she's so small and precious and i'm afraid to hold her

Dating Wonder Woman would include...

The only headcanons I wrote was about Wolverine (here), and since I never received any other requests about head canons…I’m very glad to write another one with Wonder Woman yo ! Though I’m not sure I’m doing it right, I made it way longer than most headcanons I saw around I think, and also cut it in more than one part…I hope it’s ok. So here we go, hope you’ll like it

(My masterlist blog here :


How you met, how you two fell in love, the first “I love you” : 

✶ You first met Diana when your brother, Bruce aka the goddamn Batman, dragged you to the Justice League’s Watchtower (against your will). You were already a Gotham’s vigilante just like him, the next big step was obviously the League, though you didn’t like the idea of being in a little “super club”…

✶ You quickly changed your mind when you met Diana though. She’s the first one who talked to you, and though your brother told you many things about the Mighty Wonder Woman, you weren’t impressed. 

✶ That’s what made her fall in love with you. Because you accept her just as she is. And you couldn’t care less about the fact that she’s a Princess, or one of the most powerful being on Earth.

✶ The way you’re never afraid to tell people what you think, even if sometimes it’s almost rude, is also another reason she fell for you. She loves the fact that you’re independent, and don’t take anyone’s shit, including hers. You keep her grounded when she gets a bit too cocky or something. 

✶ Another thing that made her fall for you : even though you went through a lot of bad things during your life, you always saw the bright side of everything, and Diana understood why Bruce always referred to you as his “personal sunshine”. You didn’t have any super-power, but hey, the ability to make anyone (even the Batman) smile and laugh was even better. 

✶ Your brother shipping you two even before you started to both flirt with each other like crazy. 

✶ Your brother calling you “an idiot” when you decide to not reciprocate the flirting after a while, afraid to bring her in your chaotic life. “She’s Wonder Woman, as if anything could actually hurt her”. 

✶ Diana being somewhat depressed while your avoiding her…And the League having an “intervention” to convince your stubborn ass to talk to her again. 

✶ You not resisting for very long, because…Well, she’s Diana Prince, and if you’re honest with yourself, you’ve been in love with her ever since you first met. Her not being even remotely mad at you for your sudden coldness toward her, on the contrary, being over the moon because you finally came back.

✶ Your brother giving you relationship advices : basically, do the opposite of what he would do. Best advice ever. 

✶ Becoming very close from each other because it seems you two are just hand made for each other. Conversation is always flowing just right, you don’t always agree with each other but always listen etc etc…A match made in heaven. 

✶ Diana knew she was doomed and totally in love with you the day you punched your brother AND Superman in the face because they dared to say you needed protection. “If I can punch you two idiots without you stopping me, then clearly, I’m fine without protection !”. Yup, she was definitely doomed.

✶Her knowing you hate when people protect you, but not being able to not do it…and you letting her protect you, because you love her, and if it can make her happy, then so be it. 

✶ Surprisingly, she’s the one that said “I love you” first…Right before what should have been a “suicide mission”. Needless to say it gave you a reason to fight like Hell to have the chance to tell her you love her too. 

✶ You never even had time to tell her, as when the battle was finished, and you two were still alive, she crashed her lips on yours. The rest of the League applauded when you were finally able to whisper, breathless : “I love you too D”

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Spending More Time with Him

Ittt’s Father’s day where I live! This one focuses on my Siegbaby wanting to spend more time with his precious father, enjoy!

The Kingdom of Nohr had been blessed with the birth of the second prince a few months previous – Young Prince Kana and Crown Prince Siegbert now were the light and joy of the palace, though a very conflicted boy sulked about around the corridors.

Not to the point of getting behind his classes, heavens forbid! No, he always made sure to be as focused as he should during his lessons, but a few side glances and some blank stares caught the attention of one of his instructors, who promptly reported to the Queen.

“Siegbert is acting strange?” Kamui repeated the report, placing one hand over her cheek in worry. “He’s always been such a good child, I wonder what ails my baby…” She murmured the last part to herself, the music teacher excusing herself while the Queen made her way towards the Crown Prince’s chambers.

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jyn x cassian // whoa it is a babyfic (????)

They lived and had one small, precious child, a boy with dark hair, smooth skin, and his mother’s fierce eyes.

