s poised to offer recourse — a means of sidestepping the admonishment for the sake of maintaining whatever peace can be salvaged. To avoid discomfort and preserve that tranquil elegance Ruan Mei exudes within every facet of her being — truth be told, the scholar knows better than to expect otherwise, well-aware that nothing he may say nor do will elicit so much a ripple in the calm, pristine waters that form her unmoving disposition.

How unbelievably, excruciatingly, yet incorrigibly frustrating. It’s a hardheadedness he’s observed within all Geniuses he’s been acquainted with, yet more regrettably not a trait exclusive to them (after all, he’s self-aware enough to recognize the very same thing within himself). She rises and their gazes meet, lock; the very definition of an unstoppable object meeting an immovable force, Ruan Mei remains entirely unwavering in the face of that frigid gaze so often capable of shaking even the most tempered confidence to the core.

“It would do well to be more direct,” he counters in the face of her observation, punctuating his words with a click of his tongue. Her decision to concede ultimately soothes his growing ire — no matter the circumstances nor who it may be, to see someone so recklessly careless about their own well-being has always been something difficult for Ratio to ignore. A man often characterized solely by his pursuit of knowledge, an underlying compassion veiled in his aversion to sheer idiocy is so easily overlooked. Even Ratio at times finds himself at odds with his own human limitations, but to observe that blatant disregard in others as frequently as he does — time and time again — Ruan Mei is brillant, an isolated star illuminating the night sky with the sheer vibrance she exudes that the mundane can only look upon in awe from afar, until they’re inevitably blinded. Yet, even she proves herself to fall into that very same folly he’s observed in others.

Still, the matter of her taking that moment to recuperate is plenty — more than enough, for to expect further would be foolish on Ratio’s behalf. It isn’t a win by any means, for there’s nothing to win; to define such an outcome with terms like ‘winning’ or ‘losing’ the debate would undermine the purpose he’d pushed as he did in the first place.

Her offer is met with the raise of his brows. Ratio knows far better than to accept anything edible that hasn’t been under close watch from start to finish; neither of them truly want to indulge each other in needless company, but the purpose of her extended olive branch isn’t lost on him. He pauses, considers his options — his interest in continuing the exchange now that she’s conceded is infinitesimal, but the knowledge that she would just as easily return to as she had been doing without his continued presence keeps him rooted in place.

“Fine,” he eventually concedes himself, “Though I would much rather forgo the cake myself, a tea may do me well.” The remnants of his initial frustration linger, brows furrowed with that ever-present crease between, but smoothed over just enough to be evident in tone, no matter the curtness it naturally retains.

“I’m certain even a Genius such as yourself has just enough time to spare for just a moment longer.”

#librarivs #⤬∶ ❛ the divine is in the details; ( ic. )#⤬∶ ❛ verse; ( main. )

deadtrail-a-deactivated20250924

𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 as he trotted back to the hunn ranch. the evening air was thick with the scent of wild sage, carrying the quiet rustle of cattle moving in the far paddock, the sun sinking low behind the ranch’s weathered silhouette. he felt at home here, grounded, like he did every evening. but today, something else lurked in the edges of his mind, nagging at him to stay alert. damn bandits would always try to sneak around during the sunfall, trying to steal the cattle.

as he rounded the last stretch of the field, his gaze locked on a lone figure standing stock-still in the grass. thick brows furrowed at the sight ▬▬ this was no ranch hand, nor any drifter he’d ever seen. the man's flowing garments looked as foreign as a rainstorm in the middle of a desert. they billowed lightly in the evening breeze, long and heavy, like the man had walked right out of some otherworldly church. the sight was so bizarre, it almost drew a laugh from him ▬▬ almost.

colt squinted, sizing the stranger up with the cautious gaze. he nudged his black horse forward at a slow pace, stopping just a few steps away. then he dismounted, leather boots hitting the ground with a thud. keeping his expression neutral, colt approached, dusting off his hands and extending one toward the stranger. his voice came out easy, though his eyes held that wary gleam of suspicion.

