#bedtime story with Scripture

[compassionmattersmost]

A Light in the Heart: A Bedtime Story

Once upon a time, in a quiet village surrounded by hills, there lived a wise father named Joseph. Every evening, his daughter Sarah would sit beside him under the old olive tree as the stars began to twinkle in the sky. It was their special time together, a moment to talk about the wonders of God and the love of the Holy Spirit. One evening, as Sarah climbed into his lap, she whispered, “Papa,…

[maskedbyghost]

When Angels Fall

Hello, my lovely people! Ready for some soul-crushing angst? No? Too bad—send your tears via mail. Love you! Also, all blame should be directed to the anon who requested this. Okay, thanks, bye!

Simon never believed in angels.

The world was too cruel, too ugly for something as pure as that. Wings were clipped, halos were tarnished, and heaven felt like a myth told to children who hadn't yet seen the things he had. He knew better than to believe in fairytales.

And then he met you.

You were 141’s guardian in the sky, an airman with a reputation that preceded you. Your callsign was Halo. It fit, he supposed, given how you watched over them, weaving through the air with a precision that impessed him since the very beginning he met you.

Your voice, crackled through his comms during every mission, would guide them out of hell and back home. You kept them safe, and God, if you weren’t the calmest person he’d ever known.

But it wasn’t just the security you brought that got under his skin. It was you—your voice, your laugh, the way you could turn a routine check-in into something that made him feel less like a ghost and more like a man.

“Wheels up in ten, boys,” you’d say, and Simon would find himself smiling under his mask, comforted by just the sound of you.

He didn’t know how it happened—how you managed to slip past the walls he had spent years building. Maybe it was the way you read him like an open book, saw through his hard exterior, or how you never once pushed him for more than he could give. Maybe it was because you still spoke to him like he was worth saving despite all the blood on his hands.

He didn’t know how, but he fell. Hard.

And the most terrifying part? You caught him.

It started small. You’d read off mission briefings in that smooth, calm voice of yours, and he’d listen like it was scripture. Then, you’d tease him about his accent and call him ‘big guy’ over the radio just to hear his exasperated huff. He didn’t even mind—not really. He’d never admit it, but he liked it. He liked you.

And at some point, it wasn’t enough to hear you only on missions.

One night, after a brutal mission, he found himself restless, the heavy burden of the battlefield clinging to him. He didn’t think—just grabbed his radio and switched to your private frequency.

“You up?” His voice was rough, and you immediately knew that he wasn’t okay.

There was a pause, then a soft chuckle could be heard coming from your side. “Simon Riley, calling me just to talk? I must be dreaming.”

He should’ve played it off and made some excuse about mission reports or logistics, but instead, he said, “Can’t sleep.”

A moment of silence passed, and then you said, “Want me to read to you?”

He frowned. “What, like a bedtime story?”

“Exactly like a bedtime story.”

He should’ve said no. Should’ve shut off his radio and suffered through another sleepless night like he always did. But he didn’t.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, alright.”

And so you did. Some book you had lying around, something about stars and the vast, endless sky. He barely remembered the words—just the sound of your voice, soft and lulling—until sleep finally took him.

After that, it became a habit. Whenever the weight of the world became too much, he’d reach for his radio, and you’d be there, voice soft in his ear, pulling him back from the darkness in a way nothing else could.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t alone.

But, he should’ve known happiness like this wouldn’t last.

The mission was supposed to be routine. Get in, retrieve intel, and get out. Simple. Clean.

It wasn’t.

Everything went to hell fast. Some kind of ambush, a miscalculation on their part, and the enemy waiting for them like they knew they were coming. The ground team was pinned and cut off from their extraction point, and Ghost could hear the tension in your voice as you called for support.

“Hang tight, I’m coming in,” you promised, your aircraft screaming through the sky.

He had no doubt you would. You always did.

You swooped in, raining fire from above, giving them enough cover to push forward. For a moment, it worked. For a moment, he thought they might actually make it.

Then the missile hit.

The explosion was deafening—a violent burst of flame and metal as your aircraft took a direct hit. Ghost felt it like a punch to the gut, his heart lurching into his throat as your voice crackled through his comms.

“Mayday, mayday! I’m hit—controls are—fuck—”

The world slowed.

He could hear Gaz yelling, could see Soap moving, but all he could focus on was your voice, filled with panic and your breathing ragged as you tried—tried so hard—to stabilize.

“Ghost—”

And he knew. He fucking knew.

“Eject,” he ordered, his voice steady despite his whole body shaking from the shock. “Now.”

“I—”

A choked sound. Static.

And then—

Silence.

They found the wreckage hours later.

What was left of it actually.

The ground was scorched, metal twisted and blackened, and the smell of burning fuel filled the air around them. There was no body, just fragments of what had once been your aircraft, pieces of you scattered like shattered glass.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t move. Just stared at the wreckage, fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms.

Price placed a hand on his shoulder and murmured something meant to comfort. He barely heard it.

All he could hear was your last transmission, looping in his mind like a broken record. Your voice—his anchor, his safe place—reduced to a desperate cry for help he couldn’t answer.

That night, for the first time in years, he reached for his radio and switched to your private frequency.

Static.

He closed his eyes, gripping the radio so tightly it trembled in his hands. He waited, hoping—praying—that somehow, against all logic, you’d answer.

But you didn’t.

You never would again.

And Simon never believed in angels.

Not until he lost one.

-------------------------------------------

gonna go hide now.

@daydreamerwoah

[xechu]

Dark Requiem

pairing: deity!sukuna x fem!reader wc: 1.9k cw: 18+ mdni. please read my blog rules before interacting. dark themes, power imbalance, near-asphyxiation, implied violence, psychological tension, non-traditional intimacy, forced-kiss scenario tag: drabble-ish, short one-shot, dark fantasy, dark divinity au summary: with no other choice, you turn to a god that was only supposed to exist in bedtime stories. a/n: a tiny spur of inspiration. I've been having writer's block lately. Thank you for reading and enjoy! x

Ask and thou shall receive.

But only at the price of thy soul—willingly offered, never begged for.

He was no saint, no righteous wish granter. He only spoke in contracts and vows.

Time and time again, it had always been the same—humans were proven to be so greedy and fickle. Wanting everything. Sacrificing nothing.

Did they not know? Great things come at an even greater cost?

Sukuna was generous, unlike many other false gods. He had allowed the vowed to revel in their blessings, if only for a while—before coming to collect the price they had dared to forget.

Yet, it was always the same. When it was time to reap—they immediately wallow in regret. Some even try to outsmart their giver and defy the oath they had sworn.

But Sukuna was no fool. He had not endured the turning of millennia by being daft. In the end, he had always found a way to claim what was promised.

And for those who resisted or tried to shirk their obligations, Sukuna reserved a special place in the afterlife for them—condemned to a lifetime of glorious torture and suffering. A place where they wished they had surrendered their soul sooner. Their cries for mercy are a symphony to his ears.

