Guess Who Just Survived 17 Hrs Without Any Wifi

guess who just survived 17 hrs without any wifi 😁😁

incandescent feelings overflow!

in which — you found yourself “forced” to dance with a man that delights in outmaneuvering you at every turn / you (really) hate aventurine

pairing — aventurine x fem!reader (no pronouns used but reader is mentioned to be wearing a gown once, otherwise it’s still written w gn reader in mind, tagging fem js incase)

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆  — wc: 1.4k, enemies to lovers but it’s js forced prox w tension, denial is a river in egypt, silly aven calling you love every other sentence, anyway reblogs are much appreciated! please enjoy <3

based on this!

you have every reason to despise aventurine. ever since you first crossed paths, he has been nothing but a constant source of frustration and irritation. It isn’t just his smug demeanor or his irritating charm— it’s the way he seems to take pleasure in ruining everything you work for.

it's as if fate’s playing a cruel joke on you, your encounters never stopped. each time, it feels like being dragged into a twisted dance orchestrated by some malevolent force. and in every dance, aventurine was always one step ahead, always ready to trip you up and leave you stumbling in his wake. you’ve always vowed to turn the tables; to become the one who led the dance, who stayed ahead of the game.

but just when you think you have him figured out, he throws you off balance with those vexingly sweet pet names. "love," one of his favourites. his voice dripping with honeyed charm; a calculated move, specifically designed to distract you. and despite your best efforts to resist, you find yourself unable to ignore the stirring of something within you.

aventurine, this name, like the man it belongs to, fills you with a seething, visceral hatred that coils in the pit of your stomach like a venomous serpent. it doesn't make it better that tonight you actually have to dance with him.

you move through the crowd, searching for him even as you try to appear disinterested. then you see him, standing tall and confident, his gaze meeting yours across the room. he makes his way towards you, and you find yourself holding your breath.

“we meet again…” he says, stretching his hand out, offering a handshake as if this is a cordial reunion between old friends.

you stare at his outstretched hand, feeling a surge of indignation rising within you. he’s acting so nonchalant after everything he’s done. every fiber of your being screams at you to refuse, to turn on your heel and walk away, to show him that you will no longer be drawn into his twisted games.

though despite your better judgement, you find yourself hesitating. aventurine’s hand hangs in the air, waiting for your response, and for a moment, you're frozen in place, torn between your pride and the inevitability of the situation.

with a sigh, you finally relent, placing your hand in his with a forced politeness that belies the turmoil raging beneath the surface.

whatever. this will be a great chance to get some information out of him anyway. (you convince yourself)

aventurine holds a firm grip, his touch sending a shiver down your spine; and you can't help but resent the way he seems to revel in your discomfort.

tonight may be a seemingly innocent dance, but it's one you refuse to lose. and if he thinks he can best you with a simple handshake, he's sorely mistaken. you’ve prepared for this moment meticulously, concealing a dagger beneath your gown as a precaution. you knew aventurine would be here, and you anticipated the dance that would inevitably follow. 

just as you’re lost in your thoughts, he catches you off guard by retracting his hand, pulling you close. almost stumbling over your feet, you find yourself drawn into his embrace, his arms encircling you as he leads you onto the dance floor. as if on cue, the tempo picks up, and a hush falls over the crowd, the sound of whispered conversations fading into the background, all eyes turning to the dance floor. there's a palpable tension in the air, but you ignore it as the rhythm of the dance carries you away.

“so, mr aventurine, what brings you here? surely it's not just to exchange pleasantries.” you ask as you stare into his eyes, trying to gauge his intentions.

“oh drop the formalities love, you truly wound me…” he replies teasingly, dragging out the endearment with a smirk.

you roll your eyes and ignore the way he completely disregards your initial question, opting to save the interrogation for later. there's a strange sort of chemistry between you, if you can even call it that —an undeniable tension that defies explanation, even as you find yourself effortlessly matching his rhythm, and his movements to yours, a natural fluidity.

aventurine’s eyes, sweet like honey, yet always so keen and calculating; now holds a spark of amusement as he meets your eyes once more. his penetrating gaze seems to delve into the depths of your soul, studying you as if he's attempting to peel back the layers of your defenses, and you stare back, matching his intensity, determined to uncover the truth hidden beneath his carefully constructed facade. 

he spins you gracefully across the floor, barbed words exchange silently between you as you move in perfect synchronisation. as he pulls you closer, your bodies brush against each other, his expression shifts. there's a flicker of surprise in his eyes but it's swiftly replaced by a widening smile. he feels the cold metal of the dagger strapped to your thigh pressing against his leg. aventurine’s grip on your waist tightens, he leans down, his warm breath caresses your ear.

