The more I learn about judaism the more I wonder where tf christianity got all its bad shit. Why is divorce a sin in christianity when judaism has recognized the right to divorce for nearly a millennia and has codified religious laws for it. Why does christianity consider sex to be dirty (to the point where puritans considered it a sin to enjoy having sex with your own spouse) when in judaism it's considered holy and it's a literal mitzvah to have sex with your spouse on the sabbath. Why does christianity consider it a sign that you're faithless if you question your religion when in judaism that's considered an essential part to developing your faith. I'm probably stating the obvious here but I still can't get over the fact that there's no historical basis to any of this shit before christianity started, it's like christians just said "hey guys what if we took the torah and built a new religion around it but this time it was actively hostile to human life"

I’m JUST saying… that… Sunday would kiss you in the backseat of a private limousine…

SCOURGE SUNDAY 010/???

classic

Sub Bucky and a breeding kink 💀 dead unlived it's one of my favourite things 😌

This is pretty high up there on my list of dream fantasies 🥵 these are two of my biggest weaknesses, don't even look at me rn

One of life's greatest joys is cuddling with the other person's head resting on your chest so you can play with their hair and rub their shoulders. I love that shit, having someone else's body weight on you is so comforting.

I imagine that's something Bucky would really enjoy too. It's so soft and sweet and tender and getting to feel cared for would really appeal to him.

But that's up until his hands work their way under your top, up over your bare skin so he's able to cup your breasts and bury his face between them while he's getting his hair played with. Life's pleasures don't get much simpler than that.

After a few moments he shifts slightly, tugging the neckline of your shirt out of the way to give himself space to kiss and nip your skin. All of a sudden he's desperate and it's beautiful to watch.

"Please." He whispers between frantic kisses, flicking his tongue over the stiff peak of your nipple before engulfing it with his warm, eager mouth.

"Please, what?" You tease, tugging on his hair just a little for emphasis.

He groans, frustrated by his own lack of coherence, pulling his mouth from your nipple. "Please let me put a baby in you."

That's not what you were expecting but fuck, he makes it sound pretty appealing.

"Bucky-" You begin but he cuts you off, giving your other nipple the same attention as he gave the first. God, that's distracting.

"You'd make. Such. A pretty. Mommy." He whispers, kissing his way down your body until he reaches the bottom seam of your top. From there, he pulls it off, letting it fall to the floor before removing the rest of your clothes.

"You'd look so pretty with a little baby bump." His huge hand rests on your bare tummy, imaging how your body would change.

"I want it, Buck." You mean it too. It doesn't sound like such a bad idea when he's taking his clothes off.

"I know you want it." He groans, rubbing the tip of his dick against your soaked core. "Y-you're so wet."

He presses his hips forward, sliding inside you and you can't explain it but you swear it feels different this time.

"Don't even think about pulling out." You cup his face in your hands, keeping his eyes on you and you almost worry he's going to fuck himself senseless into you. "I want you to make me a mommy. You're going to give me every single drop of cum and when it starts to drip out of me, you're going to fuck it back in."

His head falls onto your shoulder, sobbing a pathetic moan against your already hot skin. The pace of his thrusts matches his need, his hips slamming into yours and when he finally gives in, he cums inside you with your legs clamped around his waist, making sure he couldn't pull out even if he wanted to.

cw: this got long sorry 😔 but creepy/perv bakugou, recording, film major bkg x art major reader, masturbation, coercion, dubcon before it just becomes con, voyeurism/exhibitionism

as an art major, you typically did some works for a few students on campus; for their plays, as background pieces while they danced, a cover for their released songs. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for people to ask you to create something for them, and you enjoyed it more often than not. but, you weren’t usually the art itself.

