#the spirit indeed is willing but the flesh is weak

[aspirant1598]

[wiirocku]

Matthew 26:41 (NKJV) - Watch and pray, lest you enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

[northsealight]

cold hands warm steel

summary: jason's spirit indeed is willing, but his flesh is weak.

notes: this is a teaser of sorts for my project I've been working on!! + some thoughts about knight!Jason, temptation, and his weird thing for metal weaponry. I thought about this about a year ago and was inspired to continue it after reading @sanguineterrain's wonderful wonderful Jason knight fics. also would not be here posting this willingly if it weren't for @shoot-i-messed-up indulging this..

The knight’s day begins not with the rising of the sun, but with the discordant hums of church bells, beckoning him to morning mass. Jason is no different– like a good man of the faith, he stews in the back pew of his lord’s chapel alongside the rest of the cavalry. 

The homily, much to his horror, is like nothing Jason has heard before; graphic denouncement of desire, temptation, and the sins of flesh. He knows the oath, knows it like the brand seared into his face, knows it like the rejection of a father afraid of his prodigal son. He knows not to break it. Yet the description of such lecherous acts that were meant to sicken him, draw him in. Placidly, he thinks of you during the priest's fiery sermon— you who did nothing but infuriate and annoy, you who somehow, enticed him in another language that transcended the physical.  Something precious as a knight’s chastity seemed to dull in face of what he could desire, possess, own— if he finally submitted to you.

The thoughts linger with him, long after mass ends, long after entering the forge— as he flattens his armor, each strike of the white-hot steel brings to mind images of warm, giving skin; each chime of metal reminiscent of muffled sighs, quiet gasps. 

Even in preparation for violence, his longing follows him. When Jason wearily lifts the chest plate to his body, his first thought upon the cold suggestion of his armor is hot hands, gliding down his stomach. When Jason hooks all of his gear into the right corners, all the belts, buckles, and screws that slide against each other without resistance, he guiltily imagines damp limbs, bumping into one another in uniform ecstasy. 

Like a man possessed, he grasps the hilt of his sword, and imagines his thumb pressing your pulse point; the soft juncture between your neck and collarbone. Slowly, almost as if in a trance, he slides the pad of his digit up, up, up; past the hilt, the crooked cross-guard, through your clothing, and into the cool steel of your skin. 

What words could he elicit with a press of his finger? What carefully guarded secrets could he uncover? He forces his thumb down, harder, and imagines your bright grin, and hands that guide his clumsy, fumbling ones down. Harder, and you shower him with praise, words that make his ears flush with embarrassment. Even harder, and he may as well be lost to the grain of your voice forever. 

Jason is brought out of his reverie by the sting of broken skin. He watches as his blood, ruby red, spreads and stains the base of his blade. 

For a moment, it seemed that even cold steel could bend to human want.

[waxingrunes]

“Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” — Matthew 26:41.

[hotchnerwrites]

Holy Ground

Pairing: Robert Chase x reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: SFW, submissive & pathetic Chase, religious references, a lot of catholic guilt, corruption k1nk, rope restraints

A/N: Hello, hello, it's been a while. This one is written for my dear friend @ineffablestardust . Hope you all enjoy it!! There will be a part two soon, that will be nsfw 👀 Keep an eye out for that :)

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

My requests are open, send me stuff!

Chase’s mind was in disorder. 

His arms were restrained behind his back with thick, black ropes, the rough strands cutting into his wrists as he knelt on a cold, hard floor. Yet he felt no pain. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face and down against his neck. The position he was in felt strangely familiar, though it had never been voluntary before. When he was young, his mother had always insisted that he kneel in the pews of their church during prayer, hands clasped tight, and head bowed in reverence. But that had been an act of devotion. 

This? This wasn’t devotion. 

This wasn’t even a prayer. No, this was punishment.

For wanting you. For letting his body betray his mind. Years of mental resilience broken down by just the scent of your skin. By the sound of your laugh. By the look in your eyes. 

His chest rose and fell erratically, breaths falling in shallow gasps. A dull throb registered in the back of his mind from kneeling, but it was nothing compared to the twisting, gnawing sensation in his gut. Thick ropes of guilt coiled in his abdomen, spreading through his veins like venom. Chase had learned these feelings a lifetime ago— classic Catholic guilt instilled in him from the day he started speaking. Drilled into his mind repeatedly every Sunday. Whispered into his ears by his mother at night. Burned into his soul by the priests to whom he had confessed every sin so they could scrub him clean. 

Thou shalt not commit adultery.

The commandant pulsed in his mind like a sickening drumbeat. The stillness of the room only amplified the wild rush of his thoughts. A lock of hair fell over his face, damp with sweat. The strands stuck to his skin, but he dared not move it out of the way. Instead, his eyes flickered over to you. 

There you sat on the edge of the bed. Head cocked to one side, watching him like a hawk. There was amusement in your eyes, but your gaze was predatory as it fell on him, like a lion sizing up its prey. And he was your prey, wasn’t he?

Even from the floor, Chase could feel it in every fibre of his being. That pull, the magnetic force that he couldn’t escape since the day he met you. Restrained as he was, his body struggled to be closer to you. 

Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.

Chase yearned for your touch, your proximity. But he also hated himself for it, for the weakness he felt, and how every instinct he had screamed at him to break free of the ropes and do whatever it took to feel you. Every part of him wanted to give in to embrace the temptation. And you were giving it to him like a sweet poison. 

“You’re so tense, Chase,” you said, voice soft but laced with a power that kept him on his knees. “I can see you fighting, honey, but you don’t have to. Just… let go.”

His heart hammered in his chest as your hand reached out, brushing the side of his face with a tenderness that made his stomach tighten. It was a simple touch, but it felt like a branding iron.

"Do you know how long I’ve waited for you to finally understand what you are?" you whispered, moving in closer. His body tensed even more as you leaned down to whisper in his ear, your breath hot against his skin. "I��ve watched you struggle, Chase. I’ve watched you pretend to be a good little boy, so controlled, so... obedient.”

The word lingered in his mind—obedient. Was that how he had always been? Always following the rules, the commands, the rituals that kept him locked in a cage of guilt? He had spent his life by the book—never questioning, never challenging. His entire existence was governed by the comfort of obedience. He had never made a choice, professional or personal, that wasn’t dictated by a rule or ritual. He had learned to find a certain luxury in this. But now, kneeling here in front of you, it felt as if everything he knew was unravelling.

The rhythmic clicking of your heels as you circled him was hypnotic. The walls seemed to be closing in with every step, the air thick with tension. 

“You don’t have to pretend anymore,” your voice cut through the haze settling over his thoughts. Your fingers ghosted down the side of his neck, tracing the line of his jaw, and he couldn't help but shiver.

