#Ubi Amor Ibi Dolor

[marejadilla]

Robert Duxbury, "Ubi Amor, Ibi Dolor" (Where there is love there is pain). 2021, Watercolour. Robert Duxbury is a predominantly self taught artists based in Melbourne Australia.

[writing-reference-redux]

I felt like sharing my collection of Latin phrases that may make good fanfic or fanart titles or inspiration. Some of the translations may be off, so you might want to double-check them before use. Also, I used capitalization liberally so you might also want to check where capitalization is actually indicated.

Ab Intra (From Within)

Acta Est Fabula (The play has been performed)

Acta Sancti ___ (The Deeds of Saint ___)

Ad Undas (to the waves / to hell)

Advocatus Diaboli (Devil's advocate)

Aegri Somnia (a sick man's dreams / troubled dreams)

Alea Iacta Est (the die has been cast / point of no return)

Apologia Pro Vita Sua (defense of one's life)

Caetera Desunt (the rest is missing)

Cedere Nescio (I know not how to yield)

Damnatio Memoriae (damnation of memory / denying someone ever lived)

De Nobis Fabula Narratur (their story is our story)

Decessit Vita Patris (died before their father)

Diem Perdidi (I have lost the day)

Dies Tenebrosa Sicut Nox (a day as dark as night)

Dolor Hic Tibi Proderit Olim (some day this pain will be useful to you)

Dulce Est Desipere In Loco (It is sweet on occasion to play the fool)

Dum Vivimus, Vivamus (while we live, let us live)

Dux Bellorum (war leader)

Ex Umbra In Solem (from the shadow into the light)

Festina Lente (hurry slowly)

Fortis Cadere, Cedere Non Potest (the brave may fall, but can not yield)

Fui Quod Es, Eris Quod Sum (I once was what you are, you will be what I am)

Graviora Manent (heavier things remain / the worst is yet to come)

Haec Olim Meminisse Iuvabit (one day, this will be pleasing to remember)

Hic Mortui Vivunt (here the dead speak)

Hinc Illae Lacrimae (hence those tears)

Hodie Mihi, Cras Tibi (Today it's me, tomorrow it will be you - of death)

In Ictu Oculi (in the blink of an eye)

In Somnis Veritas (in dreams there is truth)

Inter Spem Et Metum (between hope and fear)

Lapsus Memoriae (slip of memory)

Luctor, Non Mergor (I struggle, but am not overwhelmed)

Lux Ex Tenebris (light from darkness)

Media Vita In Morte Sumus (In the midst of our lives we die)

Memento Mori (remember that you will die)

Memento Vivere (remember to live)

Morior Invictus (I die unvanquished / death before defeat)

Mundus Senescit (the world grows old)

Nemini Parco (I spare no one - death)

Nitimur In Vetitum (we strive for the forbidden)

Non Ducor, Duco (I am not led; I lead)

Non Omnis Moriar (I shall not all die / part of me will survive beyond death)

Nunc Scio Quid Sit Amor (now I know what love is)

Oderint Dum Metuant (let them hate, so long as they fear)

Omnia Mutantur (everything changes)

Onus Probandi (burden of proof)

Opera Posthuma (posthumous works)

Ophidia In Herba (a snake in the grass)

Pax Aeterna (eternal peace - a common epitaph)

Primum Non Nocere (first do no harm)

Pulvis Et Umbra Sumus (we are dust and shadow)

Quis Leget Haec? (who will read this?)

Quod Periit, Periit (what Is gone is gone)

Res, Non Verba (deeds, not words)

Respice Finem (consider the end)

Scientia Et Sapientia (knowledge and wisdom)

Seculo Seculorum (forever and ever)

Sed Terrae Graviora Manent (but on earth, worse things await)

Si Vis Pacem Para Bellum (if you want peace, prepare for war)

Sic Infit (so it begins)

Sic Vita Est (such is life)

Silentium Est Aureum (silence is golden)

Sine Nomine (without a name / author unknown)

Sola Dosis Facit Venemum (the dose makes the poison)

Solvitur Ambulando (it is solved by walking / simple tests find solutions)

Stamus Contra Malum (we stand against evil)

Succisa Virescit (cut down, we grow back stronger)

Sum Quod Eris (I am what you will be - of death)

Summum Bonum (the supreme good)

Summum Malum (the supreme evil)

Sunt Lacrimae Rerum (there are tears for things)

Sunt Omnes Unum (they are all one)

Tabula Rasa (blank slate)

Transire Benefaciendo (to travel along while doing good)

Tu Fui Ego Eris (I was you; you will be me - of death)

Ubi Amor, Ibi Dolor (where there is love, there is pain)

Ultima Forsan (perhaps the last / sundial quote "perhaps your last hour")

Usque Ad Finem (until the end / fight to the death)

Vacate Et Scire (Be still and know)

Vi Et Animo (with heart and soul)

Victoria Aut Mors (victory or death)

Vincit Qui Patitur (he conquers who endures)

Vita Ante Acta (a life done before - of reincarnation)

Vivere Militare Est (to live is to fight)

Vox Clamantis In Deserto (the voice of one crying in the wilderness)

There are also some longer ones that may not make good titles because of their length, but are still worth inclusion:

Aut Simul Stabunt Aut Simul Cadent (they will either stand together or fall together)

Flectere Si Nequeo Superos, Acheronta Movebo (if I can not reach Heaven I will raise Hell)

Forsan Et Haec Olim Meminisse Iuvabit (perhaps even these things will be good to remember one day)

Igitur Qui Desiderat Pacem, Praeparet Bellum (therefore whoever desires peace, let him prepare for war)

In Regione Caecorum Rex Est Luscus (in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king)

Minus Malum Toleratur Ut Maius Tollat (choose the lesser evil so a greater evil may be averted)

Quem Deus Vult Perdere, Dementat Prius (whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad)

Ubi Sunt, Qui Ante Nos Fuerunt? (Where are they, those who have gone before us?)