Bakugou is a friend’s friend that you’ve seen a few times, ran into at the library or at coffee shops. he’s a film major, and always looks so unhappy about the whole thing, as if he didn’t choose it himself. you joke to Mina that you think he’ll graduate and become one of those directors that hate everything and yell at the actors constantly and later on get sued for being a dickhead. you never say it to him though—you’ve never spoken more than a couple words to the man.

it’s why it shocks you when he approaches you one day. it’s after one of your painting classes, and he stands outside the door with a frown and his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyebrows scrunched as if pissed at the mere sight of you. he asks you, in that low and gruff tone of his, if you could star in his final project for the semester. says it’s supposed to be a film made with this criteria and that, but, you’ve kind of checked out on the conversation after the first sentence.

“You mean, you want me to create something and that be the star of your film?” you ask him, feeling so intimidated at his stature. he always seems to loom, his hair shadowing the lights above, creates a cast over a portion of his face, makes his eyes look…unsettling. like they’re looking straight through your flesh, can find the marrow in your bones. he scoffs like you’ve offended him, rolling his eyes into his skull, mouth pulled tight.

“No.” his voice is firm, gaze concentrated only on you, like the halls are empty and you’re the focus of his lens. “I want you to star in it.”

his words confuse you—you’ve never presented yourself as an actor before, never alluded to wanting to be in the spotlight if not for what you create with your hands. but he shuffles on his feet, looks desperate even. there’s some hemming and hawing for a minute or so—why not choose Mina?—she’s busy—why choose me?—‘cause you’d be perfect for my short film—what’s it about?—you’ll find out once you get the script.

and even after you hesitantly agree and get the script—you still don’t understand what you’re doing. why you’re here, why you’re the only person, why it has to be a solo film, why there’s damn near zero lines in the entirety of the have-to-be forty five minute film.

the scenes are all so long, and maybe it’s because movies aren’t your forte or chosen major, but you just don’t get it. one scene; you’re staring at yourself in the mirror while Bakugou holds a small, black camera over your shoulder. he’s eerily quiet behind you, whispers out a faint fuckin’ go when you have to wash your face in the sink, makes you do it over because your movements are too jerky and unnatural.

the rest of the scenes go that way; you doing regular at home activities, being put under a lens, quietly barked at to do this and move that way and fix your hair and remember to frown.

“Isn’t there another way to film this?” you ask him on the fifth day of shooting in his spacious loft. there’s a bubble bath scene coming up, one you dont understand the importance of, but Bakugou tells you it’s the most necessary part of the entire thing.

“No,” he grunts out, looking at you from under his lashes as he sits on the lid of the toilet. “But I’ll make it soapy, so the camera won’t see much.” the camera? much? you weren’t worried so much about what the camera captured as you were the man behind it. he looks at you with such intensity, you feel naked already despite the robe you wear that’s suspiciously already your size.

he leaves the bathroom when you sink in the hot water, returns before you can say it’s okay, hears the water splashing and thinks that’s good enough. he kneels on the floor beside you, camera pointed directly in your face, makes your chest hot and your skin feel prickly. the scene passes on regularly enough; you run the water over your arms, tilt your head back as you sigh, whisper the few lines scripted, lean back and close your eyes, sigh again. it’s almost relaxing, makes you forget about the friend of a friend recording you naked right now. almost.

“Touch yourself.” Bakugou suddenly demands, hushed and quiet behind the camera. your eyes immediately shoot open, looking to him in question, how he’s eerily still in his spot hovering over you.

“Huh?” you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly, looking around the rounded lens in your face, trying to ignore the red blinking light. but Bakugou only frowns.

“It’s a masturbation scene. Touch yourself.” he repeats, voice louder, more demanding this time. your stomach twists at the thought of doing something so intimate in front of him. he’s a handsome guy, for sure, even made you consider asking him out after this, figured he was just serious about his work and awkward about certain things. but…something had been off about this entire thing since the start.

“But—but I don’t, I’m not,” you stutter, sitting up a little, the bubbles covering your chest starting to disperse with your movements. but Bakugou only sits a little higher on his knees, finally pulling the camera away from his face for the first time since he’s asked you to do this for him.

