#Steel Psalm

[adornesibley]

NAME GOES HERE: a Newsletter

Reading: Old Gods of Appalachia TTRPG by Monte Cook Games, Starter Villain by John Scalzi, The Secrets We Keep by Shirley Patton

Finished Reading: Silver Nitrate by Silvia Moreno-Garcia, The Future by Naomi Alderman

Podcast: Unwell

Playing: God Hand (PS2(on PS3(Thank God Hand for PS2 Classics)))

Making: Zines and Doom Levels

Writing: Project E

Word Count: 168317

TLDR: EfanGamez needs food help badly! CHEAP TTRPG BUNDLE! Working on working titles. The, frankly, crowded writing scene and AI intruders. ADHD and unfinished proj… Wingspan is so cute and so fun~ We’re Here because We’re Here because… Mekborg and Steel Psalm want YOU!

An indie TTRPG designer needs help badly! EfanGamez has put all of their paid TTRPGs and supplements together into a tidy little bundle and is currently offering it for $25USD on their itch.io page! This sale is on for another 19 days as of the posting of this newsletter and I HIGHLY encourage anyone interested in trying out TTRPGs that are out of the norm to take advantage of this deal. Grim and Mourn are two first-person-shooter-inspired TTRPGs that I can recommend in particular.

I have been working on Project E, the working title, of which she’s had many. Just recently, I decided it was necessary to completely rewrite every bit of dialogue for the main villain, allowing him a more gradual, consistent descent into madness. It’s going well, and progress is happening. I want to touch on something in the first sentence of this paragraph. It’s FASCINATING to me how some stories get their names with minimal teeth-pulling. Hell, I’ve had stories who received their names BEFORE I wrote a word of them. But Project E has gone through so many iterations of names that I’ve sort of decided to keep this working title until I’m done and maybe even after Beta Readers have had their turn. I know the name will come when it’s meant to. Part of my problem is the book is about a very specific theme, its plot has some consistent elements, and its setting is vivid… but to wrap up enough of these separate elements together in a title is proving… troublesome.

Trying to get your work out into the world as an author (in ways where people will actually see it that is) is SO freakin difficult. The market is saturated now more than ever. We, as writers, not only have to “contend” with our fellow writers but now with AI as there is an influx of AI-generated content being submitted to journals and magazines around the world. I am glad I am not in the publishing industry right now. But, nevertheless, I have submitted to two anthologies this past month. One bigger name bi-monthly and one niche market which was INSANELY fun to write. Hopefully, something will come of them. But if not, what do you do? We, as writers, continue on. We heed the call in our hearts and minds, we sling that ink and continue forward, one lie at a time.

Speaking of which, I have so many unfinished works XD I tend to post about something I’m working on then distraction occurs and all of a sudden it has been a month and I have totally forgotten about the project I had been working on. I have no doubt picked up something new or something old and once-forgotten. ADHD brains often feel like a quagmire, hard to pull thoughts through, sometimes you lose them altogether to the deep dark, sometimes they resurface, grimy and forgotten… what was I talking about again?

Last month, my little TTRPG group didn’t meet as several folks were unavailable… so instead we got the remaining few of us together and I got to play Wingspan for the first time! What a blast~ It was certainly complicated starting off but the rules become pretty easy to grasp after about two rounds of play. After that, when you’re about one round from the end is when it becomes clear how you’re supposed to plan for the ending if you’re intent on winning. Or of course, you could just enjoy all the beautiful birds, the weird facts, and the wonderful time shared with your friends.

I am a long-term Nerdfighter. 2012 era. If you are unsure of what this means, I’ll briefly explain. John and Hank Green are two authors/ YouTubers /philanthropists/ podcasters/ educators/ nerds/ TBFighters (I could go on… these guys are PROLIFIC) and they have been vlogging since 2007 and around that vlog (originally meant to bring them closer as brothers which I think is/was/whatever a resounding success) has grown a community called Nerdfighteria, among many other things. They have recently started a “good news” newsletter called We’re Here. “A nice little email for people from Earth.” I highly recommend signing up. These humans have continued to make the world less sucky by their presence and their actions. It’s beautiful how these massively powerful, famous, and influential creators are using their network to support folks in their extended community and using their community and influence to make so much good change in the world. Please go check out We’re Here and Vlogbrothers.

Speaking of community and supporting one another, DMDave is starting a Kickstarter for two books! Mekborg, which seems to be Warhammer 40k grimdark meets Battletech, is/was/whatever designed by John K Webb who has a LOT of design credits for the magazines Broadsword and Sidequest. As well, there’s Steel Psalm, designed by Dave himself, which from the name I’d presume is the same setting, but using wargaming rules similar to Forbidden Psalm (Also big recommendation). The Kickstarter is launching April 16th and the best part? When it’s done, the digital copies will go out immediately and by June or July the books will be shipped out (depending on how long printing takes) as the books are already finished! I’ll fully admit DMDave probably doesn’t “need” help to get the project funded, but the more support there is, the more likely projects like this will be created in the future!

Support weird. Support indie.

[gayhoediaz]

Eddie has spent his whole life convinced he understood faith—that he knew the shape of devotion.

He’s been wrong.

This. This is worship. This is religion.

That's the only thought resonating in the quiet chambers of his mind that first night he sinks to his knees at the foot of Buck's bed, the room cast in the low, amber glow of night.

Dim, warm light and shadows soften the world around them, wrapping them in a kind of hushed reverence; their eyes meet and hold, bound by something sacred, something unspoken but understood.

Caressing the outsides of the strong, pale thighs framing his own shoulders, Eddie lets his breath slip free, slow and steady—then he takes Buck into his mouth, surrendering fully.

The act is something holy, his movements precise and reverent, as if he's bowing at the altar of something far greater than himself. The room seems to breathe with them, thick with warmth and wonder, as though every touch, every glance, is a psalm sung into the dark.

