#bible boot camp

[aintinacage]

Great first night of the Life Together Tent Revival Florence. Had several answer the call to get things right with God including someone who heard from her porch and came to the tent crying. Many were touched by God. Join us tonight at 6PM!

Also, included are pictures from the kid’s Bible Boot Camp in the morning. The kid’s Bible Boot Camp continues at 9AM-Noon through Saturday.

#life together with aaron and julie schilling #life together #life together ministry #ltm #Christian #christian faith #Christianity #heritage fellowship #vacation bible school #vbs #bible boot camp #god #florence #florence kentucky #kentucky #Cincinnati #cincinnati ohio #Ohio #Indiana

[pupcuck]

ROTTEN LUCK !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. smut, kidnapping, leon is like mentally gone icl, references to past assault and trauma, non-con, manipulation, suicidal thoughts/reference to an attempt, general leon self destructive behaviour, physical abuse, power dynamics, throatfucking, choking, breath play, somno, 1 instance of drugging, unmentioned age gap, anal, he puts duct tape on your pussy ok just once promise it’s not bad, religious references, 1 mention of vomit and piss not in a sexual way, slight misogyny, panic attack

tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

anyway, please ignore typos :3 rbs and feedback is very appreciated :3 my medical knowledge sucks, so keep in mind that all of this is off LMFAO crossposted to ao3 (user clitkiss)

two

Lucky. Leon hates that word. He wasn’t lucky to get out of Raccoon City, he was just barely capable, you have to be unlucky to get into that situation in the first place. You’re a lucky guy, Redfield had told him once, Chris not Claire. Claire isn’t daft. And Leon wonders what is so lucky about him. He’s forty-six and all he’s got is his trusty Matilda, his mother’s old Bible, and a failing liver. His luck is preordained by God and it’s a total sham.

Leon Kennedy’s the one who showed up to drill sessions smelling like sweat and cock. Kennedy’s the one that rolls over onto his front and takes it like a good doggy. Kennedy’s green behind the ears, pretty in the face, and that don’t fare well in a boot camp full of men twice his size. Kennedy’s the one brushing shoulders with the President, got the USA’s most prized dick in his mouth and everyone knows that he wouldn’t dare bite down. Golden boy Leon fucking Scott Kennedy would just go ahead and use his tongue to clean up Graham’s ballsack. And you’re calling that lucky? Bullshit.

The DSO’s modus operandi is strikingly similar to that of the BSAA. He is but a cog in a well oiled machine. There’s one difference, not a dog tag to his name. If he dies, then he’ll die nameless, and he’ll be cremated by something nuclear, and it’ll all be for nothing. Ain’t that just the luckiest thing you’ve ever heard?

He has tried to kill himself once or twice or thrice. He lost count after the fifth. The gun jammed once, a bad joke. Left Matilda rendered useless. Was meant to be him, not her. And if Leon’s being honest, every day is an avid attempt, as in the drinking and praying his liver gives out. Once he managed to get halfway there. Doesn’t remember a lot. Just blood. Lots of blood. Why couldn’t you be quiet about your grief, Leon? Claire’s expression had asked, how I am, how Chris is, how Jill is.

‘Cause he couldn’t. He had to go ahead and splatter his grief all over the linoleum floor. Maybe then someone would find him, and they’d mourn him, and they’d feel sorry for him ‘cause he’d pitied himself enough. Leon told her a joke, yapping away like one of those butterscotch lapdogs. Claire said that in South Korea you’re allowed to snip a dog's vocal cords to stop them from barking. Lucky I’m not in South Korea then. She handed him an orange prescription bottle with his name scrawled on it, and that was that. They didn’t speak for a few months.

Once upon a time Sherry needed him, now he needs her more. Needs her to laugh at his jokes, she’s the only one that does. And he needs her to tell him, I love you, Leon. She’s the only one that says that. No one puts up with him like Sherry does. She puts up with him in the way most women do their fathers. Love their dads unconditionally and nothing can ever fix that. Terrible illness that is. So, yeah, Leon Scott Kennedy is far from lucky. Lonely? Oh, for sure. God. He’s so lonely he feels sorry for himself. That’s one thing Leon has always been good at though. Lending himself a shoulder ‘cause no one else will.

His fingers brush yours in the record store. The hairs on the back of his neck stand. Jesus. Is it getting that bad? Leon’s been without a fuck for a few months and he’s already itching. That’s a new low. When Leon looks up to catch sight of who made his dick swell with their fingertips, he catches your eye briefly. A mousy little thing. Easily spooked it seems by the nervous smile you give him.

You’re on the phone, I don’t know what he likes anymore, dad, yeah—I’m trying to find it—Yes, I know who sang Sex and Candy, dad, Kurt Cobain right? Is that the one he likes? Dumbass. No, I’m not wrong, could you put mom on the phone—Hi mom, yes, I know he’s my brother, mom—Ever since he turned fifteen he stopped talking to me properly—I don’t know what she thinks, mom—

A mommy, daddy, a brother, a sister too he assumes. You’re what they call lucky. Nasty undertone you’re using with your parents. If Leon’s mom was still around he’d talk to her so sweet. She’d tell him to pray and Leon wouldn’t resist. Alright, Ma, Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus Tecum— then his voice would trail off, and he’d pretend to mouth the rest of the hymn ‘cause he remembers fuck all.

He wants to knock you around. Shake you till your brains scramble. Wants you to flinch even when he’s being nice. Leon’s nostrils flare when you raise your voice in the slightest, even if it’s playful, it’s plain rude. How dare you? He can’t even begin to fathom how incredibly lucky you are. The thought crosses Leon’s mind once, twice, thrice. Just how suicide did that day back in September. If you can kidnap the President’s daughter from her bustling college campus, throw her over your shoulder like salt, why can’t you kidnap Miss Nobody from a street corner in D.C?

Your figure is distinguished by a single, flickering street lamp. He sees your shadow. Recognises the silhouette by the shapely legs and how your belted coat flares out to create a dramatic hourglass, Leon’s got a good eye for detail. Oh, it’s kinda sexy watching you in the spotlight, like a makeshift cabaret show, go on babe, bust out the flapper dress, he knows his stuff, he read Gatsby back in high school. He listens out for the tap of your heeled boots, click-clack, click-clack, there you are, you don’t even know what’s about to happen, do you? And it really is that easy. Just like throwin’ salt over your shoulder.

Temazepam, loprazolam, lormetazepam, diazepam, nitrazepam. Some melatonin too. Magnesium’s supposed to help with insomnia. How’s he supposed to know what your body reacts to best? Leon’s not your fuckin’ GP. Chloroform does the trick for everyone. Should’ve invited you out for drinks and roofied you instead.

Leon had gone for an old-fashioned method, listen, he was desperate. He doesn’t usually resort to such bruteish tactics unlike the older Redfield, not that Chris would use a morsel of his strength to harm a lady, but it had to be done. Yes, he choked you out. No, he’s not proud of it. He’s actually pretty disappointed in his lack of preparation. Oh, cut yourself some slack, Kennedy, it’s your first time kidnapping someone, and it was a heat of the moment type thing. To Leon’s dismay, that doesn’t last long, duh, he should know better.

While you regain sluggish consciousness on his couch, Leon’s tearing through his kitchen cabinets for anything to settle you down. Ah. That’s right. Ketamine. Ain’t it horse tranquilliser? What’s that doing here? Honestly, he’s got to stop raiding the infirmary for all they’ve got. A high enough dosage will knock you out for sure. If it kills you, then so be it. Beer for guys, wine for the ladies, and Ketamine for random sluts he picks up on street corners.

You’re blinking to clear your hazy vision, feeling around your crushed windpipe to assess the damage, he leans over you like a nurse from hell. The needle breaks your skin easily, so tender, before you have the chance to kick up a fuss, your eyelids turn to lead and close like a toy babydoll’s do when you lean them back.

Fifteen to twenty minutes, google says. Leon gets down to business, strips you of your clothing, takes you to his room, throws you on the king-sized bed that’s warmed only by him. He kept your panties on. They’re light blue and sensible briefs. A buzzer rings out in his head, bzzzt, boring. A million bitches in D.C. and he picked out the most vanilla one. Just his Kennedy luck ain’t it.

One minute. Leon presses his nose to the fabric of your panties, sniffs like a pig does in its trough, isn’t that just the sweetest smell? Fresh cunt. He licks up the print of your pussy, tongue landing on the hardness of your clit.

Five minutes. With your panties soaked with Leon’s spit, he decides to move ‘em to the side, and he groans in delight when he parts your cushioned lips to find that you’re stickier than toffee pudding, drooly cunt reactive to the pads of his fingers, to the tip of his tongue. He pushes back the hood of your bud, gives it a kiss, then another.

Ten minutes. He’s opened you up, gaped you around three thick fingers, Jesus, you’re so tight. It’s like your cunt’s vacuum sealed. Leon’s fingers prod at the squishy opening of your cervix, his thumb circles your clit, presses down like a button and he’s rewarded with another gush of slick. Beer on tap.

You rouse from your forced slumber at fourteen minutes. Huh. He’ll have to up the dosage next time. “Hi there, sleepin’ beauty.” Leon says in a rather cloying voice, amping up the sweetness when in reality he is less than fond of you. The lucky girl. He strokes your head soothingly, hovers over you to keep you in place. The panic sets in almost immediately, flailing limbs, asinine attempts at sentences that crawl up your throat and spill over. Who are you, get off me, get off me, please. What did I do? I’m sorry, please, let me go, let me go, please, I’ll do anything. Albeit your words are slurred, Leon chooses not to hear you.

“Aintcha just the sweetest thing?” He cups your cheeks, gaze so gentle it’s disarming. “I opened you up, didn’t wanna break ya, just wanted you to wake up before we got it on, I’m a real gentleman, you see.” Before he rapes you, he makes sure to ask: you got a rubber by any chance, sweetheart? Oh, and you don’t like that, you really don’t. ‘Cause your face falls fast like a drop tower ride.