At the sound of the dark cathedral doors creaking open, he watches as his next contract comes through.

A tiny and timid thing: you.

You had heard whispers of a disgraced and banished god—primordial and cruel. Supposedly, he had once dwelled in this abandoned cathedral. For his arrogance and trickery, he was sealed within these thick stones and cold shadows. They said he would pluck children from their homes and eat them, trick fair maidens into offering their purity and virtue, and prey on men for their vitality.

Ryomen Sukuna was described as disgraceful. Deceitful. Glutinous. Cruel. Sadistic.

But it mattered not.

You had not come for salvation, nor redemption.

Only condemnation.

Because it was better to be condemned than to bow beneath a crueler fate.

“I have come to offer myself to you, Ryomen Sukuna,” you said. Despite the grimness of your situation, your voice was soft—but assured.

Standing among these ruins of darkness, rubble, and dust—there was nothing. Only a deafening and oppressive silence. It was quiet, so much so that you could hear the static hum in your own ears.

You wryly scoff to yourself. What had you expected? This was nothing more than fiction. A tale spun to frighten misbehaving children into obedience. And yet, you clung to this bedtime story like scripture. Because what else did you have left?

Then, as hope was about to fade, the moonlight shifted—spilling through the shattered cathedral window like a divine message from the night goddess herself. And there, before you, it illuminated an obsidian statue. Large. Imposing. Watching.

It radiated dark allure, beckoning you to come forth.

To reach out.

Only if you dared.

It felt as though phantom tendrils had begun to snake around your body the moment you locked eyes with the statue—a towering figure, chiseled like a fallen god. Even seated upon a throne of thorns, he felt impossibly tall, impossibly vast. There was a pull. Heavy. Magnetic. Inevitable. Your feet moved toward him, slowly but surely, as if being summoned.

Above you, the long-extinguished black chandelier creaked in protest—its rusted arms swaying with a voice of their own. An eerie warning: Proceed with caution.

You were about to reach a point of no return.

But you steeled yourself, letting instinct guide you, submitting to the darkness before you—for that was what you had desired.

Nothingness. Absolution.

As you ascended, each step reforged your certainty—until at last, you stood before him.

Your mind tells you to not be afraid, but your body trembles, as if it knew you stood before a god. Every fiber instinctively knew to revere, to worship, to submit.

“Sukuna.” His name slipped from your lips, a soft whisper. “I have an offer.”

Once more, you were met with silence. Yet, if this was merely a myth—why did your nerves scream to run?

“Please.” Your voice cracked, laced with desperation. Your heart began to pound. The internal warning becoming louder by each passing moment. “I will give you all that I have to offer.”

Then, suddenly, a crack split the sky. Thunder—loud and rumbling—reverberated so close it felt as though it had struck directly above you. You flinched, instinct to flee immediately kicking in. But before you could run, a large, stony grip closed around your wrist, rooting you in place. Your breath caught in your throat.

Stone became flesh. 

And staring back into your wide, terrified eyes were his—crimson, burning with the intensity and heat of hellfire.

His touch seared into your skin, a brand scorching into you. Around you, the long-dead candles of the cathedral simultaneously blazed to life. But they did not burn with their usual amber hues.

Crimson like blood.

It was the embers of hell.

“Have you suddenly lost the tongue to speak?” His voice boomed.

“I—” The words elude you. Fear gripped at your throat, as you come face to face with Sukuna himself.

“I implore you to find your words promptly,” he hissed, his grip tightening. “Before I silence you for good.”

“I-I have an offer to make with you, Sukuna.”

“Yes, and I have heard that one too many times from you. Are you broken?”

You shook your head. But it only seemed to enrage him further.

“So then speak,” he growled. Impatience lacing his voice. “What is it that you have to offer me?”

You met his burning gaze.

“I shall give you my soul—in exchange for nothing.”

For a moment, he fell silent.

Then he released your wrist. To your surprise, he left no marks behind—no burns, no bruises, not even a trace. Around you, the flames in the cathedral calmed, flickering softly back to their usual amber glow.

A low sigh rumbled from his chest, as if completely underwhelmed and disappointed by your proposal.

“Leave,” Sukuna said coldly.

It was part of the divine restriction. A strict decree written into the very laws of his existence. He could not ask for a soul outside the bounds of a contract. He could not take without giving something in return. Death was not an acceptable clause. And above all, he was forbidden from ever mentioning the restrictions. To do so would be seen as influencing choice and corrupting the offering.

You blinked a few times, eyes wide in disbelief.

He rejected your offer.

Was that possible?

You had thought your offer would be rather appealing. But more importantly, your life had depended on him taking you. Walking away was not an option.

“N-no!” You collapsed to your knees. “Please, take me…if not my soul.”

He stared down at you, expressionless.

“You are a rather dense and insolent little thing,” he snarled.

In a flash, his hand wrapped around your throat, harshly pulling you upward until your gaze was locked with his. Dark violence surged through him—to crush, to silence, to smother the defiance trembling in your voice.

You gasped for air as his hand constricted your airway unable to speak, unable to voice your defense. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as your comparatively small hands clawed feebly at his—a silent, instinctive plea for mercy.

A chill of excitement ran down Sukuna’s spine, at the sight of your struggle. The way you callously sign away your life…only to claw at it now.

Desperate. Pathetic. Human.

That selfish desire to live. To survive. It was the very trait he had come to despise. But in you…it intrigued him.

“Do not play me a fool. No one gives up their soul for nothing,” he said lowly.

You couldn’t answer. Your throat burned, your mind slipping into static. The world around you spun, and the corners of your vision began to darken, collapsing inwards.

Just as you thought he had granted you death—his grip released. Air. He drops you onto the stone cold floor by his feet. You crumple up, as your lungs violently convulse in broken gasps for air. But no matter how you fought to breathe, it seemed your lungs had forgotten how. Your breaths shallow and irregular. Failing.

“Weak,” Sukuna muttered, irritation lacing his voice.

Without warning, he scooped you up like a ragdoll, your limbs limp in his grasp. He sat down with you sprawled across his lap, one hand tilting your chin up.

And then, he crushed his lips to yours. Not in hunger. Not in lust.

But to breathe air into you.

Life flickered back into your eyes. As your gaze met his, Sukuna felt something coil dark and low in his gut. A sick pleasure. A thrill. A hunger.

But his hubris would never allow him to beg—divine restriction or not.

So instead, he would plant the seed. Water the thought. Nurture the desire. Until you were the one to offer it. Willingly.

“You should have let me go,” you whispered. Those were the first words you managed to speak.

Sukuna tilted his head, eyes glinting.

“But that is not what your body says.”

His sharp black nails scrape across your pulse—strong, alive.

“So tell me,” he purred. “What is it you truly desire?”

You did not hesitate. “I desire the freedom of death.”

Sukuna scoffed.

“Not good enough.”

Again, for the small and insignificant thing you were, you were irritatingly persistent. Had he not been bound by the laws of the universe, he would have claimed your soul long ago and savored the ruin of it.