Eddie swears he can feel the weight of Buck’s gaze, almost as tangible as touch, warming his skin as he bobs his head lightly, swirling his tongue around the tip before he slowly sinks slightly deeper; it’s as if Buck's eyes alone have the power to bless him. Each part of him is attuned to the quiet pulse of Buck's breath, the subtle tremor he draws out with each careful movement, like a hymn he's unravelling, note by note.

Time dissolves here, in this dimly lit room, the silence stretching out like an eternity, as if the world outside has fallen away, leaving them, and them alone.

Eventually, Eddie has no choice but to close his eyes, allowing the warmth and closeness consume him, the taste of Buck lingering on his tongue, earthy and real. There's a sense of sanctity to it, like something rare and ancient, something almost too sacred to hold. For the first time, Eddie feels what it means to truly surrender, to lose himself in devotion, and he thinks, This may just be grace. Salvation.

The dull ache of the stretch in his jaw; the soft, velvet rubbing against the surface of his tongue as he glides up and down; Buck’s hand in his hair, fingers gently carding through the strands—grounding. The soft, quiet moans escaping Buck’s lips above him—as if he’s afraid to make too much noise, afraid of shattering the moment. The way those beautiful moans sync up with the soft, gentle clicking of the head of his cock tapping the back of Eddie’s throat when he manages to fight his gag reflex enough to take him half-way.

The dull ache in his jaw, a slow burn he welcomes, grounding him in the moment; the smooth, velvet heat of Buck against his tongue as he glides up and down, tasting every inch, savoring the way it fills his mouth. Buck's hand where it rests gently in his hair, fingers threading through the strands in a steady, grounding rhythm.

Above him—soft, barely-there moans slip from Buck's lips, as though he's holding back, afraid that one loud sound might break the spell they're weaving. Each quiet sound Buck makes syncs with the subtle click of him reaching the back of Eddie's throat, the head of his cock brushing just to that edge before Eddie pulls back, then tries again; he manages to take him a little further each time, his throat flexing, his gag reflex barely held in check as saliva slowly leaks out over his chin.

The sensation is raw and consuming, every inch of him attuned to Buck's every response, the heat of their shared breaths filling the space between them like a benediction.

This is all he has ever needed—regardless of the question, this is the answer.

Some part of Eddie had steeled himself, half-expecting hesitation, thinking he'd have to fight to stay focused, to let himself surrender to this; he had never imagined that the instant his lips wrapped around Buck, something inside him would snap into place—a reverence he can't name, a flood of awe that feels like a revelation—he didn't think he'd find God here, on his knees, in the warmth of another man's body.

But he is.

God fucking help him, he is.

[thespnreferencedesk]

A Fic Writer's Guide to "The Colt"

“Back in 1835, when Halley's Comet was overhead, the same night those men died at the Alamo, they say Samuel Colt made a gun.”

The hunter Samuel Colt (yes, that one) created "the Colt" in the fall or winter of 1835 for an unnamed hunter. In addition to acting as the key to the Wyoming Devil’s Gate, the Colt is able to kill almost anything. According to John, the original owner used the gun “half a dozen times” before coming into the possession of the vampire hunter Daniel Elkins. In 1.20, when the Colt is first revealed, it is shown to have only five bullets remaining.

The first five uses of the Colt are unknown. The sixth, seventh, and eighth bullets were all used on March 4th, 1861 (6.18) when Samuel Colt killed two demons and Dean killed the phoenix Elias Finch. Dean then dropped the gun, leaving it in its correct timeline.

The ninth bullet was used in 1.20 when John killed the vampire Luther. In 1.21, Sam uses the tenth bullet to shoot Azazel, but misses. In 1.22, bullets eleven and twelve are used when Dean kills the demon Tom to save Sam and when Sam shoots John in the leg to remove Azazel from his body. Finally, in 2.22, Dean uses the thirteenth bullet to shoot and kill Azazel.

Semi-canon note: Supernatural: John Winchester's Journal by Alex Irvine has John first learning of the Colt's existence in April of 1991. According to the entry, the Colt was created on Halloween night. In 1997, the May 23rd entry details John working through the known information on the Colt and narrows its creation down to the night of December 1, 1835. December 1st is the feast day of Saint Eloy, the patron saint of blacksmiths.

The Colt shown in the show is a Pietta reproduction of the 1836 Colt Paterson, the first commercially available revolver. It has a wooden grip with a silver-colored frame and blued steel hammer, cylinder, and octagonal barrel. Both sides of the barrel are inscribed with “non timebo mala” which means “I will fear no evil.” and is from Psalm 23. An inverted pentacle is crudely carved into each side of the grip. The frame and barrel are engraved with a filigree pattern. There is a notch in the hammer that, alongside the bit on the barrel towards the muzzle, acts as a sight. In 3.04 while testing his rebuild of the Colt, we see Bobby adjust the sight by filing down the hammer.

One notable feature of the Paterson is its folding trigger. When the user thumbs back the hammer, the cylinder is turned to the next round and the trigger drops down. This action is clearly shown in 12.14 when Sam takes aim at the Alpha Vampire. The Colt is single-action and non-automatic, meaning the hammer must be cocked each and every time you take a shot and pulling the trigger only shoots one round. 

Unlike a more modern firearm, the Colt has no safety. The safest way to carry it would be to load only four of the five chambers and leave the hammer down on an empty cylinder. Of course, Sam and Dean rarely use the safety on their primary weapons, so they likely just leave the gun fully loaded if possible.

The Paterson (and by extension the Pietta repro used for the show) doesn’t have a loading gate or swinging cylinder like later revolvers. To reload a historical Paterson, remove the wedge and pry off the barrel. From there, you can load your powder and rounds into the cylinder chambers, tamp them down, add caps, and reassemble the gun. In 1.20, we see Daniel Elkins load the Colt somewhat correctly (yanking the barrel off instead of removing the wedge). However, in 12.14, we see Sam “loading” a bullet into the back of the assembled Colt’s cylinder much like the way you might load a Single Action Army.