His lips parted, but no words came out. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. He could only feel. And what he felt was... need. A raw, primal need.

“I know what you want, Chase,” you whisper in his ear.

He wanted to pray. He wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. He wanted to scream. But there was no voice left in him, only the swirling hunger taking over every sense of his, impossible to ignore.

“You want to feel free.”

It felt like a question, but it wasn’t. You both knew the answer, even though Chase wanted to deny it all. The relief he had once found in submission, in following the rules, now felt suffocating. He had been conditioned to stay in line but he had nothing left to anchor him to the shore. He felt paralysed by the weight of the choice he now faced.

Chase could feel the warmth of your breath against his lips now. “Say it,” you beg, the words like honey. 

He wasn’t sure when it happened. Was it when you placed a hand on his chest, the heat of your touch searing through his clothes? Or was it when you repeated your command, voice solicitous yet soft?

“Yes.”

The words escaped him like a confession. 

What had he just done?

This wasn’t him. This wasn’t the man who had always obeyed, who had always followed the rules. This was something else. Something reckless.

His breath hitched in his throat as the gravity of his choice settled over him. He had never made a decision like this before. He had never chosen for himself. But now there was no going back. The relief was almost immediate, unexpected—a flood of release he hadn’t known he was craving.

It wasn’t just about the act, the surrender. It was about the permission he had just given himself. 

Chase’s voice cracked as he spoke again. His actions were automatic, even reflexive— a prayer ingrained into his bones. 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

But this time, there would be no priest to forgive him, no ritual to cleanse him. And for the first time in his life, Robert Chase did not want absolution.

Chase slowly lifted his head, blonde strands shrouding his vision. His eyes fell at your feet and slowly made their way up the length of your body. When he finally met your gaze, you were smiling.

Not a sweet, comforting smile, but a cruel and knowing one. A smile that told him that he had just sealed his fate.

And for a crystal clear moment, Chase realised he was feeling something he hadn’t in years— relief.

It wasn’t salvation. It wasn’t peace. But it was freedom.

And that was something he hadn’t known he needed until now.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

pt. 2

[angelicsjn]

JOSHUA WHITE.

A N: Not a request, I'm just a whore for a religious man, I fear.

A B O U T: Joshua is a man of purity, and you're testing that statement.

W A R N I N G S: Sexual themes, MDNI! Religious themes, but well, that's expected.

It wasn't the first time that you noticed his gaze linger your way ever so slightly longer than the average attendee at the congregation.

Perhaps it was because you were looking first — he was the reason you attended at all, after all. It's embarrassing to admit it, right?

His kind eyes, deep and warm, honey and hot cocoa. His smile that shone a light in only a way that God could provide. Some sick part of you revelled in it with thighs that tightened with each glance, your fingers playing against one another after your touch left his. A simple handshake. Politeness. But it lingered. It created a craving so much worse than ever.

It felt wrong. It was wrong. It is. But could you stop? No. You couldn't. Maybe some part of you began to pray with conviction to attempt to rid yourself of such desires — a thing that was foreign to you. But Joshua White was different. He was pure Wasn't he? Surely.

Funny; the feeling was mutual on his side.

His voice was held soft. His touch softer, yet. And yet his eyes never managed to gain control in terms of undressing you. The thirst in his gut sent him reeling, dizzy with a need he never knew he possessed.

After hours, in the darkness of his room, he would pray under candlelight, begging for a way out. For an answer. Was it God's test? A test of faith. Commitment.

But, by God, he wanted you. To feel your flesh upon his tongue.

"Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak." He whispered, his lips ached against his fist.

Each word uttered burned, and Satan's spit coated his throat with his temptation. His hot temptation caused a shiver to erupt up against Joshua's naked spine.

But in his mind — deep inside of it — unravelled the thought of your fingers, tracing up his back. Tickling his spine with hushings against the curve of his neck, air blowing against hot tan skin.

"The flesh is weak." You'd say, tone dripping in desire. Soon enough, your lips would meet his neck, a soft kiss. Almost as if a feather fell, grazing his skin with fragility.

Your fingers, nimble and cold, feel him. His breath caught up in his chest, his lips open with unspoken words, deep hushed groans replaced his prayer.

"Forgive me, for I am a sinner." Remorse was found in his tone, spoken out into the empty room.

Oh, how he ached. Was this really God's test? Or was it His pleasure? A gift. For being such a...

"Good boy." You whisper, and a whine of need left past his mouth, the feeling of your fingers gliding across the wetness of his tongue.

He licked with anticipation, his mouth closed as his eyes rolled back, sucking the sin from your skin, making it his to bear.

His hand. No. Yours. Your hand. Soft. Delicate. Wrapped around his cock. Hard. So eager.

You felt him. Took him whole in your hand and created a new galaxy to meet his gaze. His knees hurt against the wood of his floor, but, fuck, his stomach flipped with each stroke that you fisted with silk-like motions.

'1 John 2:16 - For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride of life—is not from the Father but is from the world.'

He needed more. He craved more. Joshua's grasp against the bedsheets locked his fingers, as his — your hand deliciously rocked against the sensitivity of his cock, feeling every inch of him as he pulsated against your tender flesh.

"God loves you." You murmured, your lips against his neck, tasting him as your fingers entwined with his tongue, still. "But not as much as I do, my sweet lamb."

His teeth grazed against your fingers, his licks grew in weight as he breathed with ragged lust through his nostrils.

"I want you to cum for me." You said. "Speak His name in vain, my boy, show Him how good I feel, instead."

His eyes rolled back, his balls tightened with unwanted angst as he thought of his sins. His powerless deceit against He as he succumbed to you.

The idea of you.

The thought of you touching him, everywhere your hands could possibly feel. To make a mess of his hardwood floor where he knees burned from hours of prayer, from less than than to cum simply over one thought that retracted any sort of hope he held before.

He couldn't hold back anymore.

[ataraxiaspainting]

Razzmatazz.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader x Yan(?) Hisoka.

[Ultraviolet Catalouge.]

Synopsis: You are a dancer with no stage and no audience. Hisoka’s carrot and stick may just fix that.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, dub-con, cigarette usage, manipulation, mentions of body transformation, religious imagery, mentions of minor character death, humiliation, voyerism, oral (male receiving), masturbation, orgasm denial, the start of Stockholm Syndrome(?), and mentions of past stalking.

Word Count: 5.6k.

Can be considered to be within the Hier Encore universe.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Rich Girl by Gwen Stefani (feat. Eve)

Always Forever by Cults

So Beautiful by DPR IAN

Décolleté by Kenshi Yonezu

Introitus by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Villainous Thing by Shayfer James

La petite fille de la mer - Remastered by Vangelis

Tonight You Belong To Me by Patience & Prudence

Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge 

A Little Death by The Neighbourhood 

*~*~*~*

i. “Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” (Matthew 26:41)

A dead leaf is pressed against the balcony window. 