“is this a surprise for me?”, his voice a low murmur that sends a tingling sensation coursing through your body.

“maybe.” you try to keep your tone cool despite the warmth radiating from his proximity making it increasingly difficult to catch your breath. he raises an eyebrow seemingly challenging you, "at least wait ‘til the song ends, love."

the air is suffusing with the intoxicating scent of his cologne, enveloping you, trapping you with him. you’ve always tried to keep him at arm's length, but somehow he finds his way by your side; his presence suffocating, his touch burning against your skin. 

“don’t call me that, it’s annoying.” you retort, words coming out sharper than you intended. though you can’t deny the subtle flutter in your chest, and quickening of your pulse that betrays the effect his endearment has on you.

“alright sweetheart, as you wish.” (you want to punch a hole through his face)

as the night comes to an end, aventurine reluctantly releases you from his grasp, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer. it’s a subtle gesture, but one that doesn’t go unnoticed by you. executing a bow with his eyes still locked onto yours; you curtsey in return, the intensity of his gaze weighing on you as you straighten up.

just as you remember the question you were supposed to ask him after the dance, he interrupts your thoughts by bringing your hand to his lips, the touch of his kiss a brief, searing contact; imprinting the sensation of his touch upon you before he releases your hand. 

“until next time”, his words carrying both promise and threat. you cast one last glance into his mesmerizing eyes, hoping to glean something behind them, but to no avail, you find only your own reflection staring back at you.

the sounds of the bustling ballroom gradually seep back into your awareness, laughters and chatters of other guests filling the air around you. returned to your senses, you hurriedly glance around, searching for any sign of him amidst the crowd, but he has vanished without a trace. as if he was never there at all, leaving you to wonder if the encounter was nothing more than a figment of your imagination. you shake your head, attempting to dispel the shroud of confusion that clouds your thoughts. 

(unbeknownst to you, a pair of eyes remain fixed on you from the shadows for the rest of the night. hidden in the dimness, his captivation is made obvious by his unwavering gaze and subtle smirk that tugs at the corners of his lips.)

tonight, you found yourself caught in a dance with a man that delights in outmaneuvering you at every turn, who was as captivating as he was dangerous, and you can’t help but wonder when might be your next rendezvous.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆  masterlist

reverse dating tropes w hsr men!

in which — what the title suggests / those classic fanfic tropes but with a twist

featuring — boothill, jing yuan, blade (separately) x gn!reader

✧.* — wc: total 1.5k, used up half my brain for this (the other half is for pt2 w aven sunday geppie!!), lovesick boothill + clingy jy + jealous blade fr, anyway pls enjoy! reblogs r appreciated <3

boothill ꩜ .ᐟ

love at many sights with boothill whose memory card was tinkered with, and every time you meet, he thinks he's seeing you for the first time, so he falls for you over and over again. 

when boothill returned from a dangerous mission, it was evident that he had endured significant damage. his once sleek and polished exterior was now marred by dents and scratches, and his mechanical limbs were either partially missing or severely damaged. the exposed wiring, usually neatly tucked away beneath scraps of metals, now hung in tangled strands, sparking occasionally with residual energy.

he looked barely salvageable. it's safe to say that the mechanics had a hell of a time fixing him.

though they were skilled enough to piece him back together, his memory card wasn’t as lucky. a tinkering in his system left him incapable of recalling or retaining information in his synthetic brain, temporarily —leaving the mechanics scrambling to find a solution.

weeks later, you find yourself walking down the familiar corridors of the laboratory where your favourite cyborg is being held for reparation.

boothill’s eyes immediately land on yours when you enter the lab. “well ain’t this a surprise! haven’t seen ya in a good long while.” boothill drawls, tipping his hat your way, his voice carrying a metallic twang. 

"i heard you took a bit of a tumble, figured someone should come make sure you didn’t lose all your screws." you shrug nonchalantly, a smirk playing on your lips.

boothill's eyes flicker for a moment, taking in the curve forming on your lips. he thinks you’re adorable with that infectious smile of yours. 