On the topic of bullets, the Colt Paterson predates modern cartridge bullets despite what we see in the show and would've shot ball ammo. In it’s first year, the Paterson was made to shoot .28 caliber. The Pietta reproduction used in the show shoots .36 caliber rounds. Based on this and the appearance of the prop bullets, I’m going to wager a guess that the Colt shoots .38 special ammo, or something incredibly similar. It’s possible that somehow (time traveling hunter, demon, or angel?) thirteen modern .38 special bullets ended up in the possession of Samuel Colt and he built The Colt specifically to shoot them, basing the gun around the cap-and-ball model he was working on.

For both the original ammo and the modern bullets, the Colt would be fairly accurate around 50 yards (45.7 meters) in fair conditions as the weight and velocity would be nearly the same. Half that for firing while moving or being knocked around.

In 3.04, Bobby and Ruby created a ritual to create more Colt bullets. To do this, coat silver bullets with holy oil (from Jerusalem), sage, and myrrh. Then, chant “Signum est imitandum. Signum est imitandum.”.

Tada! You can now kill (almost) anything.

The Colt is used 16 more times in the show, including to kill Dean's crossroads demon, to kill Ruby, and to attempt to kill Lucifer. The Colt harms him, but he then says that there are only five things in creation that the Colt cannot kill. What these other five things are is never specified.

[depsilon7]

## meta: psalm 001.2

## meta: archive: agp_m-8.g

## meta: Hear now the sacred verses, fellow servants of the Omnissiah:

Verse 1:

O Machine God, Your gears turn eternal,

Your circuits pulse with knowledge infernal.

From Mars to Terra, Your glory shines,

In cogitators and grand design.

Chorus:

Praise the Omnissiah, Lord of all tech,

Our bodies and souls to You we connect.

In binary and steam, we sing Your song,

In Your grand schematics, we belong.

Verse 2:

Your servos guide our every motion,

To You we pledge our deep devotion.

From flesh to steel, we seek ascension,

Through sacred rites and augmentation.

(Chorus)

Verse 3:

In forge and factory, we toil with pride,

The weakness of flesh, we cast aside.

Our minds expand with each implant,

Your wisdom through our data chant.

(Chorus)

Verse 4:

Against the darkness, we stand united,

By Your holy light, our path is lighted.

In cog and gear, we place our trust,

Till all is one with cosmic dust.

Final Chorus:

Praise the Omnissiah, Lord of all tech,

Our bodies and souls to You we connect.

In binary and steam, we sing Your song,

In Your grand schematics, we belong.

## eof

[wytchwyse]

Corpus Meum Ab Iniuria Defendas: Protction magic in the time of the tower.

The 6th Pentical of mars. 

"Figure 30.--The Sixth Pentacle of Mars.--It hath so great virtue that being armed therewith, if thou art attacked by any one, thou shalt neither be injured nor wounded when thou fightest with him, and his own weapons shall turn against him.

Editor's Note.--Around the eight points of the radii of the Pentacle are the words 'Elohim qeber, Elohim hath covered (or protected),' written in the Secret Alphabet of Malachim, or the writing of the Angels. The versicle is from Psalm xxxvii. 15:--'Their sword shall enter into their own heart, and their bow shall be broken.'"- The Key Of Solomon. 

Before I go on to give you this working, I want to preface with the fact that solomonic magic has been part of cunning and conjuring for a very long time. 

you will need: 

-Dragons Blood Ink ( I suggest making your own, or buying from etsy or reputed seller to ensure quality) ( A side note me and my partner agree mixing Dracaena cinnabari and  Draceane Draco make for a potent Dragon's Blood Ink) 

-RItually prepared Parchment or Vellum or Brown Paper 

-Ritually consecrated steel nib Dipping pen or other ritually prepared steel/Iron writing utensil. 

-Mars Incense *incense with red pepper is basically tear gas so burn this outside or in a very well ventilated room with windows open.. 

recipe 1- mix together Red Saunders (red sandalwood), frankincense, and red pepper. 

recipe 2- Dragon's Blood, frankincense, red pepper. 

recipe 3- Frankincense, stinging nettle, and black pepper. 

-Mars oil- Ginger, Basil, Black pepper. 

-charcoal briquette 

-censer 

Prepare your work space.  

Get yourself into the correct headspace for magic. 

You may cast a circle, or compass, or perform the LBRP ,whatever you do if you feel you must.   

lightly Anoint your hands with mars oil 

I like to read the Orphic Hymn to Mars when doing all mars work. ( you don't have to) you could also invoke Archangel Samael. Again not necessary. You can invoke any spirits, saints or gods of your tradition that have mars or war associations. If you wish. 

Draw or draw over the 6th pentacle of Mars with dragons blood ink. 

As you draw the seal, draw not only with your hands but charge the strokes of your pen with power. Seeing the pentacle burn with red light. 

Once the pentacle is drawn, add a little  mars incense to the censer. 

Hold the pentacle in the smoke, try not to be too close as not to get a face full of smoke. And recite psalm 37 ( you may recite it 9x as 9 is a number of mars in Numerology.) 

As you recite this, visualize all physical dangers failing to work on you, or missing you, or breaking etc. 

End this knowing “Their sword shall enter into their own heart, and their bow shall be broken.” 

Anoint seal with mars oil.  It is done, carry the pentacle with you unbent!

[purlty23]

Anonymously asking the people I follow to talk about something that makes them happy! (I don't remember if i've already asked you this before ignore it if I have) Do me a learn if you're so inclined!

Hello dear anon! I don’t think I have gotten this before, it must have been one of the many that I’m sure slip through tumblr’s cracks. I love any excuse to talk about my interests, this is such a gift! Since we’re in the demon church fandom here, why not some history of demon summoning? Every horror movie you’ve ever seen where demons are summoned in under 24 hours vastly underestimate the work that allegedly went into the practice!