Virtus Junxit Mors Non Separabit (that which virtue unites, let not death separate)

[persephone11110]

rain is a good thing

jake seresin x reader

Summary: You tried all the calming techniques that Dr. Michaels taught during therapy but you couldn’t, your vision too blurry, your hearing was gone and your hands were too shaky. And to top it all off Jake Seresin was standing on your doorstep soaking wet hoping you let him in,“Y/n just breathe baby i’m right here”.

warnings: mentions of a storm, reader is scared of storms, mentions of past breakup-exes->lovers, protective j.s, mentions of past child abuse, emotional abuse(the boyfriend after jake was an asshole) , mentions of therapy, navy inaccuracy, jake worms way back into y/n heart again, does, car accident- car accident related injuries, medical induced coma,someone die???

author note: i wanted to try again with a series, but make it shorter. Please expect irregular updates and i might change the title. Thank You for reading :)

Prologue

Chapter 1: Astraphobia

Chapter 2: I Can’t Breathe

Chapter 3: Imaginary Friend

Chapter 4: Memories

Chapter 5: Ubi Amor Ibi Dolor

Chapter 6: Memento Mori

[theonlyqualitytrash]

Ubi amor, ibi dolor - Fyodor x Reader

Synopsys: Fyodor’s return home brings a rare moment of quiet intimacy, as he focuses entirely on capturing your essence through his art. In the stillness, his actions speak the love he cannot easily express while you offer the only thing that he needs.

No warnings, just angst and fluff

A/N: If you want it to hit you in the feels just right listen to "Come home" by iamx—It was the only song playing on repeat while writing the draft for this fic.

Words: 4,200

To be loved is to be changed. Drown in his tears and heal with his wounds. Swallow your feelings as they will rejoice along with the butterflies in your gut. 

It had been almost a year since you last saw him. As always, you let him go with the same practiced smile and gentle words. It was routine, one you’d resigned yourself to long ago. You understood his nature, his need to disappear into the shadows of his convictions. 

But understanding did little to quiet the ache. 

Somewhere out there, he was alone in the vast expanse of the world, carrying his sorrow as both a burden and a weapon. You knew he was capable of enduring anything, his patience a shield that rarely cracked. And you? You were resilient too. You had to be. Yet, there were nights—too many nights—when your heart betrayed you. 

You filled your hours as best you could, knowing idle hands only gave the loneliness more room to grow. You wrote letters you never sent, the words pouring out like the tears you wouldn’t allow yourself to cry. You read books, losing yourself in other lives, other worlds, only to find yourself pausing before the final page, as if their endings mocked your own incomplete story. 

And then there were the puzzles—meticulous, detailed little universes you pieced together with care, only to stop short of completion. The last piece always lay beside the almost-finished image, its absence a quiet rebellion. If you couldn’t feel whole, why should they? 

The house was large, too large, and its cold emptiness seemed to stretch along endlessly. Some days were harder than others. You would catch yourself staring out of the window, searching the horizon for something that wasn’t there. On those days, hope was a fragile thing, and you lied to yourself, whispering that if you prayed hard enough, if you wished with every fiber of your being, he might manifest before you—tall, enigmatic, real. 

He was determined, you knew that. His sorrow fueled him like kindling to a fire that would never burn out. Suffering is inevitable for a great mind and a deep heart. He had spoken those words to you once, with the kind of clarity that only came from someone who had embraced suffering as a companion. 

He couldn't stoop to the cruelty of the world. That too, you knew. His madness was the spawn of an empathy so grand, so impossible to contain. Once he had told you in a voice low and measured, as rare as his confessional moments, that he must become that "necessary evil" that this world had lacked so that it could save itself from human destructive-ness. Humans respond to fear and death, he'd said; never to unity and understanding. 

He wore this belief like armor, and you knew he would break before he even got the chance to bend, and his blood would be the ink that wrote his noble, terrible ideas into history. 

Tonight was another cold, dark night.  

You sat in bed with a warm mug of tea, the gentle steam curling upwards, its warmth doing little to thaw the chill in your chest. In your hands was his letter, received a few weeks ago, now worn soft from the number of times you had unfolded it, read it, traced the ink with your fingertips as if his words could bridge the aching distance between you. 

The letter smelled faintly of old libraries and tea leaves, with the barest hint of something you could only describe as him. Each line of black ink felt like a lifeline, a placid promise that, at the very least, he was alive. 

You read his final words again, whispering them aloud as if the saying of it could conjure him up:

"…Perhaps I shall some day clasp you in my arms again. May God so appoint it. I embrace you, dearest."

His handwriting was immaculate, but there were faint smudges where the ink had bled—the evidence of hesitation, or perhaps of a moment overcome. Below the signature were four words, smaller, more shaky: I only have you. 

A sigh slipped from your lips, carrying with it the weight of months of longing. You placed the letter on the nightstand beside your now empty mug, your fingers lingering on the paper as if reluctant to let it go. He had always managed to wrench your heart, even when he didn't really try to. 

He had written of dreaming of you, and you weren’t surprised. How could you be, when your own soul was clawing at the walls of your chest, desperate to reach him? You had dreamed of him, too. Every night, it seemed, his absence followed you even into sleep, a bittersweet specter that never left your side. 

Come home, please, you thought, your plea as quiet as the empty house around you. The soft click of the nightlight as you turned it off felt like a sigh in the darkness, a reminder of how truly empty the room was. 

You slid beneath the covers, the sheets cold against your skin. Rolling onto your side, you stared at his half of the bed. The pillow still held the faintest trace of his scent, but it was fading, like a memory slipping through your fingers. You clutched the blanket closer, and your hand curled around the fabric as if the clutching of it could hold on to him. 

Your heart, ever hopeful, whispered the words you dared not speak aloud: And when you do, let me be enough to keep you here. 

The silence closed in as your eyes closed, the bittersweet ache within your chest softening only slightly as sleep claimed you. Your dreams were empty that night—a void, neither painful nor comforting, as if even your subconscious had grown weary of the waiting. 

--- 

As the early hours of the morning settled upon the world, something shifted. You stirred, the faintest brush of warmth coaxing you out of the fragile cocoon of sleep. At first, you thought it was some dream, a cruel trick your mind had played to soothe your longing in your heart. But then the warmth deepened—solid, real. 

You blinked slowly, the dim glow of dawn filtering through the curtains. A weight wrapped around you, firm yet gentle. His arm was draped across you, the hold tight enough to feel like a promise. The rise and fall of his chest against your back was steady, but his breath hitched now and then, belying the emotions he kept hidden. You felt the faint press of his lips against your hair, so light you wondered if he meant for you to notice. 