“Dearest? Why are you awake so early?” 

The storm outside must be getting worse. The lightning is so bright, despite the sky itself being so dark. The thunder is getting louder too, and more frequent. Your senses choose to blissfully ignore the devil behind you to enjoy the scene ahead. This apartment is so high up that the tempest feels closer than it would if you were on the ground. A cup of tea is in your right hand. Your left is limp and stuck to your side. 

“Dearest? Dearest?”

The drink is a pleasant shade of light brown, with an even more pleasant vanilla and bergamot aroma tickling your nostrils. After much consideration from Chrollo, you were given fresh tea leaves that came from some expensive store that has locations all over Yorknew. The cost for a measly ten tea bags was ten thousand Jenny. 

Chrollo said it could not be helped to get only the best for you.

It couldn’t be helped, like everything else he had ever done. It couldn’t be helped, like how you escaped nearly two and a half years ago.

It couldn’t be helped, like how Hisoka betrayed you and left you to rot.

Or to burn.

You wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted both to happen to you.

Chrollo’s hands are slow to touch your neck, but his front was already pressed against you a while ago. They feel cold–dead, almost.

His right hand lingers just above your collarbone, while the left pinches your chin gently. His lips kiss your nape, and you resist shivering. While it would not show you are cold, it would show your cowardice. The only way to tolerate Chrollo is to ignore him as best as you can without him getting unbearable. It’s your new strategy, as the old one from back then is now dead.

There are no new sounds. Only the rainfall and Chrollo’s sighs. Then from the distance, you could have sworn you heard a knock. But you choose to ignore that too.

“Come back to bed.” 

“I wanted to see the first spring shower.”

His hands lower. You let him do that. You make him do that. 

“You made tea this early?”

“Yes.”

Chrollo’s chin rests on your shoulder as he looks down at his kneading hands.

“May I try some please?”

Before you can answer, he tips his head further down, expecting a reward for attempting to be a gentleman. You lift your right hand and he takes a few sips. His hands don’t hold the cup. He lets you–no, makes you–do that for him.

“It’s delicious.”

The clock above the living room television reads 01:01. 

The sky lights up as it is forcibly torn apart. The clouds have yet to show the dawn’s colors, and you suspect Chrollo would like it to be that way forever.

“It’s good… very good,” The praises fall from his forked tongue like morning dew dripping from a single blade of grass. “As soon as the cup is emptied, please lay to rest up for what is to come. I would hate to see my darling exhausted. Please…”

You feel three separate sensations behind you. They do not all come at once.

“Let me grant your request fully on my end, and you shall fulfill it on yours as well.”

The first is the feeling of the pain of pleasure. It came with the start of more pecks on the back of your neck. They trace the dark spots Chrollo had left, the ones that have yet to fade. 

The second is the pain of nothingness. It takes the form of a wall to remind you what he is and what you are.

The third is the pain of having company.

It exists as a reaction to the erection pressing against your lower back.

ii. “When the devil had finished all this tempting, he left him until an opportune time.” (Luke 4:13)

You started wanting to smoke again. 

A few days after you were brought back here, the craving for pitch-black smoke arrived due to no Sebaste being here to keep it at bay. He was not your only source of light, but he was the brightest one. Bedside lamps, the lit windows of buildings up high, the moon… nothing compares to someone long since withered away. You can still see, but not as good. Even the cigarette lighter from the night you met, the last memento you have of him, pales in comparison. 

The path ahead you still know, but just barely. You have no plan, no map, no route for what is to come. You are not acting like a rabbit running from a wolf, fearful and skittish, but you are alone nonetheless. You have more desires than just to live, though. You don’t let yourself be caught, but you still sneak into the hunter’s lodge to eat whatever scraps you can find. 

You refuse to let yourself fall into ruin but tempt the thought that your captor will. 

You tempt him like forbidden fruit so you can reap whatever rewards come next.

*~*~*~*

Shadows cover the better half of Hisoka’s body, but even then you know it is him. “Hello, princess. Fancy seeing you here.”

The edges of your mouth move downward, but you hold in what you want to say.

The grip on your shoulder does not cease entirely, but enough for you to slip away for a moment. The smell of grass and pollen is fresh as petals dance in the air.

Your skirt flows with the wind as you walk slowly, carefully, towards the familiar stranger. This country is known for having what is known as “The Eternal Solstice”, and so your white dress is the perfect last addition to this perfect painting. You’ll send the artist your regards soon enough, he is right in front of you after all. 

“Number Four.” Your voice is not cracked so much that Hisoka would not be able to hear you, but still enough for you to attempt to clear your throat after those two words are spoken. “What are you doing here?”

“The same reason you and the boss are here.” Between the index and middle finger on his left hand, two cards are stuck. The Queen of Hearts and the Ace of Diamonds.

“You’re lying.” The response is more immediate than you would have liked, but your anger overtakes your want to be cordial unconsciously. 

“Am I?” Hisoka asks, putting the two cards on his palm and pressing his hands together. In an instant, they are gone. “Why else would I be here then?”

“You want to mock me.” You hiss, gripping onto your skirt so tightly that the delicate fabric may break. “After everything I told you, after everything I did… you stabbed me in the back.”

A sigh. “And here I thought you would hear me out. Sad, really.”

“It’s too late for that.”

“Oh? Is it?” You choke on your words in an instant when you see a familiar silver cube no bigger than the length of your pinky in Hisoka’s right hand. “Remember this?”

Your eyes don’t possess as much rage now, and their gaze lingers elsewhere. The clown chuckles.

“That’s my girl.” He uses his thumb to open the lighter and then uses the same finger to amit a weak flame from it. “Come closer.”

You do what he says like a puppet on a string.

“Put out your hand, lovely.” You obey. When Hisoka’s own approaches with your treasure, your eyes light up. 

…

It is only one word that stops you from moving entirely.

“Cigarettes.”

iii. “And give no opportunity to the devil.” (Ephesians 4:27)

Like church bells, Hisoka’s offer rings in your ear longer than you would have liked. The words said are worse than a parasite, clinging onto a body long after both are dead.

They refuse to exit. They simply sit and stay. No matter how much you attempt to kick them out, they always come back.

“What do you think of the deal, my love?”

Ah. Should you make your real feelings known? Or simply play pretend?

In Chrollo’s world, though, all his mirrors are shattered, while yours remain whole.

Everyone lies, but only you are figured out one way or another, sooner or later.

“I think we should accept.”

iv. “When you ask, you do not receive, because you ask with wrong motives, that you may spend what you get on your pleasures.” (James 4:3)

“Ladies first.”