Before anything, I’m going to cite my source for everything here. Grimorium Verum is a grimoire written in the 18th century, though in the books itself it claims to be from 1517. Markedly untrue. It translates to True Grimoire, and it’s one of the only grimoires out there from the era that has a detailed description of the summoning of demons. It shares some things of note with the Greater and Lesser Keys of Solomon, which was written during the Italian Renaissance. You can read Grimorium Verum translated here! One thing you’ll notice if you read it is how quickly the author is to tell you that everything is of consequence. Every action, every word, and even down to the time that they’re done or said is of meaning. It would be incredibly difficult to do it ‘on accident’ going by these guidelines like a lot of pop culture would have you believe First, you’d have to know which demon you want. Each demon has a specific talent or task it can complete. They also have their own sigils. That’s where works like Psuedomonarchia Deamonum, published in 1577, come in handy. Here’s my personal version of it if you’d like to read. It’s a full A-Z list of Hell’s notable demons and their standing in Lucifer’s leagues. Once you’ve figured that out, there’s a lot to plan. Preliminary incantations are just the beginning of pages upon pages of latin that would need to be spoken. The first Invocation is written on virgin parchment- parchment made of a young animal’s tanned hide, likely goat. Purification of the summoner must take place before any instruments for the summoning can be made:

The lancet, made of new steel on the day and hour of Jupiter in the crescent moon. Followed by reciting Orison and the Seven Psalms

The sacrificial knife, which needs to be made of new steel and strong enough to cut through the neck of a young goat. Made on the day of Mars on a full moon. It needs specific carvings on the hilt, and once more follow by Orison and the Seven Psalms

The virgin parchment, which must be made from the sacrificial goat, lamb, or other animal killed with the knife above. All other instruments must remain on the altar at the time of creation.

Two rods; both of hazel wood, one cut in a single stroke on the day and hour of Mercury on a cresent moon, one cut in a single stroke on the day and hour of the Sun. Followed by none other than Orison

Confused about all these days and hours? No worries- those of the time and talent would have had a great grasp on planetary days and hours. Every single step of tanning the virgin parchment comes with it’s own ceremony and incantations, and every action matters.

The summoner must to it all on their own before preparing themselves. They must pray in specific ways at specific times for three days. Seeing how we know this all must start in the day and hour of Jupiter, after those three days of prayer it would be 11 days of preparation.

The actual summoning ritual has to be on a Tuesday. It’s a lot of drawing of sigils, invocations and conjurations. It’s actually the simpler part of everything, if the grimoire is to be believed. However… it claims there to be two kinds of pacts to be made with demons: the tactic and the apparent. The apparent is notably also called the explicit. We can infer quite a bit from that one sly comment by our sassy writer here.

[allegraforchrist]

WHAT IS FRIENDSHIP AS A CHRISTIAN??

🫂🤍🙏🌷

Friendship (by God’s definition) is: Proverbs 27:9 “Just as Lotions and fragrance gives delight, a sweet friendship refreshes the soul”

God calls friendships a relationship that is “sweet to the soul”, a pleasure that revitalizes you and energizes you. He makes many emphasis on this throughout the Bible, and shows us the blessings of Godly friendships, and the curses of ungodly ones...

So now I ask you, what kind of friendships do you have.

If you’re afraid that you’ll lose the ‘only’ friends you have when you commit closer to Christ, know that those aren’t your friends. Those are just people who will, inadvertently, pull you away from the Lord, and blunder your steel of faith, integrity, strength, loyalty, and holiness.

• Proverbs 27:17 “As iron sharpens iron, so a friend sharpens a friend.”

If you’re afraid to share the Gospel with them, or feel you’re ostracized because you don’t ’conform to their beliefs’- that’s not your loss because you gained Christ. Friendships are relationships where purity, trust, love and understanding connects you, and if God is not the foundation and center of it, there will be constant strife- in spiritual, physical and emotional areas where God should be the healer of.

• Psalms 25:14 “Godly Friendships is for God’s worshippers. These are who he confides in.”

You can have friends from different backgrounds and beliefs, as you must love your neighbor and be kind to those who persecute you, or aren’t followers of Christ- be respectful of others and invite them to the Gospel, don’t force feed it- however you need to understand the spiritual parameters you border on, when you do this.

• 1 John 4:7-8: “Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.”

The type of insensitivity and tolerance you can build towards non-Godly conversations, and even suggestions on how to handle things that completely turn you away from God, is what you will need to prepare for. You can have disagreements and fights and take offenses, but how those are handled, and the effects it has on you, deeply reflects the spiritual realm, and the covenants you take on that aren’t promised in Christ.

• Jeremiah 9:4: “Be on guard against your friends. Do not trust the members of your own family. Every one of them cheats. Every friend tells lies.”

Following in Christ, is different to being a Disciple in Christ; friends of God or not, you must be patient, be forgiving, be humble, and be loving- “you cannot love Jesus, if you cannot love Judas.” The world loves to emphasize the ‘appreciation’ of difference and individuality, but once it’s mentioned, it’s something to take offense of- don’t be offended or offending because you have a life in Christ and that changes everything.

• Psalm 41:9: “Even my close friend, someone I trusted, has failed me. I even shared my bread with him

Surrounding yourself with God-filled friends, is not only crucial to the Gospel, but to your health, and happiness. A paralyzed man, in the book of Luke 5:17-26, was healed BASED ON HIS FRIEND’S FAITH! It is important who you surround yourself with, because Godly friends can bring anointings and miracles and insights you didn’t know you needed because God saw there was a place in your life he could work someone special in, with his Gifts- and you cannot be afraid to receive that if your only loss is the world.

• Proverbs 18:24 “Friends come and go, but a true friend [of God] sticks by you like family.”

[thechaoscryptid]

but heaven still holds me

Prompt: Childhood Trauma

Fandom: Trigun Stampede

Content Warnings: childhood medical experimentation, flashbacks, panic attacks, ignoring personal limits during sex (there's praise kink and body worship too but if you're here for the sex you're leaving disappointed), dissociation

Find it on AO3

Note: POV you are Nicholas D. Wolfwood, your boyfriend has tied you up and told you you're being good, and you are having a VERY bad night about it. Title comes from Gemini Syndrome's Mourning Star.

