#anyway i feel both pathetic and tiny but also giddy and too big for my own body

[avakitsune]

Hi, it's time for vulnerability posting again, despite the fact that's all I'm doing rn. But whatever shhhh I need to whine and complain to get through all this stuff and actually it does help to just. Let it all out. And the person I want to talk to about everything is busy working, and so here I am, blabbering into the ether again.

HOWEVER ONLY 8 MORE DAYS UNTIL I GET TO MEET HIM IN PERSON SO YK THERES THAT

Today is probably one of the worst days of my life. I'm triggered and it's the nail in the coffin for any potential rekindling with my husband. And like, I know some of yall might be like, "really? The election?"

Imagine being married to someone you trust so little that your subconscious won't allow you to sleep if they're physically in your home. Imagine being married to someone who doesn't care if you live or die, so long as they get to have sex with you until you do. Imagine being married to someone who came inside you right after you had to terminate a pregnancy you wanted and he couldn't even wait 3 months to fuck you, and when you cried because you were scared? He said, "I have needs." And then remained married to him for 6 more years because this happened a month after your wedding. Imagine he's drunk all the time. Imagine he leaves you all alone. Imagine he lets you starve, chases you into the bathtub for crying, and blames you for your own illness because you failed to birth his child.

So yeah. The election makes it impossible for me to ever rekindle that flame. I'm over him. I don't want him.

But that's literally not even what I'm posting about???? Lmfao. Like forget all the sad bleh stuff. Wish tumblr posts had footnotes so that I could have put all that in the tags or smth but it's relevant.

I've had to go back and forth in my mind, feeling guilt over the new emotions that have started to grow for someone that actually really seems to see me as a person? Someone who seems to want to know who I am, other than just as a cute plaything—which I am. I care very much if he continues to like me, and I obsess over making sure not to be boring and not to seem aloof by being easily distracted.

Every conversation I have with him, every night I've spent just talking about anything, everything, and nothing at all with him has only made me feel more full and whole. I like how he makes me feel. I'm used to feeling unworthy, small, and bothersome. He doesn't make me feel that way; if anything, I feel that he goes out of his way a bit to make sure to say the right thing—because he wants to say the right thing, not because it's not on his heart. And that tears me to shreds, actually?

To think that someone, barely more than a stranger, can see straight down to my core like he can? And that he's not disgusted by what he sees? He's specifically told me that I'm a woman, not a little girl, and everyone around me has told me the opposite to keep me small. He's not afraid of me. And I don't want to walk away from a man who isn't the least bit intimidated by someone like me.

LOL ANYWAYS

TL;DR: I'm awake and autonomous for the first time in many years, and I'm finally meeting someone who seems like at the very least, makes me feel a sense of forward momentum for the first time since October of 2018.

I will be flooding my page with mini updates while he's here and posting about how cute he is because he is as adorable as he is intimidating. And I just...I don't feel guilty for this. Don't care if I should.

[numba99]

The Intern - Part 7

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Summary: You are an intern at MSG, strictly forbidden to become involved in with any of the Rangers players. However, this becomes difficult when you catch the eye of a certain player. Word count: 2k

Warnings: none, this is the second to last part though!! and I wrote this kinda quick I'm so sorry if there are typos towards the end don’t hate me

Things were finally looking up. Were they perfect? No, you imagined the next few months staying away from Lias would be hard. However, knowing at the end of it there would be a chance to make it work was enough to make you giddy.

So giddy that you didn’t notice how Beth barely returned your hello when you walked in this morning. Nor did you notice her tone when she asked you to meet her in her office in five minutes. If your head hadn’t been in the clouds, thinking about what could be in a few months from now, you may have been a little more prepared to walk into her office and see-

“Lias,” you heard yourself gasp. He was sitting at one of the chairs of her desk, looking like a kid that called down to the principals office.

“Have a seat,” Beth said sternly. Your stomach dropped. She knew. But how? Did someone tell? Did Lias tell? No, he wouldn’t, not after your talk. He wouldn't do something so shitty to you, you knew that. “Do you two know why you’re here?”

You both remained silent. Of course you knew, but what the hell were you going to say? You couldn’t show your hand until you knew exactly what she knew and how much detail.

Beth reached into her desk and pulled out two photos, which she placed down in front of the two of you. It was pictures of you when you went out to talk. One was through the window of the coffee shop and the other was you two hugging on the steps. 

“How did you get these?” Lias asked what you were thinking. Your stomach churned at the thought of someone watching you and taking pictures without you even knowing. 

“They were posted on a Ranger’s blog that I found while looking for something for a story,” Beth replied, “But the bigger problem is that these even exist. Care to explain why you’re blatantly breaking my rules?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” you blurted out.

“Please, y/n, don’t bull shit me,” Beth replied flatly. 

“It wasn’t anything, seriously,” Lias jumped in, “We are friends and we went out for coffee. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“The big deal is I have rules for my interns not to spend alone time with any of the players and y/n went behind my back and did it anyways,” Beth said, turning to you and shaking her head. You felt tears pressing at the back of your eyes, but the last thing you wanted to do was cry right now. You knew Beth would not take kindly to that.