For a moment, you didn’t move, too afraid that any motion might break the spell. His scent enveloped you, richer now, earthy with a faint metallic edge, and unmistakably his. Your breath caught as the realization washed over you. 

He was here. 

Your hand reached out tentatively, your fingers brushing against the arm that held you. His skin was warm, his grip tightening just slightly at your touch, as if to silently reassure you. 

“Fyodor,” you whispered, his name trembling on your lips like a prayer. 

“I’m here,” he murmured, his voice low and quiet, carrying a rawness that was shaped by exhaustion, relief, and something that felt like longing finally satiated. 

Tears pricked at your eyes as you turned to face him. His expression was soft, the hard edges of his usual demeanor smoothed by something unspoken. His gaze met yours, and for a moment, the world around you ceased to exist. 

“You didn’t wake me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, though you weren’t sure if it was an accusation or gratitude. 

“I couldn’t bring myself to,” he replied, a faint trace of a smile ghosting across his lips. “You looked so peaceful… I would not disturb you.” The words came with quiet reverence, as if this moment—this simple act of holding you—was something sacral. 

Your hand reached up and cupped his face, your thumb straying across his cheek. His skin felt colder than you remembered, but the tenderness in his expression warmed you in ways no fire ever could. “Ah… I have missed you. You came back to me,” you said, the words shaking with incredulity and relief.

“I promised I would.” His fingers gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the action so light, so soft it made your chest ache. 

You couldn’t stop the tears now, and you didn’t try. He held you closer, his arms tightening around you as if to shield you from the world beyond these walls. For once, there were no grand philosophies, no noble ideas to discuss—just the quiet, undeniable truth of the two of you, together, against the rest of existence. 

The silence that followed was not empty but full—of unspoken love, of relief, of a home that had finally been made whole again. For a long while, neither of you moved; the world beyond your threshold faded. You wanted to stay like this forever, wrapped in his presence, the ache of his absence finally replaced by something warm and real. 

Eventually, though, practicality began to creep in. “You must be hungry,” you murmured, your fingers tracing the edge of his sleeve. 

He hummed in response, neither confirming nor denying, but his grip on you didn’t loosen. “Let’s stay like this a little longer,” he said, the faintest trace of reluctance in his voice, as if admitting the need to eat would shatter the fragile serenity of the moment. 

You smiled softly, pressing your cheek against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat against your ear. “We have all the time in the world now.” 

It was those words—simple, honest—that finally convinced him to let go. He untangled himself from you carefully, as if reluctant to disturb even a single strand of your hair. 

“I’ll make us something,” you said, slipping out of bed and glancing back to see him watching you, his gaze unwavering. 

The domesticity that followed soothed both your raw nerves. He followed you to the kitchen, the soft shuffle of your footsteps filling the quiet house. The space felt smaller now he was in it, warmer.  

You moved with practiced ease, setting the table with tea and toast, but this time, he was there beside you. There was no need for words; it was as if the simple act of preparing this meal together was a promise of normalcy—of peace, for however long it lasted. 

He watched you with an expression that was difficult to place—something between admiration and quiet longing. It was as though he was trying to memorize every detail of this simple moment, holding onto the ordinariness of it like a lifeline. He stayed close, a presence both comforting and unspoken. When you reached for the butter, his hand grazed yours lightly, and for a brief moment, the connection between you felt like a quiet acknowledgment of all the time lost. 

As he spread the jam with a careful hand, his gaze lifted to meet yours, and the weight of everything unsaid passed between you in the shared quiet. His gaze softened, and his voice, though quiet, was thick with the weight of his thoughts. 

“I missed this,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, the words a private confession. “The stillness of it.” 

For a moment, you simply stood there, side by side, with the ritual of the morning surrounding you. The quiet clink of dishes, the soft hum of the tea kettle, all felt like small reminders of the life that still existed between you, despite everything else. 

His presence was a silent reminder of how much he had longed for this. For you. 

The silence was only eventually broken by his voice. "I've been thinking," he said, the usual measuredness of his tone betrayed by a softness behind it.

"About?" you encouraged, looking up from your tea.

He just looked at you for a moment, his eyes tracing your face. "I'd like to paint you," he said, quite plainly.

It was a request so unexpected, you blinked, at a loss how to respond. "Fyodor… you've just come home," you said softly. "You need rest. Surely this can wait."

He tilted his head, a faintly amused glint in his eyes. “Resting would only give me more time to think,” he replied, his tone light, though the truth in his words was clear. “This… painting you, spending this time with you—it’s what I need.” 

You hesitated, your instinct to care for him warring with the tenderness of his request. “I don’t know,” you said softly. “You’ve been through so much. Shouldn’t you allow yourself a moment to breathe?” 

“I am breathing,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. “I’m here. With you... And I want to capture this.” 

His words disarmed you, as they always did, and you found yourself nodding despite your reservations. “Alright,” you said at last. “But don’t push yourself too hard.” 

A smile graced his lips, and he reached for your hand, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “I will not, dearest.” he promised. 

--- 

He was a man of art and patience, his fingers deft in crafting not just melodies but whole worlds, whether through his ideals or, now, through paint. You had known this about him, of course—the way he used the brush as another weapon, a tool to dissect the world’s beauty and flaws in equal measure.  

The sunroom was aglow, the golden light not just illuminating the space but wrapping itself around the two of you, casting a soft radiance that seemed almost tangible. You shifted slightly in your seat, the smooth wood of the chair cool against the back of your knees. Every movement you made felt magnified under his gaze, as though he saw not just your form but the essence beneath it. 

"You could paint me from memory," you said, your tone even, but teasing. Your soft words cut the quiet warmth of the room. "You don't need me here like this."

“I could,” he said with quiet certainty, his voice steady, not at all dismissive. “But memories fade. They become hazy. What I want to capture is… you, right here. Every little shift in you—the way you hold yourself, the way the light catches in your eyes when you’re lost in thought. The way your lips curl when you’re trying not to smile. All of it—You.” 

You blinked, surprised at the depth of his words, and for a moment, there was a soft, almost vulnerable look in his eyes. The brush hovered above the canvas, his attention more focused on you than on his work. 

“But why now?” you asked softly, curiosity low in your voice. 