You follow the scent of candles and the temptation of a past where you were not content, but happy.

The start of the path is the bedroom’s doorway.

Something else drags you to the bed. Something foreign, but just something as well known to you as unbuttoning the front of your dress. It waits. It is patient. It is alive and here and oh so very excited.

Lust. It gathers from Hisoka and Chrollo… and you. It is the weapon you used to use against everyone to further your own goals, but now the sword’s blade is pointed at you.

You feel the sensation of Hisoka’s hand on your ass, and it stays there.

“Get moving, princess.”

Something looms over the bed. A shadow darker than the night’s sky itself. It stares at you with a singular eye–the orb brighter than the full moon outside. You blink, and then it disappears.

You then sit at the very corner of the bed in wait, crossing one leg over the other. Your movements aren’t as robotic anymore–they feel… raw, animalistic almost–and you hate that, but love it. 

The shadow lingers over you once more.

Love it? Have you truly fallen this far?

You, who has lost it all. You, whose soul is now stained with the blood of those you despised and adored. You… loving this feeling?

This isn’t you.

This is wrong, you tell yourself. Your entire life has been all about self-preservation. After being kidnapped, that want only grew and grew.

Has being on the run for two years made you this soft? This pliable?

Disgusting. This is disgusting. You are disgusting.

“Just do what you two normally do,” Hisoka says, crossing his arms as he sits beside you. “I’m all for it.”

Chrollo’s hands lower as his back bends forward, and you raise your hands.

He’s gentle as usual, kissing the air around your left earlobe to ease you further into this.

Button after button, the black dress gets a bit looser. The dress is put above your face like that of a bride’s wedding veil. Wait, you think, it is more like the attire of someone attending a funeral. You like this idea more after pondering on it. It ensures for at least some time you still have hate in your body. So, you love the touches no further. Your posture goes back to that of a statue.

Chrollo is the first to say something about it as soon as the dress is fully off, allowing him to see your facial expression and body language. You aren’t looking into his eyes anymore. Your legs are no longer crossed. Sebaste really made you vulnerable, didn’t he? He posed no threat to you then, but he does now. He does now. His palms no longer caress your cold heart, but his ghost curses it with warmth only found within hell’s flames.

“Are you thinking about him again?” Your eyebrows cast downward as you look at his feet. The heels of them connect and then spread out. It reminds you of a flower, in a way. “Well?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Chrollo knows this line well. Every time he mentions that man, you recite it like a preacher or an actor.

You want to believe the lie that you speak of all the same. You want to delude yourself so you regress into the calculating being you once were.

You don’t want to get hurt again. He can understand that. So he keeps himself from mentioning Sebaste any further for the night. As a bonus, Hisoka’s fun won’t be ruined.

You really have bloomed, he thinks. All it takes is a bit more time to see you at your most beautiful.

Not that you never were beautiful, of course.

“Ah, my apologies.”

He steps to your left side and grasps at the clasps of your bra. He treats each one delicately like they are gifts from the divine. Would he betray them, if they existed and he believed? You would ask, but you’re unsure as to if you would like the answer he responds with.

“You’re forgiven.” You nearly huffed.

Hisoka thinks that reaction is adorable. Unlike what the rest of the Troupe may think of you, you are just a small child in an adult���s body. Your wants are simple, and so are your tantrums when you don’t get what you want.

“Careful,” He says, his smirk wide.

“I know,” Chrollo responds, his eyes only on you. “You wouldn’t let me go anymore if I didn’t apologize here and now.”

So he’s being ignored now?

“Get it over with,” You almost hiss, looking back at both of them. “Usually you’re much rougher than this.”

Hmm? A facade?

Hisoka considered this when he asked for Chrollo’s consent. Chrollo has no real identity, he knows that well. So because of that, he isn’t surprised.

“You know why I’m taking this nice and slow, don’t you?”

You don’t say anything for a while after that.

Your arms are no longer raised when Chrollo pulls your bra off of you. Your midriff’s rolls coil into one another as your spine proceeds to move further down until you are at eye level with Chrollo’s pant’s zipper. Hisoka stifles the urge to laugh when he hears something akin to a pig’s snort coming out of you. You’re cute.

Quite cute.

Revulsion is something most things have experienced, and you are no exception. It’s bitter, like the blackest coffee, but also sweet and sour like a whole lime was cubed and boiled in a pot with it for hours until it turned into a blob of horrid distaste. After all, unveiling your captor’s erect cock was not for the faint of heart. Hisoka really cannot blame you for everything you have ever done to get away from Chrollo.

Perhaps he should join in on the action, just to feel some of the poison’s effects.

Chrollo takes off his shirt and throws it to you. That’s the signal Hisoka needed before undressing too. Even though he will not be touching you, he will have to be careful to not be too pushy with you two.

“Have you heard Magcub got a new girlfriend?” Hisoka crushes a speck of dust between his sharp nails. “Apparently she’s a veteran. Must have taken a bit of force to get her under control.”

“Why exactly did you agree to this?” You ask, grasping onto Chrollo’s forearms and having your nails dig into his pale skin. He doesn’t seem to mind, as he is more focused on already kissing your neck. 

Hisoka doesn’t know if this is a form of rebellion or pettiness, but either way, he cares as much as Chrollo does–which is not at all.

There is a dark red lipstick on the vanity, still open and no longer having any edge. In fact, it looks like there are only a few more days worth of use left in the tube. You must use it quite often. When neither of you looks, Hisoka points with his Nen in effect. It flies into his hand like a domesticated bird. 

He stores it in one of the pockets of the pants he so eagerly discarded from his person. For a moment he expected Chrollo to turn and demand for him to give it back, but instead, there was still no reaction whatsoever. 

“You don’t let me smoke at all, so why?”

Chrollo sits down next to you, sliding his hand up and down your thigh. “To be completely honest, I see this as a mutually beneficial situation. All parties involved get rewarded for their sacrifices, no matter how small.” He brushes some of your hair with his fingers. “You get your cigarettes, Hisoka gets his… delight, and I… I get to feel heaven once more.”

Heaven? Well, if your voice can be seen as an angelic choir, who can stop him from praying at your altar? Hisoka certainly cannot. Chrollo is the only one who can choose to no longer claim to have sanctuary there. 

You don’t have the power to strike either of them down.

“Tch. If I were a seraph, I would have never let darkness like you thrive in this world. Never.” Chrollo looks up at you and touches the bridge of your nose with his finger. “That I promise.”

“Hmm,” He murmurs. Then, a shake of the head. “You don’t mean that, my love.”

“I do.”

Your hands are trembling. Your mouth feels dry. Your head hurts.

“Why do you enjoy hurting me?”

“Can you hurry?”