The chance to scream is lost on you when he shoves his fingers in your mouth, pushes them down your burning throat till you choke and drool in an unflattering manner. Your jaw is too lax to clamp down on him. Leon takes this opportunity to smear his leaky, fat tip over your folds, pushes past the barriers of resistance and slides into your pre-gaped cunt. Lucky bitch. Lucky fucking bitch. Getting yourself a piece of Leon S. Kennedy’s dick. He reserves that for only the finest ladies, aka any girl that has a nice set of tits and dark hair, greying roots are a new preference.

He’s fully sheathed inside of you, head rubbing painfully against your cervix. Bruising it from the look of discomfort on your face as you make stupid-sounding noises around his fingers. “Fuck, yeah, that hits the spot.” When’s the last time Leon had his way with a girl, wanton fucking, pulling hair, slapping— they all want it soft and sappy these days. And so did he up until a certain point. Up until he tried to kill himself maybe. Something must’ve flipped in his brain, now he’s overcome with the need to mess your pretty face up.

Leon’s forehead presses to your clammy one, your sweat is salty on his tongue when he kisses your cheek. Slightly sour scent, ugh, what’s he saying? Acting like he’s a fear-smelling B.O.W or some shit. Fuck off, Kennedy. His hips aim upwards when your body shifts due to the thrashing you’re doing, with each thrust he bottoms out with a wet squelch, rolls his hips into you at a force that knocks any chance of breath out of you.

“If you were a good girl,” Leon smiles, all teeth. They glint in the muddy darkness of his room, black-out curtains drawn so not even the moon gets to see what he’s doing to you, “then I’d be fuckin’ you real slow, real nice, rub that little clit till you came.” Your wrists are both cuffed within his grip, pinned over your head as he drives into you, as if his intention is to tear straight through you.

The heat in his gut uncoils, but he’s timed himself well enough, pulls out ‘cause god forbid he knocked you up. Knowing Leon’s luck he’d manage it. Then he puts his cock in your mouth, “I got some pliers out back.” He says in warning as he jerks the shaft and your lips hesitantly close around the tip when he gives you a mean look. Total lie by the way, no matter how abnormal Leon is he does not own a pair of tooth-pulling pliers. Shoots his load down your throat, you splutter and push at his abdomen to get him off.

He pulls out in his own time, lays beside you. All of his chakras are aligned. Apparently there’s seven, but Leon’s only got two. And they’re entirely dependent on whether he’s sucked and fucked till he’s thoroughly satisfied. By god he is. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, Et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. That’s the rest of it right. He remembers now. You might just be his saving grace, Lucky Girl. His very own Sancta Maria, Mater dei. Damn, you hear that, ma? Leon’s got it down to a T. Maybe some more pussy will get him singing out the rest of the prayer. He can get rid of that statuette on the mantle, swap it out with you.

He doesn't get a word out by the time you’re vomiting a vile mixture of acidic yellow and his seed down the front of your chest. Retching as you choke on the gift he’d given you.

Leon takes you to the bathroom, forces you into the shower cubicle as he sprays you down, not even waiting for the water to go warm. “Dry yourself off,” he gestures mildly to where there’s a few towels stored.

You don’t come back out of the bathroom for five minutes, then ten, then twenty. Don’t even answer when he knocks. Goddammit, Leon. Leave your kidnap victim alone in the room with all the razors, why don’t you? Fucking idiot. When he opens the door, you’re huddled in the corner by the toilet, dry heaving into the bowl and sitting in a puddle of your own piss. Stupid fucking baby. Is this what kids are like these days? When he was your age he made it out of Raccoon City alive, and no one made it out of there. No one lived to tell that story. And you’re here pissing your pants ‘cause he’s given you a nice, hard fucking? He pimp slaps you so hard your teeth clatter.

It takes two weeks for his Lucky Girl to be broken in. Not as long as he expected, so he’s pleased. And when Leon’s pleased, he’s nice. So today you get some screen time. You’re curled into his side, the way a baby bird does under its mother’s wing, squinting at his sixty-five inch TV, egregious really, who needs a screen that big? He’s flipping periodically through the channels whenever an ad break comes on. The 7.45PM news is on. He settles on that and you watch mindlessly, no objections.

The speech blurs like white noise to him, Leon’s not focused until your picture pops up on screen, and he just turns to you with this shit-eating grin. Graduation cap and robe on, all dolled up as you make eyes at him through the screen.

“Baby,” he grins wolfishly, ruffles your hair in a teasing manner, “you look so damn cute there!” Leon watches bright-eyed, suddenly enthralled, they list your name, your height, your weight, all stuff he actually didn’t know ‘bout you. Never bothered to ask. You don’t need a name, you’re just his Lucky Girl. “Don’t like the red lip on you,” he comments flippantly, “A red lip is for whores, don’t you think, baby?”

He was right. You got a daddy, a mommy, a brother and a sister. You’ve got it all. Lucky fucking Girl. A broken sob is torn from your throat, jagged and scratchy as you fling yourself halfway across the room, on your knees as you put your grubby fingers all over his shiny screen. Leon lets you. He finds it hilarious actually. Who’d you think you are? Carol Anne from Poltergeist? Like you’re gonna get sucked into the screen, crawling out the other end like Sadako, back into your daddy’s arms.

Our daughter—My girl, she had her whole life ahead of her—My sister wouldn’t do this—She was so excited to move on after graduation—She’s not the type to run away—My daughter—My sister—Our sister—

Your mother is a mess, barely able to get words out with the way she’s blubbering. “She’s layin’ it on a bit thick, don’t you think, babe?” Leon picks up his beer from the side table, slightly heated under the burn of the lamp. “You look like your daddy, cry pretty like your mama though.”

You stare at him horrified. Jaw hanging open as if it’s unhinged, not in the way a snake does when ready to swallow its prey whole. More in the way of a screaming corpse. When the rigor mortis has worn off, secondary flaccidity sets in, and the mandible drops open. Jeez, tough crowd tonight it seems. Don’t make him sew your mouth up, Lucky Girl. Leon wouldn’t dare, that mouth, that throat is precious to him.

CCTV footage plays on the screen, another sob racks your brittle frame, you didn’t know it was him that day, Leon realises. “Oh, baby, that’s where we met, ain’t that funny?” A blurry image of you on the phone, prattling away to your family like the Lucky Girl you are, he’s just out of shot.

We miss her—Please, if you know anything, if you find anything—Please—

“God, let me get my phone, darling, they look so upset I can’t stand it. I might have to call them up and turn myself in. Give ‘em an early Christmas gift, don’t you think?” If Leon went missing, who would look for him? Hunnigan with all her sharp edges, or Claire with her unwilling loyalty to him? Lucky Bitch. It’s making his temper flare, that’s enough TV time for today.

The screen fades out, goes black when he switches it off. “No, no, no,” you chant, “no, no, no, no, please, please—“

“I’m disappointed in you, baby.” Leon says honestly, sips his beer and laughs mirthlessly. “I thought you’d started to like me.”

You’re not listening, too busy fitting on the rug, grasping at the screen as if you can pluck your family out of it and reunite with them on his living room floor. Leon did think you were getting used to him though. Family’s family, blood is thicker than water. Cum is also thicker than water. And that’s what he’s pumped down your throat nightly in hopes of it clogging up your brain, so you think of nothing but him. Those dogs in South Korea, the ones Claire told him about, he’s got his own special method to take care of your vocal cords. No snipping, no surgery needed. Just the throat training method.

“C’mere, lucky girl.” He clicks his tongue as if he’s calling out for a dog. You lay unmoving, rocking back and forth, whispering to yourself like a crazy person. Bit creepy. Leon stands, he grabs you by the hair and drags you to sit at his feet near the couch. Simple and effective. Backhands you for good luck. He needs it. “Stop your cryin’ I’m getting sick of it.” Leon says, brows wrinkled as he lowers his sweats, brings your head down to rest on his thigh. Your tear-stained cheeks turn him on, the doleful eyes, runny nose. It’s hot. His sad little girl.

“Suck it.” Leon taps the tip against your pouty lips, swollen from his earlier kisses, coats them in his pearly pre, “I won’t ask twice, sweetheart.” You open your mouth, take him like clockwork. He don’t like that attitude. So he pushes your head down on his cock, watches your throat bob, uncomfortably full. Leon pinches your nose, listens to how you panic so nice around a mouthful of dick, gagging in a way you never have before. Not a gag that indicates inexperience, but one that is full of sheer terror, nails leaving red marks on his thighs as you drag them down his skin. Ouch. He’s gotta trim those down.

“You get it now, babe?” Leon hums, he lets you off this time, “Do what I say and it’ll be fine, yeah?”

“Yes, yes, yes, Leon,” you nod furiously through gulps of air, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.” Fuck. Another one of your panic attacks. He’s not got the patience to deal with this. “I won’t—“ A wheeze, “ I won’t do it—“ A croak, “I won’t do it again.” You’ve learned to handle yourself. Rub your chest with your right hand, stare at the ceiling till you calm down. Leon’s dick is still rock hard. Ready to crack open a walnut.

“Good girl,” he nods, “then get on with it.”

There is nothing you’ve done in particular to set Leon off. He’s just had a bad day. Hunnigan’s senses are much too acute, she thought something was off with him. That put him on edge. So he’s like a ticking time bomb. Just waiting for you to make one wrong move. And you do. You say no to him, pleadingly so, shaking your head as you look at him with your fairytale fawn eyes. Meekly admit that you’re sore and achy and it hurts.

“That’s not your decision to make, sweetheart.” Leon informs you, he grabs a roll of duct tape from the kitchen, nicks at the edge with his teeth and tears a strip off. You bristle, completely still, a thousand thoughts running through that pea-sized brain of yours. “But I’ll be nice today, been waitin’ to fuck your ass anyway.” He puts the strip on your cunt, over your chubby lips to hold them together, it feels strange and icky. The last thing Leon wants to see is blood. He sees enough of that daily. So he’s generous when it comes to prep, busts out the cherry-flavoured lube today, squirts a decent amount on his fingers, cock, and your tighter hole.