“I’m sorry I-”

“Save it, I don’t want any excuses. I’ve seen the way you two interact. I thought it was just a close professional bond, but now seeing this... I’m sensing something more is going on between the two of you. I can tell when I’m being lied to. I trusted you a lot and you broke that. I’m going to have to let you go,” Beth told you.

“What! You can’t do that,” Lias snapped.

“I’m sorry but that’s not up to you,” she said.

“I’ll quit, I’ll change teams, whatever, I don't know, but you can’t she needs this,” Lias stumbled over his words as he defended you. You were trying to focus on your breath, feeling you were right on the edge of a panic attack.

“You know you can’t do that, Lias,” Beth replied, unamused by his efforts, “You can go now.” Her and Lias stared at each other for a few moments, before Lias turned to you.

“Just go,” you mumbled. Lias let out a heavy sigh, and you swore you heard an “I'm sorry,” under his breath. The silence in the room after he left was so heavy. You wished you could shrivel up and just die right there. Beth must have sensed how awful it was making you feel because she sat with it for some time.

“In three days the team will have an off day. You can come in then when no one is around and get your things,” Beth told you, “You can leave now.” 

You got up, wordlessly and headed for the door. You were afraid If you spoke you wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears. However, right before you left you said, “I’m really sorry.”

“I am too,” Beth replied, “I’ve never been so disappointed.” And with that, you left, managing to keep your tears in until you were back on the street.

____

The next three days were a tortuously slow whirlwind. With crying, lots of crying. It had turned a bit into a pity party, which made you feel pathetic, but you couldn’t help it. At least Jess indulged your moping, never making you feel bad about being a mess.

Between your crying and staring blankly a the wall wondering how your life could have blown up like this, you were desperately searching for an alternative internship placement. You hadn't told your school yet that you were leaving... or getting fired. You thought if you could find something else you could smooth it over by saying it wasn’t a good fit to your schedule or something and it wouldn’t raise many eyebrows. However, at this stage in the game, any placements were already taken, and you wondered how you would explain to an potential supervisor.

“Why are you coming to us months into the semester? A little late isn’t it?”

“Well you see, I was caught having a romantic relationship with one of the players, breaking the only real rule given to me.”

Yeah, that would go over well. With each day that passed, you felt more hopeless. Lias texted you. And called you. You wanted to talk to him, but you just couldn’t. You weren't mad at him, he wasn’t at fault. It was the rule you broke after all and he stood up for you in Beth’s office when you couldn’t find the words. However, talking to him, facing everything that was going on just felt like too much. 

You did manage to text him a short message that you were okay (ha!) and that you would talk to him when you had things figured out because you owed him that much. You tossed your phone away before you could tempt yourself with reading any of the messages he left.

There was a brick in your stomach when they day to clear out your desk finally came. You felt like you were going to your execution - dramatic, you knew - but you couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom. The only saving grace was that none of the players would be there and that the office would be relatively quiet since it was an off day. With any luck you could get in and out and not have to interact with a single soul.

You managed to get into your office without any outside contact. You shut the door behind you, hoping no one would notice you were there. You bit back tears as you began to pack up your things into a tiny box. You were only there a short time, but it all felt so special. Partially because of the amazing experience and doing what you had dreamt of doing since you were a little girl, sitting wide-eyed watching the Rangers play... but partially because of Lias. 

You were realizing now that he meant a lot to you, more than you were letting yourself believe. He wasn’t just some guy you wanted to hook up with, he was a guy you wanted to be with. He had a way of making things feel special and exciting that no other lover was ever able to match.

Just as you were thinking you wish you could see him, the door to your office pushed open. You held your breath, thinking it might be Beth to scold again, but it was Lias. You let out a soft gasp, feeling like you somehow had conjured him.

“I hope I’m not bothering you,” he said. He eyed you sympathetically, his soft blue eyes filling you with the greatest sense of peace in the last 72 hours. You couldn’t think of what to say, so you just flung your arms around him. He squeezed you tightly, almost to the point where you couldn’t breath, but you loved it.

“What are you doing here?” you asked when you finally managed to peel yourself away.

“I had to see you,” he replied, smiling faintly, before adding, “I also have something for you, but I gotta show you.” He took you by the hand and pulled you out of the office. You wanted to resist, feeling like you were most definitely pushing It by holding his hand, but what did you have to lose? You were already fired.

Lias led you down the hallway, towards the locker room. You wondered what he had that he had to show you here. When you stepped into the locker room, you were met by nearly the entire team Your brows furrowed in confusion. Had you miscounted the days in your stupor and came in the wrong time?

Before you could speak, a familiar voice asked what you were thinking, “What is this?” You spun around to find Beth being led into the room by Mika. 

“We’re all here for y/n,” Lias spoke up, “We don’t want her fired.” Lias stood in front of them all. There were players, such as Fil and Kaapo, that you’d only talked to on occasion. They were nice, but you weren’t close with them like you were with Mika or even Chris. You were surprised, but incredibly moved that they were there in support of you.