His head turns to the side. The gesture can be seen as a heartfelt one by many. “Are you feeling less prudent this evening, darling?”

“You’re being quite ungrateful, you know.”

“No.”

Chrollo’s expression doesn’t change. For what feels like forever, his lips are so close to yours that you can smell the mint in his breath. But for a moment, you could have sworn it was smoke instead.

Your brain must be playing another trick on you.

“Am I the only thief to have ever indulged with and in you?”

You don’t answer then, either.

Hisoka starts to stroke his cock–it’s covered in green veins with the end getting pinker and pinker by the second. His hands then rest on the part of the bed neither of you chose to take, the left side. He bends backward as he looks down at himself, proud. He groans.

“You’re pushing the bed.” You glare at Hisoka as you spur out angered words without a second thought.

You’re avoiding talking about your feelings again. Hisoka knew that you refused to even when you were with Sebaste. He considers bringing you to an aquarium when Chrollo is busy, but then he buries the idea. Perhaps that would be too cruel. As much as you hate Hisoka, Hisoka enjoys your company too much–and he doesn’t want Chrollo to take you away.

Not yet. Not now. Not ever. While he could have not ratted you out much, much later, after you and Sebaste married, perhaps, Hisoka wanted to see you more strung up.

As a bonus, Chrollo was very pleased with him, further cementing his reputation among the other Spiders.

Hisoka decided not to kill you to enrage Chrollo, so it was the safest option in all aspects.

“Fix it.” You demand. With your lips busy, Chrollo decides to kiss your neck instead.

Hisoka puts his arms up with a mockingly innocent expression on his face. “Very well, princess.”

Your nose wrinkles again.

“Eyes on me,” Chrollo whispers as he pecks softly.

Hisoka isn’t sure if you heard the man, because as he moves the bedframe back to its original position, you continue to seethe.

Your wrists are grabbed and dragged above your head. That quickly gets your attention. You look at Chrollo wide-eyed, but not surprised.

The vow isn’t sealed with the sudden kiss, but it is a start. With your mind hazy from everything, you kiss back.

I don’t want him, your brain almost screams before it goes unconscious. [First] [Last], the woman who has led many people to their demise by being selfish, wanting to be ravished by the very man she abhors? Pull yourself together, and call off the deal.

Your near-dead heart beats once more when Chrollo touches you, though.

I feel alive.

His tongue is an intruder in only name. It swipes across your teeth and picks up tiny pieces of fruit with every crevice it overtakes. Before it dies, your skull demands you to bite. Spit. Run. But you want to be here, so you don’t do any of those things. 

Not like you could have, anyway.

“How beautiful,” Chrollo murmurs as his tongue collides with yours. “How soft.”

You aren’t pleased with his teasing. “Just make it happen.”

“Oh, how you have thawed,” His mouth retreats upward to your ear, hissing and rattling away. “You’re so eager now, dearest.”

His fingers let go of your wrists, wandering down to your stomach, your hips, and then your ass. He squeezes the flesh as he takes your greedy tongue yet again. His hands move up slightly as he pushes you onto his lap. Your knees sink into the bed with a slight creek of the mattress. Must be the coils. Or the bottom of the frame.

Or… was it you, somehow?

“Careful you don’t fall, princess.”

Hisoka is now facing away from you two, his chin in between the only two pillows you use. Perhaps he knows that, either from the smell they give off or how they are both one of your favorite colors.

But somehow, someway, he knew what you two were doing, in typical Hisoka fashion.

Well…

It’s not like either of your actions are vague.

“Chrollo…”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can… you hold my back?”

Chrollo raises an eyebrow as he nods his head. “Of course.”

His left hand caresses your spine as you bend backward. Has all that ballet training stuck with you, even after these few years? Chrollo has the answer already in his smiling brain.

Two fingers on the free hand coil up, while the middle, the pointer, and the thumb remain as straight as a line. Two tips enter and curl while the third strokes up and down and side to side. Your clit follows your heart, accepting the guests with open arms. The lips clench, not wanting to let go.

“You always took them well,” He chuckles. 

Shut up. 

Shut it.

But your mouth is nothing without its brain, so it continues to moan while your heart continues to live for the chase.

“Don’t… Don’t stop,”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Hisoka hasn’t said anything else for some time, and you all know you hope it continues to be that way. He continues to sniff the pillows as he rubs himself against the mattress. You make a mental note to ask for cleaning service tomorrow, or maybe if Chrollo is in a good mood he will do it.

“I… I’m close, I’m so close, I…”

“Not now.”

You fool. You should have never made that deal.

“Don’t be upset. I’ll let you eventually.”

“Please…”

You squirm as you close your eyes, in a desperate attempt to hide what you have become. A prideless harlot bouncing on her captor’s lap. Can you really fall further into hell now? You are already so below that the morning’s star is nearly invisible to your eyes.

“Patience is a virtue, darling.” He says as if that would change anything about this situation.

When Chrollo lets go of your back, you almost crash onto the floor below. 

“Careful now,” Hisoka teases, still not looking back. “I told you so.”

The words aren’t noticed, because now you are busy rubbing your inner thighs together for some sort of pleasure.

Chrollo shakes your hands off his shoulders, and then you collapse.

For the first time in a while, you feel physical pain. You don’t feel your heart dropping or your mind going hazy or both being tempted by unimaginable things. No.

For that reason, though, it only hurts for a moment.

Then…

Then, it is gone.

Now only pursuit remains. You’re on your knees in an instant and attempt to stand. A hand plays with your hair and keeps you where it wants you to be. On the ground. Desperate for a single note of sweetness in a flavorless black sea.

Bitterness as well.

Then, the need to pursue leaves your body as it knows what is going to happen next.

Bliss.

Warmth.

Harmony.

…Self-destruction.

How unfortunate for you, that that the last thing is all your heart wants.

You open your mouth not for the first time or the last time this evening. Your imagination envisions all the desserts and drinks you have downed using the same tongue, and the same lips. Half of you is disgusted at the thought. The other half does not care in the slightest.

The member slides in like it belongs there–like it is part of you; somehow, someway. It’s as salty as the sea, not having the taste you wanted in the slightest, but you allow it to continue pressing against your hard palate. 

He thrusts up and down. Precum pools below your tongue and stays until you can’t breathe. You swallow it down in mere moments.

It’s thicker than syrup would be, but it is just as sugary. The smell is pungent like chlorine, but not as irritating. 

“Simply lovely,” Chrollo looks up at the ceiling, a light pink blush on his pale cheeks. “You always took me so well.”

A few minutes pass.

But… to you, it feels like just a second or maybe three.

Chrollo groans one more time as he orgasms, warm liquid running down your throat as his cock plunges in and out of the dark at least ten more times.

