#trust in spirit

[cardsforthoughts]

It's time for the belief, "I have to do this by myself," to be respectfully yeeted into the ether!

Divine Affirmation to align with the message 🫂

[a-path-by-the-moon]

[viarayy01-blog]

you deserve it more

[dailyeffectiveprayer]

I pray that you are surrounded by people that will pray behind your back instead of talking behind your back.

[yasutheculprit]

[euphorictruths]

[deerspherestudios]

Can we get a picture of Alma?💕 I love them so much💜💜💜

They do their best to be the ultimate all-nighter study buddy when you need it!!👻❤️

[4him-iwrite]

[cerpiscool]

Jttw is NOT family friendly 😭🙏

[holyspiritgirl]

What is Spiritual Warfare and how to overcome it with the help of God?

• Spiritual warfare is the idea that there's a battle going on between good and evil forces. In Christianity, this means a fight between God and His angels against the devil and his demons. It mainly happens in our minds, hearts, and spirits. It’s about resisting bad thoughts, temptations, and influences that go against what God wants for us. Though we believe that Jesus has indeed already defeated Satan by dying on the cross and coming back to life, the enemy still tries to lead us to sin in order to push us away from God, thus spiritual warfare.

• “Symptoms” vary since the devil attacks you where it hurts the most, to make you as vulnerable as possible; but here are some of the most common ones:

- believing that your not worthy of having a relationship with God or talking to God therefore feeling the need to distance yourself from him

-self destructive / sabotage / harm temptations

-paranoia / overthinking

-strong headaches / body aches

-temptations towards sin such as lust, gluttony, laziness, anger.. etc, depends on your weaknesses

-self hatred & self doubt / doubt in faithfulness

-hopelessness, fear, anxiety

-random depressive moods & replaying bad memories … the list goes on!

• Living a life more aligned with God’s will is seen as a threat to Satan and his purposes, leading to increased attempts to discourage or derail one’s faith journey. With a deeper relationship with God often comes a greater sense of purpose and mission, attracting more challenges and obstacles from evil forces trying to prevent one from fulfilling God’s plans. Our Father allows these intensified battles to refine and strengthen our faith, helping us rely more on Him and grow spiritually.

• Here are some bible verses that may help you during those tough times battling spiritual warfare :

-Corinthians 10:13

- Psalm 91

-Ephesians 6:11-18

-Isaiah 54:17

-Galatians 5:17-26

- Peter 5:8-9

-Romans 8:37-39

-Luke 10:19

-James 4:7

-John 16:33

-Deuteronomy 3:22

-Matthew 4:10-11

• Let me know if you’d be interested in me posting those verses and talking about some of them with you guys, sort of like a bible study kind of thing. It’d be a pleasure ;)

Have a blessed day 💞💓👼🏻

[histhoughtslately]

Sometimes a person needs no words; just a hug.

That action in itself can go a very long way.

[a-path-by-the-moon]

[eggsdrawings]

1, 2, 3!

[dailyeffectiveprayer]

Just when you think it’s over, God sends you a miracle.

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

sometimes I think I don't have many thoughts or feelings about Ema, but then I think about her returning from Europe after her studies, failing to get the job she's dedicated her life to since she was a teenager, finding out that the man who saved both her and her sister got disbarred for submitting false evidence, being assigned to the prosecutor who got him disbarred, and running to find him only to be greeted by this slippery, silent stranger who won't talk about what he did or what really happened, and who's behaving just like her sister did for years, and I think about how powerless she is to help him because he won't let her, because he won't trust her, just as Lana hadn't for so much of her life, and how he should know better than to do that to her, but he doesn't or maybe he just doesn't care, and I think about Ema who came back full of hope and conviction only for that all to turn to dust in her hands in a matter of days, and I realise I do think about her a lot actually.

[just-french-me-up]

#48 for the ask prompts! ❤️

N°8 : A kiss out of habit

Now buckle up for a Dreamling Green Knight AU ! I had to fist fight myself not to go overboard with this!

It had caught Hob off guard, on the first day. The lady of the castle giving him a kiss had had him dread the return of her lord husband, for they had agreed to exchange the day's earnings, and what else had there been to trade, but the kiss he had been given?

The lord had accepted it, stoic against Hob's trembling lips. In return, Hob had been given a story, a tale of the lord's invention that day. His mind worked beautifully, and Hob had watched his lips as they gave life to unearthly tales, drinking each word in like sweet wine.

On the second day, the lady's kisses had gone from surprising to intriguing. Hob had passed them on that very evening, the lord's scent now familiar as their noses had brushed together, trading breath for breath. The lord had been less stoic then. Hob could remember the knock of his heart against his chest as the lord had pressed his lips to his, opening Hob's mouth into something beyond transactional. Less chaste.

Hob had paid little attention to the lord's tale, that night. He had pretended to, of course, nodding his head, interjecting here or there, but his attention had wandered elsewhere. In the sharp line of his host's jaw. In the pale shade of his eyes, where the flames of the fireplace seemed to burn brighter still. He had itched to kiss him again, feel that fervor again. Patience. They had agreed on three nights, hadn't they?