Those early years went by too quickly they felt, the fleeting nature of a childhood in a parent’s eyes. But each moment was full, packed in with days running through the bases or through fields of red grass on planets they’d come to know like a second home. And then there were those moments when they’d be roused from sleep by his panic cries.

“It’s separation anxiety,” Shara explained–she had gone through this with Poe. “It’s a normal step of development. He just…misses you both.”

And Cassian and Jyn both know too well what it means to miss someone; to long for and be afraid that you will never again see the one or two people in the galaxy who were supposed to love you and never leave you. And so they curl up at their son’s bedside and watch his worry float away as his chubby face grows peaceful in the dark.

“He’ll grow up so fast,” Jyn swallows, and touches his small shoulder. She wants to memorize his childhood and the way his dark eyelashes fall on his cheek. But she knows that she can’t.

“We have to just live in the moment,” Cassian says. He reaches for her, and their hands touch.

They are tired–he’s been waking often and at odd hours–but they have been tired like this before. The difference now is peace, however tenuous. And the difference is having a future they can see–a future with a face and with a sweet little laugh. It’s one they had never anticipated or thought they deserved until they found it.

Their son rolls in his bed, his snores fading into something more even and steady. They stay holding hands. They both fall asleep to the sound of his quiet breathing, content at last.

@arielno requested a ficlet of Orys x Argella and their firstborn and I finally got it written sorry I took so long I’m such a fail


Orys’ seed quickens in her womb and he is pleased. Argella is not. He sees it as a victory, Aegon sees it as a victory. As she swells with child the dragon thinks Storms End will be secure under Targaryen rule, with Baratheon lords loyal to him. A son for Orys, a son who will bend the knee dutifully. Argella cannot bear the thought, cannot bear Orys’ pride when he looks at her now.

If it isn’t the precious son you want will you still be so proud?

It is a bitter thought. Argella had no brothers, none who survived to manhood at least. She was her father’s heir, the Durrandon heir. The Durrandon line was to continue through her. Her consort should have taken her name, her sons and daughters should be Durrandons, not Baratheons. They should be kings and queens, like their grandfather and their ancestors and their mother who was queen, ever so briefly.

Orys reaches for her, boldly, with light in his eyes and Argella pulls away. It hurts him, and it bothers her that he is hurt, and it bothers her that it bothers her.

“The duty was not burdensome to you before,” he says.

The memory makes her flush, a mix of anger and shame.

“The duty,” she throws the words at him. Her hands go to her swollen belly. “I have done my duty.”

He does not rage at her. Instead his shoulders drop and he looks at her stomach and he sighs.

“Very well then,” he says stiffly. “I will not trouble you my lady.”

If only he had raged at her. His courtesy makes her feel absurdly guilty. Argella should not feel guilty and yet she does. Orys keeps his word, he is stubborn like that and her bed is lonely. She refuses to go to him, refuses to give in and Orys won’t give in either and so it goes on and on. The babe kicks and Argella’s heart swells and she weeps because she cannot want this, to bear the children of her father’s killer. Her father must curse her, he must but this is all Argella has.

They took our castle father, they took our name but this child will still have our blood.

Argella cannot hate the life inside her, even if she hates those who imposed it on her. She is afraid, and angry in her fear as her time draws near. They will want the child, she sees it when Orys and Aegon are together but the child is hers. She screams in her birthing bed, curses them, Orys and Aegon and his sisters and she sees the faces on those who attend her but Argella does not care. The pain is almost too much to bear and if she is to die she will die defiant.

She does not die.

They put her son in her arms. He has a tuft of black hair but that does not surprise Argella. Orys has black hair. It is coarser than hers, she remembers from when she touched him, before she rejected him, before he shunned her bed with hurt in his eyes. The babe is so small, and she touches the dark strands and they are fine, so fine like silk. He cries and she holds onto him as the door opens.

It is Orys.

He gives her a wary look but he approaches, his gaze fixed on their child. Argella will not let him take the babe, not with Aegon soon to be there, but he does not make an attempt. He stops beside the bed and leans in, touching her son with a look resembling awe. His smile has returned, and his pride and Argella scowls.

“Our son,” he almost whispers.

My son, Argella thinks but she does not say it.