He would have made you scream. 

Beg. 

Break.

And just as death reached for you—when that final stillness settled in your gaze, and you thought you had earned peace—he would have taken it all away. Simply because he could.

He wanted your pain. Your desperation. Your submission to your own hypocrisy.

He wanted to see you unravel. To witness the exact moment you realized you had betrayed your morals, your body, your heart, your dignity.

Even now—barely breathing—you wore that pathetic mask of defiance.

“If you cannot take my soul…then allow me to stay here. That is all I ask,” you said softly.

“That is all you ask?” he repeated, voice curling into a mockery.

“Please,” you breathed. “I have nowhere else to go.”

Sukuna regarded you in silence for a moment, his expression apathetic.

“I am no charitable god,” he said. “What will you offer me?”

Your eyes narrowed. If he did not want your soul, what else did you have to offer?

You felt pathetic. Your dignity shattered. You had walked through the doors thinking your offer would be enticing. That Sukuna, of all beings, would accept it without question.

Alas, your wretched soul was not even worthy of condemnation.

“Then tell me—what is it that you want?”

“What will you offer?” He asked again, voice low, quiet, and insistent. Yet, you still could not understand why.

“Please,” you whispered. “Reconsider it, Sukuna.”

You swallowed hard. Your body screamed to run—a final warning that you were treading dangerous waters. But you did not listen.

“My soul…for your shelter and protection.” Your trembling hands rose to his chest, fingers barely brushing the stone-cold flesh. “Please.”

His eyes darkened.

“Then let this vow be binding,” he said.

And then—he crushed his lips onto yours once more. Not to save. Not to silence. 

But to bind.

Writing © xechu - please do not redistribute, translate, or repost any of my works.

Graphic divider source: here via @/troublesomesnitch

[thurifer-at-heart]

There's a curious but popular notion circulating around the church these days that says God would never stoop to using ancient genre categories to communicate. Speaking to ancient people using their own language, literary structures, and cosmological assumptions would be beneath God, it is said, for only our modern categories of science and history can convey the truth in any meaningful way. In addition to once again prioritizing modern, Western (and often uniquely American) concerns, this notion overlooks one of the most central themes of Scripture itself: God stoops. From walking with Adam and Eve through the garden of Eden, to traveling with the liberated Hebrew slaves in a pillar of cloud and fire, to slipping into flesh and eating, laughing, suffering, healing, weeping, and dying among us as part of humanity, the God of scripture stoops and stoops and stoops and stoops. At the heart of the gospel message is the story of a God who stoops to the point of death on a cross. Dignified or not, believable or not, ours is a God perpetually on bended knee, doing everything it takes to convince stubborn and petulant children that they are seen and loved. It is no more beneath God to speak to us using poetry, proverb, letters, and legend than it is for a mother to read storybooks to her daughter at bedtime. This is who God is. This is what God does.

—Rachel Held Evans, Inspired, p.11-12

[shewhooncegripped]

HI KROMER YOURE NOT GONNA BELIEVE THIS

I JUST ATE 18 AND 1/2 ATOMIC FRENZY CAKES AND-

And-

Wait a second….

*you hear gobbling noises on the other side*

19! 19! CREAM! FILLED! ATOMIC! FRENZY! CAKES!

So anyways I can’t sleep now can you come over and read me a bedtime story until I fall asleep?

....What?

You want a bedtime story... From me?

Nothing is really coming to mind, unless you would like me to tell stories of our journey upon this bus. I don't really remember much of the stories told in my childhood, and I don't think you would like the scriptures of Nagel and Hammer being whispered in your ears...

...Unless that would be comforting for you.

[lianabrooks]

How To Keep Your (Found) Family Happy

A friend posted a cartoon about weaponized incompetence on another website and talked about how every family has this. In fact, most groups of humans have run into this at some point, it's pretty normal for humans to try to find a way to take the easiest route (even if it means more work for others).

Despite all that, I've been with the same person since 2001. We've been married most of that time, had four kids together, and moved countless times as we restarted jobs, hunted promotions, and switched career fields. And we've managed to avoid most of the pitfalls. Here's how my spouse and I have avoid fights, weaponized incompetence, bitter feelings, and feeling neglected in our relationship for over 20 years (Hint: there's a lot of communication going on)... P.S. These are all very family/relationship-centric but you can absolutely adapt them for the workplace, school, or anything else.

MAKING CHOICES AHEAD OF TIME ... the menu is made at the start of the month, money is allocated before major events, we plan trips sometimes years in advance. All of that reduces the choice making later and is one less stress to handle. This is purely a decision making fatigue thing, if you have to make a decision, it requires brain power, and after a long day you'll have none. So why not sit down on a quiet day and make all the decisions you need to make for the next week? Poof! Brain power is freed up and there is less stress!

MONTHLY & WEEKLY CALENDAR SCRUBS... we sit down and make the menu around the first of the month, and we fill in the calendar with schedules so we know which days someone will be too busy to do things like cook, wash up, or something else.

DAILY CHECK-INS... whoever is home together in the morning does a morning devotional (yoga, dance time, scriptures, motivational quote, prayers, whatever works for you) and review what's happening so everyone is tracking major tests, work meetings, stressors, ect. Then we try to have dinner together if possible (even if it means eating at 5) and then a bedtime check-in before light's out (usually scriptures, prayers, and chatting, then bedtime stories for the littles). If people are working from home, we might have lunch together too. That means we have 2-4 planned meetings a day so we can course correct. -> If you're not religious, don't stress it. Pull out some Terry Pratchett quotes, favorite poems, pick a theme song for the week and dance to it. Just give you and your people five minutes to do something happy together. -> If this is at work this might mean a team meeting at the start of the day or a 12 minute check-in at 1:30 when everyone is back from lunch. The goal is to make sure everyone is on schedule for what they need, haven't run into an emergencies, and no one has questions. A supported work team gets more done.

SPENDING LIMITS... we got married in college when we lived off college stipends of $400/m. And we had a kid. Our rule was never to spend $20 without consulting the other person. We never changed that. We discuss everything from birthday presents to grocery lists and when we're getting gas in the cars even though we're much more financially stable. It means everyone spending out of the main accounts is tracking where the money is going so we don't over-splurge.

CHORE SCHEDULES... when we were first married we'd set aside an hour or so to clean the house together. It worked. As the kids got older this got more complicated (they needed to learn how to clean). But now we're at a point where everyone has assigned chores and we put bounties on chores that need to get done and are unassigned. And then we have one cleaning day (usually Friday or Saturday) where we take an hour and all clean the shared spaces. It takes 30-60 minutes to clean the entire house if you have six people working together. Laundry has assigned days for every load. The dishwasher and cooking have assigned days. It works. Everyone helps to the best of their abilities. -> With this is a lot of Adjusted Expectations. My house is not color coordinated with everything in a bin. My family is all neurodivergent. Most our dishes live on the counters because putting them away makes them vanish. This works great for us but might be overwhelming for other people. Who cares? It's our house, we're doing what works for us and the person mad about messes on Instagram can suck a lemon. -> If you really cannot do chores, cosplay it. Roll the dice and make it a game. Set a timer. Bribe yourself. Make it work for you.

