Rujm el-Hiri is an ancient megalithic monument, consisting of concentric circles of stone with a tumulus at its center. It is located in the Israeli-occupied portion of the Golan Heights, some 9.9 miles (16 km) east of the coast of the Sea of Galilee, in the middle of a large plateau covered with hundreds of dolmen. Rujm el-Hiri means “stone heap of the wild cat” in Arabic. In Hebrew the structure is named Gilgal Refaim, which means the “wheel of Refaim.” The Refaim were an ancient race of giants, mentioned in the Bible. The word “refaim” in modern Hebrew also means “ghosts” or “spirits.”
Made up of more than 42,000 basalt rocks arranged in concentric circles, it has a mound 15 feet (4.6 m) tall at its center. Some circles are complete, others incomplete. The outermost wall is 520 feet (160 m) in diameter and 8 feet (2.4 m) high. The establishment of the site, and other nearby ancient settlements, is dated by archaeologists to the Early Bronze Age II period (3000–2700 BC).
Since excavations have yielded very few material remains, Israeli archeologists theorize that the site was not a defensive position or a residential quarter but most likely a ritual center, possibly linked to the cult of the dead. However, there is no consensus regarding its function, as no similar structure has been found in the Near East.
are there any kinks you ARENT into, or won't be comfortable writing?
Ummmm. Probably not? I mean, I have a couple squicks that I don’t really enjoy, but there’s not a lot of them. But I’m usually really open to considering new kinks (as long as they’re consensual). My dream is to do an ‘all-out introduction to bdsm’ fic.
Should I do a ‘kink rate’ thing at some point? ❣️/💔
You’re kissing your lover. They pull away a bit and you ask why and they say it’s to breathe. You tell them to hold it, and you continue kissing them and you grab their hair. You can feel them shift a bit as they try to pull back again and you put your hand on their bladder and press it. Their voice raises an octave in shock as you go further against them roughly. “Hold it.” you order, and you continue to press their bladder. They use their strength to push you off of them, breathing heavy. You look down and see a patch starting to form. “I said to hold it.” They wince “I can’t… I-” You press their bladder again and they inwardly shriek as you go back to kissing them, their groans and relief muffled by your mouth as the sound of them wetting the fabric of their clothes fills your ears, made faster by your hand on their bladder.
im like far beyond the point where i log onto this website and expect to see well thought-out political opinions. i know it isn’t realistic. i’ve reconciled that. but i rly cannot believe i was forced to read “christopher columbus was problematic as fuck” with my own two eyes. you guys rly needed to leave The P Word in 2015 where it should have died
Imagine Loki chaining you to a wall, casually teasing you for hours as he seduces information from you the spy. Slipping his cock into you and driving you wild before stopping just as fast, demanding information. Kneeling down as you struggle at your bonds and he uses his tongue to pleasure you, eventually you break and tell him everything (then join his side)
Eggsy’s curled up on the settee–and he was to call it a settee, not a couch or sofa–in their private sitting room in the east wing of Drottningholm, his phone nearly at his nose as a computerized voice spouted random Swedish phrases at him to memorize, when Tilde sweeps into the room with a silver tray of tea and biscuits. Eggsy glances up at her, smiling in greeting, as she sits by his feet, setting the tray before her on the table and begins pouring the tea without a word. Not unusual for either of them; taking afternoon tea together, but more importantly alone, away from any staff from palace or Kingsman alike, had become a much needed routine for the both of them. It had gotten to the point where it didn’t need to be arranged or decided on, just something that they did, when they were both around, their many hello’s spoken in touches and looks and smiles.
“Ta, love,” Eggsy says when she passes him a teacup and a plate of homemade Florentine’s, ginger nuts and shortbread, which he balances on his knees, teacup in his free hand. He bites into a ginger nut, scrunches up his face at his phone and, after a prolonged moment of indecision, groans dejectedly. “I’m shit at this, just so you know. Never gonna learn it. Can’t even roll my R’s proper.”
“I have faith in you.” Tilde sits back with her own cup of tea, pats Eggsy’s leg and smiles. “Put that away. Take a minute to sit with your wife.”
Eggsy grins up at her. He sets the phone down beside the tray of tea, readjusts his position so that they are sitting side by side. She takes a Florentine from the plate now resting on his thigh, inspects it before biting off half of it and chewing.
“You know,” Tilde says thoughtfully after a few quiet minutes, “I would not mind if you decided to take on another lover.”