Then it exits, signaling the end of the fourth act.

Chrollo pats his thigh and finally allows you to stand up. The mattress sinks again as you climb on top of him. Once more Hisoka hears the creak sound. The source of the sound is still unknown to him.

“You’re so wet already, darling.”

Chrollo moves his hands to your legs as he pulls them apart and sees the sweet pleasure point in between. 

His thumb goes up and down, playing with the tiny tip as you spread yourself further on his lap. 

But… But…

But Chrollo doesn’t lift his hips to connect you two? But Hisoka is still fucking your pillows to his heart’s content? But you still haven’t seen any proof of either of them bringing the cigarettes? But Chrollo hasn’t made reservations to that restaurant you wanted to go to? Or…

You don’t know where you were going with that thought, that “but”.

It fades like morning’s dew falling from the grass into wet soil. It is so miniscule. So insignificant. Its destiny was made from the start. It has no use in this world; it is just a sign of something that has already happened.

You grip onto Chrollo’s shoulders for dear life, like you will fall into the depths of hell should you lose the embrace. Should… you lose yourself here, on this bed, it will mean the death of you.

“Your hands are cold.” The only thing that moves is Chrollo’s eyelids moving up and down.

“Why did you stop?”

“Hm?”

“Why… did you stop, Chrollo?”

“I did nothing of the sort.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Isn’t it normal to take breaks before resuming sexual activities?”

He’s lying; you can tell by the way he smiles and looks up at the ceiling again.

But… you don’t tell him you know.

You. Don’t Say. Anything.

“Calm yourself, dearest.”

His voice is as sweet as ever, you think.

Sometimes, when you are good, it takes all the bad feelings away…

Oh. Oh. You didn’t realize you were crying. You didn’t realize panting, hyperventilating.

“What… How long will it be?”

“Don’t worry,” Chrollo whispers, leaning close to your ear. “Only a moment longer.”

When he finally enters after what feels like an eternity, your eyes roll to the top of your head.

v. “Do not let your heart turn to her ways or stray into her paths. Many are the victims she has brought down; her slain are a mighty throng.” (Proverbs 7:25-26)

The clock above the bed frame reads 23:03.

You hug your pillow as you turn your body to the right.

Hisoka is no longer here, but the pressurized point on the mattress is still warm when your fingertips graze the middle of it.

A pair of arms caress your torso in a sort of hug, gently dragging you backward. A recognizable tongue slithers up and down the back of your neck. The bruises there don’t hurt anymore, but you are certain they will be harder to cover up than the others. You can see from the corner of your eye that the bathroom light is on and that the bathroom’s door is wide open. 

“What is he doing?” You mumble, putting your face further into your pillow.

You already know the answer, however–as much as you attempt to forget the obvious fact and the burden of your imagination. Then, you hear them both moan at the same time. At least you think so. You could have just thought up Hisoka’s since he is farther away, but Chrollo is right behind you.

“You did good…” Chrollo whispers, pecking your left shoulder.

“Of course I did.” You huff. “I never let down people who keep their word.”

You then hear the shower’s water running.

“He’s going to waste all the good water,” You grumble, rolling your eyes. “I wanted to take a bath.”

“You could always join me,” Hisoka says, his voice nearing exclamation.

You sigh. Of course he can hear you.

“I’ll pass.”

“A shame.”

The door then closes.

You sit up from the bed and pull up the blanket just enough to cover your privates. “He isn’t staying for the night, is he?”

The man beside you balances his head with his right arm, looking up at you.

“...Is he? No?” You ask. Chrollo’s only response is to pull the blanket back down. “Yes?”

“No.” He finally responds, laying on his back. “Knowing him, it’s safe to assume that he’ll be gone by midnight. Unless you ask him to stay, though I highly doubt you would. But he does have a soft spot for you, you know.”

“Mmhmm,” You groan. “If you say so.”

The front of your head suddenly aches. You rub your temple, scowling.

“What’s wrong?” Chrollo’s head tilts, and for a moment you can see something akin to concern on his face. It’s close to the real thing–too close for your liking. When looked at at just the right angle, all its flawlessness fades and only the uncanny characteristics remain. 

Your response is nothing less and nothing more than the slight creak of the bed frame as you turn to your bedside table.

Cigarettes. At least twenty of them. There couldn’t be more than thirty, though. But they are real cigarettes. Not the fake ones Chrollo attempts to place between your teeth whenever you ask to smoke. Not the bubblegum he gives you after a particularly heavy meal whenever you ask to go outside and sit somewhere near a person using a cigar or cretek. 

No, they’re real and here and they’re yours.

“Nothing,” You answer, sighing again.

You feel the part of the mattress that is behind you dig deeper. Chrollo inches closer and closer until the little bit of distance between you is a mere dip. Then it turns into a line so small not even the tip of your pinky finger can fit. The hug is more unbearable than it was before.

But then the discomfort goes away. Something in the back of your mind realizes that this, everything that this is, is horrifying. Nothing hurts you anymore, but everything can be much worse now.

Everything can be so, so much worse now. Dead anchovies piled up high in fishing markets will remind you of Sebastian's last moments, his unblinking eye still staring into you.

Smoke made of nicotine will remind you of Hisoka now, and not the beach where you met the love of your life. 

Train tracks, yams, calamari, roses, wine, lipstick, bookmarks, purses, wallets. Lighters, phones, card games, video games, computers, scarves, sunglasses. Being grasped from behind and being pushed and slapped around.

“It’s been forty-five minutes.” You say nonchalantly, almost bored, after a while, after looking up and behind you to the clock. 

Chrollo doesn’t respond–he doesn’t have to. You already have enough pieces to put the puzzle together on your own.

“He wants to stay,” You close your eyes. You don’t take deep breaths or quick breaths, just hardly notable ones. “Doesn’t he?”

Silence.

You know if Chrollo did respond, it wouldn’t be anything as nice as a “no” or a “yes”.

“Fine,” Your heart rate slows, but you attempt to not show it. “Don’t tell me.”

The silence isn’t as eerie as Hisoka’s laughter, but it still grasps around your neck just enough for you not to breathe normally. 

You don’t say “good night” to people anymore–that right is only reserved for those long since taken by death.

You hope it will be at your beck and call too, one day.

Something already is.

It is only a matter of time before you know what it is.

One day, when you either eat or be eaten.

One day, when all of your patience finally comes to fruition.

One day, when this play’s final act plays out in front of an unwilling audience.

One day.

[reformedfaith]

Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

Matthew 26:41

[alwaysrememberjesus]

”Keep awake and watch and pray constantly, that you may not enter into temptation; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.“ — Mark‬ ‭14‬:‭38‬ ‭AMPC‬‬

[esilher]

Collaborative December klaine challenge 2023 between @esilher and @mynonah

"The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak."