“He looks like you,” Orys proclaims.

Argella eyes him suspiciously but he is not looking at her. He is still smiling, still proud. The babe has gone quiet and Orys talks gently, about Durrandons, and about courage and honour as he touches the tiny fingers and the tiny nose and Argella wants to scold him but Orys has tears in his eyes.

“He can’t hear you,” she says.

“He can,” Orys says evenly.

She looks at the babe and sees Orys is right. His eyes are blue, like hers. She knows that people will tell her they might change to Orys’ black, babies’ eyes do that but she is certain they won’t. The Durrandon blood is strong in him. It is a moment of triumph. Her bitterness fades, for that moment at least. Orys’ hand brushes against hers as they both fuss over the infant. Argella does not pull away from his touch, not now.

“He has my look,” Argella says, testing him because even if Orys has already said it she wants to see his reaction, his true reaction to what will be a continual reminder that the Durrandon’s were not truly defeated.

Orys only nods, hesitating before brushing his lips against her brow. Argella closes her eyes, accepting the affection because it has been so long.

“I shall hope he has your courage,” he says. “He will need it for when you are wroth.”

Argella studies him, trying to decide whether she is bothered by the remark and decides that she is not. Her son is like her, and her husband is happy. He is odd like that, to be accepting of her victory but then again he had been odd from the moment she met him with his disgust at those who betrayed her and delivered her to him naked and in chains,

“I won’t be wroth with him,” she says.

I shall save that for Aegon and his sisters.

She Never Wore Red Again

A Miraculous Ladybug Red Riding Hood AU

I’m so sorry.

Read it on AO3

She pulled on her red hood and left.

They warned her countless times.

Her father scolded her. Her mother begged. Alya thought she was crazy. They all said the same thing.

The forest is a dangerous place.

But Marinette was not one to be frightened by wind in leaves and birds in bushes.

She’d been through the woods dozens of times without incident.

It was the fastest way to her grandmother’s house and there was no way she was taking the five-hour riverside mud trap of a road when she could just as easily trek through moss and branches in half the time.

She’d never even so much as a hair of the wolves they cautioned her against. All she saw was colourful flora and peaceful fauna. The flowers and squirrels were a nice break from her long days in the bakery, and no rumor of wild dogs was going to take her weekly reprieve away from her.

Marinette stepped carefully over a fallen log, moving towards the three trees tangled together on her left. The bark on the largest section of trunk bore the circle she had carved months ago as a marker. She’d mapped out the clearest direct route to Granny’s house a while ago in case she ever got lost. Marinette was one that tended to wander in the beauty of the forest. It was wise to have trail of breadcrumbs to lead her back on her way.

She continued on her path, following her dots through the woods, stopping every here and there to pick a few flowers. Azaleas were her grandmother’s favorite, but they didn’t grow in the village or by her cottage. Marinette kept a few jewelweeds for herself and picked some pussy willow branches to accent them in a vase.

When she came upon the mark she left on a cracked oak tree, she heard the bubbling laughter of the stream. With a grin on her face, she detoured to the right.

The stream was a typical rest-stop for Marinette. Not only was the sound of flowing water a personal favourite of hers, the water came from a freshwater spring. She tended to stop by, have a drink, and listen to the sounds of the forest for a moment or two before moving on.

Her choice to do so today allowed him to make his move.

Marinette crept to the side of the stream and eased herself into a sitting position. She dipped her hands in the running water, swirling her fingers around to play with the cool texture before cupping her hand. She took a few sips of the stream, crouching low so all the water didn’t drain through her fingers.

It was then that she saw him.

Semi-hidden in the leaves of the overhanging maple tree, she could make out his pitch black coat in the reflection of the slow-running water, tail swishing lazily under him.

She snapped upright and blatantly stared at the creature in the tree.

He was staring back.

Marinette froze. She’d never actually seen a wolf before, but this creature was just a large and menacing as the stories the townsfolk told. It was lithe but muscular, claws poking out of its enormous paws. She’d never seen a beast more intimidating in her life. Any moment she was sure it would pounce upon her and tear her to shreds.

But he didn’t pounce.

He smirked.

Languidly, the wolf let himself down from the branches until his back paws landed in the grass. He stood on two legs, tail twitching idly behind him, ears perked and attentive. A tooth peeked out from that smirk of his. Astonishingly, his hair was blonde, a stark contrast to the black fur and emerald eyes.