He exhaled softly, almost as if your question had drawn out a sigh he’d been holding in for too long. When he spoke again, his tone was different—softer, as if he was allowing himself to be present fully with you.  

“A memory can never capture what’s real,” he said, his gaze turning to meet yours “I want to paint you as you are—alive, in this moment. I want to capture the way you’re with me, here, now. The way you look when you speak without thinking, or when you’re still and quiet, just breathing beside me. All those things—they’re part of you. And they change every time, in ways no memory could keep.” 

Your heart fluttered at his words, the raw sincerity in them. “To be loved is to be changed,” you replied softly, more to yourself than him. “You've also changed. You’re not the same as you were when we first met.” 

His lips parted slightly, as if your words had struck something deep inside him, but then he smiled—a small, knowing smile that softened the edges of his usually intense expression. 

“I know,” he said simply, his voice quiet but full of understanding. “I have changed. But that’s the point, isn’t it?" he paused for a moment before continuing. "I don’t want to preserve just the parts of you that are unchanging. I want to capture all of you—the way you evolve, the way you breathe, the way your soul shifts with each passing day. The things that make you who you are, right now.” 

You were quiet for a long moment, taking in his words. There was so much in them—so much you hadn’t realized he saw in you. He wasn’t just painting your image, he was preserving the essence of you, of your connection. And for a moment, it felt like you were being seen in a way you hadn’t allowed anyone to see you before. 

“I think that is beautiful… and I cherish you for it,” you said softly, “The way you see everything—so fully, so deeply.” 

He nodded, slowly, the weight of what he was saying was clear within the quiet air between you; and then he spoke, his voice much softer, almost reverential.

“Maybe. I think… that’s what I want. To hold onto something real. Something that’s not bound by time or memory, but by the way we are when we’re together. And that—you—that’s what I need to remember.” 

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words. In this moment, you realized how much he cherished you, not just for who you were, but for who you were with him. You weren’t just a figure he was painting—you were the person he wanted to preserve, the person he wanted to hold close in every sense.  

As Fyodor’s brush continued to move across the canvas, each stroke slow, deliberate, a silence settled between you both. The quiet was comforting in its way, but there was something else—something unspoken, an undercurrent of tension you both knew too well. His gaze, now lost in the strokes of his work, seemed distant, almost haunted. You couldn’t help but notice the subtle way his shoulders hunched, as though the weight of his thoughts was pulling him deeper into himself. 

You watched him in the soft glow of the room, the golden light catching the curve of his cheek, the sharpness of his jaw. He looked so much like the man you loved, yet there was always this distance—this unreachable part of him. You could feel it, the quiet war he waged within. 

“You paint,” you said softly, the words almost a whisper, “as if you're also trying to preserve something fleeting… a piece of yourself.” 

“I paint because… I do not know how to stop what is inevitable. I do not know how to stop what I must become.” He looked at you then, his gaze heavy with unspoken emotion. “But when I look at you, I remember the parts of myself that are still whole. The parts that are still human. You make me want to hold onto those, even if only for a moment longer.” 

The vulnerability in his words pierced deeper than you expected, a heavy weight pressing against your chest. It was raw, unfiltered, and it pulled at the tenderest parts of you. You rose up from your seat and gently coaxed the paintbrush out of his hand to place it on the stand. You faced him, reaching for his presence, for him, as if to anchor him in this shared space. "Fyodor," you began, your voice steady but full of warmth “You mustn’t destroy yourself on their behalf…” 

His gaze remained fixed on the canvas, his jaw tight with a restraint you knew too well. There was a tinge of ache in his voice when he spoke next, barely a murmur, a whisper of a truth that he tried not to speak aloud. "It’s not about them," he said. "It’s about what I must become. To do what’s necessary, what nobody will dare do for their own good…" 

You could almost hear the weight of his conviction, the certainty that had become his armor, but it only made your heart ache more. He knew this path was the only one to be taken, that turning back or seeking another way to make things right would never happen. But it's killing him in small ways—ways that only you could sense, ways he hid from everyone, even himself. 

You inhaled sharply, your voice growing soft yet resolute as you reached out, your hand resting lightly on his arm. "I know," you whispered, the tenderness in your voice a quiet balm. "I know what you’re trying to do. But I can’t watch you destroy yourself, not even for this cause." 

The tension in his posture seemed to relax—just a little. "You think I do not know the cost?" His voice was quiet, almost lost in the stillness of the room. "I feel the weight of it every moment…I am irritated it is no longer mine alone—it is ours. You carry it with me, whether you wish to or not." 

The words hung between you, both a quiet acknowledgment and an unspoken plea. He did not want you to carry the burden, but he knew you did. You had to. You would, for him.

You nodded, your heart swelling with a complex mixture of pride and sorrow. "I carry it because I love you, Fyodor. But love—" you paused, allowing the weight of the word to settle between you, "love doesn’t require sacrifice of this kind. You don’t have to break yourself to prove your love for the world." 

He finally met your gaze, his expression unreadable, his eyes held something you couldn’t place—something between resolve and regret, as if he was at the edge of a precipice. 

"I know you would rebuild me," he said softly, his voice low yet firm, "if I were to break. I will not ask you to soothe my wounds, even if I do fall." He swallowed, his gaze flicking toward the canvas, but he almost appeared to struggle with his own thoughts. "But I will not change. Not in this. Not for you. Not for anyone." His voice was strong, his choice set, yet there was a softness in his words—like a promise you could not ignore. "If I break, I will let you rebuild me. But I will not falter before I do." 

You looked up at him for a long second; the space between you was a silent heavy mass of his words. And though his resolve was steadfast, you saw the way his hands trembled just slightly, as though the strain of keeping it together was taking its toll. There was no arguing with him now—no changing his mind. But you understood. You understood—the part of him bound to his mission and the part still holding on to you for counterweight, pulling him back from the edge.

With a soft exhale, you leaned in, resting your forehead gently against his, your hands coming up to cup his face. "Then let me be the one who holds you together when the weight becomes too much," you whispered. "Let me be the one who reminds you that you are more than the man you think you have to become." 

His hand covered yours, his touch firm yet trembling. “You already are,” he whispered, his voice breaking with quiet reverence. “You’re the reason I can still stand.” 