"Huh. Really, Kurt? When did you become religious?"

"I did not."

"Then why do you quote the Bible?"

"I do what?"

"What you just said... The spirit indeed is willing..."

"Oh, I think it's from some movie, I don't know exactly. But I like it, I use it sometimes. It sounds so wise."

"I wonder why... Was the movie about Jesus?"

"I highly doubt it."

"Okay. Because you quoted Jesus."

"I did WHAT? I'm gonna kill Rachel."

[poweredinpeace]

Ezekiel 16:30 How weak is your heart, says the Lord Yahweh, seeing you do all these things, the work of an impudent prostitute;

There is no power in going along with evil, what God hates! Words of honey flow off the lips of those seducing the heart of the fool who stand for nothing but going along with the evil crowd. Nothing is sacred or righteous for impudent prostitute they feeds on weakness for cash!

They will destroy house, family, marriage, a nation for a trick cash; loyalty is paid for a second of pleasure. God insulted Israel calling her a prostitute those they stoned to death, for selling themselves to foreigners for sexual pleasures.

Mark 14:38 Watch and pray, that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak."

[newsiesgolgotha]

The Passion of our Lord Jack Kelly

Gospel: Kelly 14:29-15:39

Racetrack said to him, “Even though all become scabs, I will not.” Jack said to him, “Truly I tell you, this day, this very night, before the bell rings twice, you will deny me three times.” But he said vehemently, “Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you.” And all of them said the same.

They went to a place called Central Park; and he said to his disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” He took with him Racetrack and Davey and Les, and began to be distressed and agitated. And he said to them, “I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and keep awake.” And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. He came and found them sleeping; and he said to Racetrack, “Anthony, are you asleep? Could you not keep awake one hour? Keep awake and pray that you may not come into the time of trial; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” And again he went away and prayed. And once more he came and found them sleeping, for their eyes were very heavy; and they did not know what to say to him. He came a third time and said to them, “Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? Enough! The hour has come; the Son of Manhattan is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Get up, let us be going. See, my betrayer is at hand.”

Immediately, while he was still speaking, Jesdus, one of the twelve, arrived; and with him there was a crowd with clubs, from the bulls and the scabs. Now the betrayer had given them a sign, saying, “The one I will kiss is the man; arrest him and lead him away under guard.” So when he came, he went up to him at once and said, “Jeck!” and kissed him. Then they laid hands on him and arrested him. 

A certain young man was following him, wearing nothing but a newspaper. They caught hold of him, but he left the newspaper and ran off naked.

They took Jack to Snyder; and all the bulls and the scabs were assembled. Racetrack had followed him at a distance, right into the courtyard of the Spider; and he was sitting with the scabs, warming himself at the fire. Now the bulls were looking for testimony against Jack to put him to death; but they found none. For many gave false testimony against him, and their testimony did not agree. Then Snyder stood up before them and asked Jack, “Have you no answer? What is it that they testify against you?” But he was silent and did not answer. Again Snyder asked him, “Are you the Cowboy, the Son of Manhattan?” Jesdus said, “I am; and 

‘you will see the Son of Manhattan seated at the right hand of The World,’ and ‘coming with the tumbleweeds of Santa Fe.’”

Then Snyder tore his clothes and said, “Why do we still need witnesses? You have heard his blasphemy! What is your decision?” All of them condemned him as deserving death. Some began to spit on him, to blindfold him, and to strike him, saying to him, “Prophesy!” The scabs also took him over and beat him.

While Racetrack was below in the courtyard, one of the employees of Snyder came by. When she saw Racetrack warming himself, she stared at him and said, “You also were with Jack, the man from Lower Manhattan.”But he denied it, saying, “I do not know or understand what you are talking about.” And he went out into the forecourt. Then the bell rang. And the employee on seeing him, began again to say to the bystanders, “This man is one of them.” But again he denied it. Then after a little while the bystanders again said to Racetrack, “Certainly you are one of them; for you are a Newsie.” But he began to curse, and he swore an oath, “I do not know this man you are talking about.” At that moment the bell rang for the second time. Then Racetrack remembered that Jack had said to him, “Before the bell rings twice, you will deny me three times.” And he broke down and wept.

As soon as it was morning, Snyder held a consultation with the bulls and the scabs. They bound Jack, led him away, and handed him over to Governor Roosevelt. Roosevelt asked him, “Are you the King of New York?” He answered him, “You say so.” Then Snyder accused him of many things. Roosevelt asked him again, “Have you no answer? See how many charges they bring against you.” But Jack made no further reply, so that Roosevelt was amazed.

Now at the rally he used to release a prisoner for them, anyone for whom they asked. Now a man called Weisel was in prison with the rest of the strike-breakers. So the crowd came and began to ask Roosevelt to do for them according to his custom. Then he answered them, “Do you want me to release for you the King of New York?” For he realized that it was out of jealousy that Snyder had handed him over. But Snyder stirred up the crowd to have him release Weisel for them instead. Roosevelt spoke to them again, “Then what do you wish me to do with the man you call the King of New York?” They shouted back, “Crucify him!” Roosevelt asked them, “Why, what evil has he done?” But they shouted all the more, “Crucify him!” So Roosevelt, wishing to satisfy the crowd, released Weisel for them; and after flogging Jack, he handed him over to be crucified.

Then the soldiers led him into the Newsie Square; and they called together the whole town. And they clothed him in a purple cap; and after twisting some papes into a crown, they put it on him. And they began saluting him, “Hail, King of New York!” They struck his head with a pape, spat upon him, and knelt down in homage to him. After mocking him, they stripped him of the purple cap and put his own cap on him. Then they led him out to crucify him.

They compelled a passer-by, who was coming in from Brooklyn, to carry his cross; it was Spot of Conlon, the leader of the Brooklyn Newsies. Then they brought Jack to the place called Golgotha (which means the place of a skull). And they offered him seltzer mixed with water; but he did not take it. And they crucified him, and divided his clothes among them, casting lots to decide what each should take.

It was nine o’clock in the morning when they crucified him. The inscription of the charge against him read, “The King of New York.” And with him they crucified two Delancey bruddas, one on his right and one on his left. Those who passed by derided him, shaking their heads and saying, “Aha! You who would strike against The World and form a union, save yourself, and come down from the cross!” In the same way Snyder, along with the scabs, were also mocking him among themselves and saying, “He saved others; he cannot save himself. Let the Cowboy, the King of New York, come down from the cross now, so that we may see and believe.” Those Delanceys who were crucified with him also taunted him.