On the third day, the lady's kisses had become a habit. Hob had expected them. Hoped for them. The poor woman's advances remained unanswered, Hob politely refusing anything further. All he could think about was the evening, when the lord would find him and ask for his earnings.

But the lord was late.

Night had fallen, dinner had been served, eaten, plates taken away, and there was no sign of the lord of the castle.

When the hour had become unreasonable, Hob retired to his bedchamber, pacing the fine floors. The morning would see him leave his hosts' care, for he had agreed to meet the Green Knight at the green chapel. He would die then, he was sure of it. A blow for a blow. He would die without having given the lord his due. How could he bear it?

Someone knocked on the door. Startled, Hob approached it, apprehension and hope both tugging at his stomach. Could it be the lord? Or his wife, seeking him out to attempt to seduce him once more, in her husband's absence?

Standing at the threshold was his host, his black hair slightly damp. His clothes were perfectly dry, but Hob noticed the mud on his shoes. He must have come here straight away, he told himself, far from indifferent to the implications.

"Apologies," the lord said. "My duties have kept me away longer than I realised."

"I thought so," Hob lied.

"I could send for a servant to rekindle the fire in the hall, so we may trade there."

"The household has gone to bed," Hob countered smoothly, keen on the idea of them there, alone. "Let us not disturb them. Perhaps we may conduct our trade here?"

He stepped back, showing the inside of his chambers. The lord seemed to hesitate, but eventually agreed to follow Hob in, closing the door behind them. There they stood. Alone. Hob swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close they were. They had stood close before, as one must when kissing another, but this felt... intimate. Illicit, almost, in the most intoxicating way.

"Well?" the lord asked. "What have you earned today, Ser Gadling?"

Without a word, Hob inched closer, his hands behind his back. The lord did not flinch at he leant forward, meeting his lips in a slow embrace. They came apart in a soft sigh, the lord's eyes fluttering open as Hob leant back.

"What else?" his host asked, almost as a challenge.

The second kiss was more daring, earning Hob a few more sighs. He held the lord's chin as his tongue brushed his, hunger pooling at the pit of his stomach, but he stopped himself, pulling back. The man was flushed now, his back almost to the door. Hob could not say he disliked the sight. If anything, it called to him, wild thoughts sprouting in his mind of how else he'd like to see this lord, pretty pink mouth and all.

"Is this how this earning was given to you?" the man whispered. He did not sound angry. He didn't even sound curious, really. Only wanting.

"No," Hob's thumb trailed from his chin to his lower lip, tracing the plump, glistening flesh there, hot breath blowing in his skin, threatening to undo him. "This is how you shape it."

"This was not in the rules," the lord pointed out, though he did not move. If anything, Hob could have sworn he was closer. "Is this all?"

"Not quite."

The third kiss was ravenous, Hob pouring his longing and desires into the embrace, pushing the lord against the door until their bodies were entwined, hands grasping for more, pulling fabric as though to meld them together. They were both out of breath by the time they pulled back, lips inches apart.

"I must be gone in the morning," Hob rasped. "I fear I won't come back. I shall meet my end there."

The lord observed him, almost intrigued.

"Stay," Hob asked, on the verge of begging.

"The trade―"

"Tell me your story in the morning, before dawn. Close the trade then. Stay."

"I can not, for you must receive my end of the bargain tonight."

Hob shook his head, desperate to keep him close.

"Keep it. I do not want it. I want you."

Slowly, the man raised a hand to Hob's hair, cupping the back of his head, and kissed his forehead.

"Have I ever told you my name, Hob?"

Hob stared at him, at a loss. Now that he mentioned it...

"No. You haven't."

"I am Dream, Prince of Stories. Such is the nature of my offering, tonight."

Hob frowned, confused. Prince? His host had always had a regal flair to him, but he could never have imagined...

"Dream? You're offering me a dream? How?"

"It hardly matters."

Dream's hand fell from Hob's hair to his cheek, his caress soft, but clearly meant to break the tension between them.

"Go to bed, Hob Gadling. Close your eyes, give yourself to sleep. I may visit you in more ways that one."

Hob pressed Dream's hand to his cheek, refusing to let go. Such promises could not be. The body against his was flesh and bones, he could feel it. He closed his eyes, trying to burn the touch into his memory, the warmth of his skin. By the time he opened his eyes, the lord was gone, as though he'd vanished into thin air, and he was left cradling his own hand, empty.

Hob stared at the door, dejected. Now that he was alone, what else was there to do but lie in bed, waiting for the morning of his death? How could he sleep, knowing where he was headed? Yet curiosity wormed its way through his despair, making him glance back at the bed waiting for him.

He was to be given a dream. One last dream. And his host had ever been gifted at telling stories. How could he refuse him?

Send me a kissing prompt?