You squirm, he watches the unreadable expression on your face carefully, the rise and fall of your chest. You’re nervous, but you’re wet, and that makes his chest swell in pride. Lucky Girl finally gets it. One finger slips past the ring of tight muscle, Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, there’s one last line he’s missing. It’ll come to him. Two fingers in, he scissors you open, spits on it just ‘cause it turns him on to see it run down your crack.

That’s enough, Leon thinks when he fits the third. He wants to make it hurt a little. Wants to feel like a big, strong man. He sits back on his knees, flips you over onto your front, he likes you this way. Just takes you in, how your tits hang low, brushing against the mattress when Leon presses a hand down on your back to keep you from arching. He takes his dick in hand and in he goes, easier than he thought. He wonders if you can cum just like this, with his dick pounding your ass.

He fucks like an animal, you gasp and yelp below him, unable to handle it as his hips smack against yours. The duct tape is starting to peel ‘cause your pussy is fucking soaked. That alone makes his balls tighten as he turns you back over to do damage control, and ‘cause he wants to see your face while he fucks. You look like you’re lovin’ it. Alright. So you’re an anal slut. Got it. He pushes back into your ass, groans when you clench around him, the duct tape peeling at the corners, he can’t handle it. Et in hora mortis nostrae. Leon’s mind blanks when he cums, fills your ass and his limp cock slips out. Shit. A-fucking-men. That’s right, he remembers. That’s how you end a prayer.

You don’t cum. He tears the duct tape off clean. You let out a loud ‘Ow, Leon!’ and frown at him. Beads of arousal stick to the piece of tape, your pussy is pulsing, walls fluttering around nothing. Leon kisses your swollen clit, rubs it steadily till you cream on his tongue, sweeter than molasses his Lucky Girl is.

“Leon?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you.” You tell him shyly, gaze at him with this dumb fucking smile on your dollface that makes his heart squeeze. God, he’s gotta keep you around, his lucky charm.

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil smut #leon s kennedy x you #resident evil x reader

[depressedraisin]

notes on "mr. snarl"

hello, hello, hello welcome to the mr. snarl is high camp discourse. i've been readin' and thinkin' and drivin' myself nuts over this, so i'll be blabberin' on for a good minute. bear with me.

before we dive into any discussion of camp, we ofcourse need to understand what camp is in the first place. camp as an idea is nearly impossible to neatly put down in a few words or a sentence. it has no definition as of such. camp is loud. camp is ostentatious. camp is exaggerated. camp is 'too much'. camp is gay. camp is ironic. camp is cheeky. drag is camp. marlene dietrich is camp. baroque art is camp. cher is camp. mommie dearest (1981) is camp. the rocky horror picture show (1975) is camp. dostoevsky is camp.

the girlies who get camp get it, those who don't, don't.

however we do have susan sontag's 1964 seminal essay 'notes on "camp"' from where most of our contemporary ideas and understanding of 'camp' comes from. in her essay, sontag noted 58 points on what camp is or might be. for our purposes in this post, we'll go by those. because it is the camp bible of course. and i am a pretentious bitch.

now before we get to the meat of the matter, a quick detour to discuss the many faces of alex turner.

alex's personas have now come to as closely associated to his image as an artist and public figure as blonde wigs are with dolly parton, i suppose. it even has its own section in alex's wiki page. he is one those performers to whom the "eras" concept can truly and perfectly apply. he is a different man on stage with every new album, each 'era' is unique from the other and distinctly defined. a new 'era' for alex is not only a change of a haircut or a new pallette, it is a total revamping of his mannerisms and performance style and public image. be it mr. schwarz (the car era), mark (tbhc era) or oliver tate sr. (early sias era), each one of his personas is another way in which he represents the themes of that album. understanding a persona is integral to understanding the album.

and alex admits to as such. each Performer is a fractured reflection of his own self, and of the album.

but. but. i do not think that he has always made use of the Performer, or atleast, tried to make perceivable distinctions between them. in the first three-four years of his career- during WPSIATWIN and FWN, he presented as just Some Guy. just another normal bloke from sheffield. which, you could argue, was the persona that fit the context of those albums, but i would say that he was probably not putting that much thought into it at the time. it isn't until TAOTU that we see alex using his on-stage fashion to project a certain kind of image that ties in with the music he's playing. (do i think it's miles' handiwork? yes.). the lil suits and ties and beatles-mop cuts, y'know.

the first distinct Performer appears during the Humbug era. the soft-spoken, brooding, fawn-mannered poet who is probably hiding a bagful of secrets and hang-ups behind those layers of brown curls- let's call her him aly. then we have the bright-eyed, puppy-smiled, deep-voiced loverboy of the early SIAS era. i propose to call him oliver tate sr. (after the guy from submarine (2010) obviously). then mr. snarl- we'll get to him later. the loud and theatrical and slutty and deliciously gay EYCTE era persona. then the melancholic space poet mark of TBH&C and finally the suave auteur of The Car- mr. schwarz.

mr. snarl is the one who has garnered the most fascination and endured the most in popular imagination. dare i say, AM-era alex turner is a lowkey late 2010s pop culture icon. it is very easy to understand why- the quiff, the leather jackets, the perpetual sunglasses, the biker boots, the LA drawl tinging his sheffield accent, the devil-may-care wantoness. the girlies on tiktok and pinterest aren't obsessed with him for nothing.

so, what makes mr. snarl camp? what am i yapping on about?

let's get back to sontag.

camp is artificial. camp is ironic. mr. snarl is too. he is a character. he is a mask. *cue the bourne identity and body paint*. 'artificial' does not imply fake or dishonest. we should be careful not to be quick in putting any value judgement onto this artificiality- the aritifice is a quality of camp. you can't appreciate camp, if you snigger at the artificial.

2. camp is character. mr. snarl is a character if there ever was one. extremely defined, visually and behaviourally- you see a performance and can immediately recognise the moment mr. snarl is peeking through. he is also very intensely one thing- very intensely masculine, very intensely rockabilly, very intensely rock god. he is 'instant character' as sontag puts it, which is why perhaps he so immediately and so firmly gripped our collective imagination.

3. camp is exaggerated. camp is style. do i even need to elaborate on this? Ben Beaumont-Thomas of The Guardian said it much better than i could- alex ironically "played with the role" of being a rockstar but simultaneously "can't help but be a real rock star." so, to put it in sontagian terms, he is not a rockstar but a "rock star"

the 2014 brit awards speech is the peak of this ironic, exaggerated performance i think. (i'm still waiting for someone to do a drag performance based on it).

4. but to me, what makes mr. snarl camp is his performance of gender. now let's get one thing clear- camp is not effeminate or queer behaviour. it is the "spirit of extravagance", so any kind of extravagant and ironic presentation of gender can be under the purview of camp.

this performance of gender is not the david bowie or marc bolan or brian molko kind, no. this performance of gender is much subtle, much more nuanced- he wasn't playing around with rigid definitions of gender or crossing gender lines. he wasn't trying to say something with it necessarily. i doubt even, if it was a purposeful thing that he was thinking of back then.

but mr. snarl is a performance of gender. it is a performance of masculinity. and the thing that makes it so very interesting is that it was a cis, straight man doing it.

[if y'all are interested, another interesting example is dolly parton + her persona + her performance of exaggerated femininity. for more on that i'll point you towards be kind rewind's video essay on her.]

mr. snarl was an image of a very certain kind of masculinity. 1950s, elvis presley, rockabilly, greasers, james dean- these are some of the pop culture touchstones that come to mind when we think of mr. snarl. he is also decidedly american. a "fictional character from america" as alex later put it. was this whole persona thing an effort to conquer america then? perhaps...but eh. there is no way i can conclusively say that. it certainly helped that cause. AM the album was very us-american in essence-- it drew from hiphop and r&b after all. the soundscape of the arctic monkeys was very much rooted in its northern british indie roots, and AM was the first one that was clearly not. and mr. snarl was just a visual reflection of that. [for more on how the arctic monkeys conquered the us]

mr. snarl was a certain kind of masculine in a way alex turner personas haven't been previously or since. he has always presented as conventionally masculine. even the humbug persona- him being my girlfriend notwithstanding- is not much different from the aesthetics of say, ray davies or mick jagger or george harrison back in the 60s and 70s. the slightly effeminate dramaticism of eycte is not exactly gender-bending as such.

but mr. snarl was hypermasculine. masculinity has had an interesting place in his lyrics up until they- they are both critical ('brianstorm' 'a certain romance') and fascinated ('jeweller's hand' 'catapult') of more aggressive masculine characteristics. (he does use a lot of very sexual but not necessarily erotic language to describe said masculinity- but that's another can of worms.) mr. snarl was in a way, alex being those characters from those songs he was writing about. mr. snarl also very aggressively straight. straight with a capital s. his songs in AM still had the self-abasing and submissive undertones to the narrator that love songs from humbug and sias, but much toned down. he was out there shouting out his girlfriend on stage. and who can forget the "ladiessssssss!" moment. he had models hanging off him in photoshoots.

you probably saw these photos and thought- "what the fuck?!" with a cackle. that is exactly what makes mr. snarl camp. the irony, the ridiculousness of it all.

5. i don't think alex was trying to be or do camp. camp is best when it is not intentional. i can even confidently wager alex would not take it as a compliment if i showed him this essay. a lot of very "serious" people look down upon camp as something lowbrow and tacky and unserious. but it isn't. i would go ahead and classify mr. snarl under naive camp- he is trying to be straightlaced and serious, but failing grandly, which makes it deliciously camp.

so. mr. snarl was an exaggerated representation of masculinity. in a sense, mr. snarl was basically drag. alex turner being "Alex Turner".

#alex turner #arctic monkeys #the last shadow puppets #camp #susan sontag #i spent wayyyy to much time on this #journal of alex turner studies

[skzcollision]

churchboy!felix x afab!reader (4/7)

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genre: fluff, smut, teen angst

synopsis: certain expectations come with being a pastor’s daughter. in everyone’s eyes you are a properly behaved girl, albeit rather timid. according to your parents, you aren’t as devoted to the church as you should be. they entrust you to an old family friend’s son, deeming him to be a good influence. these circumstances bring you two closer together and stir up all kinds of emotions.