“That’s not yo-” Beth tried to speak, but she was cut off.

“But it is,” Lias replied firmly, “No one has been so kind to us all. All you reporters care about is the story, y/n cared about us. She made us all feel special. MSG is as much her home as it is ours, and we won’t play if she isn’t here to ask the questions after.” Everyone nodded in agreement as Lias spoke.

“Seriously?” Beth questioned.

“Seriously,” Mika replied, putting his arm around Lias, “No one should be punished for caring about someone. We all know how great y/n is, she isn’t going to let anything get in the way of that, romantic relationship or not. Let her stay, or you can explain to everyone else why we are suddenly forfeiting games.” 

Beth was shocked, and honestly you were too. You couldn't believe they were all doing this for you. You didn’t feel worthy, but you were eternally grateful, even if it didn’t work. The longer the room was in silence, the more you thought Beth was going to tell them no deal, but finally she relented.

“Fine, y/n can stay.” The room erupted in cheers, and you couldn’t help but let out a squeal yourself. Beth seemed displeased, speaking directly to you, “We are going to talk about this tomorrow. Be here your normal time.”

The second she left the room, Lias’s arms were around you, spinning you around in a tight hug. You giggled, feeling absolutely on top of the world, even though you were sure you were in for it tomorrow. You didn’t care, though, you’d rather be miserable with an internship than miserable without one.

“Lias I... I can't believe you did this,” you gushed, “I can’t even thank you enough.”

“You don’t have to,” Lias smiled, “You deserve this. More than anyone I know.” He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, and for the first time you kissed him without any concern in the world. That pulled a few “oohs” from the younger players. You and Lias chuckled as Mika and Chris shooed them from the room.

“This internship is the best thing that ever happened to me,” you sigh, brushing the golden locks out of Lias’s eyes.

“Because it led to meeting some stupid boy?” he teased, though he didn’t realize how right he was.

“No,” you replied, “because it brought me to you.”

[tmarie82]

Best Christmas Ever

Pairing: Damien x MC (Camille Park)

Book: Perfect Match (Future)

Word Count: ~2,300

Rating:  PG

Author’s Note:  Camille Park is definitely my spirit animal … the girl loves the holidays, enjoys a good pun and she has excellent taste in Damien men.  This is a little fluffy holiday fic that also documents a very special occasion for Damien and Cami.  I hope you enjoy. 😚

This also is my first submission for @dancetothestoriesinyoursoul’s wonderful idea for Fluffy Friday and fulfills a very old fic request.

Please let me know if you would like to be added to my tag list.  You can find all of my fics in my Masterlist on my homepage.

~~~~~~~~~~

“A little to the left … no, too far!” Camille spouted out commands to her live-in boyfriend, eliciting a muffled groan of frustration from Damien as he adjusted the tree on its base in their tiny New York apartment living room.  “Okay, steady … perfect!” Camille bounced up and down excitedly clapping her hands when Damien shifted the tree to just the right angle, centering it perfectly in the corner of their soon-to-be extremely festive room.  “Ah, it looks great, D!”  She sidled up against his side when he finally stood upright to observe his handiwork, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he admired the seven-foot fir tree he’d just lugged up three flights of stairs.  

“Yeah, it doesn’t look half bad.”  He released a long exhale of relief, thankful to finally have a moment to relax after their strenuous morning.  Although it was still November, Camille always insisted on beginning their Christmas preparations on the Saturday following Thanksgiving.  So the pair had woken up at 6am to drive to the Christmas tree lot just outside the city (thankfully making a pit stop at the coffee shop to get caffeine for the extremely groggy non-morning person Damien first), then spent over an hour marching up and down the rows of freshly delivered fir trees until Cami found the “perfect one.”  After trekking back into the city with the tree fastened to the top of Damien’s car Griswold-family-style, carrying it up to their apartment (with little help from the petite Camille, but don’t tell her that!), then twenty minutes of situating the tree in their living room … well, it wasn’t even lunch time yet and Damien was already exhausted.  While he thought Camille’s extreme affinity for the holiday season was adorable, he sometimes missed the days when he had been able to enjoy her holiday spirit as an observer and not a key contributor.  

“Yes, it really does …” Camille beamed up at the lush green tree, a wide smile of childlike awe spread across her face, “just think how gorgeous it’s gonna look after you string the lights on it!”

“Yeah, I bet it will be- wait, what?!?  After I string the lights?”  Damien shook his head in dismay as he realized what Camille had just said.  “Why am I stringing the lights?”

“Well I have to go bake the gingerbread to make the gingerbread house, so … “ Camille gave him a nonchalant look and a shrug, before jutting out a hip and tilting her head defiantly.  “Unless you’d like to do the baking …” she asked in a mocking tone.

Damien grumbled again, his face falling into a scowl. “No … I’ll do it.”  He let out a long sigh, turning to go retrieve the box of twinkling lights from the top shelf in their hall closet.  He returned a few minutes later, arms filled with a worn cardboard box full of Christmas lights, to an empty room.  The sounds of Camille clanking around in the kitchen signaled to him that he was officially on his own in this endeavor.  He sighed before opening the box of lights, begrudgingly pulling out a tangled mass of wires and bulbs.   “Cami?”  He called to the kitchen, studying the jumbled mess with a frown.  She poked her head around the corner as she tied an apron around her waist, eyebrows raised in question.  “Check out this tangled mess!  Do I really have to do the lights today?  I mean, what’s the rush?”  He dangled the ball of wires and chaos in her direction, making his most pathetic pleading face at her.

Camille grunted and stomped over to where her boyfriend was whining, grabbing the lights from him and quickly weaving them untangled with her tiny hands.  After a few short minutes, she handed him back rows of neatly folded string lights with a satisfied look on her face, then cocked her hip and folded her arms across her chest.  “Of course we need to do the lights today, Damien.  You can’t half-ass Christmas!  Now stop complaining and get to work so we can actually enjoy this, you curmudgeon!!!”  

Damien’s eyes widened at his girlfriend’s playful outburst.  “Sorry, a Kermit the wha???”

Cami chuckled, leaning forward while waggling a finger at him before poking him in the chest.  “I said a curmudgeon!  Cur-mudg-eon.” She repeated, exaggeratedly slow.  “You know, a huge grump, a crusty old miser … like the Grinch.  Do you want to be a grinch, D?”  She quirked her brows at him, waiting for his reply with a coy smirk on her lips.

“Uhhhh …” Damien fumbled, dropping his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.  “No, I guess not.”  

“Good.”  Cami replied in a sing-song voice, a smug smile pulling at her lips.  She raised up on her tip-toes and placed a single kiss to his cheek with a loud smack.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go finish this gingerbread while you work on the lights.”  She turned on her heel and skipped back to the kitchen.

Damien watched as the bouncy blonde sashayed away, unable to fight the triumphant smirk tugging the corners of his mouth upwards.  “Curmudgeon, indeed.”  He mumbled with a low chuckle before turning back to the task at hand.