ONE-ON-ONE TIME... not just for me and hubby, but for parents and kids. We try to make sure everyone gets some alone time where they are the focus of attention and we can check-in and make sure their emotional needs are met. Kids need a space to vent. Adults to a space to not be parents. -> This is super important for friendships too. Make time for people in your life! -> At work, this means managers need to make time to talk with their employees, check-in, and assess who needs things (and consider the people's needs first, not the CEO's bonus)

SCHEDULED DOWNTIME... usually this is Sunday for us (the Sabbath day for our religion), but it can be whenever, and we might have more downtime scheduled on a stressful week than in an easy one. The goal here is to make sure everyone gets time to not work, not lead, not think, and just chill. They can play, listen to music, nap, whatever their brain needs, and they can do it without upsetting anyone or feeling guilty because it's part of the schedule. -> In an office this would mean not lean staffing, maybe having an early release day once a week (or a late start) or long lunches. Give your people space to zone out and chill so they can come back refreshed. -> Quiet Quitting only exists because management is trying to exploit their staff. Don't be that boss. (P.S. Join Your Union)

SOME THINGS DON'T HAPPEN... our kids are limited to one after-school activity a year and one AP class for high schoolers. We've tried other ways and found it generates too much stress. I limit projects I take on because I have a set quitting time, even though I work from home. My husband passes up on some away-from-home events with friends because we prioritize family time. Figuring out that balance is something you have to decide as a family. What works for one person won't work for all. -> In business this means doing sustainable, slow growth over rapid booms that overextend and hurt the system. Stop looking for the short term boost when long term is better.

ADAPT TO WHAT YOUR GROUP NEEDS!... this is the most important one, because what we've done over the years has changed in reaction to the needs of people around us. My kids in college need something different than the one starting middle school. My team at the lab needed something than my team at a newspaper. If you have a bunch of introverts, they probably don't want a dance party, they want a three minute meeting with a heads up about any major disturbances and then ten minutes of silence to prepare their souls for any human interaction. Do what works.

[thesaffronmuse]

Namaste!

Allow me to introduce myself. I am The Saffron Muse. I am new to Tumblr and new to blogging so you must excuse me if there are any errors on my part.

A little bit about me...

I was born in the exquisite country of India but raised in the beautiful valleys of California. I have always found writing to be refreshing since I was a young girl and have been writing whenever I could about random thoughts in my journal. But I only recently I decided to combine my passion in Indian culture and religion with my writing.

I grew up in an orthodox Hindu family where we practiced many different traditions and rituals despite it being a little difficult living in the United States. Both of my parents worshipped God every day that my brother and I, eventually, learned and followed. They would tell us interesting and simple stories of the Ramayan and the Mahabharat instead of the common bedtime stories. These stories always kept me intrigued. As I grew older, I started to read books on the Gods/Goddesses, scriptures and other things that are important to practicing Hindus.

When my brother and I were in school, we would visit India for summer break as a family and travel within India to holy places like Tirupati, Shirdi, and Mathura. On the car drive to these cities, our grandparents would tell us about the stories behind the significance of the temples. Although standing in lines was exhausting and draining, in the end it was always worth it.

I still continue to learn as much as I can about Sanatana Dharma. I love to conduct my own research on certain rituals that our elders encourage us to participate in. Growing up, there were many incidents where my parents or grandparents had no idea when questioned about the significance of some rituals and customs. They just did what they were told to do. I did not want to be that way.

Currently, I live with my husband of two years. We both enjoy traveling, cooking and watching movies together. My husband observed that I am really passionate when it comes to learning about our culture (and other cultures too). He has been encouraging me to share my knowledge and interest with the world, but I had not felt good enough to do so. However, I told myself that it’s now or never. So, here I am!

~ The Saffron Muse

[queenbeeibee]

”Cease! Or I shall enter your domicile and recite the entirety of scripture!”

"Awww, you're gonna read me a bedtime story?"

"Haha, alright, alright, I'm sorry. Don't bring out the scripture, Michael. I just wanted to tease Adam a little bit, but I'll be a good girl now."

[llycaons]

TGCF references in MDZS fics:

1. hold the fire in your palm by oogenesis

Of course demons could have families...One of the deadliest attacks in the past decade had been by a demon seeking revenge for the death of its entire family—the streets had flooded with illusory black water that suffocated the life and soul out of any who dared step into it, and when the flood receded, the demon hunter responsible for the deaths had been found dead in an alleyway.  His head was subsequently found in another alleyway, three blocks over.

2. As You Like It by cosmicmilktea

He writes to Ouyang Zizhen the next day, and receives a thick package with a very enthusiastic, very emotional letter accompanying it a week later. A story of a disgraced martial God and his loyal Ghost King, of a wait spanning centuries and a love that endured in the end - and places the book gently on Lan Zhan's writing desk. He comes back after a short trip to Lan Zhan reading the book, back straight and fingers gracefully turning the pages as if he's reading scripture and not some racy, overwrought romance that would probably send an Elder to an unfortunate Qi deviation. [...] "Good read?" Wei Wuxian asks, offering the still-hot tea to his husband. "Mn," Lan Zhan hums before he sips his tea, in that tone that means he's quietly satisfied. Lan Zhan likes happy endings.

3. 总有一天; a place to hide (can’t find one near) by yiqie

Asks about what pieces he’s been working on, if any of them are fun. If he has any new recipes lately. If Lan Zhan has seen that their favorite demon king and fallen god webtoon had updated. He has, but he’s saving it for bedtime.

[prettygayway]

🏙          »        what    does    your    character    value    more    ––    creativity    or    practicality    ?

Growing up a child of the Holy See, there was rarely time for creative pursuits. Their adoptive father would recite scripture and folktales of Halone's might as bedtime stories, the abundant majesty of the Goddess' will the only creative force the young viera was privy to growing up. They were taught to listen, obey the will of the Holy see, hide that which makes them different for fear of being cast out of the very church they were raised to idolize and to use their blessing to heal the weak.

Despite having been raised in a world full of restrictions and practicality, Mydia values the freedom to pursue creativity much more. To be truly free, is to be allowed to create and choose the world one wishes to live in. Not to be dictated to do so by another person.

[forwardjulio]

How to Handle Different Parenting Styles in a Blended Family

Let’s just say it plain — blending a family isn’t like blending a smoothie. It’s more like trying to mix oil and water, duct tape it together with love, and then expect it to behave in public. Especially when it comes to parenting styles.

Now you’re not just raising kids — you’re raising kids with someone who might think discipline means taking away screen time, while you were raised to believe the belt was a spiritual gift. Welcome to the delicate dance of blended family parenting.

Here’s how to navigate it without losing your mind… or your testimony.