MINORS DNI

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

It turns out that you and Felix hadn't been the only ones in that restroom you locked yourselves in.

A classmate had witnessed the entire thing and the little snake didn't hesitate to tell everyone that the school's beloved golden boy has been banging the daughter of a pastor—you. The most salacious piece of gossip since junior year when someone got pregnant and had to drop out.

Your goody two shoes image had crumbled in less than an hour.

If you were to be honest, there was something freeing about it. Putting up a front all these years had begun to chip away at you. No one got anywhere by rebelling against their parents. They would have only sent you away to some religious boot camp for troubled teens or whatever they thought effective—so you pretended to put up with their shit for eighteen years.

After you leave for university, that’s when your life begins. They have been pushing for you to attend Bible college but what they don’t know is that you have officially chosen to study at a secular school. Money is not a problem; you managed to receive a scholarship and saved up enough from past part-time jobs to cover living expenses. You’ll live away from your parents, and ultimately, have a life of your own.

Hopefully with Felix by your side.

Your parents aren’t the biggest fan of him at the moment. You have told your mother that while you are seeing each other, you have never slept together—which is technically not a lie. But the fact that he never asked your father for permission to court you, left a bad taste in their mouths. They never foresaw that these innocent bible readings would progress your relationship in this way.

“I just don’t know what we were thinking.” Your mother huffs. She takes her anger out on a head of cabbage this time, knife coming down forcefully and rapidly against the wooden board. It impresses you that she has never had one accident. “Leaving you unchaperoned all day with a boy.”

You’re rinsing produce at the sink, fighting the urge to roll your eyes or make a face because she somehow always catches you. “I’m eighteen, mom.”

Her knife comes to a halt. “You are still a child.”

You don’t say any more on the subject. It’s futile arguing with her. No matter what you say, she is always going to see you as a naive little girl with no knowledge of the world.

Your parents think this entire situation is still better than you running off with a non-Christian, so they have invited Felix and his parents over for dinner at your house.

It’s a little scary, how your mother can switch her demeanour in a drop of a hat. One moment she’s yelling at you for peeling the fruits wrong and the next she’s answering the door with the pearliest smile.

Felix brings his famous brownies and suddenly it seems like all is forgiven. His dad joins your father in the living room while he and his mom help out in the kitchen. You realize how similar both of your mothers are, only you feel that his is genuinely kind while yours poses.

It goes just like any other dinner has. The adults talk, and the children stay quiet, only speaking when spoken to and when the occasional question pops up. Your mother loves answering for you so you just about have your brain shut off the entire time.

They leave after dessert, well, your mothers chitchat by the door for another hour or so, and then they leave.

Besides playing footsie underneath the table, you and Felix didn’t really get the chance to interact much with each other all night, so he calls as soon as you slide into bed.

“When can I see you?” You ask, lying on your back.

“You’re not going to church?”

“I am. I mean when can I see you alone,” you emphasize.

“After the service, I guess. They’re asking me to set up a new computer so I have to hang back, but we can go somewhere once I’m done with that.”

“Okay.”

You don’t talk for very long, nor do you hang up. Your phone stays next to your head and you let his breathing lull you to sleep.

“Has everyone gone home?”

You sit on the futon behind Felix as he works on the desktop. The small back room that they have designated as the church office always has an unpleasant dank smell and feel. Something like rotting wood. You really don’t want to stay here for any longer.

“Yeah I think so,” his response is delayed, focused solely on whatever he is doing.

You smile, pulling up a foldable chair next to his and hugging him round the stomach. Your face buries into his neck.

His hand comes up to stroke your hair briefly before going back on the mouse. “Let’s do this later okay? Just wanna finish as quickly as possible.”

Your lips purse into an exaggerated pout. It takes a while for him to look but once he does, he only chuckles and lays a chaste kiss on you before quickly getting back to it.

You finally decide to just leave him alone and diddle around with the pipe organ to pass the time.

Hymns are all you know so that’s what you play. Although your parents made you play for church when you were little and you typically hate everything they force you to do, playing the pipe organ is not one of them. You have always enjoyed how grand the notes sound—filling up the entire room, buzzing through you. You like that you are responsible for making it happen.

Halfway through a piece, your fingers move to play a song that Felix sang for you over the phone a few nights ago, when he thought you were asleep. Relying completely on your memory, you miss a few keys so you go back to rectify them until you can play it cohesively.

“You were awake.”

You jump, glancing over your shoulder in surprise to see Felix standing there, fingers lingering on a note.

“I’m glad I was.” You grin up at him, eyes raking over his freckles, cheeks tinged with pink. “How come I’ve never heard you sing before?”

“I’m a little shy when it comes to my voice.” He plops down next to you, head hanging low.

“Why?” You ask, baffled. “I love your voice.”

Felix shifts closer to you. “Yeah?”

You nod, hands flowing across the keys to play a simple melody. “One of the many things I love about you.“

He jabs at your sides and you yelp, glaring at him for messing up your rhythm. “What else do you love about me?” He smiles playfully, wrapping his arms around you.

You match his smile and your fingers come up to brush against his lips. “This smile for one…” You peck him on the corner of his mouth. “These… beautiful freckles.” You murmur, peppering kisses across his cheeks. “Those sounds you make when I…” Your mouth moves down to nibble at his jaw, then the soft skin around his Adam’s apple, drawing out low moans from him.

That feeling builds up within you again—that burning innate need to be closer to him.

Searching for approval, you pull away for a moment to look up into those soft, doe eyes, swirling with admiration.

His gaze darkens, and he nods permissively. A grunt leaves him as he greedily attaches his lips to yours, hand cradling the back of your head.

WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT

Your fingers fly into his hair, pushing, pulling. It doesn’t take long for you to end up on his lap again. Your head lolls back as his mouth latches onto your neck, hands desperately pawing everywhere he can reach. Sounds of pleasure echo within the walls of the chapel as your hips work in tandem, heat generating where you two connect.

He’s hard again. You never actually got the chance to touch him last time.

“Can…” You whimper, eyes squeezing shut when he grinds up into you again. “Can you let me take care of you?”

Breathing erratically against your neck, Felix snaps his gaze up, showing his pretty, flushed face to you. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he nods.

The bench creaks as you untangle your legs from his waist, moving to sit beside him. You swallow apprehensively as you undo the button of his trousers, eyes glued to his bulge.

You begin palming him over his boxers, fingers grasping around and feeling the shape of his shaft. His head tips back, face twisting up adorably.

He looks to you in confusion when you suddenly withdraw your hand. You grin sweetly. “Show me how you do it.”

You laugh when he only stares at you, looking more puzzled than before. “You do, don’t you?”

Tearing his gaze away, he mumbles almost inaudibly, “s- sometimes… when I’m in the shower.”

You have learned quite a bit about how to pleasure a man from the books you used to secretly read at the public library, but the thought of Felix touching himself in front of you is more exciting.

“Well?” You urge him on, a teasing glint in your eyes.

“That’s not something you should see,” he scoffs bashfully, the tips of his ears now the same shade as the flowers on your dress.

Laughter bubbles up from your chest. You are amazed that he still has it in him to act like a gentleman around you. The same guy who had his fingers inside of you earlier this week. The same guy who couldn’t stop groping you in the kitchen behind the backs of your mothers under the guise of reaching into a cabinet. He is way beyond the point of modesty.

”What?” He glances at you with his eyes narrowed in slits, mildly annoyed.

You shake your head and press your lips together, a poor attempt to conceal your hilarity. “Nothing, I just kind of thought we were past that.”

Determination settles on his features. “Fine.”

He shoves his hand inside his boxers, pausing in a moment of irresolution. Then he’s taking himself out for you to see. You stare in awe at the glistening head. Of course it’s pretty; you believe every part of Felix is.

Deep groans leave him as he fucks into his fist, fingers deliberately tugging up and down his length. This whole time he does not look at you, rather keeps his eyes shut. You notice how his thumb often comes up to caress the tip.

You’ve read about that part being the most sensitive. He’s had to have touched himself several times now.

Gravitating towards him, you push back the strands of hair on his forehead and his eyes flutter open slightly. “Do you think about me?”

He nods, gulping. “I always think about you.”

You lean over so that your breath is fanning over his neck. “You finish to the thought of me?”

“Y- Yes…”

Your lips curve into a saccharine smile, eyes hardened with lust. “Good.”

You cover his hand, the one on his cock, with yours and he stares at you in alarm. He unfurls his fingers, letting you take over and allowing you to finally touch him. He’s soft, so soft, but rigid at the same time.

His pretty mouth drops open and his eyes are closed again as you mimic his own movements. Snapping your wrist with each motion, remembering to pay special attention to the leaking tip.

Felix has surrendered himself completely, his shame from earlier long gone. His unrestrained groans fill up the large, empty space, just like the pipe organ had, knuckles turning white as he grips onto the edges of the bench.

You feel his cock suddenly get stiffer, like the quills on a porcupine, and you slow your hands before stopping completely, realizing what that meant.

He whines at the loss of contact, practically sobbing out your name.

“Let’s try something else,” you get up from your seat, his eyes following you in a daze.

Leaning yourself over the keys, you place one hand on the panelling while the other hikes up your sundress. Your eyes meet his over your shoulder.

“What…” He stands up, directly behind you. “Um, y- you want me to put it in? I don’t have anything to... and that’s– we shouldn’t–” He gulps nervously, eyes flitting around.

A soft smile graces your features and you shake your head. “Not inside, just…” You gesture to your thighs, unsure of how to explain things exactly.

“Oh,” realization dawns on him. He is more intuitive than you thought.

Felix positions himself up against you, holding your waist with one hand and himself up with the other. “Are you sure?”

You nod, driving your ass back into him with need. “Please.”

He slips in between your plushy thighs, his length pressing right up against your covered cunt. You moan in bliss, clamping your thighs around him as tightly as possible.

“Uh, i- is… Mmph…” He rasps out against the nape of your neck, grabbing onto your hips to better stabilize himself. “Is it okay if I s- start moving?”