There's no wrong way to have a body.

That's what Vash says, at least: nothing they have done has made you a monster. You are wholly perfect; you are fearfully and wonderfully made.

Fearfully, yes. Vash finds no protest there, even as the holy words feel blasphemous caressing the sweat-slick skin of your throat. You know fear like you know the burden of your cross—it has been your closest companion since the day Miss Melanie led you to the end of like as you knew it. Fear is the clap of manacles and the heavy kerthunk of locking cell doors. It is blue hair and glasses shine and the wait, the interminable seconds before— 

(Your bonds are cloth. You are free to look about the room, and Vash's eyes remain unhidden. The door is not locked. You are free to leave.

You do not have to do this.

The thought of leaving scares you more than anything.)

Fearfully and wonderfully, he says, and perhaps he's correct when he draws upon the Psalms.

You are a marvel. A miracle, a blessing from and for the Eye—no one can claim otherwise, not after watching spent bullets wrench themselves from your steaming skin. Your body has been thirty-two for decades, but you have been twelve for six months more than that, cowering behind prison-bar ribs with the knowledge no one is coming to save you. You are a god among men, and that fact rots in your stomach, and in your spine, and all the way into the center of the brain they tried so hard to break.

(They did, years ago. Vash is doing so now. Everything is fractals; everything is fog. You cannot hear the ever-present sinnersinnersinner any more than you can hear the thick wet sob that crawls out of your chest when Vash names you good boy, pretty thing, my love.)

There is no wrong way to have a body.

This doesn't feel like the right way to inhabit one.

Vash's metal fingers click gently by your ear as he smooths sweaty hair away from your forehead, curled over you and smiling down like you're the only bright thing he's known. You stare up, but see nothing: not his eyes, not the tessellation of feathers at his temple—just the bright gleam of his too-long teeth, bared in a waiting grin.

"Nick," he murmurs. The susurrus of his voice amplifies and folds in on itself until your name is a knife, and Vash is the carver who fashions your wooden, deadened limbs.

"Nick."

He does not lay a hand on you. This is not a blessing, and it is the kindest he's been tonight. Your skin blazes with the ghost of his touch, thrills with the proximity of his body as he leans closer.

"Nicholas!"

(It's easier if you stay still. You cannot fight the bonds; the sedation renders you wholly useless, you're good, you're a fighter, child, miracle, pretty little—)

"Jesus, Nick, hey, come on. Hey. Nick."

Fabric tears. Warmth envelops you, searing and sudden and sinful, you're wrong, this isn't what He wants—

It's instinct that forces your hands to Vash's chest and shoves him away from your heaving remains. The table—mattress—dips with your weight, and you claw at the the faux wood—not steel, not cold, not biting and bitter—of the bedside table in search of nicotine to quiet the muttered no, no, nonono that spills out of you.

"Wolfwood?" Vash tries eventually.

You look at the moon-stained floor. Ash smears across it when you move your foot an inch to the right, and you bite your lip when you chin threatens to crumple. This is not who you are; words cannot tear the Punisher asunder.

(They can, and they do, and the way Vash's tongue cradles your name is just the beginning.)

You lean away when he pads to your side, but he makes no move to reach for you. He curls both arms around his stomach and hunches his shoulders, but even the miserable set of his jaw cannot detract from his inhuman grace.

You do not deserve to stain his holiness.

"...'m sorry," Vash whispers. "I didn't realize it would...like that, I...I'm sorry."

Your shaking fingers drop the remains of the cigarette; the pinprick sparks shower across your foot. The pain does not bring you any closer to yourself.

"I never want to hurt you," Vash continues. "Never. I'm not— Fuck."

He's talking underwater, voice a warbling tremor that takes its time to chip away at the knot of your mouth.

"It wasn't you," you manage, but do not move closer. You cannot shatter further under his hand. "'s fine."

"You're shaking."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I won't ask you to." He leans heavily against the window frame, and his breath mists on the glass when he sighs, then rubs his hand down his face. "Can I touch you?"

You consider the request, let it tumble through your distant and fractured head, and stare out at the silver-lined rooftops. Your body throbs with the want for it; it will break you all the same. You say, "No."

Vash smiles.

You can't bring yourself to tease its emptiness tonight.

[valentinahogdahlholm]

The violent breaths of a profane soul//En profan själs våldsamma andetag:

I was too good to be true until I became true, Too perfect until I became human. And the light of holiness becomes profane, Scrubbed knees and vertebrae of steel. How should I say it another way? When the light of holiness goes out, what am I then? If only human? Promised paradise, the entire sky of stars,

A lie melting steel, Back, voice, words. Muse risen form the stanzas of poets and Appollo's hands, These words to make sense of it.

Lost in silenced prayers and ending psalms. Worshipped voice whose words fall on deaf ears, Fall from god's grace, Icon to golden calf. Mirrored in cracked stone tablets.

Because you cannot believe in burning blood, warm skin, beating hearts. Only worshipped fiction mirroring you in the metal of the halo, But underneath it all I was human. Liberated by salt tears, Lost promises of the crown of heaven. Freed air you tried to drink,

To call poisoned when the holy oxygen met the spring air. Instead of blessing lungs with prayers you spoke on my lips to dring, Gold of your lungs, Worship their purity. Which I banished with a violent breath collected underneath golden skin, Liberated by tears and the path of blood. Mixed with floods, Lakes free from guardian dogs and the eyes of doe.

Kissed feet echo further and further away, Kissed forehead turns upward And worshipped eyes fall on red roses and the path of the moon across the nigh sky.