~~~

An hour and a half, two beers and a tuna fish sandwich later, Damien stood back to survey the glistening Christmas tree.  Despite the rocky start, the time had surprisingly flown by quicker than he’d expected.  It definitely helped that Cami had started busting out lyrics to her favorite Christmas tunes, singing along to the music and swaying to the rhythm as she stirred and rolled and then proceed to clean up her gingerbread.  The beer helped too, but the occasional peek of his giddy holiday-loving girlfriend in the kitchen gave him a happy sense of pride in his work.  Damn if that woman didn’t bring out the goofy side of him … and make him enjoy it along the way.

He heard the clatter of a pan and slamming of the oven door in the background before the soft footsteps approached.  “Oh wow …” he heard Camille murmur as she came up behind him, tucking her arm into his as she stared at the tree.  “Great job, Detective … are you ready to decorate now?”

Damien groaned audibly, glancing over his shoulder to the couch calling his name.  “I’m guessing that can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“Damien …” Camille’s voice dipped as she gave him a look.  The look.

“Alright, alright … I kind of figured.”  He exhaled a long sigh.  “I went ahead and grabbed all the ornaments anyway, just in case.”  

“See, you know the routine.  But nice try anyway.”  Camille gave him a quick peck on the cheek and a wink before she started digging through the boxes of ornaments sitting on the coffee table.  

“You know, I think I’m gonna need another beer for this.”  Damien tried to escape to the kitchen swiftly, but was caught by a hand on his forearm before he could make it.

“Absolutely not … I got us some egg nog.  You can’t drink beer while you trim the Christmas tree.”

“But Cami-“ Damien started to argue.

“And I got you a big bottle of spiced rum to go with it.”  Camille gave him a knowing grin.  

Damien chuckled deep in his throat, nodding his head in assent.  “Fine, deal … it’s almost like you know me or something.”

The pair worked together to hang all their ornaments, Camille continuing to sing along to the Christmas carols and both of them drinking several glasses of egg nog along the way.  By the end of their decorating, they were both feeling the holiday spirit in more ways than one.  After hanging the last ornament, Camille took a step back and nestled into Damien’s arms as they gave their finished product a once-over.  She let out a breath slowly, her jaw opened wide in amazement.  “D, it looks amazing!”

Damien grinned proudly as he glanced over to her beside him, his heart warming at the sight of her eyes sparkling as they reflected the lights.  “Yeah … not bad if I do say so myself.  But I think we can do better.”

Cami furrowed her brow in confusion and looked over to him.  “What?  What are you talking about?  It looks great.”

He gave her an amused look, gesturing towards the top of the tree, bare and unadorned.  “You forgot the best part, didn’t you?”  

Her mouth formed a tight “O” as it dawned on her.  “Of course, the star!  Will you help me put it on?”  She scurried over to the last remaining box, Damien’s eyes following intently as she delicately unwrapped the layers of tissue paper.  When she reached the last layer and tugged it away, delving her hand into the box- “Hhh!”  she gasped, tugging her hand away quickly as if frightened.  She stood still for a moment, her gaze never leaving the contents hidden in the shadows of the box.  Finally, she dipped her hand back in and curled her fingers around the tiny blue velvet box, holding it precariously in the palm of her hand as she swiveled to face him.  “Damien?”  Her eyes, filled with hope and shock and a joy unlike anything he’d ever seen before, flitted upwards to meet his.