You pulled away just enough to see the subtle shift in his gaze—like a ripple across still water. He was still resigned to his role, the weight of his mission pressing heavily on his shoulders. Yet, in that moment, you saw something more. Beneath the resolve, beneath the layers of carefully guarded pain, he knew. He knew that when the time came for his fall, you would be there—not as a savior to lift him from the depths, but as the unrelenting force that would catch him, bind his broken pieces, and remind him of the man he was beneath the ruin. 

Despite everything—his unyielding conviction, his determination to walk a path riddled with pain—he would always need you. Not as a cure for his torment, not as the one who could change the course he had chosen, but as the one who could love him completely. The one who could see the fractured parts of him and not flinch, who could embrace his darkness without ever fearing it. 

You studied him quietly, the contours of his face etched with brilliance and burden, and your heart ached for the war he waged within. His obsession with purging the world, with becoming the necessary evil—it consumed him, defined him, even as it tore him apart piece by piece. Yet here he was, sitting before you, letting you see what no one else could. Letting you shoulder what he could never ask you to. 

It was then you realized something profound. You had never been afraid of the perversion that haunted him. Not once. Where others saw menace, you saw humanity. Where others recoiled from the shadows, you stepped into them. His pain wasn’t something to be feared, but something to be protected. His wounds were etched into the fabric of your soul, his struggles mirrored in the depths of your heart. Loving him had meant taking in the rough edges, holding his pain with a gentleness that denied the sting of it.

You would kiss his knuckles, each and every one of them, scarred and bloodied, as if his pain were your own. You'd leap at his wounds with all the fierceness of a love that would never let him fall into ruin. Pressing your lips gently to his fist, you would hold his brokenness close, knowing that his protection is yours to bear.  

And before he could destroy himself again, you would protect his soul in your own quiet way, offering him the one thing he could never ask for—peace. 

[baddestbittyontheblock]

alexia putellas fic recs (4)

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✧*:·˚ hi everyone!! here is a list of all the fics that are my favs with tagged writers/authors ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ remember to like and reblog the works you enjoy in order to support each writer!! ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ however, make sure you read the information on each story themselves such as triggers & warnings ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ also, if you'd like me to remove your fic from this list, message me! ✧*:·˚

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ jealously or caring? by @magics-neptunes-things alexia putellas x reader | jealousy, discomfort with her feelings, a little angst.

-this one talk about jalousy and everything who can come out of it, whether it’s little cute reconciliations or a little more complicated repercussions.

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ i remember everything by @samkerrworshipper alexia putellas x reader | eating disorders, pain n angst with a softer ending

-maps and ingrid start start to notice reader getting thinner and eating less but alexia is so wrapped up in media and stuff that she doesn’t notice until reader faints at training. then mapi shouts at alexia and there’s some angst but it has a softer ending

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ alexia fic by @eimids alexia putellas x girlfriend!reader

-the reader is a billionaire but the team mistakenly thought that the reader is using alexia for money or fame because of how the reader dress just like simple clothes and the team tell the reader to leave ale alone

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ pet problems II by @woso-dreamzzz alexia putellas x reader

-your cat gets pregnant (It's all mapi's fault)

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ pet problems III by ^ alexia putellas x reader

-meeting the kittens is very stressful

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ pet problems IV by ^ alexia putellas x reader

-the first two kittens go off to a new home

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ pet problems V by ^ alexia putellas x reader

-it's adoption day for the last of the kittens

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ insistent by @leahluvr alexia putellas x reader | smut(nsfw, fingering)

-you get a national team call up but at what cost?

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ driving seat by @vixwritesagain alexia putellas x reader | top alexia, dom alexia, rough fingering, semi-public sex, dirty talk (let's just pretend she speaks perfect english, yeah?) affectionate degradation (slut and slut adjacent words), orgasm control/denial, choking

-alexia only has three moods after a game: hyper, tired, or horny. I'll let you guess which one happens here.

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ ubi amor, ibi dolor by @randombush3 alexia putellas x reader

-alexia and you as posh + becks part two. part one

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ ready, aim, shoot by @magics-neptunes-things alexia putellas x reader | angst, mention of war and bomb, accident, hospitalization.

-you’re a journalist and you were sent to a complicated place in the world. will the attack you suffered prevent you from finding your girlfriend’s arms permanently?

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ rebuilding the family aka family visits by @me-loving-woso alexia putellas x reader

-these are the previous Chapters: Monthly visits, Meeting the Family, The Aftermath

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ like mama by @mannersofrats24 alexia putellas x reader | a bit of angst, a bit of comfort

-there's no better feeling than holding your daughter's hand while watching your wife's football match, until your daughter runs off into a crowd.

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ morning motivation by @fcwoso alexia putellas x reader | fluffy

-alexia needed motivation to conquer the day, reader makes a poor attempt and somehow succeed

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part seven by @thesunisatangerine alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader | mentions of death/dying

-parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part eight by ^

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

⊹ ࣪˖⁩. betrayed by @repulsiveliquidation alexia putellas x reader | smut(degrading name calling, edging, spitting, choking)

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ off limits – part 5 by @wileys-russo alexia putellas x león!reader

-part one part two part three part four

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ off limits – part 6 by ^ alexia putellas x león!reader

-"ale where are we going?" you laughed, leaning back into your seat more as your girlfriend sped down the highway. "stop asking me princesa, it is a surprise!" was all you got in return alongside a toothy grin as barcelona raced past her window in a blur.

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ make it better by @girlgenius1111 alexia putellas x reader | angst / hurt comfort. smut. 18+

-a cure for frustration: part 2

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ the leather jacket by @alexiapp alexia putellas x reader | suggestive topic, talk of injury

-today marked the start of el clásico, i woke up to a tanned tattooed covered back of a blonde Catalan woman.

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ the party by @samkerrworshipper alexia putellas x reader | smut(cunnilingus, minors dni 18+)

-with your louis v. bag, tats on your arms. high heel shoes, make you six feet tall. everybody wants you, you can have them all

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part nine by @thesunisatangerine alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader | mentions of grief, suggestive material, hurt/comfort

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ in the middle by @codiemarin alexia putellas x leah williamson x reader | BDSM undertones, edging, fingering, dirty talk, semi-voyeurism, threesome where one person is watching the other two

-loosely based on the song In the middle by dodie. alexia and leah had a very short lived tryst in the past, but both being headstrong and controlling captains, nothing came out of that. y/n has dated both alexia and leah separately, but the three being in close proximity most times and the captains unable to deny y/n, agreed to try dating collectively and getting along for her sake.