“You want me to fail?” he asks, booming voice eerily quiet in the silent bathroom, carmine eyes dull, shaded over with something terrible. “Then do it.” he tells you when you shake your head quickly.

you stare at him until he gets back into position again, camera back pointed at you. when he doesn’t say anything else, you swallow thickly, wondering if the art that will come out of this will be worth it. so you listen, sneak a hand under the water, start touching yourself in a way you never have in front of anyone.

is it bad to say that it’s exhilarating? being watched and recorded by someone who breathes so heavily every time your voice hiccups? being directed to touch your chest next when the suds start to disappear and your nipples start to peek through? is it bad that you want him to send you this portion of his film, only, just so you can watch yourself again and again? make a portrait of yourself with your fingers on your nipples and your knees raising from the water and your head thrown back from the intensity in oil pastels?

“That’s a wrap.” Bakugou announces when you finish, head spinning and still panting. you look over to him, how he closes the camera, the obvious bulge in his pants. “I’ll get you a towel.”

you wonder when’s the next time he’ll need you. or better yet—maybe he could be the star in your final drawing project? you had finished it already but, what was the harm in starting over with him as your muse? as naked as you are? camera not blocking his face so you can paint the similarities of his blushing cheeks and eyes when you direct him to look at you? to touch his chest? to play with himself just like that?

i think it would be funny if lb was an angry crier

part 1 2 3

Bonus

I’m still learning to draw them so they look a little off (^_^;) these are actually my first digital drawings of them!!

several sentence sunday <3 :)

hello my friends <3 thank you to @thinkof-england @littlemisskittentoes @porcelainmortal @magicandarchery @msmarvelouswinchester @getmehighonmagic @piratefalls @itsmaybitheway @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @nocoastposts @theprinceandagcd @dragonflylady77 @onthewaytosomewhere @duchessdepolignaca03 @priincebutt @captainjunglegym for the tags :) :) early birds dangggg!!

here's a snip from my au of the bear but it's a character study on alex (spoke about it a bit during a wip game here). this is chef alex aka carmy!alex:

Alex dices and slices and chops and juliennes, the top edge of the knife digging into his index finger and leaving a deep pink indent—physical proof of his hard work. Something tangible to hold on to, as real as the vegetables neatly stacked in front of him, as true as the erratic pulse he can feel in his fingertips. He leans into the sharp pain, his wrist aching and finger throbbing from the speed. His back is curled into himself, crowding his body over the kitchen counter, errant curls falling into his eyes as his knife moves at lighting speed, struggling to keep up with his racing thoughts. "You gotta come home, Alex." Alex's knife picks up at a punishing pace.  “Mom needs you. I need you.” Everybody wants something. He's not sure how much he has left to give, to slice off of his heart and serve up. Ugly presentation.

xoxo roop

+ no pressure tags under the cut and open tag as always <3 please tag me if you use, i want to see :)

@ninzied @cha-melodius @sparklepocalypse @cricketnationrise @orchidscript @myheartalivewrites @welcometololaland @anincompletelist @tintagel-or-cockleshells @sherryvalli @lizzie-bennetdarcy @heysweetheart-writes @inexplicablymine @onward--upward @celeritas2997 @14carrotghoul @cultofsappho @anchoredarchangel @candyspandemonium @nontoxic-writes @junebugclaremontdiaz @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @bigassbowlingballhead @alasse9 @ships-to-sail @kiwiana-writes @wordsofhoneydew @indestructibleheart @tailsbeth-writes @suseagull04 @rmd-writes @leaves-of-laurelin @eusuntgratie @adreamareads

it's been a week since cassie said that she suspects she will have tlkof release date in six weeks so u know what that means... five weeks left.... *sniffles*

On Greta Danesti...