Damien stepped forward nervously, his heart beating loudly in his chest.  He had pictured this moment so many times in his mind, never a doubt in his mind since the first moment his lips had met hers almost two years ago … but now that it was here, now that it was actually happening, it was more intense than he could have imagined.  “I hope you like it.”  That was all he could think to say as he reached into her hand to grip the small box, prying open the lid to expose a modest engagement ring.  

Camille didn’t respond, just exhaled softly while she processed the gravity of this moment.  She studied the ring, a simple princess cut solitaire on a white gold band embedded with tiny diamonds along the sides … perfectly classic, perfectly her, perfectly them.  “Damien, I … I …” she shook her head, trying to focus her fleeting thoughts until one obscure thought nestled into her conscious mind.  “But, you were being such a grump today?” She asked quizzically, still unsure how this day had taken such a turn.  

Damien’s head fell back as he laughed, a deep rumbling laugh that made Camille giggle in return.  “Yes, well … I had to keep you on your toes, you know.  I wanted this to be a surprise.”  He grinned wide, relieved to see a relaxed smile on her face.

“You definitely surprised me!” She chuckled, nudging him roughly on the shoulder.  “And here I was giving you shit about being a curmudgeon!”

Damien caught her hand and pulled her close, wrapping his other arm around her lower back.  “Well I guess now you’ll just have to call me Curmudgeon Claus …” he smirked and dipped his head, capturing his lips in a gentle kiss.  Camille snaked one hand around his neck, lacing her fingers in his hair as the other one held tightly to the blue velvet box nestled between them.

Damien stopped mid-kiss, arching his neck to peer down at her face.  “So was that a yes?”

Camille giggled happily, pulling him down to press his forehead against hers, her eyes closed as she basked in the beauty of this moment.  “I don’t think I ever heard a question.”

Damien guffawed, stepping back with an embarrassed smile on his face as he ran his hand across his jaw.  “Right, you’re right.”  He reached down to grasp the box from her hand, retrieving the ring between his thumb and index finger before tucking the box in his pocket.  He stepped forward and held the ring directly in front of her face, ducking his head to gaze into her eyes and tracing her cheekbone softly with the thumb of his other hand.  “Camille Park, I never in a million years thought I’d be lucky enough to find one person I’d want to spend the rest of my life with.  But when I met you, I knew I had met my match and I never wanted to let you go.  Will you do me the great honor of being my wife?”  

Camille placed her hand on top of his, nuzzling her face against the palm of his hand as the happy tears began welling in her eyes.  “Damien Nazario, there is nothing in this world that would make me happier than being your wife.”  She let out a gleeful sob and felt the tears begin falling down her cheeks as Damien released a relieved laugh.  They both watched in awe as he slid the ring onto her left hand, beaming at each other before he reached down to wrap his arms tightly around her in a warm embrace.  He picked her up and twirled her around, the joyous sound of their laughter mingling with the chords of “White Christmas” playing in the background.

When he finally set her down, after tucking a loose strand of blond hair behind her ear and gently pressing his lips to her temple, he leaned back to observe her basking in the afterglow.  “So what now?”

Camille shrugged, her light eyes dancing with glee.  “I don’t know, honestly. I’m sure we’ll figure it out.  But for now … “ she nodded towards the empty treetop, “I think you owe me a star and a boost.”

“Yes ma’am.”  Damien said with a wink.  It may still only be November, but this was already the best Christmas ever.

END

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PM (Damien) Tags:  @butindeed @choices-sideblog @foghedgehog @kamybelen-blog @nazariobae @pilitella @too-poor-to-buy-keys @walkerxnazario

[witchtrivls]

baby.

a peak into the demon prince’s life before he became the demon prince.

        THE SUN SHINES warm and bright through the few clouds that linger in the ocean-coloured, early morning sky, and the tiny boy basks in its rays as he runs through and between the colourful abundance of bushes and trees and flowerbeds that so prettily decorate his mother’s garden. a string of endless giggles bubbles from his lips and spills into the humid, summer air, even as thorns prick his sunkissed skin and weeds entangle themselves in his silky hair. he adores the feeling of the cool but scratchy grass beneath his feet and grimaces at the squishy mud that sticks between his toes; he is content.

        ❝ baby !! ❞ a melodic voice calls out from within the small house and travels through the open windows.

        the tiny boy instantly looks toward the source of the voice, ceasing from rolling around in the grass and bringing himself to a clumsy standing. ❝ mama ?? ❞ he calls out in a small, sweet voice of his own.

