#russian temples

[famousfishathletecookie]

Санкт-Петербург, Россия 🇷🇺

Исаакиевский собор.

[nkp1981]

Russian Blue Cat At The Philae Temple in Aswan, Egypt.

Photo by Mathew Cromer.

[alexxx-malev]

Russia. Diveyevo. Serafimo-Diveevsky Monastery Дивеево. Серафимо-Дивеевский монастырь

[ra-horakhty-art]

The look of the winners.

Mongols are looking at destroyed temple.

Artwork from series "The ashes of Kerman-Kiva"

[drondskaath]

Звёздный Храм | Звёздный Храм | 2024

Russian Atmospheric Black Metal

Star Temple, Self Titled debut

[thysia]

A Rite in Honor of the Goddess Makosha at the "Devil's Settlement", Boris Olshansky

[vintage-russia]

A group of people at the door of the Temple of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary,Smolensk (early 20th centery)

[postcard-from-the-past]

Buryat temple in Russia

Russian vintage postcard

[mockva]

What are churches built on

[agentfascinateur]

YES! Start in Toronto...

#I ❤️ Francesca Albanese

[wulfhalls]

If you could have changed anything about DJATS show what would it have been and why?

the ending like lmao yeah it was dramatic and emotional or whatever but also just like dumb. u just wanna shake the guy and scream in his face that divorce doesn't make him a bad father lol anyways they should have had the balls to commit to the bit. u can't have sam claflin looking at a woman like that for 10 eps straight and then just. end it like that. I do get it like I do. but also I really don't. so. yeah dhdhdhjddj

[famousfishathletecookie]

Kizhi Island, Karelia. Russia 🇷🇺

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Today in Christian History

Today is Monday, March 6th, the 65th day of 2023. There are 300 days left in the year.

Today’s Highlight in History:

1830: The New York Evangelist is founded with the assistance of Charles G. Finney for the express purpose of representing revival interests and will soon command a large circulation.

1883: Death in Oslo of Norwegian editor and hymnwriter, Elevine Heede. Altogether she had written or translated more than two hundred hymns.

1901: Amy Carmichael, serving as a missionary in India, shelters her first temple runaway, a young girl dedicated to the Hindu gods and forced into prostitution to earn money for the priests.

1916: Russians slaughter the Turkish 3rd Army, giving no quarter to the men held responsible for the recent massacre of Armenian Christians.

1919: Death in Peoria, Illinois, of hymnwriter Julia Harriette Johnston who had directed a Presbyterian Sunday school for forty years and written a book of missionary lives. Her best-known hymn was the popular “Grace Greater than Our Sin.”

1933: Death in Massachusetts of Christian educator and hymnwriter Amos R. Wells, editor of Peloubet’s Notes for the International Sunday School Lessons and editorial secretary for the United Society of Christian Endeavor.

1984: Death of Lutheran pastor Martin Niemoller, a founder of Germany’s Confessing Church and an opponent of the Nazis, who imprisoned him for many years.

2015: Opening day of The Oromo Theologians’ Forum is held in Oslo, Norway, and seeks ways for displaced Ethiopians to effectively share the gospel in Europe.

[suetravelblog]

Czartoryski Museum Kraków Poland

[carnalcrows]

russian roulette

genre: smut

pairing: salesman x male!reader

CW: unprotected sex, cum as lube, gunplay, slight-dubcon, blowjobs (reader receiving), anal, creampie, breeding, the salesman is a warning of his own, the term [y/n] is not used

word count: 1.6k

The dim light of the underground room cast long, jagged shadows across the walls. The metallic scent of oil and gunpowder clung to the air, mingling with the faint coppery tang of fear. You sat tied to a chair, your wrists bound tightly behind your back. The sharp edges of the ropes bite into your skin each time you so much as shifted.