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ friendly affection? by @inuyashaluver alexia putellas x reader | mutual pining, just idiots in love, spanish is in bold italics

-in which your childhood friend is extremely affectionate with you, you can’t help but wonder, is it friendly, or does it have a double meaning?

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ family dinner by @fcwoso alexia putellas x reader

-alexia's wish to stay home wasn't fulfilled but she couldn't do anything about the cuddly mood she was in, this lead to the perfect opportunity for her sister to tease her about it

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ motherhood – 2 by @magics-neptunes-things alexia putellas x reader

-second part of motherhood

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ twice the pleasure by @repulsiveliquidation alexia putellas x maría león x reader | smut, 3.6k

⊹ ࣪˖⁩ do you need me? by @girlgenius1111 alexia putellas x reader | migraine, vomiting, general sickfic things

[foxixus]

"Ubi amor ibi dolor🥀" (Where there is love, there is pain)

Commission for AeroSpaceWolf on twt / x, Thank you so much for the opportunity

[sorenphelps]

“Ubi amor, ibi dolor.” — sad bearded boys in love, commonly referred to as wolfstar angst

[zenlesszonezero]

[juodojimirtis]

Warrior Nun characters as latin quotes

Ava: Aut viam inveniam aut faciam (I shall either find a way, or make one)

Lilith: Veni, Vidi, Vici (I came, I saw, I conquered)

Adriel: Flectere si nequeo Superos, Acheronta movebo (If I cannot bend Heaven, I will raise Hell)

Beatrice: Amor omnia vincit (love conquers all)

Mother Superion: Si vis pacem, para bellum (if you desire peace, prepare for war)

Camila: In omnia paratus (ready for everything)

Yasmine: Fores fortuna adiuvat (Fortune favors the brave)

Jillian: Sapere aude (dare to know)

Michael: Non est ad astra mollis e terris via (there is no easy way from the earth to the stars)

Mary: Familia ante omnia (family over all)

Areala: Non desistas non exieris (never give up, never surrender)

Vincent: Igne natura renovatur integra (through fire, nature is reborn whole)

Duretti: Et tu, Brute? (You also, Brutus?)

Reya: Fiat lux! (let there be light!)

Kristian: Tantum religio potuit saudere malorum (To such heights of evil has religion been able to drive men)

Shannon: Ubi amor, ibi dolor (where there is love, there is pain)

[mylyy]

Lover's Eye, by teethandtulips (AO3, Moonwater)

"Ubi amor, ibi dolor"

[drakullys-vampire-cove]

Ubi Amor Ibi Dolor.

ALT. dog head and in-game hairstyle.

[wincestreversebang]

2024 Master Post

Title: Soulbound Enchantment Artist: midnightsilver Author: masoena Other Pairing: mention of ofc/omc Rating: Explicit Warnings/Spoilers: Non-consensual groping, explicit canon-typical violence, non-consensual body transformation Summary: Sam and Dean wake up in a lush, green landscape; a world decidedly not where they remember being before. Sam also realizes he is no longer human as they embark on an adventure to figure out where and why they are in this place. The path to solving this case is dotted with tender, angst-filled, violent and scary moments as the Winchesters work together to figure out how to save themselves in more ways than one. Art: Ao3 Story: Ao3

Title: You Circle Me In the Night Artist: morokollisyo Author: theteacupunicorn Rating: Mature Warnings/Spoilers: Canon-typical violence, violence happening to a sixteen-year-old Sam Summary: Dean plopped down next to Sam. “Guess I’ll be taking the cot tonight, huh?”

“You don’t have to,” Sam said at once. “I don’t want you to get kicked out of your bed because I couldn’t dodge some ghost.”

Dean smiled. “Well, can’t say I’m complaining.” He got comfortable in his bed, only a couple inches from Sam, and promptly shoved his pillow in Sam’s face.

“Dean!” Sam sputtered, whacking Dean with the pillow once he could see again.

Dean cackled, but they both froze when John’s stern voice resounded. “Boys, settle down.”

Dean took his pillow back from Sam and tucked it under his head. “Sorry,” he said in a small voice. He looked confused again, like he had in the car when John had told him not to worry about Sam’s injury. Art:Live Journal | Ao3 Story:Ao3

Title: Fixing a Hole Artist: i-already-know-im-going-2-hell Author: amypond45 Rating: R Warnings/Spoilers: Season 2 AU, Wincest (explicit at times) Summary: This story is a retelling of Season 2, starting when Dean reveals what Dad said to him in the hospital at the beginning of “Hunted”. Instead of running off, Sam confesses that he’s had a premonition about this very moment. He already knows what Dean’s about to tell him, as well as their entire, bloody future until the moment Sam jumps into the pit. As he reveals his visions to Dean, it soon becomes clear that they need to find a way to prevent the death and destruction laid out for them in those visions. One thing leads to another, with revelations of feelings long buried deep. Can Sam, with Dean’s help, find a way to avoid the coming apocalypse, just by falling in love? Or are they destined to retravel the road to distrust that leads to their own demise and the end of the world — or the saving of it after years of loss and sacrifice? And if they stop it from happening, what does that say about them as men, as brothers, and as heroes? Art:Ao3 Story:Live Journal | Ao3

Title: Ubi Amor, Ibi Dolor Artist: deeranger Author: hello-starlingfics Other Pairing: past Sam/Lucifer Rating: E Warnings/Spoilers: Rape/Noncon (described and in the past), Violence, Torture, PTSD. Sexual activity between the boys with consent from neither. Summary: While investigating a possible coven, Sam and Dean get a lead: an abandoned factory just outside of town. When they check it out, things go sideways fast. Art:Twitter | Tumblr Story:Ao3

Title: Crafting Happiness Artist: StepicliffeGrey Author: SamandDean76 Rating: Explicit Warnings/Spoilers: Canon-Typical Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series, Men of Letters Bunker, Canon Compliant, Story Runs For The Duration Of The Series, Pre-Series Sam, Dean, & John, Hurt Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, First Time Summary: Nine-year old Sam had fifty cents and a mission. To find a hidden treasure in the thrift store that he could make his own. It would end up taking him his entire life, but what he found at the bottom of that dingy bin became a lifeline that helped to guide him on a journey that few others could even begin to imagine. Through all the ups and downs, and with Dean ever by his side, Sam did his best to craft some happiness for not only himself, but all those he cherished. Art:Ao3 Story:Ao3

Title: I Was Born To Press My Head Between Your Shoulder Blades Artist: MidnightSilver Author: TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving Rating: Mature Warnings/Spoilers: Canon divergence, soulmate identifying marks, reference canon up til season 5, John Winchester’s A+ parenting, description of canon level violence, djinn, allusions to dying of dehydration, pining, men kissing, sappy ending Summary: In a world where only soulmates can see their soulmarks, Dean has one curving around his finger. His soulmate on the other hand doesn’t have one.