Oh, those eyes were dangerous.

But Marinette could handle danger.

“What do we have, here?” The wolf purred. “A little lady lost in the woods?”

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anonymous asked:

okay, just an idea: the gency kids au mixed with the Devil!Mercy idea, and Genji having to hide their kids away from 'Mercy' in order to keep them safe, really hurting genji emotionally, the kids mostly being confused about where their mom is.



Be Very Quiet

Gency. Talon!Mercy AU. Angst. 

He should have known. Why didn’t he prepare for this? Why did he let this happen to his children? How dare he put them in danger like this.

His heartbeat skips in his chest.

What if they see her?

He shifts Taro farther behind him. His son whimpers softly at the movement. Valentine is trying to keep her breathing quiet, but she’s scared. They’re both so scared. 

The underside of the desk can only hide them for so long. Valentine and Taro are tucked safety behind him while he positions his body as a shield. His arm stretching across the few inches of precious space while he crouches low. His head barely peeks out from under the cover, but he stays as close to the ground as possible. His other hand grasping the hilt of his sword. 

“Dad…” Taro whispers but before Genji can shush him Valentine has maneuvered her hand to rest on her little brother’s arm. 

“Be very quiet.” She tells him almost inaudible. She knows something bad is going on, but she’s strong. She’s so strong and already so intelligent at age seven. 

Footsteps echo just down the hallway. The reverberation of the sharp click of heels makes both his children freeze. Their small bodies holding their breath.

“Come out, Genji. I miss you. I miss my pet,” she slips out in her low voice. The impression of a sinister smile burning into his brain.

From the corner of his vision his children clasps hand. Valentine pulls Taro closer to her body. Her blue eyes vast like the ocean that used to swirl within her mother. Every time he looks at her, all he sees is Mercy.

She doesn’t know her mother is only a few feet away… and ready to kill them.

“What? Too busy reminiscing in what you did to me? What you did to her.” Her voice sharp as it cuts his heart. Panic fills his lungs as he does his best to remain steady and calm. His children are in danger and his brainwashed wife is only a few feet away.

How is he going to save them all?

“My pet. Do you remember how you left me to die?” 

The steps are getting closer. His grip tightens upon his sword.

“Do you know how many times I screamed your name just to hear silence in answer?”

His three year old son’s body shakes as he tries not to cry. He’s so afraid. Genji can’t breathe. His heart being torn right in half. 

His children only know their mother is missing. They don’t know how pale her skin has become or how much blood stains her hands. They don’t know The Devil. 

“Genji, my pet,” Her voice trails into twisted laughter that he could never associate with Angela. “Come out.”

Valentine shudders, her head buried against her little brother. Genji balances, preparing his soul to engage The Devil.

But a soft whisper stops everything.

“Daddy, Is that Mommy?”

Valentine is a moment to late as she slaps her hand over Taro’s mouth. The synthetic muscles in Genji’s body locks. His entire strategy coming undone now that The Devil knows his children are here. The thoughts he now has are entirely focused on keeping his little Sakura and son safe.

Labor breathing pierces through his fear. The sound much too intense to be from his children. It takes him a moment more to realize its coming from her.

She hasn’t moved any inch, but he hears her struggle with something… Like she’s battling against an unseen foe. 

Like she’s fighting herself…

The struggled breathing continues as the clicking of heels begin to echo away from them. His mind is reeling from the last four seconds. The entire shift occurring simply by Taro asking for his mother. 

Could it be possible… 


“Stay here,” he orders before jumping up and dashing through the empty hallway. His sword drawn and ready but when he combs through their home he doesn’t find a single trace of her. She vanished. A shadow into the darkness. 

The Devil didn’t lay a single finger on him, but he feels his rib cage crumble. The sharp ends stabbing into his already wounded heart. His hands limp as he stores his sword back in its sheath. 

He pads softly back down the hallway. His lungs barely moving. 

Valentine and Taro won’t ever learn of The Devil. Mercy wouldn’t want them to, at least, not now. He’ll care for his angel’s children until she returns to them.