“heh, nothin’ bad, just had a r-r-run in with some cuties" he says, failing to hide the glitch that caused his voice to stutter. (and that damn synesthesia beacon! he swears he’ll get it fixed this time around…)

“guess you took more than a tumble huh...” you lean casually against the workbench, the sterile scent of machinery and the hum of various devices filled the air; your gaze sweeps over the freshly repaired parts of boothill's metallic frame, “anyway, glad to see that you’re mostly fine now." 

“aww! do ya care ‘bout me?” he teases, his grin widening, revealing his pointy teeth peeking out mischievously. you don’t reply, your eyes glinting with the faintest hint of amusement dancing in them.

"boothill, we go through this every time, your memory card's still damaged. you forget things sometimes, so for the 5th time this week, yes i do care about you.”

boothill's expression shifts, a mixture of realization and sheepishness crossing his features. "right, right," he murmurs, scratching the back of his head with his metallic hand. "sorry 'bout that, sugar. guess i just keep forgettin'."

you chuckle and shake your head, finding the situation amusing. he feels like he might overheat from the sheer warmth radiating from your smile.

“you’re beautiful, date me.” (he didn’t mean to blurt that outloud)

you raise your eyebrows at the sudden compliment, “why thank you,” a surprised laugh escapes your lips.

“—and we’re already dating, silly.”

a shower of sparks erupts from his circuits, you can particularly hear the fans inside him sputter and whir. you rush to his side, concern etched on your face.

“wh- are you okay?! you’re short circuiting again!”

and this happens every time his memory lapses. you offer an apology to the mechanic on the next shift for the extra work required to fix yet another damaged wire after your visits. perhaps they should ban you from getting too close to boothill, lest he completely breaks down again like that one time where you told him, yes you actually kissed before.

jing yuan ୭ ˚.

"secret relationship" with jing yuan but he is completely unaware of how his public displays of affection towards you keep revealing the supposed secrecy of your relationship.

on the rare case that the general is found in his office, you are there too, beside him.

“pleeeease? just one kiss, really really miss you, darling”

“no jing yuan, not now…”

“no, and get off me before someone sees!” you protest, feeling your face flush from the close proximity, and the tightening of his arms suggests that he has no intention of releasing you just yet.

he wraps his arms around you as he leans in, caging you from the back. he rests his chin on your shoulder, “then how about a kiss on the cheeks?” he murmurs in your ear. you try to push him away, but he just chuckles softly against your neck, his arms still secure around you.

this stubborn man… you swear you’re gonna burst a blood vessel someday.

as if to echo your exasperation; he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, peppering it with nibbles and gentle kisses. jing yuan certainly knows how to test your limits, yet his affectionate gestures never fail to chip away at your resolve.

suddenly, a series of loud knocks come from the door, you freeze, and immediately attempt to wiggle your way out of his grasp. but he remains unfazed, his hold on you firm, and seemingly unbothered by the interruption.

the door bursts open, “general! there’s a situation at starskiff ha—ven...”  yanqing trails off as his eyes widen at your position. the room falls into a momentary silence as yanqing's gaze shifts between you and his general, his expression reflecting a blend of shock and embarrassment.

clearing his throat awkwardly, yanqing stammers, "i-im sorry for interrupting... i’ll t-take my leave now!” with a hurried nod, he practically sprints out of the room.

oh bless that kid’s poor eyes… 

you shoot a glare at jing yuan from the corner of your eyes, you just know that he has a shit eating grin on his face right now. nowadays, it’s probably common knowledge that the general’s most treasured person is you, evidently shown by how he latches himself onto you every time you’re within his vicinity. you wouldn’t be surprised if the entirety of xianzhou knows about your supposed “secret” relationship.

“so… can i have my kiss now?” 

aeons, he’s insufferable. (you love him tho!!!!!)

blade ؛ ଓ

"fake dating" with blade but you are actually dating —somehow everyone is convinced you aren't.

“blink twice if you need help.” march whispers-shout; dan heng leans against the doorway, blocking the way into your room, nods in agreement.