        ❝ baby, come inside !! ❞ that same, comfort-laced voice calls out for him again, and sends him all-too-quick to go tripping through the grass and sprinting toward the house. ❝ baby !! ❞

        ❝ comin’, mama !! comin’, comin’ !! mama, comin !! ❞ he shouts as loud as he can in hopes of his mama hearing him, though he stops running for the house in favour or stopping in the very midst of his mother’s most beloved flowerbed and plucking a handful of daisies and dandelions from the earth. he clutches them in his hands and shoves them at his nose, making entirely sure that they smell as pretty as they look before he hops, as quickly as he can, from the muddy patch and bounds, with a skip in his step, toward the front door of his house. ❝ am here, mama !! am here !! mama, mama !! am here !! ❞

        ❝ there’s my baby !! ❞ his mama greets him, quick to lift him up into her awaiting arms as soon as he bounces into the kitchen, skin red and warm from the oh, so generous sun’s heat. ❝ it’s time to get you cleaned up !! go grab a towel and i’ll run your bath and grab your clothes, okay ?? we have many things to get done before papa gets home, so we better hurry !! ❞

        the boy is quick to nod, a bright smile upon his lips as he holds out the crushed and wilting bouquet of freshly-picked flowers to his mother, with an exclamation of: ❝ for you !! ❞ before he wriggles out of her embrace and darts down the hall to his bedroom.

        ❝ thank you, baby !! ❞ he hears his mother call out to him, and a satisfied smile makes its way with ease to his lips.

        IT’S NOT SOMETHING that he has ever thought of or concerned himself with before now. in fact, had the other kids on the playground not said anything of it, he would still be none-the-wiser. they had mentioned it, though, so now he was curious, too.

        he tugs at the hem of his mama’s shirt, tiny fingers grasping at the tattered cloth as he chirps out a soft, ❝ mama ?? mama !! mama, question !! mama !! question !! ❞

        his mother is quick to turn her attention from her journal and to her beloved boy, a small smile tugging at her lips as she speaks, ❝ what is it, baby ?? ❞

        the questions fall from his lips with the hesitation of every three-year-old --- also known as: none at all.

        ❝ why baby ?? why no name ?? ❞

        the smile upon his mama’s lips falters, something her smile has never done because of him, and she clears her throat and lifts a hand to ruffle his messy, dark hair. ❝ because you’re my baby, of course, ❞ is her reply.

        he knows his mother loves him, so he simply nods and smiles at her.

        HE IS SITTING in his bedroom, waiting for his mama to come in and read him a story before he goes to bed. he’s tucked in, fluffy, pastel blue blanket wrapped snuggly around him, and surrounded by his very favourite stuffies.

        ❝ mama !! ❞ he calls after growing far too impatient to wait any longer to be read to, ❝ mama !! am ready !! read, read !! ❞

        a giddy feeling bubbles in his chest as he hears footsteps pattering down the hall, and he cannot at all contain the excited giggles that pour from his lips. ❝ mama, read !! ❞ he exclaims, but is instantly shushed.

        his father’s head pokes into his room, his usual, serious expression on his face. ❝ shush, child. your mother is busy. she has no time to read to you. you’re not to be reading those silly stories anymore, anyway. give it here. ❞ he trudges into the room and tears the storybook from the tiny boy’s hands.

        he simply stares up at his father as the tall man makes to leave the room. his small, now-empty hands clutch desperately at his favourite stuffie as he buries his face in its fluff and fur in a desperate attempt to conceal his tears and cries.

        he knows he did a poor job when his father comes back to slam his door closed, mumbling something about not wanting to hear his pathetic noises.

        HIS BIRTHDAY IS coming up in three days. he’s turning three-years-old, and he knows that three is a very big number, so it will be a very big day. he wants to spend the day with his mother, wants to go on a picnic at their favourite spot near the river zale and pick flowers from the grass to make them into pretty bracelets to wear until they wilt and can be pressed between the pages of his mother’s journal. then, maybe they’ll get ice cream and go back home for some cuddles and a nap, because after such a big day, they are sure to both be quite very sleepy.

        that is the plan for his day, and he knows that such a plan will make his third birthday oh, so perfect.

      his mama, though, has seemed sad most recently. she spends her time only writing in her journal or tending to her garden, pays attention to him only when he needs a bath or to eat, and has sparkly tears in her eyes every time she look at or addresses him.

        his initial assumption is that he has done something wrong, that maybe she was upset with him for plucking the dandelions from the garden, or for getting his clothes muddy from rolling around in the grass all day, or for talking too much whilst she was trying to work, but --- when he asks her these questions, even more tears spill from her brown eyes and fall onto her pages, allowing the fresh ink to bleed, and bleed, and bleed as she shakes her head in an attempt to assure him that he is far from the cause of her sadness.