I'm just taking this time to correct a certain anti-Black, (and anti-Romani) sadly typical fandom troll's misogynoir fuckery in the tag and establishing who Greta Danesti is in canon Castlevania animation lore. This is Greta Danesti's official character sheet:

She's the village headwoman of Danesti a few miles away from Alucard's castle. This is what her voice actress, Marsha Thompson looks like:

It's pretty obvious her character design took cues from the actress, who is Afro-British. In show canon, however, her family escaped from the Roman city of Carthage, which today, is located in the African country Tunisia. Alucard correctly speculated where her people are from while conversing with her, here (s4 e5):

Greta then confirms that her people did escape the Romans, but she now fully embraces her "family" in her village who are "from all over" and the responsibility of taking care of them.

This same troll used the g-slur to insist that she is Romani.

She is not. This troll used an early character design here, to make her case.:

And though it does have similarities to Romani clothing... It also looks like it takes cues from Tunisian clothing and likely local and non-local European clothing of the era with "fantasy" elements sprinkled in, as well, which would match the fact of her village's people coming from all over:

There definitely should be more Romani rep in media as it is so often whitewashed, but Greta is not Romani.

FYI, these women actors actually *are* of Romani descent: Fairuza Balk of The Craft, Oona Chaplin who played Robb Stark's wife in GOT (she's also Charlie Chaplin's granddaughter[!]), and Noomi Rapace from the Swedish movie, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo says her father may have been of Romani descent, as well.

And because I can predict it, as people like to find ways of discounting blackness in every way...

Yes, there are plenty of non-Black indigenous POC in North Africa, including within Tunisia. Another fun fact... Africa has more indigenous human genetic variation among its peoples than every other people on the planet has with everyone else on the planet[!]. All this to say non-white POC AND Black people are indigenous to Tunisia.

I feel I have to say that because there is a lot of anti-Black anthropological fetishization of North Africa. Egypt is a major example of that (see: Rami Malek, an indigenous Coptic Egyptian who self-identifies as African man of color and has likely had to clarify that *often* because people keep wanting to mislabel him as an Arab, but I digress...) And sadly, there is a decidedly anti-black movement to totally disconnect certain North African countries' identities from a continental African one, and to largely see it as mainly a part of the MENA world (it is both kiddies, BOTH). Here is an informative article (linked in the image) about that struggle:

So, this got heavy...but between the post insisting that Greta is NOT Black and the one saying she's not bisexual because that same troll is purposefully and maliciously being obtuse about how words go together... I figured clearing some things up and educating folks might be helpful. BTW, the fact of those issues in the article makes her blackness all the more resonant as rep in pop culture. And hey, poly folks have disagreements, just like the het folks do... -Still bi. I'm gonna end here with two images from the linked article of anti-racist Tunisian protesters (MENA and Black):

P.S. I also side-eye those keen to make her muscular... I mean yeah she wields a big-ass hammer and shortsword/dagger, but the tendency to masculinize black woman characters deserves a hardy eye-squint. Especially, given that the show has *no problem* making muscular women look like that and they DIDN'T for Miss Greta.

See: Zamfir and the Berserk-style sword-carrying Vampire warrior, Striga. Both of whom had that flex going on.

Seven Sentence Sunday 🥂

tagged by @weewootruck @eddiebabygirldiaz (definitely go check their snippets!)

Still in the rework phase. Please take this snippet of come close (let me be home) (prev snippets here) under the cut for the sake of your dash 😘