“this is absurd… i’m alright guys, really!” you try to reassure your friends, frustration edging into your voice. though no matter how many times you insist that no blade isn't holding you hostage and that you are indeed in a relationship with him, they seem convinced otherwise, somehow deducing that you're not able to speak freely.

you sigh in resignation, knowing that they aren’t going to relent anytime soon, and with blade idling in your room, you can't afford to keep him waiting any longer. “dan heng please, let me through, he’s been waiting for me for the past 10 minutes now…”

“good, let him wait.” dan heng responds curtly. (what a guy)

march takes hold of your hands, “do you owe the stellaron hunters something, and him out of everyone?! he looks scary…and totally not your type!” 

“not their type?” a low voice rings out from behind dan heng, the three of you turn immediately and see blade looming at your doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. 

“stellaron hunter. stay back.” dan heng furrows his eyebrows, his stance defensive as he pulls out his weapon, positioning himself to block you and march. sensing the growing tension, you step forward, reaching out to gently grasp at dan heng’s shoulder. 

(blade’s expression darkens at your hand resting on him)

“it’s okay dan heng, he means no harm.” dan heng hesitates, his grip on his weapon remains tight, but he doesn't move to strike. so you slowly move between him and blade, “see? i’m fine… he’s not gonna hurt me.” you smile reassuringly at your friends. 

just then, as if to further aggravate dan heng, blade settles his hand on your waist. dan heng’s hand is visibly twitching now. “what? can’t i touch what’s mine?”

dan heng’s eyes narrow, “...we still don’t believe you, leave now. before it’s too late.”

before you can interject, blade grabs your chin, silencing any words of protest with a sudden kiss. caught off guard, your eyes widen as the unexpected gesture leaves you momentarily stunned. but you soon reciprocate his kiss, his intensity drawing you in.

(march quickly covers her eyes with her hands)

“there. now leave us alone.” and with that, he pulls you into your room, slamming the door shut behind, pinning you against it. 

it’s just the both of you now, finally.

“did you really have to touch him.” his voice tinged with possessiveness. “blade, he would’ve hurt you, i didn’t mean—” he shuts you up with another kiss, more desperate this time, welp guess you’re stuck with him for the night.

though your friends might not believe that a person like you would “be in cahoots” with someone as dangerous as him; convincing them otherwise is a task for another time. tonight, he wants your attention focused solely on him, and him only.

ᯓ★

masterlist

h.how do we feel .

“Uh… sorry ‘bout the mess. I’ll make it up to ya.” For good measure, the space cowboy kicks one of the corpses to the side with his boot.

You clutch your chest tighter, heart racing. “You just killed fifteen IPC soldiers in my bar.”

“Yep.”

“You–”

He suddenly looks offended. “Hey. I did the world a favour. I don’t take kindly to rats puttin’ their fudgin’ filthy hands on the merchandise.” He gestures to his torso. Then, he whistles, placing his thumbs on the waistband of his pants. “But, nice place ya got. This your business?”

Dazed, you nod slowly. Your eyes flit to the broken sign and the smashed television hanging over the bar counter.

The bottles are smashed to bits. There’s liquor spilled all over the floor—expensive liquor. This would cost a fortune to fix, let alone to then replace all of the products.

You exhale shakily. You try not to look at the bodies.

The cowboy pities you. You can see it on his face. He says nothing. He awkwardly clears his throat and skims the rim of his hat with his fingers.

This sucks.

“How ‘bout this? I’ll give ya the bounty money so you can fix this place up.”

“Will you pay for my therapy sessions as well?” you chime in, murmuring beneath your breath.

He cracks a smile. “If that’s what you want.”

You lean over the counter and place your head in your hands. Tiredly, you ask, “how much?”

You hear the cowboy click his tongue in thought. “‘Bout… seventy-five? Give or take?”

You look at him from between your fingers. “Huh? Seventy-five hundred?”

The cowboy, yet again, looks offended. “Million, hun. I don’t do my job for cheap. What do I look like to you?”

You squawked. “Seventy-five million?”

“You heard me.” He cocks his head to the side, lips pressed into a thin line. “Why? You like that?”

“You can’t give me seventy-five million credits. Are you serious?” You could feel your face burning in shock. Your hands slam onto the counter, and you point an accusing finger in his face. “You must run some sort of shady business.”

The cowboy looks to the left for a moment.

He blinks at you like you’re stupid.

“You’re serious?” you repeat.

Instead of answering, he pulls out his phone from his pocket. You say nothing about the flimsy orange case, instead watching as he fumbles and squints at the screen before turning it towards you.

He shows you the recent deposit.