⸻

1. Recognize Your Roots (and Theirs)

Before you try to fix anything, understand where each of you is coming from. You may have grown up in a house where “Because I said so” was the final answer. Your spouse might have been raised in a home where family meetings were held like Congress sessions with snacks.

Neither is right or wrong — just different. Like ketchup on eggs. Some folks need prayer.

So first, take time to talk about your upbringings. What worked? What didn’t? What do you want to repeat — and what stops with you?

Pro tip: Don’t bring this up during an argument. Pick a quiet time. Maybe over coffee. Or after church, when the Holy Ghost is fresh.

⸻

2. Unify Before You Amplify

If you’re not on the same page, don’t go playing parent solo. Kids are smart. Like little FBI agents. They’ll divide and conquer faster than you can say “Go ask your stepmom.”

Have a private “parenting huddle” to align before making major decisions. This shows the kids that the two of you are a united front — like Batman and Robin, but more holy.

Scripture moment: “A house divided against itself cannot stand.” – Mark 3:25.

Translation: Don’t let your parenting team be like a busted tent in a hurricane.

⸻

3. Respect Their Role

If you’re the stepparent, remember: you’re coming into a story that started before you arrived. There’s history, habits, and hurts — all of which deserve gentleness.

Don’t try to be the hero or the heavy right away. Earn trust with love, consistency, and presence.

For bio-parents: Let your spouse have a role. Don’t micromanage or sideline them. Y’all are partners now — tag-team, not tug-of-war.

⸻

4. Pick Battles Like a Ninja, Not a Tank

Some hills ain’t worth dying on. Socks on the floor? Not eternal. Disrespect? That’s a hill you plant the flag on.

Agree together on what values are non-negotiable (respect, faith, honesty) and where you can allow flexibility (bedtime, snacks, music volume that sounds like a concert in the basement).

⸻

5. Get Help, Not Just Hype

Sometimes, you need outside help. A counselor, pastor, or someone who’s walked this road can save y’all a lot of trial and error.

And remember, prayer isn’t last resort — it’s first offense. Get on your knees together and ask the Lord for wisdom. He’s raised a few wild children in His time (lookin’ at you, Israel).

⸻

6. Show Grace, Give Space

You will mess up. So will your spouse. The goal isn’t perfection — it’s progress.

Give each other room to grow. Celebrate the wins (even the small ones like a calm bedtime), and when things blow up, ask forgiveness fast.

Remember: Your marriage is the thermostat. Keep it loving, respectful, and God-centered — and the climate in the house will follow.

⸻

Final Thoughts

Parenting in a blended family is like trying to ride two different motorcycles in opposite directions… while carrying groceries. But with Jesus in the center, communication on lock, and love as the fuel — you can make it.

You may not get it right every time, but you’re building something beautiful. A family that didn’t just happen — it was chosen, grafted, redeemed, and sustained by grace.

So hold tight, ride steady, and don’t forget: you’re not alone.

⸻

Want more real-talk wisdom?

Follow us on Instagram @blendedmarriage or check out our stories on Substack.

We’ve been there. We’re still there. And we’re riding this thing out — in faith, with coffee, and a little holy sarcasm.

[lozchic3]

Ochette chapter 2, Cateracta route party banter

Temenos - Sorry, detective. The scriptures are good for bedtime stories.

Hikari - "Darketplace" got a chuckle from me. But definitely felt like banter between siblings.

Throné - Néné is such a cute nickname and even more adorable that Throné shows that she likes cute things, like Ochette's tail.

Partitio - Incredible, local merchant feels strained to not give someone money. lmao

Agnea - Also sibling vibes. But more to show Ochette that there's an entire world of different flavors and joys with foods.

[theperplexedpoet]

the hollow era

I.

we are the hollow era engorged on endless streams of corrosive content intermingling with cascading and compounded traumas passed down for generations blistered souls breaking in the web of connected disconnects and networked neuroses empty vessels of emptier engagements intending unity through the guise of excessive exceptionalism boxing ourselves in for barriers feel like safety we wear them as life vests when they are really just straitjackets preserving nothing but the prejudice the price of freedom legacies left to linger in the lore where never again became evermore for we are the hollow for we are the dead we drown in the shallow I said what I said II. the twilight kingdom was lost in the night when the dream was found to be a figment no straps on the boots that Jack built thine eyes had seen the glory, but the story was just that a story a tale told at bedtime to usher in peaceful incursions of the subconscious to hold the truth of the world at bay for as long as such dreams are able to at least but in the right light dreams can prove such fragile things almost as fragile as the beings that bore them yet we shan't give voice to the reason as the unreasonable take the stage it's all the rage it's all rage III. this is the dead land the land of the lost we lie with heads of stone sinking further and further into the sand into the land the land of the dead and we try to rise but it comes as no surprise that the weight of the stone that of the known keeps us grounded but not in the ways we'd like remnant restrictions of yesteryear before our development was arrested and our conscience was compromised now everyone puts baby in the corner IV. we moved in ways that kept the eyes at the front eye for an eye seeing nothing yet pretending to see all sightless leaders recklessly racing towards an end so plainly seen stacked in the silos of the silenced humanity deterred we once understood the might of mercy might be lost to us now, but we knew it then held it to our breast and praised its name sung songs of its majesty all just words to us now V. this is the way the world ends this is the way the world ends this is the way the world ends not with a bang but a moronic destabilization of purpose and mission cruelly calculated and so profound in the scale of its cognitive dissonance that reason and logic no longer have places at the table this is the way the world ends this is the way the world ends this is the way the world ends indeed with a bang heads banging endlessly against the walls where once we had written replaced with these scalp-scribed scriptures the postmodern cave paintings of the frustrated and feckless the hollow era this is the way the world ends this is the way the world ends this is the way the world ends the way it was always going to the way it was always going to the way it was always going to you gave us a voice and then expected us not use it (4/14/24)

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

Josh levy-

Stepmom to Josh Levy’s Daughter – Co-Parenting Headcanons

1. The moment you meet his daughter, he hovers like a hawk.

He’s pretending to be cool, like: “It’s whatever. If she doesn’t like you, it’s not the end of the world or anything.”

But he’s sweating bullets. He’s analyzing every interaction, reading into every glance, every laugh. The second she warms up to you, he’s like, "See? I knew it. You’re both clearly Force-sensitive. It’s in the genes."

2. You’re the grounding force in their weird, nerdy universe.

They speak in full Star Trek and LOTR metaphors, and you’re the one reminding them to eat breakfast or put socks on the right feet.

Josh: “She’s not being difficult, she’s expressing her arc as a misunderstood protagonist!”

You: “She threw yogurt at the dog, Josh.”

3. You become the ‘cool and competent’ parent by default.

She comes to you for hair help, period stuff, and when she’s too nervous to talk to Josh about school crushes. Josh pretends he’s fine with it, but he low-key pouts.

You reassure him that she still worships him. She just doesn’t want a monologue about Amok Time when she asks about deodorant.