Your hand comes up to stifle your giggles, imagining how well he would react once he’s actually inside of you. “Mhm,” you hum in a velvety voice, jutting your ass out further.

Low growls escape him as he starts pounding into your thighs, his sloppy, shallow thrusts drawing out your own sobs of pleasure. Eventually he gets a better grip and his rhythm becomes more controlled.

“Ahh!” He changes his angle and you stumble forward, causing your hands to land on the keys. The tune almost mimics the lewd noises coming out of your mouths.

He holds onto you tighter, his thick shaft relentlessly sliding through your wet cunt and in turn making you a babbling, incoherent mess. “F- Felix… y- your… it feels… s- s’good…”

Grunting with exertion, he pulls you to his chest.“Yeah?” He licks along your jaw, one hand splayed across your stomach, the other on your breast. He’s gone completely feral, lost in the way you feel around him.

You gaze down in stupefaction as the head of his cock appears from your thighs. You lift a hand to play with it, teasingly rubbing your palm against the flushed tip every time it pops back out.

“O- Oh… oh my go–“ He makes a harsh, grating sound from behind you, hips slamming into your ass.

Your panties have started shifting to the side, allowing his cock to finally rub against your bare pussy. It’s a delicious friction when his tip collides with your clit, and you feel yourselves tumbling closer to the edge.

“C- Close… s’close!” You cry out, hips moving back to meet his forceful thrusts.

His cock is dangerously close to your entrance but neither of you think about it as you fall apart together, white-hot pleasure ripping through your bodies. His release shoots into your hand, some of it smearing in between your thighs.

You clutch onto each other for a moment, catching your breaths, regaining composure.

Then he’s turning you around and you share a gentle kiss.

He feels you shaking against him so he takes your face in his hands. “Are you okay? I’m sorry– was it too much?”

“No, no it wasn’t… I’m okay,” you smile reassuringly. Seeing him so concerned about you makes your stomach do flips. He presses kisses to your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “It’s hot. Wanna go get some gelato?”

He lifts his head and looks at you like you’re crazy, then laughs. “Let’s clean you up first.”

⭒

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| taglist: @moasworld @beautifulixr @vixensss @yeetfellx @g00dtimenotlongtim3 @letrasalvientoblog |

#lee felix smut #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #skz felix #skz smut #stray kids #skz fanfic #lee felix fluff #skz fluff

[barry-j-blupjeans]

hyello. “Please don’t get morbid” “Right” “It’s just that I haven’t died yet” with the tres horny boys?

14. “Please don’t get morbid” “Right” “It’s just that I haven’t died yet”

((song prompts here - still accepting!!))

--

The energy on this camping trip was… bad. Like, it had never really been great before, but at least it had been comfortable. Now it was just- weird. Bad and weird. The search for the Grand Relic this time had turned out to be a dud, but they weren't supposed to go back up to the moon base until noon. Merle figured that like, y'know, he might as well spend his time reconnecting with nature and, uh. Praying? Is that was clerics did? He didn't remember. So he had woken up early before the other boys and dipped out, settling himself down near the river to vibe.

His vibe session had been rudely interrupted by Magnus barreling through the trees, Taako hot on his heels. Merle, who had been getting rather sleepy as he sat out under the sun, jerked back to attention. He had his feet dipped into the river and the sudden temperature difference as he flung them out gave him goosebumps.

"Merle!" Magnus said.

"Whatzz happening?" Merle said, turning back towards them. He lifted his bible. "Who d' I need to fight?"

"You don't- no one!" Magnus said. "I just didn't know where you were!"

"Oh," Merle said. He lowered his bible. "No enemies?"

"No," Magnus said.

"Well then I'm gonna go back to praying," Merle said, turning away from them. Magnus made a frustrated sound behind him.

"Lemme try," Taako said. Taako sat himself down next to Merle. With a little huff, Magnus sat on his other side. Taako said, "hey, so, uhhh. Listen."

"Listening," Merle said, dipping his feet back in the water. Ohhh, cold. Cold, cold, cold.

"So I woke up and I was like, huh, Merle's not here! Weird! But I was ready to get on with my life-"

"You were not-" Magnus started, but Taako contuined, louder,

"-I was ready to get on with my life," he repeated. "But there this bozo over here woke up and was like, hey, what if Merle fuckin', I don't know, beefed it."

"I did not-"

"Like what if he fell into the river or got eaten by a bear or like, turned into a cloud of smoke and then vanished," Taako said. "And I was like, well, that seems unrealistic, except for maybe the smoke thing because Merle has been known to vanish into a cloud of smoke on occasion."

"When have I done that?" Merle asked, scratching his beard. Taako paused. He squinted his eyes in thought.

"You do that all the time," Magnus said.

"You do that all the time," Taako agreed. "But then I figured, hey, we can at least go look for him, because, y'know, I don't think the Director would be happy if you vanished into a cloud of smoke-"

"I don't do that! Where have I don't that!"

"And/or got eaten by a bear or a really, really big fish," Taako said. "So now we know you're fine. Problem solved, funeral avoided."

"Geez, you don't gotta get morbid about it," Merle said, despite being a little touched that they would go to his funeral.

"It's my right to be a little morbid," Taako said.

"Yeah," Magnus said. "We're just sayin'- if we had to bring all your Merle remains up to the moon-"

"I haven't died yet!"

"Then the least we're gonna do is like, do a little service. Here lies Merle, good friend, father figure-"

"Aw!" Merle said. "You see me as a father figure?"

"Died doing what he loved," Taako said, completely ignoring that. "Vanishing into a cloud of smoke and never coming back."

"I don't even know how to do that!" Merle said, again. "Is there a memo I missed or what? Now I wanna learn."

"Don't worry about it," Magnus said, which Merle knew to be Magnus-speak for "I have no fucking clue." He stretched, leaning back on his hands. On the other side of Merle, Taako was undoing the hooks on his boot to (presumably) put his feet in the river as well. Merle set his bible aside, figuring that was enough praying and shit for one day. They settled into an easy silence. Magnus took his shoes off, too, dipping them in the water.

And then,

"Wanna see me catch a fish with my bare hands?" Taako asked, rolling up his pants leg now.

"You've got bear hands?" Merle asked.

"Ugh," Taako said, standing. He was about knee-deep into the river. "You're not getting any of this fish, old man."

#merle highchurch #taako #magnus burnsides #taz #taz balance #mine #asks #a-vampire #ise cube writing #im imaging this sometime between murder on the rockport limited and petals to the metal

[certifiedwerewolf]

I never posted the chapter where I introduced Lucy in TGOJW so here's the scene where she was introduced. She's so fun. I love her.

It had, of course, been just a regular ass cabin, a little dusty from unuse but otherwise normal as hell.

It’s not normal as hell now. There are sigils on the wall, recognizable warding, and a summoning circle on the floor. Half guttered out candles sit around it. And in the middle of the circle, a tween girl lies unconscious.

Dean is at her side in an instant, patting her cheek and sighing in relief when she opens her eyes.

“Hey, are you okay? What happened?”

“What do you want?” she demands.

“You’re unconscious in a summoning circle,” Dean points out. “I was trying to help you.”

“I wasn’t unconscious. I was communing.”

“With…?”

“Ugh.” She stands up, and begins clearing away the candles. Now that he’s not panicked, Dean can see that there’s no actual summoning ingredients. Okay, well, maybe she’s just got hold of some partial accounts and tried them out. Still, the symbols are a little too good, they should probably find out where she got them and, ideally, burn it.

Unless it’s a website. Can’t burn those. Maybe they can get Charlie to, though.

“So,” the girl says once she has all of her candles tucked into her hands. She looks up at them with a demented smile, the kind that a kid wearing black lipstick and black combat boots and a spiked collar with her camp shirt and khaki shorts might practice in the mirror. “What do you know about Satan?”

“Satan,” Dean says. “Satan. Like from the Bible?”

She nods. Dean looks helplessly to his brothers. They know lots about Satan.

“I know he’s the world’s worst roommate,” Sam says drily. Dean snorts.

“And he has daddy issues coming out of, like, every orifice.”

“He is an entire mountain of dicks,” Adam deadpans.

They all look over to John. He raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me, I never met the guy.”

The girl stares up at them. “Who are you guys?”

“Ghost hunters,” Dean says. Beside him, Sam holds up one of the cameras they’ve brought along for verisimilitude. “We were told this cabin was unoccupied.”

“It is. That’s why I’m here. It’s a nice quiet place where no one will bother me while I commune with the forces of darkness.”

“The forces of darkness.”

“Yeah.”

“And those forces would be…?”

“Oh. You know. Hell.”

“Can you be more specific?” Sam asks. “Like a specific force from hell?” He glances at Dean. “Can you give us a name?”

She squints up at him, a squint that bizarrely reminds Dean of Crowley, and says, slowly, “No, no names. Just… general forces. Demons. Devils. Souls of the damned. That sort of thing.”

As one, all four men let out a collective breath. It sounds like this girl isn’t in contact with anyone from Hell after all, just in possession of a partial summoning spell.

“So where’d you learn to do that?” Dean asks, squatting down to get a better look at her summoning circle. “The communing, I mean.”

“Read it in a book.”

“Your parents know you’re reading books on communing with Hell?”

“My parents are dead,” she sniffs haughtily, in a tone that says yeah, dead parents, you feel bad yet? He only just doesn’t roll his eyes.

“Well, you shouldn’t mess around with stuff like that,” Dean tells her. “You could piss off the wrong people. And trust me, the Queen of Hell is a personal friend of mine, and you do not want to get on her bad side.”

Being twelve, she doesn’t feel the need to resist rolling her eyes.

“The Queen of Hell is a personal friend of yours? Yeah, right.”

“She is!” Dean grins. He loves these kinds of conversations, where the things he’s saying are taken for bullshit. “And her son is my roommate!”

“Okay, now I know you’re lying,” she says. She squints at him again. “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

“I would never!”

She doesn’t look like she particularly believes him, so he makes a heart-crossing motion. “I’m Dean, by the way.”