As he said. Seventy-five million fat credits sit right there in his account.

Hesitantly, you grab the phone to peer closer. Curiously, you start scrolling. These deposits clearly weren’t new to him. There were so many starting back from about ten years ago. There was a recent one of two-hundred thousand, then another just crossing fifty-seven million–

You were going to pass out. You hand his phone back to him with trembling fingers.

“Seventy-five sound good, or ya want some more?” He was tapping away on the screen again. “Gimme your bank details.”

“No!” You shake your head. “I don’t need your money. It’s fine.”

“How ‘bout eighty?”

“I–”

“Eighty-five.”

“No, I–”

“Round it up.” He turns the phone to you again, this time waiting for you to take it. An empty prompt of a receiver for the credits waits still. “One hundred.”

“Stop. I’m not taking your money.”

“I insist,” was all he said. “Got plenty to dispose of. And was never too responsible wit’ it anyway. Also, don’t really need to spend money on food and stuff, ‘cause, y’know–” He gestures to himself again. “I trashed your place. Lemme help ya fix it up.”

“I’m not taking your money,” you repeat.

The cowboy narrows his eyes at you.

To retaliate, you narrow them back.

Then, grumpily, he states, “you’re stubborn.”

“Yeah.” You bristle defensively. “And?”

“I like it,” he all but purrs. He leans over the counter, fingers drumming over the bench. “If ya don’t want my money, how’z about I take ya out for dinner? To say sorry?”

Huh? You lean back, cowering away from the sharp teeth he displays behind pulled lips. Your heart races in your chest, half out of the anxiety that riddles your veins, but also because he’s practically snapping his teeth in your face like a shark.

Your hands coil into weak fists.

“What do ya think, pretty?”

You look at him.

You suppose he’s handsome—you’re not sure if it’s appropriate to call a cyborg handsome. But he’s got lovely hair, and it falls over his shoulders like water. It covers half his face, but the eye you can see is… trustworthy, to an extent.

He’s definitely not the most insane man you’ve ever met, so that’s a bonus. He also just killed a bunch of soldiers in your territory. You didn’t like the IPC either, and maybe he did do you a favour, but still.

You sigh. You think the pleading flutter of his lashes won you over.

“Fine.”

“That’s the spirit.” He holds out his hand, palm facing upwards. “Phone.”

Your face twists suspiciously. “No funny business.” Hesitantly, you reach into your pocket and hand it to him.

He grins and takes it. “Not at all. I’m a super trustworthy guy.” You find it hard to believe him. Again, he seems to have trouble navigating your phone. He notices you staring. “Sorry. Can’t read very well.”

“Oh.” You straighten up slightly. “Do you want me to add your number instead?”

He makes a face at the phone.

“Nope. I got it.” He hands you back your phone after a moment. The contact is still open on the screen: Boothill. He’s somehow taken a photo of himself without you noticing. “Might’ve added an extra zero. Oops.”

“Oh.” You stare down at the phone number. “There's no zeroes in your number.”

“Sure.” Boothill pulls back from the counter with a tip of his hat. “I gotta run. I’ll set up our lil’ dinner date later.”

You turn your phone off. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“You got it, babe.” He blows you a kiss and waves his hand behind him.

As soon as the door shuts, you get a notification of a successful deposit into your bank account.

Your face immediately drains of blood as you frantically open up the app.

Seven-hundred and fifty million credits sit in your account.

The message attached to it reads, ‘Dont bot her snending it back. Wont work. LOL.’

You mention to Wriothesley that you like his hands one evening. He doesn’t respond right away, just watches the way your delicate fingers trace over his skin, along each scar on his strong knuckles from boxing a ton and the barely noticeable healed cuts and calluses on the expanse of his large palm.

He enjoys the feeling of your touch, no matter how small and casual it makes him feel grounded. But he can’t imagine there’s anything to like about his rough, scarred, and battered hands. So naturally he’s a little curious about your comment, and a part of him believes that you’d think otherwise if you knew what he’s done with them before.

“Oh—? Is that so?” He raises an eyebrow and inquires with a chuckle as he smiles down at you. “And what’s so special about my hands?”

You offer an affectionate hum, a soft nod of your head as you make out the many reasons why his hands are special. They are nothing short of powerful and masculine—for they display the tales of his past and the result of his sentence by the judgment of the Oratrice. The scars on his body are a testament to his hardships and survival, the physical reminders of the pain and suffering he has gone through.