Except maybe he does Art:Ao3 Story:Ao3

Title: Vampire Cotton Candy Artist: Bluefire986 Author: Masoena Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: Rape/Non-con (not between Sam/Dean), explicit violence, temporary character death (transformation to creature) Summary: In this story Sam hits a wolf at the outset of season 8 causing him and Amelia to meet under different circumstances as he transforms into a werewolf later on. Dean returns from purgatory and immediately figures out what Sam is, together they try and work out this new normal. Dean being kidnapped by vampires turns their already crazy upside down once more as they are both hurt in the process and must fight to be free once more. Art:Live Journal | Ao3 Story:Ao3

Title: Pain In My Heart Artist: bluefire986​ Author: hello-starlingfics​ Rating: Mature Warnings/Spoilers: Canon-typical torture and violence, non-consensual touching and kissing. One mention of offscreen suicides early in the fic. Summary: Post-4x16 On The Head Of A Pin.

Dean stomped back to their motel room alone. This hunt was a bust and Sam had disappeared as soon as they’d realized that it hadn’t been a pair of witchcraft-related murders, but a suicide pact between two people with a history of mental health issues longer than even Sam’s arm. It had been a depressing and frustrating day, and Sam bailing on him made everything worse. Art:Live Journal | Ao3 Story:Ao3

Title: Hollow Pursuits Artist: MidnightSilver Author: Kestra_Tori Rating: M Warnings/Spoilers: Public Nudity, Weirdcest, Incestuous Thoughts Summary: Odd deaths bring the boys to a placed called the Happy Hippie Hollow. To Dean’s chagrin it’s a nudist colony. Sam rolls with it. Art:Ao3 Story:Tumblr | Ao3

[pengelanakisah]

Satu orang pergi, dua orang datang. Ada es kopi yang mereka genggam. Satu orang pergi, dua orang datang. Mereka saling menggenggam. Satu orang pergi dan enggan untuk kembali. Berkelana menuju kisah-kisah baru yang tertulis. Menggenggam tanpa tergenggam, meninggalkan tanpa menanggalkan. Ubi amor ibi dolor ~

[chaotic-hypnotic-erotic]

AO3 Stats Tag Game

Rules: go to your AO3 account and find the following stats under My Works - the list will be on the righthand side.

What ratings do you write most of your fics under?

Not Rated (14), Teen And Up Audiences (12), Mature (7), General Audiences (2), Explicit (1)

What are your top three fandoms?

Original Work (5), Marvel Comics (5), Traveller (Roleplaying Game) (5)

What is the top character you write about?

Mesmero (9), followed by Original Characters (8) and Emma Frost (5)

What are your top three pairings?

No Romantic Relationships (17), Emma Frost / Mesmero (4), Reed Richards / Susan Storm (1)

What are the top three additional tags?

Nudity (6), Hypnotism (4), Smoking (2)

Does any of this surprise you?

I honestly thought there'd have been much more Marvel representation, but it seems my original works - particularly for Hunter: the Reckoning, Thunderbirds, and Harnworld - are still right up there at the top. I'm brimming over with Mesmero fics at this moment and writing them all down, but I need soon to pick up my Oshynn stories, get a second Spiral Destined fic written, and push for more Ahrain Windspeaker Traveller stories.

As of the temporal coordinates of this post, I have only posted 36 fics.

Greatest Number of Hits: (1) Mists and Mirages (The Incredibles) (834) https://archiveofourown.org/works/621382 (2) And Afterwards ...? (Thunderbirds) (491) https://archiveofourown.org/works/22851904 (3) What Is Good In Life? (Traveller) (471) https://archiveofourown.org/works/410589 (4) Space: 1999 - Footprints (Space: 1999, Apollo 11) (391) https://archiveofourown.org/works/15374106 (5) Serva Me, Servabo Te (Marvel, Mesmero, Emma Frost Naked) (329) https://archiveofourown.org/works/42831453 (6) Thunderbirds - Queen Bee (Thunderbirds) (257) (7) Ubi Amor, Ibi Dolor (Mesmero, Sue Storm Naked, Reed Richards Naked, Sex, Sue smoking, Teigh getting really pissed off at Mesmero) (247)

Maximum Kudos: (1) Space: 1999 - Footprints (26) (2) And Afterwards ...? (22) (3) Mists and Mirages (13)

Thanks for @mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea for this one.

[persephone11110]

rain is a good thing

Jake‘Hangman’Seresin x Reader

Chapter 5: Ubi Amor Ibi Dolor

Chapter Summary: Cardiac Arrest- when the heart stops beating suddenly, only Jake would go into cardiac minutes after Doctor Young leaves the room.

Warnings: medical induced coma, jake codes, sudden cardiac arrest,angst barely fluff, medical inaccuracys!!, mama seresin, mentions of child abuse, jake and y/n pov italicized is jakes, mentions of a dead family member — jake died grandma when he was a child

Characters: Gina Seresin, Doctor Kate Young(neurosurgeon), Doctor Mark Hayden(cardiothoracic surgeon), the daggers are mentioned but don’t have dialogue

A/n: i have no chill. thank you to everyone likes, reblogs and comments. I used a poem from Emily Dickinson— Hope Is The Thing With Feathers, the title is latin, latin for Where There’s Love Theres Pain

Previous | Next

Series Masterlist

WC: 1.1K

—

Everything was fine until it wasn’t.