Across from you, the Salesman leaned casually against the table, his signature smirk firmly in place. He toyed with the revolver in his hand, spinning the cylinder with a flick of his wrist. His eyes—dark, calculating, and endlessly amused—never left you.

“You know,” he said, his voice as smooth as silk, “most people wouldn’t agree to this game. It’s dangerous. Final. But then again...” He stepped closer, the gun dangling loosely from his fingers. “You’re not like most people, are you?”

“Guess I just enjoy living on the edge,” you shot back, refusing to let the tremor in your voice betray you.

He chuckled, a low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh, you’re more than just that. You’re reckless. Stubborn. And,” he tilted his head, his smirk deepening, “you’re very, very intriguing.”

The gun clicked as he opened the cylinder, slipping a single bullet into one of the chambers. The sound echoed through the room, sharp and deliberate. He snapped it shut with a flourish, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

“Let’s see how lucky you are today,” he murmured, stepping into your personal space.

You tensed as he crouched in front of you, the revolver resting loosely in his grip. His free hand reached out, brushing against your jaw to tilt your face upward. The touch was deceptively gentle, his thumb lingering for just a moment too long.

“Do you always get this close to people you’re threatening?” you asked, your voice laced with defiance.

“Only the ones worth the effort.” His smirk widened, but his eyes were sharp, dissecting you as though trying to unravel the very core of who you were.

He straightened, spinning the cylinder once more before pressing the cold barrel of the revolver against your temple. The pressure was light, almost playful, but the weight of what it symbolized made your heart pound.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, leaning down so that his lips were just inches from your ear. “Not so fearless now?”

You swallowed hard, meeting his gaze head-on. “Maybe I just don’t feel like giving you the satisfaction.”

His laugh was quiet, almost a hum. “Oh, you’ve already done that.” He pulled back slightly, shifting the revolver to your lips. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip as he tilted your head back further, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Open.”

The command sent a wave of heat through you, not from fear, but from something darker, more visceral. You parted your lips, the cold metal slipping inside, heavy against your tongue. The intimate nature of the act was suffocating, his hand steady as he watched you, unblinking.

“There it is,” he said softly, almost to himself. “That spark. That fire. You don’t want to lose, do you?” Click. The gun doesn’t go off.

You glared at him, your breath shallow around the barrel. His smirk softened into something more unreadable as he removed the gun, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw once more.

“No,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “You’re not afraid of death. You’re afraid of me.”

You clenched your fists behind your back, the ropes biting into your skin. “What do you want from me?”

He tilted his head, considering you for a moment. Then, with deliberate slowness, he lowered the revolver and crouched again, his face level with yours.

“Maybe I just like watching you squirm,” he said, though the words carried a weight that contradicted his playful tone. His hand came up to your face again, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “Or maybe... I just like you.”

The confession, if it could be called that, hung in the air between you, heavy and charged. He stood abruptly, spinning the revolver one last time before slipping it into the holster at his hip.

“Lucky for you,” he said, his smirk returning. But instead of stepping away, he lingered, his sharp gaze raking over you like a predator sizing up its prey.

The tension in the room thickened, the charged atmosphere pressing against your skin. You wanted to say something—maybe challenge him, maybe break the silence—but the words caught in your throat when he leaned down again, his gloved hand brushing against your cheek.

“You look like you have something to say,” he murmured, his tone low and laced with amusement.

“I was just wondering,” you began, voice steady despite the heat building between you, “if this is what you consider being generous.”

He chuckled, a dark, velvety sound that made your pulse spike. “Oh, you think I’m playing rough now?” His fingers trailed from your cheek to your jaw, the leather cool against your skin. “You don’t even know half of it.”

You swallowed hard, meeting his eyes even as your breath quickened. “Then why don’t you show me?”

The smirk on his lips faltered, replaced by something deeper, darker. For a moment, the mask of playful arrogance slipped, and you glimpsed the man beneath—the one who thrived on control, who relished in watching others unravel.