She squints at him. “Lucy,” she says slowly.

“Lucy.”

“Fiero.”

“Lucy Fiero,” he repeats. “Well, okay, Lucy. What can you tell me about Cabin #13?”

#i love her so much #she's SO twelve

[thebiggestturdonthiswebsite]

So I saw on a eBay listing that someone was selling the animaniacs show bible, scripts for “hello nice warners”, “the big candy store”, “Turkey jerky”, “booting camp”, a premise booklet, and this strange booklet called “Animanics: the co-stars. Does anyone know about this, this is obviously an alternate version of the show bible, talking about the co-stars. I’m really desperate to know what’s in this book. I HAVE to know what “the fleas” were about and what was the premises of “the exclusive la tidga”

#animaniacs #cartoons #warner bros #warnerbrothers

[creature-wizard]

Mike Warnke claims that his path to redemption lay in... joining the Navy.

He claims that he isn't even fully detoxed from all the drugs he was doing before going to boot camp, where he met a couple of Christian guys and read the Bible owned by one of them, decided to accept Christ, and that this cured his Being An Asshole problem.

He claims that the Satanists realized that they made a mistake in kicking him out, and try to pull him back into the cult, but he's Christian now so that's not happening.

He claims that he met a nice Christian girl and got engaged, and apparently studied medicine under the Navy. Eventually he gets married, and continues to be bothered by Satanists and demons. Mike and his new wife Sue pray the demonic attacks away.

He says that he met Pastor Tim LaHaye, who allegedly claims to have been attacked by witches. (Which... hardly a tragedy if true, lol.) LaHaye, he also claims, gives him the straight dope about the Illuminati:

“That’s because it’s a top-secret organization, Mike. But I've done quite a bit of research. The Illuminati was started May 1, 1776, and the word itself means ‘Holders of the Light.’ In this case, it’s a Satanic light. Members think they alone have the wisdom to run the world. It’s really only the continuation ” I shook my head. “I never did find out much of a Satanic organization that has been in existence since — about 1100 a.d. Oh, under various names, of course.”

Cornerstone Magazine interviewed LaHaye, who confirmed that Warnke misrepresented the conversation they had. While Warnke claims that he first heard the word among Satanists, LaHaye believes that he'd never heard of it before meeting him. As for what the Illuminati actually is... the Encyclopedia Britannica article isn't a bad intro. Suffice it to say that the Bavarian Illuminati had some crappy ideas, but "Satanic" in the sense that Warnke describes it was not, and literally all of this shit about it performing blood sacrifices to Satan is carried over from witch hysteria and antisemitism - if it isn't just that upright.

Anyway, remember what I said about the Satanic cult stuff being a twisted power fantasy? Well, we can see Warnke shifting over to a new power fantasy:

I had had the feeling for a long time that Sue and I had not learned how to pray effectively, that we lacked “prayer power,” and that there were ways of prayer that could really defeat Satan in a big way—enough to put him down for the full count instead of having him get up off the canvas and come back at us with some new Satanic twist. I thought there must be a higher-powered prayer life than what we knew of yet.

...

Charles Lemmox was the pastor, and he was glad to hear that Sue and I might be interested in teaching a Sunday school class. But I was hesitant to accept.”

“Let Sue and me pray about it,” I told Helen. “I think you should know a little more about us before you have me teaching Sunday school. Why don’t you drop by and see us sometime this week?”

On the way home, Sue seemed quiet. Then, just before we got in the door, she opened up. “Mike, why were you so enthusiastic about teaching Sunday school at first, then got all shook up about it?” She put her Bible on the table and sat down.

“Well, I just thought we ought to pray about it, first. I also think Helen should know about my witchcraft experiences and all that junk before—”

“How can you say that? You've accepted the Lord! Your sins are washed away. Jesus died for you. After all you’ve been through, you'd be a better teacher than a lot of goody-goodies that go around proclaiming how perfect they are!” Sue’s eyes flashed, and I knew I had lost that argument already.

Warnke writes Helen saying that they need people who've been through his experiences to talk to kids these days, because kids can see through phonies, which... real ironic there, Warnke.

He also claims that Helen taught him how to empower his prayers by invoking the Blood of Christ and Jesus's suffering. The prayer she allegedly suggests is this:

Lord I ask for the power of Jesus to save me from this—name what the oppression is—and to help me with the problem I’m going through. I claim the protection of Jesus’ Blood and the power of His resurrection to rebuke Satan, right now, in the name of Jesus!

These seem like strange things to invoke to me, because Jesus's blood isn't supposed to be protective; it's supposed to be cleansing. (Isn't it the Holy Ghost that's supposed to be protective?) And what does the Resurrection have to do with rebuking? (Isn't that what Jesus's royal authority is supposed to be for?) Like, you cannot convince me that this is some sort of major power upgrade.

#the satan seller #mike warnke #satanic panic

[writtenjewels]

Before they Fell

[Just a note that if you or any of your loved ones have served/are serving in the military, thank you for your service. And special thank you to all of our fallen soldiers who gave the ultimate sacrifice]

Jose was quiet at dinner that evening. His family was chattering all around him: his brother discussing the latest soccer game with their father, his two sisters gossiping about their coworkers. Now and then he felt his mother's eyes flick to him. He didn't have to look to know the expression on her face: a mixture of worry and pride.

Tomorrow morning he would be on the bus to boot camp, and from there the army would assign him somewhere.

Ever since he passed the medical exam-- just barely; there'd been some concern about his eyesight-- Jose felt that same mixture of worry and pride his mother was now displaying. He always imagined his career would let him work behind a desk with computers. Things didn't work out quite like that, but Jose could hope he wouldn't see that much combat. The news said the war was pretty much over.

“I'll help clean up,” he volunteered when the meal drew to a close. He gathered all the dishes and set about scrubbing them in the sink. They did own a dishwasher but the thing was old and needed elbow grease to do some of its job. If they put him on kitchen duty during boot camp, Jose was well ahead of the game.

“Mijo,” his mother called to him. He turned at her voice before going back to scrubbing. “You've been quiet all evening, mijo,” she went on.

“Just thinking about tomorrow, mama.”

“Let tomorrow worry about itself,” she counseled, and Jose smiled recognizing the Bible passage. Most of his mother's advice came from there. “Know that we are all very proud of you and will go to Saint Michael every day on your behalf.”

“Thanks, mama.” He didn't want to say it, but Jose didn't feel like much of a warrior. He wondered if he would start once training began. “I'll write to you as much as I can,” he added.

“Good.” His mother leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Don't forget to dry those when you're done.”

“I've been doing the dishes for years, mama,” Jose protested. She chuckled and brushed his fingers through his hair.

“Just giving you a taste of military life, mijo. Those drill sergeants will not go easy on you.”

“Then it's a good thing I have you and papa to prepare me,” he teased. She gave him a light slap on the arm before going back into the sitting room. Jose's smile lingered for a moment longer before fading. He tugged out the gold chain around his neck and kissed the cross.

Watch over them while I'm gone, he prayed silently.

– – –

Clarice still couldn't believe she got an assignment with the United States military. The interview was surprising enough but to be selected! She didn't even know the military had a division for the more scientifically-inclined: she thought they were all guns and bombs and other weapons of war.

She read through all the information they gave her. She had to fill out a bunch of forms once she accepted the job due to the classified nature of the project. That was probably the only downside: she couldn't boast about this to her family.

It was too bad, because the project was revolutionary. If it all came together, it would use satellite data to use thermal imaging data in determining weapon locations. It was apparently the brain child of an Air Force nuclear engineer. In a weird way, Clarice was proud of this person and they hadn't even met yet.

They proved that not everyone in the military was a jarhead, just as she proved that a woman who dressed “punk” could get a doctorate.

What would this Eric King guy be like? How long would it take them to complete the project? The excitement of it all bubbled up inside her. A project like this was exactly why she turned to science in the first place. She could hardly wait.

– – –

Nathan pushed himself out from under the belly of the car. He'd been working to restore the damn thing for a long time now and it still needed work. But hell, that was why he bought the junker in the first place. His wife thought he was crazy for doing it but he assured her it would be a money-maker once it was fixed up. Besides that, Nathan loved a challenge.

“It's why I married you,” he explained to her. Lori had replied by flipping him the bird. Goddamn, he loved that woman.

He washed his hands before slipping his wedding ring back on his finger. He thought about getting a chain for it and wearing it that way once he was shipped off, but his ring finger always felt naked without it. And if he was going to be naked, Nathan preferred it to be in the fun way.

“How's our baby?” Lori asked him the moment he was inside.

“Looks like she's cooking just fine,” Nathan answered with a meaningful flick to Lori's swelling middle.

“I meant the car, you lughead.”

“It's coming along. Should be done by the time I ship out.”

“Good, I could use the money it's supposedly worth while you're gone.” She turned to pour him a cup of coffee. “How long is the tour again?”

“Shouldn't be more than six months.” He took the coffee but set it aside again and reached for his wife instead. He patted her belly before moving a hand up to her breast. She complained about them being tender now and then so Nathan tried to be gentle. “Just in time for you to pop, babe.”

“Speaking of popping,” Lori hummed, reaching down between his legs, “the little soldier is standing at attention.”

“You gonna take him on a tour of duty?” Nathan smirked against her ear.

“Sure.” She flashed him a mischievous look. “I don't think it'll be six months, though. Maybe six seconds, if I'm lucky.”

“Nice one,” he approved. He was going to miss this-- miss her-- but that car would indeed keep her and their baby secure once he finished with it.

With Lori's hand on his crotch, though, there was something much more immediate that needed to finish.

– – –

Dar spread out his prayer mat and spoke the words. He always started with gratitude before moving on to asking forgiveness and lifting up his burdens. It was getting harder and harder to come up with gratitude these days. Years of serving the military and this was where it led him: his country overrun with Americans, the Guard broken apart.

He knew he was a stubborn man-- Fatima told him that often enough-- but it was that fighter nature that helped him rise to the rank of captain. He prayed to Allah that it would work for him now. Dar knew he should be praying that Allah take this anger and hatred out of his heart, but he didn't.