And yet, they show the strength of his kind heart and how he worked so incredibly hard to build a good life and make a name for himself while extending his generosity by providing comfortable living conditions in the Fortress of Meropide under his orders.

“They’ve been through so much. But they're always gentle when it matters." Wriothesley’s expression softens at your answer and he pulls you impossibly close to his chest where you’re settled on his lap, pressing a light kiss just below your earlobe. He rests his chin upon your shoulder, leaning in a little more and closing his eyes for a moment, quietly taking solace in the feeling of you in his embrace. He may be many things but the word gentle was never taken into consideration.

“Some things require a gentle hand. And they’ve learned how to treat their partner well.” There’s a teasing lilt in his voice and his fingers intertwine with yours as he slowly lifts it to kiss each one of your knuckles with the utmost care and tenderness to make his point. “You really don’t find the scars distasteful, in any way?”

You make a small noise and shake your head, and you hope he knows that you've never seen it as an issue. Because more importantly, you pay attention to how your hands fit perfectly together and how he never seems to be the one to let go first.

— love is (ir)rational. ft. veritas ratio

— warnings: angst and breakups

— author's note: incredibly self-indulgent and heavily influenced by tiktoks and mitski songs. the last statement is from this article so please give it a read since its very interesting !!

to say that your relationship with veritas ratio was hanging by a thread was an understatement.

you tried your hardest to sweep every argument at night when you enter his office under the rug and prayed to the aeons that he'd forget it when morning came; you never learned how to deal with confrontation, so you did what you do best: avoid the situation entirely at all cost.

playing as the fool who couldn't see the cracks in your already fragile situation with ratio but still clinged onto the tiniest of hopes that everything will be fixed. that no argument between you two would actually leave you to split paths. you always found a way to one another, a middle ground you had unspokenly created. you always made it work. you had to make it work.

“this is not going to work, [name]!” he shouts as you fight back tears.

“you don't know that! we always make it work don't we, veritas? you can't just decide stuff like this on your own!” you argue with him the best you could, but veritas ratio was a genius. 

you will never win an argument against him.

“this is hurting us. you.” he sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “we can't continue like this, and you know it.”

“then continue to hurt me.” you desperately try to claw into your lover's mind. trying to keep any piece of him because it was better to not have anything at all. “i don't care if it hurts, veritas! if it's you then it's fine, i can look past it.”

you look like a scared animal, desperate for love and the need to feel something, even if it was pain.

“we'll be fine, veritas.” you clutch onto your shirt as tears pricked your eyes. “we have to! you promised me!”

ratio was a logical man. he was a genius. someone who should've been acknowledged by nous themselves. but at this very moment, he realizes that no amount of academic knowledge will compare to the flurry of the unknown emotional wreckage that is you. someone who thinks too much of love. bewitched with the prospect of love instead of their actual partner - him.

“veritas, please… we can still make this work.”

the diplomas of his achievements were a farce; a big hoax to hide the hollowness that resides within where his heart should be.

“you and i both know that we were both too far gone to save.”

ratio closes his eyes. trying his best to rid the hurt and shrinking image of you from his mind. 

“you don't know how to love yourself.” you avoided the truth to protect yourself, he traversed the universe to make the truth known. “how can you expect me to give you the love you want when you don't even know what it is?”

what an ugly pair you two make.

“that's bullshit!” you were gasping for air. scavenging your mind to try and find a way to refute him like you always do. “i want you, veritas! do you not understand that?”

“no.” he answered with a shake of his head. “no, i do not, [name].”

you feel your already broken heart crack a little more.

“that stuff is all bullshit.” your whisper now was just above whisper. “so what if what you said is true? you loved me at least didn't you?”

veritas didn't like the way you looked at him. so full of loneliness and fear. that look didn't suit you, not in the slightest.

“that's all i needed, veritas. you loved me so much i forgot what it felt like to hate myself.”

to love means to surrender intellectual control; veritas ratio cannot rationalize love even if you told him otherwise. but there was one thing you didn't tell him - one thing you refused to tell veritas ratio.

‘if your partner has inherently good qualities, but your love for them is based on a projection of your fantasy onto them, your love does not fit the qualities of the beloved that fueled your love. your love fails to be epistemically justified.’

— [name], ????. the emotion that is love.

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