His hand moved lower, the tips of his fingers brushing against your neck. He tilted your head back, exposing your throat as his thumb pressed lightly against your pulse. “You’re bold,” he murmured, his voice a whisper against the shell of your ear. “I like that.”

His proximity was intoxicating, the scent of leather and faint cologne filling your senses. The room felt smaller, the air heavier, as he leaned in closer. His gloved hand slid to the back of your neck, his grip firm but not painful.

“I could make you beg,” he said, his words a dangerous promise. “But I think I’d enjoy hearing you defy me more.”

You met his gaze, the challenge clear in your eyes. “Maybe you should try.”

For a moment, the world held its breath. His smirk returned, slow and deliberate, as he leaned in, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth—not quite a kiss, but enough to make your heart race. His voice dropped to a near-growl.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, his breath warm against your skin.

“Good thing I like danger,” you shot back, your voice barely above a whisper.

His laugh was low and dark, sending a shiver down your spine. “Then let’s see how far you’re willing to go.”

He hooks his finger through the hem of your pants and slides it down slowly, along with your boxers. Your cock hardens with the sudden rush of cool air. He stares at it momentarily, before kneeling down to – put it in his mouth?

That was not what you had expected, but it wasn't like you were complaining. He slowly licked a stripe from the base to the hand, while his other hand brought out his gun from the holster at his hip. 

“S-stop teasing,” you whimpered, and before you could say another word, he had taken your cock till the hilt. You let out a strangled moan, head falling back.

He slowly bobbed his head on your length, while his other hand had placed the gun on the floor and was now trying to free his own cock from the constraint of his pants.

Soon enough, you were at your climax, but he pulled off, and finished with his hands. You came with a groan, all over the man’s face. He seemed to be enjoying it though.

As your breathing slows down, he lifts your legs up (while you are still tied to the chair). Before you can say anything, a cold object presses to the rim of your ass. When you look down, you realize that its the revolver.

Click

It doesn’t go off.

“Today might just be your lucky day,” the salesman chuckles, before slowly inserting the tip of the revolver into your ass before you could protest, using your own release as lube. The feeling on the cold revolver has you seeing stars, it’s a perfect mix of pleasure and pain.

As the gun keeps going in and out of you, the salesman utters what you think to be a mix of praise and degradation. 

“Such a pretty little whore for me, that’s it… Do you get off to this? Having a gun up your ass?” Before you could respond, he gets up, takes the gun out and slides his cock in its place. He doesn’t even wait for a moment, and takes you all the way to the hilt.

He rocks in and out of you slowly, pressing the gun to your temple. “Such a good boy f’me,” he says as he drags the gun down to your neck.

One particular hard thrust hits your sweet spot, sending your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Seeing this, he loses all form of self control, and stashes the gun, taking both of his hands to you hips before fucking into you like a wild animal.

“Fuck.. I’m gonna–,” he interrupts himself when he releases into you with a loud groan, throwing his head back. You too reach your second climax, painting both your stomachs pearly white.

After a few minutes, the man pulls out, cleans himself up takes his brief case and leaves with you still tied to the chair.

“Are you kidding me–”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my work as I spend time and and I take genuine effort to do them.

[nekrosmos]

You know how speaking in a language that isn't your native one is really mentally draining ? Nikolai who has just been flying around all day, switching between several of the 8 languages he speaks, until he ends his day laying in bed, trying to listen to John talk about his op, but his brain just refuses to acknowledge anything. He mumbles an apology that might just be half in russian at this point, fingers rubbing at his temples as he's trying to fight off a migraine.

It's rare to see Nik struggle to keep up with a conversation. The man is smart, too smart, really. This worries John, who decides to order them greasy food and throw a Russian movie he knows Nik enjoys on his laptop for them to watch in bed. He can struggle to keep up with the subtitles tonight while he's busy letting his hand massage the back of Nik's head, fingers gently stroking his jet black hair while he feels his man relax in his arms.