And she will return. 

make me shiver

lauren thinks camila is maybe like art

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Attack on Aggie

Aggie and her family are introduced in Chapter 36, Demonic Guardian. (

Short summary of Demonic Guardian: Alcor was summoned to be bound as Aggie’s (Agatha’s) protector, as her parents are powerful preturnatural-rights leaders. Recognizing Soos’ soul, Alcor makes up his own contract instead, to protect a friend in their new life.

And now, it seems that summoning Alcor may have been the right thing to do.


On AO3 // On

When Richard and Tabitha Mendis had requested their security detail find something, anything, even a demon if they had to, to protect their daughter, they hadn’t thought they’d be taken literally.

Except they had, and now they had to deal with the fact that their daughter had a literal demon hovering over her.

Being natural optimists, they did manage to find a few bright sides. Alcor the Dreambender had a soft spot for kids, despite all his efforts to hide it, and the contract he’d written up did state quite clearly that Aggie would always be safe from him as well as being kept safe by him. And they always had a babysitter, no matter how spur of the moment the need was.

Getting used to having Alcor hanging around was a more different matter.

Thankfully for their state of mind, the demon had other children he was keeping an eye on, so he wasn’t with their daughter at all times. Elusive about what other children he was watching, yes, but it still gave them a little break.

Though it was still unnerving to find their daughter painting the demon’s claws, or brushing his hair, or a dozen other childish games that they never would have believed a demon would have the patience for.

And finding the most powerful demon in the world patiently letting Aggie put all of her favorite glittery plastic clips in his hair or give him a ‘makeover’ was likely to always be just a bit unsettling.

The original summoning had meant to bind a demon to protect Agatha, though by now they’d all realized just how lucky they were that it had been Alcor they had called, that he had been charmed by Aggie, had agreed to protect her his way, without a binding. The protective and almost loving friendship between human and demon, amazingly enough likely to be real (Alcor was known to sometimes be odd that way) was a more sure bet of his protection than any binding could ever have been.

The threats that had prompted their action kept coming in, though they’d remained just threats for a very long time, long enough that the rest of the security detail had begun to wonder if maybe, just maybe, they had overreacted a bit by calling up a demon.

But still, the threats were serious enough (and both Aggie and Alcor attached enough) no one even considered trying to negate the contract.

Besides, but this point, well…demon or not, they trusted him with their daughter.

They just hoped and prayed that playing with their little girl, being her friend, was the only part of the contract the demon would have to fulfill.

Their prayers wouldn’t be answered.

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anonymous asked:

Gosh I love your writing to bits. And I know I already sent this but if it strikes your fancy would you pleeeeeease please please do a PJO Hunger Games AU? :D

“Come on, get up, we have to move.” The girl with the braids pulls him to his feet and wraps an arm around his waist, holding most of his weight as he limps away with her. Away from the small camp he’d made. Away from the little stream with clean water he’d been searching hours to find. Away from the body.

Chris. Distrit Seven. Lumber.

He’d come at Percy silently from the right side of the camp, holding an axe high above his head. It was a heavy swing. Gave Percy plenty of time to roll out of the way. Chris was on him fast after that—quick, strong swings of his axe, held in a tight fist, his scarred forearms bare. He’d probably grown up holding that axe as he worked in the forest with his district.

Luckily for Percy, he’d used a trident since he could walk.

It gave him reach. As long as he could continue ducking out of the way of the axe, all Percy needed was an opening, a good angle, just a second where his chest was exposed—right there—and quick as a viper strike, Percy lunged—Chris’s arm came down—

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Author Spotlight 11/03/2015

@shoedonym - Captain Swan/ OUAT

Julia is one of those writers who just does not know how UNBELIEVABLY amazing her writing is. Her grasp of language and emotion and her ability to create such intimate, quiet moments within her words astounds and terrifies me. I have never read a story of hers that wasn’t absolutely meticulous, and beautiful, with amazing imagery and heavy emotional depth and touches of humor and absolutely mind-blowing attention to detail. She writes the way I imagine I might be able to just once in my life with just the right mixture of drugs, booze, and caffeine - of course I’d never find the proper mixture again and I’d eventually die of a drug overdose, but her writing is always just like that mythical dragon you can never quite chase down. 

And she’s sweet and kind and encouraging, too, so she’s probably evil and we should all be afraid of her. 