4. Josh is wildly emotional when he sees you parenting.

He catches you reading her bedtime stories, brushing her hair, or sewing buttons on her school uniform and has to excuse himself to “go organize action figures.”

He comes back later like, “You’re—ugh, great. Okay? You’re doing amazing, and I—I don’t even deserve this, honestly, I’m just some emotionally stunted goober who got lucky.”

5. She starts picking up your habits.

Your sayings, your favorite music, the way you stir your coffee. Josh is equal parts jealous and touched.

Josh: “She said she wants to be like you when she grows up. I mean. Not that I’m crying about it. But also I am.”

6. Co-parenting means a lot of compromise.

Josh overthinks everything. You’re constantly helping him pick his battles.

Josh: “Is 12 too young for Alien?”

You: “Yes.”

Josh: “But what if she’s ready for the themes?”

You: “Josh. No.”

7. He brags about you constantly—just, in weird, Josh ways.

To his friends, at the comic shop, to strangers in line at the DMV.

“She’s, like, the reason this whole operation doesn’t crash and burn. She’s the warp core to my engine room. I’m Spock, but she’s definitely the one keeping the Enterprise running while I spiral.”

8. You become the secret MVP of their little family.

She calls you when she’s sick at school. You’re the one she wants at recitals and game nights. Josh tries to act chill about it but is visibly relieved every time she chooses you to mediate.

He’ll mutter a quiet thank you later, usually while pretending to reorganize his Blu-ray collection.

9. There’s a quiet night where she calls you “mom” for the first time.

Unprompted. Natural. You freeze. Josh, who overhears it, looks like someone cast Petrificus Totalus on him.

Later that night, he stares at the ceiling and goes,

“I knew you were endgame.”

---

Title: “Pads, Panic & the Power of Partnership”

Josh stood in the bathroom doorway, holding a pad upside-down like it might start reciting Sith scripture.

Josh (muttering):

“Okay, okay—sticky side down, that makes sense, gravity’s a thing, we’re good…”

His daughter, red-faced and hiding under a towel, called from behind the closed bathroom door.

Daughter:

“Dad, please don’t give it to me with the wrapper already off, that’s—weird.”

He froze, pad still in hand.

Josh:

“Wait, there’s a wrapper etiquette? Why didn’t the articles say that?! I read, like, four blogs! I watched a video that opened with a ukulele!”

You heard the chaos from the hallway and stepped in, leaning against the doorframe with a knowing look.

You:

“Trouble in menstruation paradise?”

Josh turned to you, eyes wide with relief and sheer panic.

Josh (whispering):

“She got her period today, at school. She handled it like a champ. I picked her up early, gave her tea, even bought pads—multiple kinds! But now she’s in there asking for help and I don’t want to make it weird or dad it up too hard and I think I may have traumatized her with my pad presentation.”

You smiled, gently plucking the pad from his hand and turning it right-side up.

You:

“You’re doing great. A little… interpretive. But great.”

Josh (sheepishly):

“I thought I understood. Like, it’s a cycle! There’s biology! I learned about endometrium lining! But I didn’t know it came with emotional landmines and shopping anxiety and ten different absorbency levels! Why are there so many little droplets on the box?!”

You:

“That’s absorbency, Josh.”

Josh:

“Why are they blue? Nothing is blue!”

You gently tap his shoulder, chuckling.

You:

“C’mere, Professor Flow. Let me take over.”

You knock on the bathroom door and speak gently.

You:

“Hey sweetheart? I’m here now. Wanna let me help?”

The door cracks open. She peeks out, relieved, and hands you a fresh pad from the confusing array her dad had purchased. You give Josh a “stay” gesture and slip inside.

He waits outside, pacing.

Ten minutes later, you come back out. His daughter’s cleaned up, in clean sweats, sipping hot chocolate on the couch. The heating pad is working its magic. She’s calm.

Josh exhales deeply, rubbing his face.

Josh:

“She okay?”

You:

“She’s okay.”

Josh (softly):

“I really wanted to do it right. But I think I made it worse.”

You shake your head and step close.

You:

“No. You showed up. You listened. You cared. That’s the part that matters most.”

Josh slumps forward, pressing his forehead to your shoulder with a long sigh.

Josh (muffled):

“I didn’t even know if you’re supposed to say ‘congratulations’ or ‘I’m sorry.’”

You:

“‘I got you’ is usually a safe bet.”

He nods.

Josh (smiling):

“I got you.”

Later, his daughter leans against him on the couch and mutters, “Thanks for trying, Dad. You were kinda weird about it, but... not bad weird.”

Josh grins like he just won a lightsaber duel.

Josh:

“I’ll take it.”

---

Bill Dickey-

Being a Stepmom to Bill Dickey’s Daughter – Headcanons

1. The first meeting was… rocky.

Bill didn’t want you to meet her at first. He insisted you’d “screw her up with your emotional stability” or “turn her into some sap with feelings and friendship bracelets.” He said this while microwaving a burrito and making her watch Robocop. But once it happened? She liked you almost immediately. Which pissed him off. He acted like he wasn’t mad, but the silent fuming was loud.

2. She has his attitude, and you know it.

Sharp tongue. Suspicious side-eye. Judgey little voice. She’ll say stuff like, “You’re not my mom, but you’re okay, I guess,” and it’s the nicest thing she’s said all day. And deep down, you know that’s love. She’s her father’s daughter—gruff on the outside, weirdly loyal underneath.

3. Bill is insane about her safety.

Like, refuses to let her go on field trips until he’s interrogated three teachers and googled bus crash stats for an hour. If she has a cold, he’s blaming your detergent. If she’s grumpy, he’s blaming “the system.” If she skins her knee, he accuses the playground of structural neglect.

4. He resents needing your help… but needs your help.

You pack her lunches with fruit. He sends her to school with leftover pizza and a Monster energy drink. You help her with math. He screams about “Common Core” and slams a drawer. You braid her hair. He tried once and gave her a bald spot. He’ll grumble about it, but he doesn’t fight your presence. Not really. He knows she’s better with you around.

5. His co-parenting style is a mix of passive-aggressive texts and late-night calls.

“Your girl got detention today. You got any sage wisdom for handling attitude problems, or should I just start charging her rent?”

You: “What happened?”

Bill: “She called her teacher a fascist. So... proud? But also… parenting?”

6. He kind of sucks at vulnerability—but he trusts you more than he says.

He’ll never say “thank you.” But he’ll grunt and hand you a cup of coffee after you’ve had a rough night with her. He’ll tell his daughter behind your back that she’s lucky to have you. And when she makes you a Mother's Day card that says “Not technically my mom but you’re cool,” he pretends he didn’t cry in the car.

7. You and the kid share a weird inside joke about him.

Probably about how loud he types or how he screams at the TV like it owes him money. It drives him nuts when you and his daughter share “a look.” But also? It secretly makes him happy. Even if he yells “You two are conspiring against me!” every time it happens.