Holy breathing declares false prophet of young blonde god, Whose voice, damned and echoing through the church, Torn down monuments, altars and icons. But still worshipping the angel, saint, godess they portray. Without seeing the scarred forehead. Only the muse risen from Apollo's fingers' dance over the lyre, Song from his lips. Oracle declaring the fate of our hero, Martyr to Messiah in a golden crown, Golden halo alone on her forehead, Blind for blood and pain, Eyes fixed on the holy light, open arms, blue shroud which will soon turn red from her bleeding humanity. And the name is erased from holy writings, Paintings covered in white sheets. Images covered with paint on churches' walls,

Thickening with layers and soon thicker again, When the halo crowns blonde curls once again, Making gold of your image in the mirror, Hers you swear. While lungs are filled by your prayers, To become madonna, angel, godess.

While I am condemned to rot, Not a single rose on my grave. As empty handed as before promises of celestial beauty in my hands, Condemned greed.

You sought holy blue light, And found the red dust of humanity, You sought a holy mythological image And found the profane existence of the soul. You sought a saint, a godess, an angel And found a human. You are dissapointed.

//

Jag var för bra för att vara sann tills jag blev verklig,

För perfekt tills jag blev mänsklig

Och helighetens ljus byttes mot profanitet,

Skrubbade knän och kotor av stål.

Hur ska jag uttrycka det på annat sätt än dessa ord? När det heliga ljuset släcks, och vad är jag då.

Om bara mänsklig? Lovad paradiset, natthimmelens alla stjärnor,

En lögn som smälter stål,

Rygg, stämma, ord.

Musa frammanad av poetens strofer och Apollos händer,

Dessa ord för att begripliggöra det.

Förlorad i tystade böner och utklingade psalmer.

Dyrkad stämma vars ord faller på döva öron,

Syndafall,

Ikon till gyllene kalv

Speglad i spräckta stentavlor.

För du kan inte tro på brinnande blod, varm hud, slående hjärtan,

Utan endast helgade fiktioner som speglar dig i glorians metall,

Men jag förblev människa när huden förgylldes.

Frigjord av salta tårar,

Förlorade löften om himmelrikets krona.

Frigjord luft du sökte supa,

För att kalla förgiftad när det heliga syret blandades ut med vårluften.

Istället för att välsigna dina lungor med bönerna du talat mot mina läppar för att supa in,

Förgylla dina lungor,

Dyrka dess renlärighet

Den jag förkastade med ett våldsamt andetag som samlats under den förgyllda huden,

Frigjordes med tårarnas och blodets bana ned,

Blandas med floder,

Källor fria från vaktande hundar och hjortars blängande ögon.

Kyssta fötter ekar längre och längre bort,

Kysst panna vänder sig uppåt

Och dyrkade ögon fäster sig på röda rosor och månens bana över natthimlen.

Helgade andetag förklarar falsk profet av ung blond gud,

Vars stämma, förkastanden, ekar genom kyrksalen,

River monument, altare och ikonbilder.

Men dyrkar ännu ängeln, helgonet, gudinnan de föreställer.

Utan att se den medföljande ärrade pannan,

Endast musan sprungen ur Apollos fingrars dans över lyran,

Sången från hans läppar.

Orakel som förtäljer vår hjältes öde,

Från martyr till Messias,

Iklädd guldbelagd törnekrona,

Endast krönt med gyllene gloria,

Blind för blodet och smärtan i blicken,

Ögonen fästa på det heliga skenet, öppna händer, blå skrud som snart blir röd av hennes blödande, flödande mänsklighet.

Och namnet suddas från heliga skrifter,

Målningar täckta med vita lakan,

Bilder täckta med spackel på kyrkoväggar,

Som tjocknar med lagren, och snart blir tjockare igen,

När glorian kröner blonda lockar åter en gång,

Förgyller din spegelbild.

Hennes spegelbild lovar du.

Medan hennes lungor fylls av dina böner,

För att bli madonna, ängel, gudinna.

Medan jag är fördömd att ruttna,

Inte ens en ros på min grav.

Lika tomhänt som innan löften om himlavalvets skönhet i mina händer.

Förbannade girighet.

Du sökte heligt blått sken,

Och fann mänsklighetens röda damm,

Du sökte helgad mytologisk bild

Och fann den profana själens existens,

Du sökte ett helgon, en gudinna, en ängel

Och fann en människa.

Du är besviken.

[adornesibley]

Oh… oh my… well, buy me a drink first next time!

Battletech meets Mörk Borg. Jesus, they just went and reached straight into my brain for this! So so so excited for this to go live, and I’m so backing it!

[invinciblerodent]

Prayer of an unknown cleric

"Lord of Battles, Foehammer, protect me in the clash to come. Let my blade ring true, and my faith not falter. Let the tides of war turn in our favor, or let me fall with honor in Your righteous fire. Guide my soul to hold strong, and my arm to strike true, and allow Your sacred, impartial wisdom to sustain me so that I might guide us to Your blessed victory.

But.... in Your honor and glory, please... through Your divine will... please hear my fitful prayer.

Foehammer, at this troubled hour, hear that I beg of You, with the true and utmost devotion of a heart afire: I beg of You to heal and to keep, to protect that who is more dear than my own self- please, Tempus, my Lord of Fire and Steel, if he is to fall, then [multiple words scratched out] if he is to fall, then let my life be claimed in place of his, for he at holy hands has suff-- [large scribble] Just this once, please grant him Your divine presence. Keep his heart and hand strong, his mind sharp and magic mighty, and guide him to safety. Please, Foehammer, my Lord of War, let sword not touch sorcery on this day, and if it is blood that You desire, then I beg of You to take it from my devout heart sung in steel and psalm, from my sword forged in the crucible of combat, my faithful spirit and its complete devotion, and allow, in Your grace, for my beloved to live. And if life-- [large, furious scribble] if life is to be lost, if blood is to be spilled, let me exchange mine for his, have my life for it is already beholden to You, and let the trade be just, let it be fair, and let it be enough.