        ❝ it -- it’s not you, baby. it’s not you. it could never be you, okay ?? you’re my special baby, right ?? you could never make me sad. never ever. ❞ her words are as soft as cotton candy and sweet like it, too, but her smile is sad, melancholic. it doesn’t have the same twinkle that it always has around the tiny boy, but she would never lie to him; he believes her. ❝ hey, how about we celebrate your big day tomorrow instead ?? we can do whatever you want !! i’m just too excited to wait another day !! ❞ she wipes the tears  from her eyes and tugs him closer to her to bring him into a hug.

        he wants to argue that he will, in fact, not be three tomorrow and that he has to be three in order to celebrate being three, but his mama has tears pooling in her eyes again, and she’s hugging him so tightly that he can hardly breathe; he would do anything to make his mama happy. so, he smiles and nods and chirps out an excited, ❝ okie dokie, mama !! ❞ before wrapping his arms around her and holding on as tight as he possibly can.

       HIS PRE-BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION is spent in the exact way he wished to celebrate his actual birthday.

       he wakes up very early after hardly sleeping at all the night before, puts on his best outfit, and scurries into his mama’s room to find her already awake. she asks him what he wants to do for his special day and he tells her, in the most detail he can possibly give, his plan for tomorrow, but insists that, because he loves her, they can do it today instead.

       so, she gathers him in her arms, slings her bag over her shoulder, and they take a walk to the river that isn’t too far from their home. he’s heavy ( he’s going to be three, after all ) and he can tell that his mama is getting tired, that her breathing is harsh and her arms are stiff like the twigs that crunch beneath his feet in the garden. he tries to wriggle out from her embrace, but she just smiles, holds him tighter, and murmurs a soft, ❝ i’m fine, baby. just wanna hold you. ❞

       there are tears in her eyes, though, just as there have been for the past few weeks, and he knows that she must be upset about something again — but she said it wasn’t him. it could never be him, not her baby, never her baby. so, he tries to push it out of mind.

       it gets harder and harder as the day goes on, as she won't let him run through the grass or dip his toes into the cold river's edge because her arms are like steel clamps around his tiny frame, as she stops making bracelets and necklaces and crowns from the dead and dying flowers that they pluck from the earth in favour of sobbing into her hands, as she insists that they cannot go home quite yet even when he whines of being oh, so sleepy and needing a nap.

       she doesn't want their day to end.

       she cries as though this day may be her last.

       HE IS AWAKENED far too early the next morning, lifted into the strong, yet unfamiliar arms of his father, and he swears he hears the sound of his mama's most devastated, most heartbroken  cries through his confused, half-asleep haze.

       he wants to ask what's wrong, where they're going, why his mama is crying so hard as she is, but he can only blink tiredly, rub his eyes with his teeny sweater paws and yawn as he curls into his father's warmth. he's on the verge of falling into unconsciousness again when he is finally forced awake.

       his jaw is pried open by strong fingers and a whine escapes from the back of his mouth, but a thick cloth is shoved between and passed his pouty lips and halfway down his constricted throat before he can even so much as let out a pathetic cry.

       ❝ it's okay, baby, it's -- it's okay, ❞ he hears his mama's panicked voice nearby, ❝ don't scream or cry, okay, baby ?? it's okay, i promise, it's all okay. you're three now, remember ?? it's your birthday, you're all big now, so you can't cry, okay ?? ❞ she tries calming him down, reasoning with him in whatever way she can.

       he wants to listen to her, wants to be a good boy for her, doesn't wanna cry or scream or fuss, but -- his heart is pounding and he's shaking as his father slips a rough black cloth over his eyes and ties it in a knot at the back of his head. then, he's back in his arms, or at least he assumes as much, for he can't see through the cloth to confirm, but he knows it's not his mama who is holding him. the touch isn't soft enough and the body isn't warm enough, and he wouldn't feel the absolute and utter need to scream until his lungs burst and fill with blood if it was.

       he shivers pathetically, like a leaf quaking in the gentlest of breezes, as the night air hits his skin like a butterfly hits a windshield and bites at it like a cat snaps a bird's very neck between its teeth.

        he can’t see and can hardly breathe, and everything around him sounds so loud --- his father’s shoes patting against the pavement, his mama’s hard sobs trailing behind them, the cold wind brushing through the crisp leaves that adorn the branches of the trees, his father’s heart beating loud into his ear. it all sounds like screaming to him, like never-ending screeching in the pitch blackness of his gaze, and his father’s coat just as the cloth over his eyes and in his mouth, is rough against his skin, and half of him is warm and half of him is cold, and he doesn’t know where he is or why they’re outside; he is overwhelmed. every sense of his has either been taken from him or is being utterly overloaded and he feels like he may as well explode.

        then, his father stops walking, and the tiny boy is lied on the cold, itchy grass, a rough hand placed on his chest to prevent him from struggling, from trying to get up. a muffled cry leaves his lips, but he chokes on the cloth in his mouth and he feels like he hasn’t breathed in hours, even though he knows that he would be dead if that were true.

        he hears soft murmurs as the weight of the hand on his chest is eased.

        ❝ i -- i can’t do it, i can’t do it, not -- not him. not my baby, not him --- ❞ it’s his mama’s voice. it’s shaky and broken, and he knows that she has to be crying. he wants to help, wants to do something about it, wants to wipe away his mama’s tears and hug her until her crying ceases. he briefly hopes that his father will do it in his place, but that hope fades as soon as another voice pipes in.