“ evenin’ there. ” he drawled, one brow raised. curious gaze flickered over ratio’s robes, unable to shake the thought. “ you a priest or somethin’ mister ? ”

the man's face remained composed, though colt noted a flash of something in his eyes ▬▬ surprise maybe, or something akin to bemusement. the stranger’s hands, clasped loosely at his side, didn’t move toward colt’s offered hand. a soft chuckle slipped past the silver-haired cowboy's lips, tilting his head as he continued. “ not that you’re trespassin', but i reckon it’s only fair to ask what business brings ya' out to hunn’s ranch. ” hazelnut irises watched his face closely, noting how ratio seemed to be sizing him up just as much, though for what, colt couldn’t say.

“ don’t mind me askin' ▬▬ curiosity and all. but where’s a man dressed like you come from ? or should i call you father ? ” his tone held a hint of humor, though there was genuine curiosity in his gaze. the sense of mystery clinging to ratio was unlike anything he’d encountered before. it was clear to him that this man hadn’t come here by accident ▬▬ whatever he was after, it was intentional. colt couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to get roped into something far larger than cattle herding. but, for now, he waited. holding steady, giving the stranger the floor.

veritvincit

It’s as his gaze follows the surrounding horizon does he finally spot the approaching figure, so different yet famliliar, alongside a large black horse. Confusion, curiosity, humour; all can be detected within Boothill’s — or rather, whoever he’d been prior to the IPC’s influence on the planet — cadence, amalgamating into something carefully amiable, foreign compared to the volatile Galaxy Ranger he had grown familiarized with. Still, Ratio knows to maintain a fundamental level of caution when it comes to the gunslinger, for he doubts this iteration of Boothill is any less capable when it comes to defending himself even on this ranch.

“A priest—?” Yet for all the caution Ratio exercises in the moment, his outright incredulity can’t be contained at the conclusion the other draws. He mulls over what had been noted of Aeragan-Epharshel’s theism; so little of its culture and system of beliefs shared among the people had been wiped, and though doubtful any priest hailing from the planet adorned themselves with the garb he would, it speaks volumes to the sheer degree he sticks out within this environment. His spine straightens, the doctor, though he doesn’t take Colt’s hand, remains careful with his motions as to not give any sudden movements, nor make it seem he’s in any way armed at any point. His severe disadvantage isn’t lost on Ratio, for the time being stranded in unfamiliar territory at odds with someone who had every right to be suspicious — a click of his tongue, and he obliges,

“I’m not a priest, rather… A scholar.” It’s best to come off as similarly unassuming as feasibly possible; it certainly isn’t a lie. “Veritas Ratio. To be forthright, I… concede I do not know where I’ve wandered. As I’m sure you can discern, I’m quite out of my element.”

A pause, lips thinned and brows furrowed. It isn’t an act, and though lying by omission isn’t ideal it remains preferred to lying outright where it can be helped. Out of his element, at odds with an environment he’d never once experienced, and unwilling to risk death before he’s had the opportunity to witness the fate of the planet through his own eyes.

He exhales, an evident frustration bleeding through as he shuts his eyes. “There are notable blanks in my memory —” An explanation to his own ignorance regarding the planet, to label himself as coming from beyond the stars posed a risk in and of itself, “I don’t believe I’m familiar with a ‘Hunn’s Ranch.’”

#deadtrail #⤬∶ ❛ the divine is in the details; ( ic. )#⤬∶ ❛ verse; ( main. )

zechv

*whispers seductively* i dont care

#( musings. )

which subtle way of saying i love you are you?

" you're the exception "

your emotional walls have walls. seriously, you've guarded yourself so well, you sometimes forget how to look over your own walls and see the beauty of the world outside the safety of the protection you've set up. you forget how to escape the confines you built for yourself, that is, but some people (some incredibly rare people) somehow know their way through that intricate maze of walls and thorns around you. they're the exception, and terrifying as it might be at first, you'll let them know eventually. you smile at them where you'd scowl at another. you crack a joke where you'd usually stay quiet. you find yourself opening up more than you'd ever imagined. don't tear your fortress down if you don't want to, but maybe try to build your loved ones a little home inside it instead. you don't have to be alone. you deserve better than being alone in there.

tagged by: @polyodynos ( thank you! ) tagging: steal it off me if you haven't done it already

#⤬∶ ❛ pride comes before a fall; ( ooc. )#( dash games. )#⤬∶ ❛ vincit omnia veritas; ( queue. )

@yingren cont. [x]

Time and time again Veritas finds himself reminded how ugly a thing jealousy is. It’s proven to be an issue when it comes to Ren before, though to a milder extent; one Veritas knows how to traverse, handle and mitigate where possible. Some baser, more primal part of himself may even find aspects of it enjoyable at times when it presents — those moments where Ren feels there’s something there to prove, not threatened enough to act in some deranged way for it, but where it refocuses his efforts on Veritas on the rare occasions Veritas finds he does not mind the additional attention nor sheer intensity of it.