You’d been reading Emily Dickson, your coworker Amy had been excitedly ranting about her months ago. Telling you and a few others nurses of how much she enjoyed her poems and how Dickinson has a way with words.

So you decided to give her a try.

You had no idea if it was true or not but you’ve heard as a trauma nurse that its good to talk to someone in coma as if their awake. It won’t make them wake up but it provides comfort to both you and the person. It also said during a coma the person can hear whatever happening outside. So you decided to read a few lines to Jake, wondering if he was bored of silence, of the constant tears you and Gina shed a couple times a day. The constant sounds all the machine made.

Hope is thing with feathers -

That perches the soul -

You sighed softly, god did you need hope- hope that Jake finally recovered enough to point were Doctor Young starts to ease his sedation. You had hope for you and Jake to rekindle whatever love you two had before you attacked him with accusations.

Whn do you realize you didn’t love me anymore?

You remember asking him— you expected him to say something worse, but he didn’t. He loved you even after you left him high and dry on a rainy day, with a hangover. You tore down his walls, he torn down your walls, you promised one another that the relationship would be better than your parents.

And sings the the tune without the words -

And never stops at all -

You hated when your mother compared you to your father. “You go tit for tat just like him Y/n, your anger just like him— not caring about the person on the receiving end of it”.

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

Jake hated when he got angry at you fearing that you wouldn’t see him, you see the men that you and him both feared. The men you two spent hiding from when they drank too much, the men who came home angry and ready to hurt everyone and everything in his path.

You and him hated being angry towards one another.

Gina wasn’t here at the moment she was inside Doctor Young office, discussing recovery and what Jake future looks like beyond it.

Could he return to flying?

You closed the book mumbling something about stretching your legs, getting food and finding Gina. As you left for the cafeteria you had some sudden urge to lean over a kiss Jake on his forehead. Saying something along the lines of “I missed you, I missed what we had”.

Look Jake thankful for the rest his body finally got, but at one point it even sleeping gets tiring. He’s supposed to cruising in his car to the base, he supposed up their flying for practice and fun, not laying in a hospital locked in his own mind.

He can’t use the bathroom by himself —hell he’s not even breathing on his own. Poor Y/n, the sounds of her sob when she first came to see him, he didn’t like that one bit. Jake didn’t like how she kept blaming herself for his accident or the breakup. How she deserved every little bad thing that came her way— he has remind himself to have a talk with his girl. Mama made it worse, with her constant apologies for the childhood she didn’t give him, for the constant pain his old man gave them both. Telling him about how much Rocky misses her buddy, how she’s starting to get in a mood.

The daggers came by to see him at some point, throwing threats around saying they’ll kill him first before he has the chance himself. They miss Jake’s constant sacarsm and insults and Bradshaw finally admitted that Jake had the better music taste.

Back to him and Y/n’s talk- usually Jake Seresin doesn’t do plans he just goes with the flow, rips the bandaid right off with ease but this time he can’t. He has to somehow tell Y/n he heard her say how much she missed him.

“I missed you Jake, I missed what we had”.

And god did he miss his girl, missed her body impression she left on the her side of the bed they shared. Her laughter- when she laughed you could see her tongue poking through her right cheek.

He wished he could just wake up, as if only it was that easy.

Jake wished he could keep thinking about his plan and future but a agitating pain in his chest kept interrupting his thinking. If only Jake could open his damn mouth and ask someone to give him something.

Jake wanted to reach his hand out and ask mama or Y/n for help. His body feels like he coming off adrenaline rush.

He didn’t hear neither mama or Y/n anymore.

What he did hear is a beeping sound getting louder and louder, what he didn’t hear was the sound of Y/n gasps and footsteps leaving his room abruptly, he didn’t hear how panicked she sounded when she yelled his name.

He didn’t see the amount of nurses that ran into his room, as they swarmed around him, them yelling a bunch of numbers, someone yelling page Dr. Hayden, Dr. Young.

The pressure in his chest got worse.

He didn’t feel Doctor Young flash a pen light in his eyes. He didn’t feel the pressure being applied to chest every two minutes, he didn’t hear them count to thirty.

He didn’t see mama and Y/n standing outside his hospital room with tears in their eyes, he didn’t see Y/n pacing up and down the hallway.

He did see the place he spent his entire childhood in.

Jake remembered this place, it was place he ran to every time he needed a break from his parents. A place filled with warmth and love, a place he knew that would protect him from harm.

“Hi sweetheart” Jake turned his around too see a woman he recognized immediately, Jake looked at her with a confused look, she smiles at him,“I knew you smelled my brownies from a mile away”. She closed the oven, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist.

“Grandma Lou…”. Jakes voice shook and he shakily took steps towards her, she opened her arms and Jake softly fell into them. “I’ve missed you”.

“I missed you too sweetheart”, she cupped the back of Jakes head, he was leaning in her touch. “Take a brownie, little one”. She lets go of Jake, Grandma Lou hands him a brownie from off the stove,“I know how much they make you feel better”.

She gives Jake a grin, as Grandma Lou gets his plate ready she ushers Jake into a chair, reminding him to sit and eat.

As Jakes chomping away at the brownie, she smiles at him again,“Take your time sweetheart”.

The heavy pressure in Jakes chest started to go away.

Taglist: @chocolatefartstrawberry, @buckysteveloki-me, @dontletthemtakeyoualive, @classyunknownlover, @els-marvelvsp, @i-am-mrsreckless, @cinderellasmissingshoes

[theonlyqualitytrash]

Masterlist

All of my works neatly laid out

Fyodor:

Fanfics:

Memento Mori

Ultima Sacrificium

Ubi amor, ibi dolor

Beata hiems—Holiday special

Headcannons/small scenarios:

Headcannon—Fyodor paints

Analysis:

The irony in Fyodor's words

[writingandwritten]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kinzie/Hylla Ramírez-Arellano Characters: Kinzie (Percy Jackson), Hylla Ramírez-Arellano Additional Tags: Sparring, the Amazons - Freeform, wlw, Sapphic Summer Riordanverse, this was done in like half an hour, Happy Pride Summary:

Sapphic Summer RiordanVerse 2024 Day 2: Sparring

Kinzie and Hylla are sparring (and kissing).

@sapphic-summer-riordanverse