When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. At three o’clock Jack cried out with a loud voice, “*אין” which means, “I ain’t got nothin’ if I ain’t got Santa Fe!” When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, “Listen, he is calling for Crutchie.” And someone ran, filled a sponge with dirty seltzer water, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink, saying, “Wait, let us see whether Crutchie will come to take him down.” Then Jack gave a loud cry and breathed his last. And the freshly printed newspapers were torn in two, from top to bottom. Now when Pulitzer, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, “Truly this man was Manhattan’s Son!”

*How to translate the following into Hebrew:

“I’m sorry sir, but that item seems to be out of stock right now. If you like I can place it on back order and notify you upon its arrival, or perhaps I could direct you to another establishment which may have it.”

In Hebrew all this translates simply: אין.

[scribeforchrist-blog]

Removing the Restrictions

MEMORY VERSE OF THE WEEK

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+ Luke 5:8 When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at Jesus’ knees and said, “Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!”

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VERSE OF THE DAY

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+ 1 Corinthians 7:35 I am saying this for your benefit, not to place restrictions on you. I want you to do whatever will help you serve the Lord best, with as few distractions as possible

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* SAY THIS BEFORE YOU READ; HERE’S SOME CHRISTIAN TRUTHS **

I AM REMOVING THE RESTRICTIONS

I AM FAITHFUL

I AM LOVING

I AM BOLD

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READ TIME: 7 Minutes & 14 Seconds

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THOUGHTS:

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  What does prayer time look like for you? Does it look like just a few words, or is it a meaningful moment between you and your maker? Many of us make prayer time into a list of things we need or a list of complaints, but did you know that when we come to God, we must do it with a contrite heart and in a loving way?

A few of us haven’t mastered the gift of prayer, and yes , I call it a gift because he didn’t have to let us talk to him. Still, he does. Some people in the Bible learned and used prayer, but some of us haven’t because we feel it's only for certain people. I hear people say I know this person can get a prayer through, so I ask them, or I know this person can pray so that I will ask them, but It's not like this at all; prayer is for anyone willing to put in the time to do it. Are you willing?? 

  Colossians 4:2 Continue steadfastly in prayer, being watchful in it with thanksgiving.

That’s another thing we must do: be watchful when we pray, so how do we become watchful? We wait. Do you notice that when people look at birds and watch them, they are quiet and still wait no matter how long it takes them? They watch out for what’s happening, and as they do this, they listen as well; a lot of us, when we pray, won't remain silent, and we won't listen either. God wants us to hear his voice and get used to watching out for his unction and voice while we pray.

* Jeremiah 33:3 Call me, and I will answer you and tell you great and hidden things you have not known.

* Matthew 26:41: Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit, indeed, is willing, but the flesh is weak.

* Ephesians 6:18 Praying at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication. To that end, keep alert with all perseverance, making supplication for all the saints,

He’s asking us to call to him and be watchful and prayerful at all times, it’s so many things he wants to show us, but he can’t show us when we don’t want to sit under him; the spirit is willing, but our flesh will always not won’t to pray, because our body, wants to do other things, we must learn to make our body sit under the presence of God, not under the garbage of this life.

   We can sit for hours and watch tick-tocks and watch Instagram, but no one can sit and pray; no one can spend hours in prayer; they find it odd to do that but not odd to hold a phone for hours; what I find odd is what this world find odd, what I find odd is filling our life with pointless ours of Instagram and never say anything to our creator,

Psalms 145:18 The Lord is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth.

We must be near God at all times, and he will be near us; the word of God has said several times that we must draw near God, and he’ll draw near us, we must pray to draw near him, we must read the word of God the enemy is taking out people right now by distracting them from reading their word and prayer and if the enemy can do that he can do anything because we ALLOW HIM TOO.

  1 Corinthians 7:35 I am saying this for your benefit, not to place restrictions on you. I want you to do whatever will help you serve the Lord best, with as few distractions as possible

  Paul said to serve the lord with few distractions; a lot of us have a lot of distractions, and we don’t see it as a concern, but we must ,Paul said don’t place restrictions on ourselves but serve God; how many of you want to serve God ,which is always drawing near to him and some of us have this problem where we have things and people stopping us, and we are so blinded that we don’t see that he wants us to do this , this is what it’s meant to do, the devil means for us to be distracted, you can’t pray because of distractions you can’t worship because of distractions.

  Don’t get me wrong, I love my phone, but the phone is the biggest distraction there is because everything can be done on the phone; if you can’t pull away from your phone, place it outside your door and call upon the name of Jesus because it’s going to be a time where we can’t call on him brothers and sisters I’m here to tell you the enemy is using the biggest weapon which is are our phone if we aren’t careful we are going to be stuck !!

  ***Today, we learned about distractions, what the lord wants for us, and how he wants us to connect with him in many ways. The Lord wants us to come to him about anything, but if we are filled with distractions, we won’t ever come; the enemy likes that we have all these hobbies and all this time to get away ,because then we aren’t coming to God ,we are too busy stuck in our life distractions .

  Matthew 6:33 But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be added unto you.

  Have you sought God first? Do you have the time to, if you do, make time for God? When we seek him first, everything else will be added unto us, & what will be added unto us? anything we desire that’s in the will of God. Many of us desire so much that’s in the world, but God wants to give us things that will keep us and sustain us; if you love God and your flesh isn’t leading you, trust in God today and ask him to help you through your tough times. ©Seer~ Prophetess Lee

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PRAYER

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Heavenly Father, we thank you for today; we ask you to help us with everything; lord, we ask you to give us peace in our minds and our hearts lord, help us to take today's devotional and apply it to our lives; lord we thank you, and praise your name lord give us strength as we go through our day to adhere to your commands and your voice, forgive us of any sins we have done knowing and unknowingly, lord help us to stand on your word and not against it in Jesus Name Amen

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REFERENCES

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+ Colossians 3:2 Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things

 

+ 2 Corinthians 11:3 I am afraid, however, that just as Eve was deceived by the serpent’s cunning, your minds may be led astray from your simple and pure devotion to Christ

 

+ James 1:8 He is a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways

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FURTHER READINGS

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 Proverbs 26

Jonah 2

2 Timothy 4

1 John 2

Acts 6

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[wecanbeperfect]

JESUS' PRAYER IN GETHSEMANE

Matthew 26:41 Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

this armor of yours

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/GgaFNyQ by northernsealight jason's spirit indeed is willing, but his flesh is weak. Words: 463, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 1 of cold hands warm steel Fandoms: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham Knight Genesis (Comics), Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne Relationships: Jason Todd/Reader, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Reader Additional Tags: Catholic Guilt, Temptation, Implied Sexual Content, Emotionally Repressed Jason Todd, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Jason Todd is a knight, I think knights are hot, Yearning, Drabble read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/GgaFNyQ

[mercyr58]

Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak

Matthew 26:41