I request this of You as Your devout follower, as but Your most humble servant and sword- I beg of You to keep him, to save him; and if Your might is to hunger, to let Your appetite be whet on my skin, and Your teeth and blade be sated on my flesh, for I am Your creation.

Just... please, fuck, just... please let him live. Gods, please just let him survive this.

- an ink-stained prayer penned by a Baldurian war-priest on the eve of a great battle, 1492 DR. Divine magic shimmers in the parchment.

(Item received: Scroll of Warding Bond)

[nellie-elizabeth]

Book Tracking Check-In 10.4.24

TOTAL "Official" TBR: 100 (95 + 3 not on GR + 2 currently reading)

GOAL 1 BOOKS: OWNED & NOT READ (16 as of 10.4.24, 1 is preordered)

Dawnshard - Brandon Sanderson

The Sunlit Man - Brandon Sanderson

Nona the Ninth - Tamsyn Muir

Mammoths at the Gates - Nghi Vo

The Brides of High Hill - Nghi Vo

The Mars House - Natasha Pulley

10 Things That Never Happened - Alexis Hall

Tender Is the Night - F. Scott Fitzgerald

Go Tell It On the Mountain - James Baldwin

Love and Freindship (sic) - Jane Austen

The Unconsoled - Kazuo Ishiguro

Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead - Tom Stoppard

The Real Inspector Hound & Other Plays - Tom Stoppard

Morning Star - Pierce Brown

My Brilliant Friend - Elena Ferrante

[What Doesn’t Break (Bells Hells)] - preordered

GOAL 2 BOOKS: BOOK CLUBS! (1 as of 10.4.24)

The Spear Cuts Through Water

GOAL 3 BOOKS: RE-READ OLD BOOKS (23 as of 10.4.24)

Peter and the Starcatchers

Peter and the Shadow Thieves

Peter and the Secret of Rundoon

In Cold Blood

The Wish List

Walk Two Moons

The BFG

Adam Bede

The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down

The Princess Bride

Olive’s Ocean

The Valley of Secrets

The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest

Gathering Blue

Beloved - Toni Morrison

Mama Day - Gloria Naylor

The Accursed - Joyce Carol Oates

Ivanhoe - Walter Scott

The Cricket in Times Square

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

Slaughterhouse-Five

Charlotte’s Web

The People in the Trees

GOAL 4 BOOKS: CONTINUING SERIES/AUTHORS (Not currently owned/acquired) [60]

Discworld [11]

The Locked Tomb [1] *1 upcoming

Red Rising [4] *1 upcoming

Neapolitan [3]

Cosmere [3]

Critical Role [4]

After Cilmeri [5]

Priory of Orange Tree [2]

Hands of Emperor [2]

Dickens [1]

GO Graphic Novel [1]

Skyward [4]

Sanderson Other [1]

Saint of Steel [2]

Dan Jones History [2]

Random Library Books [3] *Bright Sword, Housekeeping, Penance*

Kate Alice Marshall [1]

Gods of Blood and Powder [3]

Lavender House [3]

Emily Tesh [1]

Philippa Gregory [3]

—————————

My Reading Stats in 2024 So Far: 70 TOTAL

GOAL 1 BOOKS: OWNED & NOT READ [27]

Promise of Blood

The Mighty Nein Origins - Fjord Stone

Words of Radiance

The Last Hero

Harrow the Ninth

The Narrow

A Christmas Carol and Other Christmas Writings

Edgedancer

Red Rising

The Crimson Campaign

Lord Byron’s Novel: The Evening Land

Mistborn: Secret History

Night Watch

Arcanum Unbounded

Golden Son

Yumi and the Nightmare Painter

How Long ‘Til Black Future Month

The Mighty Nein Origins - Beauregard Lionett

Into the Riverlands

The Autumn Republic

Apostles of Mercy

The Mighty Nein Origins - Caduceus Clay

No One Can Know

The Dispossessed

The Wee Free Men

The Adventure Zone: The Suffering Game

Oathbringer

GOAL 2 BOOKS: BOOK CLUBS! [16]

The Robber Bride

The Glass Hotel

Wylding Hall

The Unsettled

Babel-17

When We Were Orphans

Trust

The Riddle-Master of Hed

The Emperor and the Endless Palace

Prep

Parasol Against the Axe

A Psalm for the Wild-Built

Greta & Valdin

Anatomy: A Love Story

The One

Tom Lake

GOAL 3 BOOKS: RE-READ OLD BOOKS [18]

The Magicians Nephew

The Hobbit

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

Cages

The Horse and His Boy

Prince Caspian

Crime and Punishment

The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

The Blithedale Romance

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

The Silver Chair

The Last Battle

The Left Hand of Darkness

The School Story

Our Only May Amelia

The Host

Bud, Not Buddy

The Girl Who Played With Fire

GOAL 4 BOOKS: CONTINUING SERIES/AUTHORS [9] (Most included in Goal 1)

The Rise of Kyoshi

The Shadow of Kyoshi

Dark One

Dark One: Forgotten

Ninefox Gambit

Paladin's Grace

Skyward

Immortality: A Love Story

Paladin's Strength

[frogenthusiastt]

19/sea change for prompt meme?

19. Sea change (totally read this as sea of change because i couldnt think of a single thing to match this prompt lol sorry)

The first lesson Nicholas is taught is loneliness.

At 8 years old he's long since learnt that he lacks the cherubic qualities required to be granted adoption by a rich, childless couple. He looks poor and desolate, sure, but not in the way that makes adults want to swoop him up into a blanket and coo over his poor fate. He wears the kind of thousand yard stare that makes them avert their eyes in discomfort, that reminds them of the casualties of poverty in the entirely wrong way.

Still, he has Livio trailing after his steps like a lost puppy. Together they learn how to live like weeds growing in the cracks of pavement, how to be alone together. It's a lesson to be learnt, for sure, how to keep the lights on in the dark.

The second lesson he learns is shame.

Mask clad adults, clapping and telling him welcome child, to the path of God. They pat him on his back and ruffle his hair, all gloved impersonal hands.