It’s a hideous thing, its tendrils liable to wrap itself like a vice around his heart any given moment and allowed to take root. It’s irrational, Veritas knows, to expect Ren not to move on after his inevitable death. An inevitability, but a topic so difficult to broach when it comes to his centuries old partner, who’s existed in a world for far longer than Veritas has lived in it, but the thought of Ren moving on is an uncomfortable notion, one he knows is born of a jealousy of his own that he’s living on borrowed time by comparison — that there would come a time where it won’t be him by Ren’s side. It’s something he nips at the bud, doesn’t allow to bubble nor fester to nearly the extent Ren is subject to — it would be unfair of him to put that expectation on the other no matter his level of devotion.

“You assume I want to be a haunting memory after I’ve passed.” His tone is level, words spoken far easier than the discomfort the topic brings would suggest, yet ever firm. It’s then he takes that opportunity to enter his home proper, passing Ren by in order to place his belongings down on the nearest surface as he would any other day he was allowed to come home without interruption.

“But if you insist on asking this now, then yes. As much as I may disdain the idea in the moment, I would far rather you move on than to stay rooted in the past.”

He pauses, disrupting his own autonomous movements in order to meet Ren’s gaze head on.

“Do you think it wrong of me to want you to live for yourself when that time comes? To continue doing so despite me being gone? What good does it do me to weigh at your mind to your detriment?”

#yingren #⤬∶ ❛ the divine is in the details; ( ic. )#⤬∶ ❛ verse; ( main. )#insert monster house gif of me shoving this into my mouth #and running out of the restaurant

hewo atlas! i know we haven't interacted much (but i would very much like to change that) but i want to say that your ratio is incredible. you have his voice down so well and it's so nice to see when people get ratio down to the letter. i can tell how passionate you are about him and that's also really refreshing to see. i hope we get to interact more, i'd love to throw kaveh and aventurine your way more often.

ANONYMOUSLY TELL ME YOUR HONEST OPINION ABOUT ME. I CAN’T REPLY/COMMENT, JUST PUBLISH.

#paedisaerahs #⤬∶ ❛ pride comes before a fall; ( ooc. )#⤬∶ ❛ know thyself; ( asks. )

good morning bitch wife i dont know what to say but if i did know what to say i’d probably mention how much fun it is to interact with your ratio and how even though he is kind of a tricky character to quickly get along with, you write him in a way that never takes away from his character but still opens up for so much development regardless of what dynamic you’re exploring. you also have a lot of unique and different ideas that make every interaction special. i’ve said this shit before but he is a muse with so much depth thanks to you. anyway that’s if i had anything to say but clearly i don’t know what to say so. biblically accurate ratio. 10 points from both me and him. i love your ratio and i need him to chalk me? Bingo!!

ANONYMOUSLY TELL ME YOUR HONEST OPINION ABOUT ME. I CAN’T REPLY/COMMENT, JUST PUBLISH.

#yingren #⤬∶ ❛ pride comes before a fall; ( ooc. )#⤬∶ ❛ know thyself; ( asks. )

For the anon opinion thing, I have a few things :3

1 — Even though we haven’t interacted that much, I still love how you portray Dr. Ratio!! Your posts pop up on my dash sometimes, and sometimes I get a little curious and read them lol

2 — Your blog aesthetic makes my eyes happy. Can’t explain it. Want to put your blog in a jar and shake it./pos

3 — You seem really chill and I’d love to talk with you more, maybe even OOC to plot and stuff! Only if you’re comfortable with that ofc :)

Overall, you’re a 10/10 (/p) and you get a gold star sticker

ANONYMOUSLY TELL ME YOUR HONEST OPINION ABOUT ME. I CAN’T REPLY/COMMENT, JUST PUBLISH.