“I know it’s tough, kid. I’m sure this isn’t easy for you,” Bobby says, leading them through the crowd to a table near the back. “Athena won’t steer her wrong, though.” “I don’t doubt it, Lor- Bobby. I just didn’t think it would be this difficult, honestly. I want her to be happy, but–” “You want to keep her safe.”  “Exactly!” Evan accepts a champagne flute, noticing Bobby takes a lemonade for himself. “I guess I always felt like I had no say before, even though I knew Lord Kendall was a terrible choice. It’s difficult not to want to be more involved this time.” “That’s understandable. Commendable even.” Bobby pauses to take a sip of his drink before cryptically adding, “Sometimes no matter how much we try to protect the people we love, it’s never enough.”  Evan thinks there might be a story there, but doesn’t press for more information. He’s not going to ruin any trust being built by prying into his host’s past. He also tries not to think too hard about how true Bobby’s statement has been in his own life. Instead he shifts his focus back to where Maddie is talking with Athena, smiling at all the right times and looking like she’s genuinely enjoying herself. He walks with Bobby to rejoin their small group, handing a glass to Maddie.  “Anyone promising?” He asks, when suddenly a familiar face catches his eye across the room. It’s the man from the park, surrounded by a mob of enthusiastic socialites not so subtly shoving their dance cards at him.   “I know him,” Evan murmurs without thinking.  “Viscount Diaz?” Bobby questions.  Athena cuts in before Evan can answer. “I didn’t realize you had met. I know I certainly didn’t make the introduction. Bobby, did you?” “Not that I recall, my love.” “I, uh-” Evan gulps down the last of his champagne, feeling his cheeks flush. Apparently his etiquette has slipped his mind, causing him to forget how important it is that any introductions are made through Athena or Bobby. “I must be mistaken then.”  “He is handsome,” Maddie whispers, leaning in close.  “Y-yes, I suppose he is,” Evan mumbles, feeling his cheeks flush.  His sister’s observation isn’t wrong. Still, something about her acknowledging the obvious fact, coupled with the man – Viscount Diaz – being here at all doesn’t sit right under his skin.  “Your sister could do much worse than the Viscount,” Athena comments, looking quite pleased with herself. “He’s an honorable man with plenty of land and income. I daresay he would make an admirable choice. In fact, I’m not sure why I didn’t consider it before.”  “May I have this dance?” A gentleman – thankfully not the Marquis or the Viscount – approaches Maddie, extending his hand. He’s of average height and build with mousy brown hair and a forgettable face. As far as Evan can tell there is absolutely nothing noteworthy about him. Nevertheless, Maddie smiles and accepts his hand, letting him lead her to the floor as the music begins.

so many of you have recently posted so absolutely no pressure tagging @shortsighted-owl @stereopticons @elvensorceress @disasterbuckdiaz LOML @lizzie-bennetdarcy @vanillahigh00 @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @apothecarose @jesuisici33 @daffi-990 @callmenewbie @giddyupbuck @wikiangela @jamespearce9-1-1 @spotsandsocks @exhuastedpigeon @lemonzestywrites @thewolvesof1998 @steadfastsaturnsrings @loserdiaz @heartshapedvows @underwater-ninja-13 @fortheloveofbuddie @eowon @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @spagheddiediaz @chaosandwolves @wildlife4life @buddierights @911onabc @the-likesofus @spaceprincessem @fionaswhvre @barbiediaz @honestlydarkprincess @pirrusstuff @gayedmundodiaz @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @maygrantgf @statueinthestone @indestructibleheart and anyone else who wants to share 💖

rewatching the will scene with the perspective of canon bi buck trying not to vomit about it lol happy sunday <33333

SCOURGE SUNDAY 015/???

a mask of my own face. id wear tht

By the time Eddie gets Steve up the stairs and down the hall to his horrible plaid bedroom, the flood of excitement has fizzled out and left bone-deep exhaustion in his wake. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t felt this fucking tired since he woke up in the hospital all those months ago. “Okay, Stevie,” he sighs as he throws himself onto the bed, starfishing across the mattress. “It is possible that I have overestimated my stamina here.” 

“Oh, you think?” Steve grins playfully as he crawls onto the bed beside him. His hand comes to rest on Eddie’s happy trail, fingers skating over the soft hair beneath his belly button.

“Fuck!” Eddie squirms. “That tickles!” 

“Does it?” Steve asks with a glint in his eye that Eddie does not appreciate, but before he can do anything to defend himself Steve is throwing a leg over his lap, straddling him and holding him down while he tickles Eddie within an inch of his life. 

“Stop! Stop!” Eddie gasps, pawing ineffectively at Steve’s chest as he shakes with teary-eyed laughter, “Oh, my god, three taps, red, et cetera, you little monster.”

Steve stops immediately. 