Read all of her fics here


Whatever Floats Your Boat

Her boss had been making idle chat with Killian one day at the counter, as he processed two Robin Hobb novels (new books this time, to her surprise) when he suddenly started a spiel of amazingly awkward fantasy related proverbs (“…this one will slay the dragon of your fantasy thirst”). Standing relatively behind him, Emma closed her eyes briefly in second-hand embarrassment, agony, and a vain attempt to control her impatience with the nutty old man. She opened them to find that Killian was smirking at her, one brow at a jaunty angle in understanding.
From thereon out he made sure to slip at least one cliché into each of their interactions.
(“A smile today? Well that is one for the books!”)
(“Save your breath, love, I know this book is wretched, but it’s required reading”.)
(“Well at least there’s a long weekend coming up – there’s always a silver lining”.)
She hated it (well, she wanted to hate it).

If you haven’t read this fic please remedy that immediately. This was the first fic I ever read by Julia, and it was on of the few fics I always, always, always checked for updates. Like. Twice daily. I needed this story in my life. It is the perfect blend of all the things I was telling you about earlier. There’s something about this story that makes my heart ache in all the best ways. And the relationship created here is so tentative and brilliant and heartbreakingly beautiful that I still sometimes cry thinking about it.

Walking In A Winter Wonderland

The more they drank, the more that still, small part of Emma that had been holding back, disappeared.

I love holiday fic more than pretty much anything on the face of the earth, but this is one of those fics that just gets Every. Detail. right. AU’s are more difficult to construct than a lot of people tend to give credit for, and this hits every note. There’s something almost restrained in this, to the point that you can feel the tension seep into your own bones as you take in the words. So lovely.

The Postal Service

On the second occasion she couldn’t ignore if she tried the way he started a conversation with her, despite the fact he had an entirely different customer. (“How are things in the indoor planter selling business, love?” “My colleagues at the police station have started making ‘Ghost’ references, so I’ve started whacking them on the head. How’s the mail business, gone postal yet?”)


Slipping Under, Sliding Down (All I Need Is a Certain Trigger)

He has brought a blanket, abandoning it on the chair-arm beside him in lieu of wrapping his hook-arm around her and along the back of the settee – and Emma moves towards him willingly, needing this thing between them to mollify and whisper, so she digs the hook of her own nose into the edge of his jaw, forehead on his cheek - in apology; in comfort.

(In despair.)

Ooph. This one is painful, and perfect. 

Hands Remember

But just as she noticed the frequency with which he touched her hair, she also began to notice the frequency with which his fingers suddenly knotted there. Brushing his hand through the softer underside his fingers now tangled in a mess upon her back when his aim had merely been to hug her.

Touch me baby, tainted love

She only half looks callous, still looks - and is - far too much like Emma.


On the struggle that I'm not enough for my son.

Brent returns this evening from a week in Nicaragua. I hope he will share his perspective of his time there on my blog, but in the meantime, I wanted to talk a bit about what’s been going on here on the home front. 

I have enjoyed a rare and precious experience this week -  an entire 7 days of my son’s time and attention. Arlo typically only wants his father to hold him, put him down for bed, or comfort him. 

Both of my children went through phases at about 18 months old where they preferred their father. It was a given, considering their stage of development and the fact that Brent has been their primary care giver.

I remember sobbing over the situation a few times when Everly was small. “I’m her mother and she wants nothing to do with me!” But shortly after she turned two, she began to seek me out and now at four, we are attached at the hip. She is my little companion and always ready to go anywhere and do anything with me.

When Arlo started his daddy preference, the change felt particularly hard because I had just weaned him the month before. When I stopped nursing him, I felt like I was out of tricks in my bag. I would try to hold him and he would resist. I would go to him when he needed comforting and he would push me away. “no mommy, daddy!” he would cry at me during bedtime. Sometimes, after a busy day of caring for our children, Brent is in need of a break. Every now and then, he just needs someone else to handle the tears or offer the comforting, but our son just won’t take it from me. It can be hard on all of us.