In truth, he was likely becoming a bit obsessive with his need to get back at the Americans somehow. Dar knew that the moment he caught the whiff of movement from their military, he would be gathering his own troops. Going after one unit would likely not do much in the end. It would still be satisfying, though, to have that one victory.

He would be granted that, Dar was sure.

#dar basri #clarice stokes #nathan merwin #joey gomez #house of ashes

[aintinacage]

Night 2 of the Life Together Tent Revival Florence was incredible. The light of Jesus began to shine in people hearts and bodies. We had 5 answer the call to make things right with God.

God then began to move in power with testimonies of God healing legs, abdominal, anxiety, physical heart issue, and tail bone. Also, two people received the baptism of the Holy Spirit! God is moving in a unique way once again.

Don’t miss Night 3 tonight at 6PM or Night 4 FIRE SERVICE 🔥 Saturday at 6PM!

Also included are pictures from the Kid’s Bible Boot Camp where God is touching young kids during the morning session! Again this morning from 9AM-Noon & Saturday is family day from 9AM-Noon with games, inflatables, food, and an Anna/Elsa appearance!

#life together #life together ministry #life together with aaron and julie schilling #ltm #night 2 #tent revival #Florence #florence kentucky #kentucky #Indiana #Cincinnati #cincinnati ohio #Ohio #heritage fellowship #bible boot camp #vacation bible school #vbs #light of Jesus #Jesus #jesus christ #Christian #Christianity #christian faith #Healing #baptism of the Holy Spirit #holy spirit

[ironwoodatl01]

How does it feel knowing one day; you're going to be responsible for all the people considered "Undesirable degenerates." to get marched off to a camp? You would throw a party for yourself and flip through your book most likely. Only stirred when the sound of boots are at your doorstep. Rwde does not fucking like you man. That's where all the toxic sjw go, and they don't even enjoy your presence no matter how hard you try. You don't like gays, lesbians, bisexuals, asexuals and queers in general. You prolly think your some holy saviour or a person whos gonna show the light of jesus to others; when you just give motive to disembowel a bible and burn it... ( No respect for religious trauma in a world where religion places someone in permanent service based on sex) Do you actually think, the trans people you reblog character posts from genuinely wish to interact with you? How about you actually live as Jesus did so that you may find humility and true understanding on the world we are currently walking on now. You waste your life on hatred and the fact that you use the bible as an excuse is demonic on your own part. Honestly what a waste. Idk who beat you as child or deprived you of love to the point that you can only find it in an ancient book; but someone dropped the ball massively and that ball was you man. I Hope you can genuinely find peace in yourself. In hindsight; you will probably ignore/delete this post for your own relief, maybe reply to it and use bible verses to counter it without actually addressing the core criticism. Brushing it off as hysteria from a mentally ill person; which is ableist but I wouldn't be surprised if part of you hated yourself for being different growing up. Hence why wearing cartoons on your sleeves just like the queers you hate and want to see gunned downed or cured. Clarification: Clearly you hate yourself and view this as a peacetime where you can feel heard and help people. Analysis: Perhaps an early divorce occurred in your childhood or marterial problems while your feelings had no place; hardening and being leaned on was not a choice. Conclusion: You genuinely think your hardness and zero sense of acceptance will help save Queer people while head-butting your way into those same spaces seeking comradery. I feel pity for you. I feel as if you see a father in James that you never actually had growing up; or that he reminds you of him despite a possible strained relationship.

Your pity is not necessary, but appreciated. You put in the effort, and that is to be recognized.

I never knew you had mental issues, nor have I ever cared. The fact that you think it mattered speaks more about you than it does me.

As for the trans people and rwde? It also doesn't really matter to me whether they like me, and if it did matter to them they can block me anytime. I like the posts, so I repost. I have a point to make, so I make it. I post for the post's sake. Although I do have to break up my blogs a little to declutter, so thanks for reminding me indirectly.

The salvation of the LGBTQ people is not something I can do anything about, nor is it something I really want to do anything about. God gave his Son to die on the cross and its up to them to accept that gift. All I'm doing is correcting their's and other people's assertions of biblical truth by presenting the bible verses in context. The truth, the correct answer, will always piss people off, but that is the nature of Facts.

There is always black and white because the darkness seeks to destroy the light on its on accord. There will always be enmity not because of my aggression, but because of the other side's hardheadedness.

Harry Potter and Voldemort must kill each other not because Harry seeks the fight, but Voldemort won't quit until Harry is dead by his hand.

Ultimately, you seek common ground on terms I cannot, in good conscience, accept. We are opponents because the lie can't accommodate the truth.

In any case, I'm sure there will be a confrontation between me and the LGBTQs sooner or later. So be it. But I respect them enough to attribute them the maturity to decide when the confrontation occurs. They are old enough they/thems to block me and I don't think they need you to speak for them.

Don't be ableist

[lovemesomesurveys]

***Wow, so turns out all I had to do was turn off the “beta” editor version I was using apparently and now it’s fine. Sigh.***

Which stereotype do you fit the most? by joybucket 

Girly

You love the color pink! You have long hair. You like to wear skirts. You spend a lot of time on your appearance. You love to shop! You wear fake nails. You hate camping. You're afraid of spiders. You own a little dog that you like to dress up in fun outfits. You own a lot of jewelry. You own a ton of shoes. You are always up to date on the latest celebrity gossip. Pastel colors are your favorite. Total: 3

Tomboy/Sporty

You love sports. You're very competitive. You have a lot of friends that are guys. You have more guy friends than girl friends. You own sports equipment. You hardly ever wear make-up. You own a sports jersey. You own a varsity jacket. You like bugs. You are physically strong. You like to work out. You have gym membership. You love running. Total: 1

Goth/Emo

You like to wear black. Black is your favorite color. You've shopped at Hot Topic. You wear thick black eyeliner. You have a tattoo. You want a tattoo. You have a facial piercing. You want more piercings. You feel sad a lot. You cry yourself to sleep. You cry a lot. You've self-harmed. You listen to rock or rap music. Total: 8

Redneck

You live on a farm. You've driven a tractor to school. You own a plaid flannel shirt. You've worn overalls. You listen to country music. You own a pair of cowboy boots. You own a cowboy hat. You've been in 4H. You don't mind getting dirty. You're from the South. You love Southern accents. You've ridden a horse. You own a horse. Total: 2.5

Nerd

You have/had braces. You wear glasses. You've worn a striped shirt with plaid pants, or something similar. You sometimes wear clothes that don't match. You love math and science. You got straight A's in school. You've never had detention. You have asthma. You actually enjoy writing essays. You studied hard in school. You've been on the honor roll. You've won a scholarship. You're socially awkward. Total: 5.5

Preppy

You've shopped at Aeropostale. You've dyed your hair blonde. You would get plastic surgery if you could. You've been a teacher's favorite student. You're popular. You've been on student council. You've been a cheerleader. You come from an upper-class family. You say "like" a lot. You had a ton of friends in high school. You studied hard in school. You always look flawless. You've worn a school uniform. Total: 3.5

Free Spirit/Hippie

You've tie-dyed a shirt. You love art and music. You believe in truth, freedom, and love. You love the outdoors. You want to travel more. You love to wear bright colors. You like to walk outside barefoot. You've been to a renaissance faire. You are creative. You are unique. You like to sing and dance. You are either a musician, artist, or writer. You are fascinated by God's creation. Total: 4.5

Artsy

You love to paint. You like to draw. You took an art class in high school. You've made your own clothes. You doodle in the margins of your notebooks. You enjoy putting outfits together. You enjoy designing and decorating. You think outside of the box. You've dyed your hair a wild color. You own an easel. You've painted something on canvas. You have a Pinterest account. You enjoy being creative. Total: 2.5

Jesus Freak

You love reading your Bible. You love going to church. You have a tattoo of a Bible verse. You wear a cross necklace every day. You listen to Casting Crowns. You've been on a missions trip. You've been a part of a youth group. You've done volunteer work. You owned a "WWJD" bracelet. You love Jesus. :) You listen to Hillsong. You have been to a Christian concert. You have gone to a Christian school. Total: 6

Hipster

You always follow the latest trends. You have a YouTube channel. <<< I have an account? I don’t upload/make videos, though. My account is to subscribe, make playlists, and comment/like. You love watching YouTube videos. You own a pair of Converse. You own a pair of thick black-rimmed glasses. You wear skinny jeans or jeggings. <<< Haven’t in awhile, but yeah. You own a pair of plaid pants. You own something from rue21. You have a Tumblr account. You have an Instagram account. You like to take selfies. You own galaxy print leggings. You listen to a wide variety of music. Total: 6.5 So...which stereotype do you fit the most? Answer: Goth/emo.  I hope you enjoyed! :)

#personal #text #survey #surveys #stereotypes #themed #categories #bolding survey

[xominousxonyx]

Welcome to my new blog!

I just want to have my first post be an introduction into me and my life at the moment. I'm not expecting to get much out of this except maybe just to work through my own thoughts, self reflection, and maybe relating to someone else here. And I hope that you benefit from it as well!

My name is Jessica, a sister and a daughter. I was raised Catholic but but at the moment consider myself Christian as I'm working on studying the bible and have not decided the type of church I'd like to attend. I was diagnosed with Crohn's Disease when I was about 10. I went to public school and attempted the college thing but it wasn't meant to be at the time. I started out working at a Wendy's, which I stayed at for 5 years too long. I then worked as a customer service rep in the call center for a heating and cooling company for 3 years. I still work there at the moment, however my last day in May 24th. Which brings me to my next adventure.

