Hellish_Cupid's Links
My tall baby boy… my Leônidas. You are sweeter than this world deserves. Too gentle, too precious, and yet somehow so strong. You are a blessing in more ways than I could ever name, and I thank whatever grace allowed me to be your mother. I love you, my son. Never let anyone, not the world, not doubt, not even yourself, make you forget that.
Ma! I love her so much! She is very very soft! and likes hugs!
“Annoying human that I love and care for but he follows me around a lot. He doesn’t judge me for anything so I’m fine with that. I love him and he makes me laugh” “Also My Beautiful Husband and The Father to My Children.”
"I lose brain cells every minute I stand around with her, but she does stop the pain of having to think and worry too much.. Perhaps it gives me a semblance of sanity, or maybe insanity? Nonetheless, I love her for it. She is my wonderful wife and I had gone stupid for her.
“My daughter did not die. She survived, alone, hunted, tortured, and she still came back brighter than any flame I’ve ever seen.”
Alastair looks at Frazier with a grief so deep it almost cracks her bones, and a love so fierce it scares her. She blames herself every day for not protecting her, for not finding her sooner, for letting the world hurt what she swore to cherish. But when she watches Frazier laugh, or stand her ground, or light up a room with color Alastair never had… she realizes she didn’t lose her child, she gained a warrior made of everything she fought to save.
“I grew up believing my mother was dead. Nobody told me she was a storm, impossible to kill, impossible to break.”
To Frazier, Alastair is both comfort and danger: the memory of warmth she barely remembers, and the terrifying, powerful woman she finally gets to know. She sees the scars, the rage, the restraint, the way her mother flinches at her own emotions, and she understands. Frazier doesn’t want perfection. She just wants the woman who never stopped loving a daughter she thought she lost. And she’s proud, painfully, fiercely proud, to be her daughter.
Alastair pretends she doesn’t notice the way Seraphyne’s presence wraps around her like warm smoke, or how the goddess’s gaze lingers a little too long. She tells herself she doesn’t trust her, Seraphyne is a patron, a higher being, and Alastair has been used by too many powers to ever relax fully. But there is something about the goddess that disarms her: how Seraphyne softens around her, how her voice quiets the nightmares, how her touch never feels controlling. It unsettles Alastair, makes her wary, but also draws her in despite herself. She won’t admit it aloud, but Seraphyne is the one place she doesn’t feel like a weapon. The worst part is… she doesn’t know what that means yet.
Seraphyne watches Alastair the way a goddess studies a forbidden scripture, slowly, reverently, unable to look away. She adores the defiance carved into her bones, the quiet grief behind her eyes, the strength that refuses to shatter even when it should. Alastair does not kneel, does not fawn, does not worship her like the others do, and that alone makes Seraphyne ache. To her, Alastair is a storm dressed in scars, a living contradiction of fury and fragility she longs to protect, to hold, to love without chains. She keeps her devotion hidden behind velvet smiles, telling herself it is enough simply to be near her. But it is not. It will never be.