#anonymous #⤬∶ ❛ pride comes before a fall; ( ooc. )#⤬∶ ❛ know thyself; ( asks. )

hi atlas! we haven't interacted or talked oocly much as of yet, but I love your ratio so much already! I feel like you capture his mannerisms and essence perfectly, and your writing in general is so wonderful. I can't wait to interact with you even more in the future :)

ANONYMOUSLY TELL ME YOUR HONEST OPINION ABOUT ME. I CAN’T REPLY/COMMENT, JUST PUBLISH.

#halovien #⤬∶ ❛ pride comes before a fall; ( ooc. )#⤬∶ ❛ know thyself; ( asks. )

lannasroleplaymemes

ANONYMOUSLY TELL ME YOUR HONEST OPINION ABOUT ME. I CAN’T REPLY/COMMENT, JUST PUBLISH.

#⤬∶ ❛ ignorance is blight; ( prompts. )#I don't know how around I'll be this morning but these would be fun

deadtrail-a-deactivated20250924

𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋’𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎’𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒. he’d never pegged himself as someone who’d find trust in the words of a scholar affiliated with the very system he fought against. but here ratio was, daring to reach out for the truth and with that, some justice for the forgotten. for the first time, boothill felt the weight of his silence cracking, slipping through the gaps in his hardened veneer. the thought of giving words to the tragedy of aeragan-epharshel, his homeland, gnawed at him. his memories were there, seared into his mind but scattered and fogged from his transformation into a half-machine ▬▬ a change he’d made with purpose but at a cost.

“ i reckon it ain’t as clear as it used to be. ” boothill began voice rough, reluctant. he clenched his jaw, searching his mind as if sifting through dust-covered relics as his hand came up to massage the back of his neck. eyes suddenly leaving ratio's form, scattering around the room as he let a shallow breath slip past his lips. it was almost embarrassing to admit, but the scholar waited for answers that boothill couldn't really give. ” look, my memory's a bit fragmented. i can give ya' the outline but details are foggy. ”

a mere pause settled between them. the ranger was searching through the bits and pieces of his own memories only to make out a simple picture. like a white canvas with not much colors painting the art. then, a thought striked him like thunder from the skies during a storm. eyes opened wide, looking back at the doctor once again. “ maybe there’s a way to give ya' the full picture. the garden of recollection. we could head there. that’s where ma' memories may be intact. ” it was a risky idea, however there was really not any other way for boothill to bring any surface towards his thoughts and what else what storied within the depths of his brain. he took quick steps towards the door. one hand grabbed the frame as he gave a mere look over his shoulder.

“ ya’ll get to see what they did ▬▬ who we were before the ipc painted us as resources to be ‘ claimed. ’ let’s get goin’. ain’t no sense delayin’. ”

the garden of recollection sprawled before them in vivid colors and a timeless tranquility that belied the agony boothill’s memories held. they’d come a long way in silence, each step its own silent commitment to what lay ahead. boothill stopped before a glowing memory bubble, an orb flickering faintly in his hand. “ this … here. ” he said quietly, his voice reverent but laced with a grief as jagged as broken glass. ” if yer' goin’ to understand, you’ll need to see it all, unfiltered. it’s not just the place ▬▬ 's what i had to leave behind. ”

he extended the orb toward ratio, his gaze hard but filled with a rare vulnerability. almost unsure if he wants to do this but any other way wouldn't be as fruitful in details as this one. if this meant to bring the place some kind of rest, a picture not painted in blood and lies, he couldn't deny it to the people who deserved it, after the fight they had to put up. “ just remember, doc ▬▬ there ain’t a damn thing beautiful about the truth you’re ‘bout to see. imma watch over ya’ while yer' innit. ”

veritvincit

And just like that, Ratio’s agreed to something that very well may prove to be out of the realm of what he had initially prepared himself for. By no means does the sheer gravity of what’s to follow leave him second guessing his decision, however; he’s determined, dead set on pursuing this truth no matter what it may entail. Boothill is serious, his determination level to the scholar’s own despite the admitted unreliability of memory alone.