Back when I worked at Wendy's, I worked with and befriended a boy 2 years younger than me. He was from the next town over so we'd never crossed paths beyond that. But over the years we became close. After he went into the Air Force there was definitely a disconnect. We reconnected when he came on leave after boot camp and spent some time together and that was when I finally started to realize that I had romantic feelings for him. By the end of his leave, I thought we would have promised something to each other but he started pulling away instead. And once he left, so did I. It was a pretty long history of us reconnecting and pulling away because one or both of us wasn't ready. Fast forward to February 2024, I had reached out to him via Facebook Messenger. And to my surprise and gratitude, he gracefully welcomed me back into his life and we finally said all the things we had wanted to say to each other from the beginning. As it turns out, we had finally gotten the timing right. And that week, I booked a flight to visit him at his temporary station where he was doing some training. After the pain of leaving him really set in, I made my decision that I was ready for us to jump into what had been building up all these years. He invited me to come live with him at his house in Virginia once he finished his training and I accepted.

From there I had to tell my family about what was going on in my life and what my next steps were. And it's safe to say my mom is still taking it hard. At first I did not receive her reaction very well at all. But after I spoke to my boyfriend about it, i realized that it's different looking at it from the outside in and vice versa. Now here I am doing my best to give her grace and follow my happiness regardless.

While I'll be moving to a new state- Virginia, and figuring out how to live with a man for the first time, I'll also be navigating more personal aspects of my life. Getting a job, staying on my medication, health insurance, etc. Even getting myself a new car since I'm leaving my car with my Mom in Michigan. We will also be the proud new fur-mom and fur-dad to two new puppies as well as his cat that's been staying with his mom. So yeah... I plan on it being a whole process.

This has been a rough introduction to my life at the current moment. If you have any insights or advice or want to share your struggles with a similar situation, please do! I'll be happy to get back to you!

#military girlfriend #moving out of state #chronic illness #crohns disease #christian #intro post

[mxb1jokes]

Good Jokes

monkeys funny, fat cats funny, you lied, beauty tips with honey, sunday school teacher, very funny jokes, oldest bible, sherlock holmes funny, valentines day jokes, how to plan, female presidents, whiskey and you, port, art jokes, funny marriage jokes, projects to try, puppies funny, old age humor, red riding hood, bald men, funny engagement quotes, pizza jokes, funny diet jokes, sunday humor, love good morning quotes, boyfriend quotes funny, desert island, getting married funny, funny joke gifts, polished man, friends funny moments, father, rain, insurance agent funny, men, funny confessions, funny images laughter, social security office, life quotes to live by, funny dating profiles, dear self quotes, irish funny, christmas jokes, long jokes, sherlock jokes, country, funny billboards, prince charming funny, cute little animals, wisdom quotes funny, wife humor marriage, money humor, very funny photos, funny questions, economic times, car jokes, clean humor funny, bible verses quotes inspirational, funny skeleton, adult dirty jokes, jewish humor, feelings humor, english humor, relationship advice quotes, broken arm, best mom quotes, man, see and say, homeless man, 40 year anniversary, amazing stories, skeleton jokes, fine ceramic, funny jobs, nurse jokes humour, texts, marriage counseling funny, ceramics, doctor humor, chip cookies, chinese restaurant, one liner jokes, corny jokes, ideas for the house, jokes photos, work humor, relationship jokes, pet shop, running jokes, funny medical quotes, chocolate chip, family balancing, funny toasts, condoms funny, funny fun facts, russian restaurant, bad mom quotes, cowboy boots, funny street signs, did you know jokes, teacher quotes funny, russian jokes, go shopping, pilot joke, tree story, teaching humor, humour, hugs and kisses quotes, school jokes, garden bridge, wedding anniversary, wake me up, character quotes, high school teacher humor, english short stories, rolls royce, ring doorbell, funny fart quotes, wrong number, funny truck quotes, married quotes, feel better funny, bible life lessons, girlfriend humor, new ferrari, wedding jokes, friends funny, funny relationship jokes, psychology jokes, cute cats and dogs, rorschach test, animals funny cats, angel stories, deer camp, anniversary jokes, private plane, extremely funny jokes, sayings, old friends funny, positive quotes for life motivation, high jokes, appreciate life quotes, funny jokes, overworked quotes, student jokes, love deeply, names, how to grow taller, fresh fish, mommy quotes, buddha, wife humor, jackdaw, solving, rose, buy a monkey, funny animal videos, life choices quotes, crazy jokes, birthday quotes for daughter, good morning happy sunday, quotes about strength in hard times, engineering humor, shopping humor, christmas gift jokes, navy humor, writing humor, bull elephant, life lesson quotes, husband jokes, avatar the last airbender funny, anniversary quotes for husband, funny quotes about life, friend jokes, mother in law, once upon a time, funny old sayings, witty jokes, blackest night, golden egg, catholic humor, man and wife, mom humor, eye jokes, famous names, jokes about men, prison, fart jokes, lawyer quotes, church quotes funny, pregnancy jokes, music jokes, chocolate chip recipes, read bible, sins, christmas tale, pastor, funny wishes, train, quick jokes, cute jokes, old married couple, medical humor, negative people, patient humor, lawyer humor, big bad wolf, father humor, funny family photos, know who you are, father son quotes, clean funny jokes, lectures funny, repair, cute love lines, two men, jew joke, humor, funny excuses, butter bread, morning inspirational quotes, engaged to be married, funny one liners, husband quotes funny, engagement quotes, twin names, old women, kangaroo funny, cute animal videos, inspirational quotes about love, collision course, inspirational short stories, lady, inspirational prayers, irish jokes, towns, you lied to me, funny halloween jokes, motivational poems, broadway shows, pizza funny, welcome letters, sister quotes funny, christmas poems, janitor

[wolint]

Do you want to experience God's glory? Then you're invited to the prayer room experience Birmingham edition of "show me your glory" day fasting retreat. boot camp.

A time of refreshment, fellowship, rejuvenation and revival in prayer and worship.

CHECKLIST

Bible/notebook/pen

Socks

Small blanket

Earphone/headphone

Pillow/cushion

Don't worry, it will be clear on the day but it's to make your prayer room experience comfortable and smooth.

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/the-prayer-room-experience-tpre-tickets-689261538817?aff=oddtdtcreator

https://www.eventbrite.com/o/women-of-light-and-women-of-worth-69226787983

#spotify #christianpost #women's ministry #biblestudy christianpost 'women's ministry #conference #prayer meeting #family

[jdgo51]

un Toward the Roar

Today's inspiration comes from:

Roar Like a Lion

by Levi Lusko

Editor's note: One of the great privileges of parenting, grandparenting, and being an auntie or uncle is sharing your faith with little ones. A great way to do that is to read devotions together and pull out the Bible! Devotionals for kids are some of our most popular! Enjoy this one and share with your favorite kids.

"'I am the Lord your God, who holds your right hand, and I tell you, ‘Don’t be afraid. I will help you.’ — Isaiah 41:13 NCV"'

"'When you hear the word lion, you might think of a big, fuzzy mane or super-sharp claws. Then, of course, there’s that whole “king of the jungle” thing. But chances are, the first thing you’ll think of is its roar.

A lion’s roar is big and loud and really scary. Especially if you happen to be a cute little gazelle trotting across the African plains. Just hearing that sound will send a gazelle running as far away from the roar as possible. Which is the worst thing it could do!

Why? Because that roaring lion isn’t where the most danger is. The real hunters are the lionesses, hiding in the tall grass behind the gazelle. You see, the lion’s job is to creep out in front of the gazelle and ROOAARR! — making it turn around and run right into the middle of all those lionesses. Gulp!

As crazy as it sounds, the safest thing for the gazelle is to run toward the roar.

That’s true for you too. When you run from the things that scare you — like trying something new, standing up for what’s right, or telling someone about God — you actually move closer to the danger. That’s because you’re moving closer to what the devil wants you to do and farther away from what God wants you to do.

Facing your fears is the best thing to do. And guess what! You’re not some cute little gazelle surrounded by lions and lionesses. You’re a child of God, and you’re always surrounded by Him. He’ll help you face your fears. Trust Him. Be brave. And run toward the roar!

GET READY TO ROAR!

Is something roaring in your life right now? Something you’re afraid to do? Maybe it’s trying out for the team, singing a solo, or inviting a friend to church. Or maybe it’s standing up to that older kid and telling him to leave the little kids on the bus alone. What’s the first step you could take to run toward the roar? Talk to God about it, and then run.

Dear God, when fear is roaring at me, please give me the courage to run toward the roar. Amen.

Facing your fears is the best thing to do.

CRAZY FEAR

I asked the Lord for help, and He answered me. He saved me from all that I feared. — Psalm 34:4 ICB

Some fears are perfectly logical. For example, if you take a step outside and see a giant, growling grizzly bear charging down the street and headed straight for you, it makes sense to be afraid. You might wonder how this huge, hairy beast happened to be on your street, but being afraid of it would be perfectly reasonable.

Other fears aren’t so logical. Like me and spiders. I hate those guys. In my head, I know I’m like a zillion times bigger than they are. I could squish one with my little toe — covered in a massive steel-toed boot, of course. But when I see a spider, all I can think about are those eight creepy little legs crawling up my arm. I know my fear is crazy, but if I see a spider, I’m outta here. And don’t get me started on snakes!

Maybe you have a crazy fear too. Maybe it’s a fear of numbers — which, by the way, is called arithmophobia. Or maybe it’s just the number eight — octophobia. Maybe you’re afraid of heights or speaking in front of people. Just because your fear seems crazy doesn’t mean you aren’t afraid.

But don’t let fear keep you from experiencing everything God has planned for you. Sure, there may be spiders in that cabin, but I’m not missing that camping trip. Don’t you miss out either — on riding the tallest roller-coaster ride, telling people about Jesus, or even visiting the octopus exhibit at the zoo. Give your fears — crazy or not — to God, and He’ll help you be brave.

DID YOU KNOW?

Some people aren’t just reasonably scared of bears; they are terrified of all kinds of bears. This fear is called arkoudaphobia.

I have no idea how to pronounce it, but I do know it means a fear of all kinds of bears — whether they’re angry grizzly bears, wandering black bears, or cute and cuddly panda bears. It even describes people who are afraid of teddy bears!

Lord, I don't want my fears — real or crazy — to keep me from all You have planned for me. I will trust You to help me be brave. Amen."'

Excerpted with permission from Roar Like a Lion by Levi Lusko, copyright Levi Lusko.