I don’t flinch when Arlo pushes me away these days. Even now that he has gotten more verbal and says things like, “I don’t want you mommy! Go away! Leave me alone. I want daddy.”  Despite his preference for Brent, I still put him down for bed one night a week because I ache to do it and also because I’m a little afraid that if I just give in and never put him down to bed, then it will just push him further away from me. So I sit on the end of his bed, and swallow the hard knot in my throat and say, “ Arlo. Mommy is here tonight. I can rock you and sing to you if you want. But if not, I’m just going to sit on the end of the bed. I’m here and I’ll be here until you go to sleep.”  Most nights that I put him down, he cries and protests for a bit before settling down to sleep, but some nights I can entice him to want to spend time with me by making up a game in the dark with a flashlight or making funny voices for his stuffed animals.  The nights he agrees to snuggle up to me, I lay there way past the time he has fallen asleep, just soaking him in.

I don’t want this to sound like my son doesn’t ever want to be around me - he does. He will say to me in the morning, “Nuggle me mommy” and we will curl up together on the couch. We play a lot together when I get home from work and in general, we have a warm relationship. But whenever it comes to those moments when he is hurt, or tired or wakes frightened in the middle of the night - it is never me that he wants. So many times I have attempted to go to him when he is crying in the middle of the night and he will howl louder and say, “Not you! Daddy!” and I just stand there feeling helpless as Brent shuffles by me to pick up our son and end his tears. 

Right after Christmas, Brent came down with a stomach bug and moved to the upstairs bedroom in an effort to keep his germs away from the children. Arlo awoke in the middle of the night, crying for his father. I went to his room and he told me to go away. I explained that daddy wasn’t able to come get him tonight and so he went walking around our house, crying hysterically and calling out for him. He wouldn’t let me hold him or comfort him and any attempt to do so would cause him to thrash and cry harder. So I sat on our living room floor, my head leaning against the couch, and made the same “shhh shhh shhh” sound I used to make when he needed comforting as a baby. It was the only thing I could do that didn’t make him cry harder and I hoped it would remind him that I was there next to him. I resisted the overwhelming desire to just hold him because it’s not what he wanted. It took almost 45 minutes before he quieted. He laid down on our couch and defeated said, “Nuggle me mommy”. And so I did. We slept there until morning. 

I didn’t know how he would react this week with Brent gone. Would he roam the house every night? Would he let me comfort him when his father was not there to do it? I prepared myself for a sleepless week. 

The first night Brent was away, Arlo cried at bedtime for about 5 minutes. When he woke in the middle of the night, he whimpered for his father a few times, but willingly climbed into my arms and settled down into our big king sized bed to sleep. 

Every day since, whenever there has been a bumped head or a scratch he has come calling for me, accepting my kisses and comfort happily. Every night as we squeeze together in his tiny toddler bed, he has turned immediately towards me, resting his forehead against my cheek and rubbing my arm with his small hand until he falls asleep. Not a single tear or a “go away”. Just contentment and rest, which is all I could ever wish to bring him. 

I have been a sponge for these moments. Filling up my reservoir and feeling hopefully that perhaps this week’s routine will continue once Brent returns. 

In as much as I find fulfillment and joy in the work I do outside our home, it is this challenge with Arlo specifically that is the one thing that makes me question if it is all worth it. It feeds an insecurity in me that despite my best efforts, I’m not giving my little boy enough. What kind of mother can’t even comfort her own child? This is the first time I’ve ever said these things outloud, even though this fear has fed insecurities in the dark spaces of my mind for some time.  

I keep reminding myself of how upset I felt when I went through these feelings with Everly and how those fears were short-lived. And I keep holding my arms out to Arlo, again and again, in the hopes that he will reach back for me. I’m also hopeful that maybe even when daddy returns tonight, Arlo will be more willing to let his mama comfort him too. Maybe his bedtimes with me will come with a few less tears. Maybe. 

Brent keeps reminding me that there are so many stages when it comes to our children. That they will change their minds and their desires a thousand times as they grow up. And I know he is right. I’ve seen it happen again and again. But this feels like a particularly long stage in my son - I can’t help but feel eager to once again have the closeness that I share with his sister and once had with him. Getting to experience that feeling again this week with him has made me particularly emotional as I realize just how much I have missed out on with him over the past year. 

I don’t know how to end this, so I will stop here. All I can really do is wait it out and never stop trying to comfort him. They come back around sometime, right?  I sure hope so.