The scene they come upon is one strangely reminiscent of their first time working together — though far more tranquil, far less terse than when Boothill had first threatened Ratio to keep watch over his prone form lest he hunt him down in the aftermath, there’s that stark semblance of familiarity. Suddenly it’s Ratio who finds himself needing to trust the Galaxy Ranger to watch over him — trust is such a fickle thing, he notes, for the first time being brought to a pause since asserting his desire to learn.

Neither the reverence nor grief weighing heavy at Boothill’s rough tone are lost on the scholar. The vulnerability Boothill allowed himself is nothing short of commendable; something Ratio dares not voice even as he hesitates, but to give anything less in return would be a disservice to his companion. His own self-imposed silence is only broken after a sharp exhale, Ratio raising a hand to hover over the memory bubble in anticipation.

“… Then I place my trust in you.” Just as Boothill had him.

The weight behind his own words is not one he dwells on, for it’s that very unfiltered truth he sought in all it’s harrowing detail — no matter how horrific it may be, to shy away or preserve one’s own sensitivities would be unfitting of the legacy of those who were never given that option. It's his responsibility now to bear witness, to understand. Delicately, the memory bubble is accepted into both hands, and Boothill’s ashen gaze is met one last time before he shuts his eyes and presses the bubble to his forehead with no further deliberation.

The sensation that overcomes him is one he can only liken to being submerged in ice water. A frigid chill overtakes him, penetrating skin, flesh and bone alike. He opens his eyes, and the feeling vanishes, juxtaposed by the sun warming the surface of his bare skin; he’s in a field, eyes scanning his foreign surroundings as they adjust to the bright light. A ranch of sorts, though far too calm to be anything but a time preceding the disaster the IPC had alleged — there are people, unfamiliar faces he can only attribute to those Boothill had once known. The smell of nearby animals is strong, and Ratio holds no qualms grimacing as his senses are assaulted by the equally unfamiliar stench.

#deadtrail #⤬∶ ❛ the divine is in the details; ( ic. )#⤬∶ ❛ verse; ( main. )

starspurn

― spare me the games, ratio says, and aventurine coughs up a laugh quite unlike the customary lilt of his amusement. there's a semblance of control to be found in the chaos of games if one knows how to grasp it. aventurine's always appreciated that, found comfort in the risk so long as it was by his own design and his own choosing. currently, cornered wolf that he is, he reaches for that comfort by sheer instinct. though he holds a certain trust in ratio, aventurine watches him carefully as he crouches, as he examines. the stoneheart does not move nor deter, just watches with an intent gaze.

❝ i liked that jacket ; i'm rather concerned about it, actually. ❞ he's being contrary because he can, not because the jacket or indeed any of his material possessions mean any more to him than ashes. there is a silent moment in which he reads the request upon the doctor's face and in his words and comes to an understanding. he will be treated, his wound won't be ignored. consequently, permission is required to check it properly. it ... means something, that permission is requested at all. it's a low bar, aventurine thinks with bitter amusement - it's so low that the occupants of hell are smacking their heads off it, because asking before touching a person should be a given, and yet he's plenty of experience of the exact opposite being true. his gaze slides away from ratio's because the man is horribly perceptive and it would be embarrassing if he had an inkling of how important such a simple act was, how it's earned him trust points as if he were a game protagonist racking up affection.

❝ do as you will, then. ❞ aventurine sighs as if it's terribly annoying, but he gestures at his bloodied shirt in permission. the wound's just above the right hip, left there by a shallow stab with a knife : a result of a gambit that didn't pay off. it isn't the first time he's thrown himself into danger for the sake of a job and it won't be the last. ❝ but you have to be nice to me while you do it. a good manner with patients is important, you know. ❞

veritvincit

“Then you’re welcome to take that up with your tailor, which, as I’m sure you can plainly see I am not.”

Though Aventurine’s insistence on being combative (in the loosest sense of the word yet to befitting to Aventurine alone) earns him a roll of the eyes from Ratio, it’s inherently a good sign — compromised as he may be, it isn’t to the point where he has no choice but to abandon that character. There’s a levity to the continued banter that, while Ratio knows better than to acknowledge, serves to keep Aventurine grounded and present as he works.