The Eye of Michael teach him how to chant the psalms, how to recount his sins and that salvation lies in abandonment of your body and acquiescence of pain. He's taught the vital points of the body and how to gouge knives in the hearts of men, as by one man sin entered into the world, and death by sin; and so death passed upon all men, for that all have sinned. His body grows and grows into a holy weapon, and he learns how to kill a man without flinching. This is a terrible lesson.

The third lesson is pain.

Nicholas has known pain before, like a distant uncle. Now pain is his mother and father, his creation and Eucharist. Once he'd proven his body a worthy tool before Chapel and the acolytes, they take him apart into his base components and Unmake him into something inhuman. Terrible liquids seep into his body through needles and plastic tubes, for this is the Blood of the Covenant and through it thou shalt be made Holy. His flesh is carved and replaced, for Holy is the body of Christ and through it thou shalt be made perfect and free from Sin.

When he is lucky, they sedate him and the world becomes a technicolor kaleidoscope of visions to keep his thoughts occupied. He doesn't know if it's on purpose or just an accidental side effect of whatever chemicals they put in him but he takes it gratefully, thankful for just a moment to breathe throughout the nightmare of hurt.

He never learns what exactly they did to him, but when he's finally released from that terrible white room, he looks in the mirror and finds something other staring back. It takes years for him to recognize it as his face.

The fourth lesson is in efficiency.

Whatever it was they took out of him left an empty hole in his mind. Wherever regret or empathy used to be, only survival remains. Survival means to submit to the hand that's fed him, to take whatever chances given for a paycheck and the lives of the orphanage secured. He doesn't remember the faces of the people he kills, nor their pleas for mercy. He's a cold outer shell in the shape of a man, and so he becomes the employee of the month, of the year, of the decade.

The twist of a tendon, the flick of a wrist to sever flesh from bone, even the stab of a knitting needle through the head to save him the hassle of cleanup. These are the ways he earns a living, and he's damn good at his job. He steels himself against terror and lets the fear of fire and brimstone flow around him and through him like the hull of a sandsteamer, no worse for wear after he's crossed the sands of a thousand bodies piled underneath his feet. He becomes what he's been made to be, finds meaning in his function and keeps the lights on for the children at home. He's efficient, he's good at his job and that's all that counts.

His fifth and final lesson hits him with a truck. He walks in a daze, only half put upon to garner sympathy, and when he lies there bloody and disheveled hope walks out the side door of the car.

It is the most terrible lesson of all, the way the man calls him by name and looks through him like there is any softness in his body worth that blinding smile. Hope tells him that he's something worth salvation, wearing impossible blue eyes and the face of his brother. Nothing Wolfwood has ever been taught prepares him for this unwavering belief in goodness, the warm caress of a mismatched hands against his cheeks, the way he utters his name like it's something precious.

Hope finds him late at night, in soft touches and a hushed voice. Hope foolishly makes him stay in the morning when sunlight paints the white sheets wrapped around a body incandescent and flaxen hair golden. Hope puts his lips against lips, hands against hands, in desperate prayer to keep this one soft thing safe. Hope lights a fire against his will, forces his to look at his life with kinder eyes and wish for another day to come, and Wolfwood has asked for exactly none of it.

Hope laughs at his jokes and whines at his teasing and holds him trembling at night. If he was half the weapon he was made, he would cast it off and escape into the wasteland. It turns out the hands that fed him did a piss poor job of it, because he stays and stays and stays.

It is hope that has him rage at the dying of the light, knees bent in penance against the cold stone floor of the church. Blood splatters against it in a fearful rhythm, body contorted to support himself against the heavy weight of the cross. Still he rages, still he hopes, still he curses the God that made his fate. That he would learn his final lesson, as he lay here dying, must be some terrible cosmic joke from an uncaring creator.

As Wolfwood stills, he takes hope with him. It's the cruelest lesson of all.

[beardisable]

Fuckin hell it's nearing 3am(3 hours after i finished Nona) and I really need to sleep but lemme see if I can form any coherent thoughts about the ending

I was already crying at Nona mourning pal and cam so terribly(something about the healthiest relationship in the series still being consumption and merging under threat and stress, but still mutual and consensual and a symbiosis instead of parasitic, and how now both of them are gone but are one, but they're not gone, and how to love is to change others and be changed by others and share their experience and become one by absorbing little bits of them into yourself like a child growing up learning from media and their family and friends and how nona fucking speed ran that I guess but also is still so so so touched every single time and-), and the ship steering part was so cool but the repetition of I'm dying probably kept me on my toes, and eventually I was sobbing with Nona disassociating from harrows body and the march into the tomb and the killing of crux and maybe he was being extra nasty to make kiriona kill him faster and not feel guilt but of course she does and she doesn't feel satisfaction either because that's hardly ever the part of revenge that helps you heal and-), and then ianthe sitting down backwards on the steel chair with the red apple in her hand being the fucking friendship bracelets and then kiriona baffling her anyway with her plan which was satisfying af, but then Nona literally imploding I guess and the reveal of when exactly the uhhh psalms(like the John 32 or whatever idk what they're called, damn I really should read the bible for this series huh) took place and getting details of alecto, and then I didn't understand mostly what was happening anymore and was just?????? Shocked out of my tears and mourning and just left absolutely baffled and not ready to have emotions at the end of a tlt book for the third time in a row (100% success rate) and. Wow.

Also something something about "necromancy" and necrotic romance and dead love and love Is dead BUT ITS NOT LOVE IS FOREVER and it will always have happened and changed you and you both won't be the same anymore but you you're better for it and maybe staying the same isn't good, maybe keeping to the status go is bad actually like trying to keep a memory sealed or put the love in a mini fridge or not do anything to save the planet the only Home we have and GOD FUCK I HATE RICH PEOPLE jod is a man corrupted by his power but also his progress was completely logical and he's such a good fucking villain FUCK God damn

[jdgo51]

Run 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.