8. He’s a trainwreck, but he’s trying.

Bill Dickey will never be easy to co-parent with—but he shows up. He argues. He rants. He micromanages her horror movie education. But he cares so deeply that it’s almost embarrassing. And no matter how chaotic it gets, you’re part of his weird little team now.

---

Title: “You Think You’re Real Funny, Huh?”

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

Bill was slouched on the couch in his worn-out orange flannel, feet up on the coffee table, arms crossed like he was mad at the concept of relaxation itself. No TV. No kid. No chaos. Just the two of you. For once.

You sat next to him with a shared blanket over both your legs, pretending to be just as chill. But the buzz in the air said otherwise. Something about the way his knee kept bouncing. The twitch in his jaw. The fact that he kept adjusting his flannel even though it was hanging just fine.

You smirked to yourself.

"You okay over there?" you asked lightly, nudging his thigh with your knee.

Bill:

"Peachy," he muttered, not looking at you. "Just trying to enjoy the one night I don’t have to hear anyone crying or whatever."

"You’re awfully tense for someone enjoying himself."

Bill:

"I’m not tense."

You bit your lip. He was absolutely tense. In every way. His whole body was stiff under the blanket. Like he was trying not to even acknowledge the fact that the house was quiet… and you looked really damn good tonight.

You shifted just a little closer. Your hand slid under the blanket, slow, deliberate, brushing lightly against his thigh. He flinched.

"See?" you whispered. "You are tense."

Bill:

“I swear to god, don’t start.”

"Start what, Bill?"

He turned to you, face already red, trying to glare but you could see the cracks forming in his wall of denial.

Bill

"You’re doing that thing," he hissed. "The… the smug little seductress thing you do. With your face. And your hands. I—"

You dragged your fingers higher under the blanket. Just barely grazing him through the fabric.

He froze. Breath caught.

Bill:

“…You done?” he asked hoarsely.

"Not even close."

Bill:

"You’re gonna kill me."

"I thought you liked horror."

He groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face.

Bill:

"Jesus, woman. You think I don’t know what you’re doing? I’ve been trying to be good—respectable. We get one night without the kid, and you decide to play ‘let’s see how long Bill lasts before he explodes’?"

You leaned in, lips near his ear.

"I give you ten minutes, tops."

He snapped.

One minute you were teasing him under the blanket, the next he was dragging you into his lap with a growl, the flannel pushed open, his hands everywhere like a man starved.

Bill:

“You think this is funny?” he rasped, mouth hot against your neck. “You wanna tease me, fine. But you better be ready for the consequences.”

Oh, you were very ready.

And judging by how he manhandled the blanket out of the way and kissed you like he’d been bottling it up for weeks?

So was he.

---

Jerry stokes-

Absolutely! Here are some sweet, funny, and grounded headcanons about being a stepmom to Jerry Stokes’ daughter while co-parenting with him:

---

Being a Stepmom to Jerry Stokes’ Daughter: Headcanons

1. Jerry was nervous at first.

He’s protective of his daughter in that awkward, anxious dad way—he trusts you, but he still triple-checks that you really want to be part of this quest. The moment he sees you braid her hair without being asked or quietly talk her through a meltdown, he melts. His confidence in you solidifies like a D&D party locking in their tank.

2. His daughter was suspiciously quiet when she met you.

She sized you up like a tiny elven guard watching a stranger enter her forest. But you passed her “test” by complimenting her plastic wand and knowing the names of Pokémon she thought no adult could pronounce. Now you’re her favorite human NPC.

3. You and Jerry co-parent with nerdy teamwork.

Bedtime routines? You tag-team with themed storytime (he does voices, you do dramatic gestures). Discipline? You agree on boundaries, but Jerry uses gentle metaphors like “you can’t just rage quit school, sweetheart.” You help ground things with calm logic when he gets too emotional.

4. She calls you something soft like “Maj -( her majesty)” or your first name at first.

You never force titles. She eases into it at her pace. The first time she accidentally introduces you as “my other mom,” Jerry almost cries into a bag of Goldfish crackers in the car.

5. You help her navigate the “two homes” thing with zero drama.

You keep a toothbrush at your place for her. Her favorite stuffed animal always travels back and forth. You respect her space and her emotions when transitions are hard. Jerry is forever grateful you don’t make it about you.

6. Jerry over-explains everything.

“She has a sensory thing with certain fabrics.” “She won’t eat blueberries if they’re touching anything else on the plate.” “She cries if Gandalf dies.” He tries not to hover, but you catch him watching like a worried wizard every time you’re alone with her at first.

7. You create your own traditions.

Tea parties with action figures. Baking wonky cookies on Sundays. Watching Kiki’s Delivery Service when she’s sad. Jerry loves that you don’t try to replace her mom—you just become another strong, magical presence in her life.

8. You and Jerry communicate like party members on a campaign.

If she’s having a hard week, he’ll text you: “Rolling a nat 1 on bedtime again tonight. Help?”

You’ll send him photos of her art and say, “She painted a picture of you in a wizard hat. You’ve made it.”

9. He thanks you more often than he admits.

Sometimes in a late-night whisper. Sometimes with takeout and tired smiles. Sometimes with a long, slightly sappy note in your shared planner. You helped him believe he could do this—and that she could thrive with even more love in her life.

---

Title: “The Fellowship of the Locker Room”

Jerry burst into the kitchen like he'd just been chased by orcs.

“You have to help me,” he said, eyes wide behind his glasses. “She came home from school crying. There’s… there’s a situation.”

You looked up from your tea. “Is it blood or glitter?”

“Worse,” he said, dropping dramatically into the chair across from you. “Mean girls.”

You blinked. “She’s in seventh grade, Jerry. It’s basically the Mines of Moria in there.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “I tried, I really did. I made her hot cocoa and offered to rewatch Princess Mononoke. I said stuff like ‘sometimes people fear the light in others’ and she said—and I quote—‘you don’t get it, Dad.’”

You tried not to laugh. He looked genuinely rattled.

“She said they made fun of her cape.”

“She wore the wizard cape to school?”

“She was so excited about Spirit Week. I encouraged it!”

“…You told her to wear the cape, didn’t you?”

“She looked so proud! Like a tiny Gandalf!”

You softened, reaching across the table. “Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do. First, we remind her that weird is wonderful. Then, we subtly teach her how to deal with insecure little trolls in mascara.”

Jerry perked up. “Like… a side quest?”

You grinned. “Exactly. The Trial of the Cafeteria Witches. You’re the party healer, I’m the rogue with social skills, and she’s the brave sorceress in training.”

---

You found her curled up in bed later, earbuds in, hugging her cat. Her eyes were puffy but not fresh-crying. She peeked at you when you knocked.

“Your dad told me what happened,” you said gently. “You okay if I sit?”

She shrugged. You sat beside her anyway.

“They didn’t like your cape, huh?”

“It was purple velvet,” she muttered. “And had runes on the hem. It was cool.”

“It sounds amazing.”

She sniffed. “They said I looked like I was LARPing in the locker room.”