To ask consent before proceeding is such a baseline expectation; while the scholar may not know the full extent of Aventurine’s history, he’s able to piece together what bits he’s gathered both consciously and in passing into an image vivid enough to understand — he needn’t draw attention to those conclusions to act accordingly nevertheless. Aventurine’s subsequent silence, no matter how fleeting, speaks volumes. The way his gaze darts to the side as though with the explicit intent of avoiding Ratio’s own — indeed, Ratio is horribly perceptive, understands the human condition far more than most dare give him credit for, and perhaps it’s for that reason he dare not vocalize those thoughts.

So Ratio maintains his focus on where blood continues to seep through the fibers of Aventurine’s shirt, and instead snorts derisively as he cautiously peels the fabric back to better assess the extent of the damage.

“Allow me to amend my earlier statement: your jacket and my bedside manner alike should and will be the least of your concerns if you continue to bleed out.” He punctuates this point by drawing the edge of Aventurine’s ruined jacket back towards the wound to press it in with applied pressure. Stopping the bleeding takes precedence, but deciding what follows is trickier — ideally proper treatment should come before the mission. “But if you insist, consider this me kindly informing you that you likely will need stitches. Nicely put, you bear a greater risk of infection, blood loss aside, the longer we wait.”

#starspurn #⤬∶ ❛ the divine is in the details; ( ic. )#⤬∶ ❛ verse; ( main. )#“be nice to me” he says...#rate Ratio's bedside manner on a scale of 1 to 10 #⤬∶ ❛ vincit omnia veritas; ( queue. )

lovesfolly

@veritvincit asked: ❛ you wanted to be left alone, yes? ❜

"A lady tends t' want that when they're covered in blood, yes." He replies, looking up from where he's been focused on scrubbing his hands. As if that would get rid of the dark crimson under his nails as easily as anything else. But he lets out a sigh, leaning his head back.

Amethyst focused on the other as he cocks his head to the side now. Tail flicking back and forth absently. "Did y'need somethin' then or are y'jus' double checkin'?"

rat booped a button <3

veritvincit

Covered in blood, as they so helpfully put it, that Ratio suspects is not their own — not entirely a red flag given the nature of their work, but one that keeps the scholar adequately cautious all the same.

His question had been rhetoric; though he opts not to press further for the time being, he doesn't intend on leaving so soon. Ratio's own wine-coloured gaze shifts, eyes flitting from the blood beneath their nails to meet her gaze in one snappy motion.

"Double-checking," he pauses, scrying gaze seeming to pierce through them, "You can tolerate my presence a moment longer; I'm certain you're capable of listening as you wash up."

#draconicfool #⤬∶ ❛ the divine is in the details; ( ic. )#⤬∶ ❛ verse; ( main. )#⤬∶ ❛ vincit omnia veritas; ( queue. )

zhisi-moved-deactivated20250110

@veritvincit : " i'm bleeding, i’m not just making conversation. "

" what happened ? " a hand moves to give veritas' upper arm a soft squeeze of reassurance, that he is going to be fine, eyes searching his frame for the location of the mentioned injury. he turns him slightly, being mindful of potentially making the wound worse. when violets fall upon crimson, a hint of worry reaches him. shows in the way his brow furrows. lengthy deep red ribbon is pulled off of his arm, bundled up and then pressed against the tear. as he keeps a consistent amount of pressure to hopefully slow the bleeding, he glances over his shoulder, looking for the attacker. " who did this ? "

veritvincit

Therein lies the question. What happened, and more importantly, who had been responsible? The scholar's own lack of answers is a frustrating revelation, one he's certain bleeds through his cadence despite Moze's genuine effort to both reassure and help. Though Ratio bristles at the touch, he doesn't protest, allowing Moze to apply pressure to the wound visible where is side is bared.

"Had I known who was responsible," he grouses, his gaze not on his companion, but flickering across the space surrounding them — still on guard should the culprit in the shadows re-emerge. "They would have been dealt with by now. And yet..."

Though unspoken, there's a glimmer of appreciation in how he carefully places his own hand over the now bloodied ribbon, grimacing at the sting the pressure leaves in its wake.

"Stay on guard. They're quick, and I regrettably won't be much use incapacitated like this."

#zhisi #⤬∶ ❛ the divine is in the details; ( ic. )#⤬∶ ❛ verse; ( main. )#⤬∶ ❛ vincit omnia veritas; ( queue. )

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