“You’re an actual demon,” Eddie pouts as he sinks into the blankets.

Steve tips forward, laying his weight over Eddie’s chest, and the bastard’s still laughing when he presses an apologetic kiss to Eddie’s neck. “Sorry. Can’t help it if you look cute when you’re flustered.” 

“Jesus Christ.”

Steve sits back up, resting his palms against Eddie’s chest. “What does ‘red’ mean, by the way? Like, I get the gist, obviously, but, uh...”

“It’s a color system people use in kink. Like traffic lights. Basically the same thing as the tap-out system. Which, I still don’t understand how the hell you knew about that if you don’t know about BDSM, but—”

“BD what now?”

“Oh, my god.” Eddie looks up at the ceiling. Where to fucking begin? “BDSM. It’s an acronym. Bondage, Discipline — or Domination, take your pick, Sadism, and Masochism.” 

Steve makes an adorably confused face, his eyebrows drawing down. “Okay, I think I understood, like, three of those words.” 

God, he’s cute. 

“God, you're cute,” Eddie sighs, and okay, guess his filter’s out of commission for the evening. “Don’t worry about the last two for now. Those are more about pain play” — Steve’s eyes widen in alarm — “which, no shame to anyone who’s into that, but I’m not sure how much interest I have in that particular arena ever since, well...” 

Ever since bats used me as a fucking chew toy, he thinks, gesturing at his fucked-up torso. 

“Cool,” Steve says. “Me neither. I mean, I don’t think. I haven’t tried it, but I’m pretty sure I don���t want to hurt you.”

“You might,” Eddie smirks. He leans up on an elbow, kisses the soft skin of Steve’s inner arm. “But you don’t have to, sweetheart.” 

“Cool,” Steve says again, his shoulders slouching in relief. “So, the other two…?” 

“Sure. Bondage is pretty self-explanatory, but there are different degrees of it. The more, uh, extreme side of things usually involves shit like ropes and handcuffs, but it can be more mild. Like tying my wrists up with a scarf, or even just pinning them over my head with your hands.”

Steve’s eyes light up at that suggestion. He leans forward, pressing Eddie flat onto his back, and he scoops up Eddie’s hands and stretches them above his head, crossing his wrists and holding them there with just one hand. Jesus, his hands are huge. Eddie gulps and bucks up into him a little. 

Steve moans, leans down so their lips almost brush. “Something like this?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, his voice rough and raspy and wanting. 

Steve presses in, kisses him hard, his hips grinding down as he licks against his lips. Hot and filthy and wet. Eddie parts his lips eagerly, swallows the moan that passes from Steve’s mouth to his when Steve shoves his tongue inside. Licks behind his fucking teeth.

“Okay,” Eddie pants when they part; he smiles up at Steve, pupils blown wide and face flushed red. “So we like that one then?”

“Yeah,” Steve grins. “Yeah, we like that one a lot.”

You know it would be funny if the actual villain of penacony is the dream master, so far he seems slightly oppressive and questionable, like he ordered the head security of dewlight pavilion to "kill" his family for treason, he doesn't truly care for "death" : it's like he's frantically trying to stop the watchmaker instead of dealing with the current threat, and I at least believe that Gallagher is taking revenge for the watchmaker, that is if he isn't the watchmaker himself.

From his character story - "...Gallagher is my most genuine lie. Sometimes, I can't even distinguish between him and myself."

It also talks Abt his past and how he was fighting for freedom, basically old penacony when he was a prisoner, dreaming of creating a land of ideals. I recently thought Abt how penacony might not be what the watchmaker envisioned so he got displeased with the family, since they're not free from wickedness and evilness . Would be super interesting if Sunday learns the unfiltered truth and gets free from the family teachings (brainwashing) I'm sure as a head he has enough authority to make his own research and reach his own judgement but that's the power of manipulation from early childhood lol. Oti alfalfa did say the watchmaker wasn't a bad person, so would be funny if eventually Sunday teams up with Gallagher LOL