        ❝ you know it has to be him. you’ve known all along, you’ve known since before he was conceived. it has to be him and it has to be tonight. ❞ it’s his father’s voice this time, as harsh and as cold as it’s ever been. he feels frostbitten just at the sound of it. ❝ it is your own fault for allowing yourself to grow such love for him. you knew that this night would come, and you knew exactly when. it is your own fault. ❞

        his mama’s cries quiet, cease, and the hand on his chest shifts and moves to his face. the calloused fingers dance along his cheek, playing at the cloth that covers his eyes before curling beneath it and slipping it from around the boy’s head. he tosses it onto the grass behind him before grasping at the cloth in the child’s mouth and tearing it from his throat

        the first thing to escape the tiny boy’s lips is a raw gasp for air, his lungs desperately intaking as much oxygen as he possibly can in the fear of his father shoving something down his throat yet again. the gasps are followed by cries, though, as his vision becomes clear and he sees his mama standing behind his father. his tiny hands reach out and grab for her, but the rough and calloused hands from before grab his own and force them down.

        ❝ what’s the time ?? ❞ his father asks, not looking away from his son.

        the small boy manages to turn his head, to look around him, to see that they’re in the middle of the forest, near the river, and to catch a glimpse of the few candles surrounding them. his father’s face is dimly by these candles and he can only hear his mama’s voice from somewhere within the darkness that falls behind him.

        ❝ it’s three twenty-nine. it’s -- you have four minutes. ❞ her words are soft, her voice dripping with a sadness that has never slipped passed her lips before. ❝ can i ... can i say goodbye ?? please. ❞ she sounds desperate and the tiny boy doesn’t understand. she sounds as if saying goodbye is the last thing she may ever do, but he doesn’t understand why she’s saying goodbye or who she’s saying goodbye to.

        is she leaving his father ?? is she leaving him ?? no. no, she would never leave him. not her baby. never her baby.

        ❝ you have thirty seconds. be quick about it. “ finally, his father’s hands release his own and he brings himself to a standing, stepping away from where his son lies on the grass.

        his mama is quick to take his place, to drop to her knees on the cold, hard ground and bring her small, terrified son into her warm, comforting embrace. she holds him against her as tightly as she can and he can hear her heart pounding against the prison bars that are her ribcage. her sparkly tears leak from her eyes and spill down her cheeks, dropping onto his skin, but he can hardly tell because he’s crying, too.

        ❝ i -- i’m sorry, baby. i’m so sorry. i -- i love you, okay ?? i love you so much. i’ve never loved anything more than i love you, and i never will. you’re my baby. you will always be my baby, forever and ever. even though we won’t be together anymore. you will always be my baby. ❞ her words are rushed, and her tiny boy doesn’t entirely understand why she’s telling him this or why she’s sobbing into him while saying it. ❝ i love you. i love you. i’m so sorry. i’ll never forgive myself for this, i -- i love you. i love you. don’t forget that, baby, okay ?? you’re my baby and i love you, always, always --- ❞

        her words are cut off by her husband tearing the boy from her arms and tossing him onto the ground. he shoves his wife away, insists she move back, murmurs something about it being three-thirty and needing to begin.

        the tiny boy looks around them, eyes desperately searching for his mother as his father drags him to the river’s edge. it’s loud, far too loud, and he can hardly see anything now that the candles are so far from him, and he wants to scream again. he wants to scream for his mama, wants to scream for her to come get him, to hold him, to tell him she loves him again, but ---

        his father starts murmuring something under his breath. it’s quick and quiet and near unintelligible, but something tells the tiny boy that, even if he were speaking clearly, he wouldn’t be able to understand it anyway, something tells him that he’s not supposed to. perhaps that’s for the best, because the rushing river and his father’s words blend together in a mixture of pure white noise and all he can do is cry as he is so utterly overwhelmed. but his father continues to grow louder as time ticks on, and he swears that the few stars that he can see through the thick branches and leaves of the trees have gone out, and ---

         a sharp blade slides through and across the tiny boy’s neck and thick, red blood slips, like velvet ribbon, through the wound and spills from him with complete and utter ease. it coats him and his father in what was his lifeline, pools in the grass before slipping slowly toward the river’s edge and turning the clear liquid crimson.

        he briefly thinks he hears his mama screaming somewhere in the distance, but he can hardly focus on such noise as his eyelids slip closed and his senses dull and fall from him.

        the tiny boy’s heartbeat beat slows as the blood pours from him, and his father drops him into the river, letting it carry him away, just as has been planned since before he was born.

        yet, his mama still cries: ❝ goodbye, baby. ❞

        NO BODY IS ever found and the boy called baby is never spoken of again.

        far beneath the earth, though, a newly-three -year-old boy’s soul, shivering and desperately reaching out for something to cuddle, is found with a deep scar on his neck, but even deeper ones on his heart.

        a sinister being, with fire dancing at its fingertips and sin playing on its lips, takes the boy into his wretched arms and presses an ignited hand to his torso.

        a handprint is burned into the tiny boy’s side as the creature christens him ❝ azazel ❞.