You nodded solemnly. “If it helps, your dad once wore elf ears to a job interview because he forgot they were on.”

She cracked a tiny smile.

“And listen—people who make fun of someone for liking cool stuff? That’s their problem. Not yours. Weird kids grow up to be legends.”

She stared at you for a beat. “Do you like weird stuff?”

“I’m literally dating your dad.”

“…Fair point.”

---

Later that night, Jerry found you tucking a folded purple cape into her backpack.

“She says she wants to wear it again tomorrow,” you said with a smile.

“Really?”

“Yeah. She also asked if she could borrow eyeliner and learn how to give people the ‘don’t mess with me’ stare.”

Jerry beamed with pride. “She’s going full sorceress.”

You kissed his cheek. “She’s got two parents backing her magic.”

---

Could maybe write headcannon about being a stepmom to Pete’s kid and maybe the others! Thank you so much 

(Oh absolutely!!

Headcanons- Being Pete DiNunzio’s Kid’s stepmom

---

Pete was not easy at first. He side-eyed you for months before trusting you around his kid. Not because he didn’t like you—he did, maybe too much—but because he was overprotective in that classic Italian-American dad way. “Nobody messes with my girl, capisce?” Even if you're just helping her with homework.

His daughter is a little spitfire, just like him. Sass, attitude, and a mouth like her dad when she’s pissed—minus the swearing (mostly). You bonded over horror movies when Pete was at work, giggling and making popcorn and doing little home “scares” to spook him when he walked in. One time she hid in the closet with a Halloween mask and made him scream like a little girl. You’ve never let him live it down.

Pete constantly slips into Staten Islandese. “Ey, you tell her she ain’t allowed to wear that shirt out, yeah? I don't care if it's ‘just to the bodega,’ she’s thirteen, not thirty.” He’s the loudest at PTA meetings. The loudest. And you’re the one smoothing things over with the teachers afterward. A classic good cop/bad cop dynamic.

Co-parenting is a ride. Pete’s stubborn as hell. If you suggest a different school or a bedtime change, he’s got to argue first, even if he agrees with you. “Look, I’m not sayin’ you’re wrong, I’m just sayin’ I know my kid, alright? I was raised right, we didn’t have no damn tablets back then.”

But when he sees how much his daughter loves you—how she comes to you crying when she gets a bad grade, how she hugs you like her safe place—he softens. He’ll mutter, “You’re doin’ good,” when he thinks you’re not listening.

Sunday dinners are sacred. You learned to make his nonna’s meatballs, and it was the moment Pete finally said, “Okay, you’re in the family now.” (But you better never mess up the sauce. He’ll call his ma in front of you if you try.)

You and Pete sometimes parent like a divorced couple that still flirts too much. You bicker over parenting techniques, then he smacks your butt in the kitchen and goes, “Yeah yeah, I’ll pick her up from ballet, don’t get all bossy.”

When she calls you “Mom” by accident for the first time, Pete actually tears up and pretends it’s “just allergies.”

---

Bonus fic

Pete watches you from the other side of the couch, that cocky shit eating grin slowly fading into something heavier. Hungrier. The room’s dim except for the TV light flickering across his jawline, and you can feel his gaze like static against your skin.

“You gonna make me work for it?” he repeats, voice lower now. That rough, gravel-under-his-tongue edge that always comes out when he wants something—really wants it.

You look at him without turning your head, eyes dragging over his lazy sprawl, the way he’s slouched with one arm thrown over the backrest, that tank top riding up just enough to flash a sliver of toned stomach.

“Depends,” you murmur. “What exactly are you trying to earn, DiNunzio?”

He licks his bottom lip, slow. “Five minutes alone with you without a damn science project between us.”

You raise a brow. “That sounds like a threat.”

“Baby, I am a threat.”

You don’t even get a chance to laugh before he shifts closer—way closer—knee brushing yours, hand ghosting over your thigh like he’s testing how far he can go. “She’s out like a light,” he whispers, “and I’ve been thinkin’ about you all night.”

“You were thinking about me while bribing your daughter with five dollars?”

“Multitasking,” he shrugs, hand sliding higher. “It’s a talent.”

You don’t stop him. You should, maybe. You definitely should, because this always starts with teasing and ends with you against a wall—or worse, catching feelings you pretend you don’t have.

His fingers trail beneath the hem of your shorts, just enough to make your breath hitch. “Still wanna tell me I’m an idiot?” he murmurs, voice hot against your ear.

You smirk, heart pounding. “You’re my idiot.”

And just like that, his mouth is on yours—hot, rough, needy—like he’s been starving for you since dinner. His hands are greedy but familiar, tugging you into his lap without warning, like this isn’t the first time and sure as hell won’t be the last.

You pull back just enough to look him in the eye, breathless. “We’re gonna wake her up.”

He grins, cocky and flushed. “Not if you stay quiet, babe.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

Pete slides his hands up your sides, voice dark with promise. “And you’re about to be loud.”

[divinum-pacis]

Religious Books for Kids!

Scriptures:

Children's Illustrated Jewish Bible by Laaren Brown  (Author), Lenny Hort (Author), Eric Thomas (Illustrator)

The Children's Bible by Golden Books and Jose Miralles (Christianity)

The Holy Quran: Made Easy for Kids - Vol. 1-5 by Miss Amal Al-Aride  (Author), Safoo Publications 

Holidays & Festivals:

Celebrate the World: Ramadan by Hannah Eliot (Author),  Rashin Kheiriyeh (Illustrator)

Celebrate the World: Día de los Muertos by Hannah Eliot (Author), Jorge Gutierrez (Illustrator)

Celebrate the World: Diwali by Hannah Eliot (Author), Archana Sreenivasan (Illustrator)

Celebrate the World: Lunar New Year by Hannah Eliot (Author), Alina Chau (Illustrator)

Night of the Moon: A Muslim Holiday Story by Hena Khan (Author), Julie Paschkis (Illustrator)

General Books:

The Kids Book of World Religions by Jennifer Glossop (Author), John Mantha (Illustrator)

How High is Heaven? by Linsey Davis (Author), Lucy Fleming (Illustrator) (Christianity)

This is Why We Pray: An Islamic Book for Kids: A Story About Islam, Salah, and Dua by Ameenah Muhammad-Diggins (Author), Aaliya Jaleel (Illustrator)

My First Passover by Tomie dePaola (Judaism)

My Little Golden Book About God by Jane Werner Watson  (Author), Eloise Wilkin (Illustrator) (Christianity)

The Calm Buddha at Bedtime: Tales of Wisdom, Compassion and Mindfulness to Read with Your Child by Dharmachari Nagaraja

Under the Bodhi Tree: A Story of the Buddha by Deborah Hopkinson  (Author), Kailey Whitman (Illustrator)

Jesus Speaks to Me on My First Holy Communion by Angela M. Burrin  (Author), Maria Cristina Lo Casco (Illustrator) (Catholicism)

Please send in any suggestions you may have!