If you're writing 18th century dialogue, this website lets you search words and phrases to double-check whether they were in use & meant what you intend. It doesn't include every period-accurate use of a word/phrase, but it certainly helped me separate genuine 18th century grammar from the vague tangle of đŹold-fashioned fancy-speakđŹ I've internalized from TV and video games.
My husband is playing DnD with some friends and told me to come look at the cat who is sitting in a chair like a person. My husband handed him a d20 and said âsir you have to roll a stealth check to convince the other party members you are a humanâ and the cat immediately batted the d20 and rolled a 14. The party cheered for him.
The final human player joined the table and they brought out a whole extra chair so the cat could remain at the table. Heâs now the partyâs official Druid and just canonically in wildshape all the time and therefore unable to speak Common.
Happy Anniversary. This is the original post. On this day in 2011 I was doing a charity drive for the natural disasters in TĆhoku and drew this. A few hours later I turned it into a gif and posted it here.
Hereâs the original doodle before I drew it into a GIF
Happy Anniversary. This is the original post. On this day in 2011 I was doing a charity drive for the natural disasters in TĆhoku and drew this. A few hours later I turned it into a gif and posted it here.
Hereâs the original doodle before I drew it into a GIF
Santa is on strike due to global warming. Â All presents this year will be delivered by Sasha the Christmas Tiger. Â Milk and cookies may not be sufficient.
The silent serenity of the room is disturbed by pants, and loud squelches of your growing lust splattering through the air. The only thing muffling your moans is a gloved hand engulfing your lips. Unfortunately for Sunday, you are purposefully trying to be heard by the entirety of Penaconys dreaming visitors. Sometimes, he seems to forget just how much of a handful you areâŠ
You bite his gloved hand, the man pounding into your pussy hissing in pain. Yet, each thrust continues its relentless pace, only slowing to allow him words, an insult (though he calls them âcritiquesâ) for you.
âYou⊠I truly⊠do dislike you.â
âAww⊠Haa⊠Seems like your dick loves me though.â Youâre immediately silenced when Sunday burrows your body into the matress, hitting that spot inside you when he thrusts at a particular angle. âAhâŠ! S-seeâŠ? Your dick really does loveâ OhâŠ!â Sundays finger works diligently on stimulating your clit, the cloth fabric of his gloves only furthering the sensation. âMaybeâŠ.! Maybe not me⊠But youâre really obsessed with myâ Haahh⊠Myâ Mm..!â You donât even have the chance to finish your sentence, Sundays lips finding refuge on yours.
Heâs⊠Never done that beforeâŠ
You moan into his lips, his thumb still grinding itself into your bud while his other hand plays with your tit, rolling the nub between his fingers.
When you pull away for air, you whisper his name, attempting to ask what it is heâs doing, but youâre stopped again when he dives into your mouth, spit exchanging with each movement. You can feel yourself approaching climax, much earlier than you bet to him you would. Which is horrible, because, that means youâll essentially be a cocksleeve for him whenever he wishes for the next few months.
He separates his lips from you, smiling at the way a thick trail of saliva connects you two, spit trailing off the side of your mouth. Itâs a thrilling site, one that makes him hit that spot in your walls even faster than before. His wings flap to the side of your head, cutting off your vision from anything else but him.
âYou⊠Haah⊠You truly are a temptress.â All it takes is a finally snap of his hips and your hand flies up to his head, gripping his hair as your walls flutter around his length. Despite your blissful climax, he continues his ministrations slowly even as you cum, further serving your rapture. âItâs why I dislike you so.â
Youâre not sure why he hates you so much, but you have no time to think about it, especially when he props himself up. He looks down at your dazed face, a smirk coating his lips. All too familiar.
âWha⊠Give me some time to recover you beastâ Ahh.. FuckâŠ!â
âItâs not fair if only you have release. Besides⊠Haa⊠Youâve survived⊠more than one hnngh, havenât you?â ⊠He plans to wreck the absolute hell out of you. He leans down to your ear, a husky voice escaping him, âYou donât deserve relaxation on the seventh day, so atone for your transgressions.â He props your legs above his shoulder, essentially preparing you to become his own personal cum dump.
âSunday you little bastardâ! NghhâŠ!â You wonât admit it him, you never will, but that was so hot. Yet again, he might know you think it, especially with the way your eyes roll back in pleasure, the idea of him emptying his seed furthering you thirst.
âI hope you remember that⊠Haah⊠promise⊠I prefer pe⊠pests at least remain orderlyâŠâ his thrusts grow sloppy, words slurring, a sign heâs close. In a last ditch effort of revenge, you laugh at him, tightening harder. Youâll shred his dignity too, even if you have to surrender your own.
He glares at your face, that sneer breaking when he can feel himself coming close, your second climax quickly reproaching. After a few more thrusts, he empties himself, all of himself into your body, not daring to pull out. In turn, your flutter around him once again, squirting at his abdomen, wetting expensive clothes. He allows himself to plug your hole, your fingers brushing through his hair while his face finds refuge in your neck.
âAww, my favorite sight⊠the all famed Sunday pathetically weeping at getting his dick wet~ Now, what time do you want me out of here hm?â
âDid an imp like you really believe us to be done?â His hand reaches back to your hips, his grip tightening.
â⊠What?â
âŠ
You lay on the side of the bed, glaring at the culprit of your current bed ridden state. He doesnât return the sentiment, a false face of pleasantries returning your feelings.
âI hate you Sunday, whatever your last name is.â
âHate is strong, I prefer dislike. Take my feelings for you.â He continues to smile even when you swat your hand at him, an attempt to kick him out of the bed.
âYeah? Well you mustâve really like that huh?! Look at me you bastard!â You lift up the blanket, pointing at your pussy that drips with the multitudes of load he spent inside of you. At some point you lost count, but you know for sure it was more than 7. âI mean, how could someone cum that fucking much?!â He doesnât answer, tilting his head, beaming. âIâm not even gonna start on all these bites you freak.â
âI see, so youâre saying youâre much to weak to go again?â
You pause. Heâs doubting you.
âI could do it again.â
âAre you sure? My, I wouldnât want to hurt such a frail beingââ
âI can fuck you again Sunday, stop beingâ!â Heâs already on you as quick as the words left your throat, your legs wrapping around his hips. Heâs lucked out, this part of the dreamscape is emptier than usual at this time.
Unfortunately, you seem to be quite the opposite⊠Youâve fallen for Sundays tricks once more. Then again, the feeling of his dick rearranging your guts, isnât as bad as you tell him it is.
This is a result of the inhumane decisions that members of this administration want you to be silent about in public for fear of a loss of âcivilityâ.
I want him with his dragon tendencies draping you in his favourite jewels. Necklaces, in your hair, earrings, you name it. It's his little mark on you (until he can add a very different kind of mark)đ«¶
My natural habitat is the dance studio, I'm destined to be a hidden gem/hj
But fr, for all my dancers out there, once your fav has found you they're all the more intrigued because what do you even do in there?? What do you mean you've picked up all the tricks??
I know for some, like childe, such an acquisition of knowledge and skills must seem only natural, but for our bookworms and such, they're looking at you like you've grown a second head when you suddenly pop 3 pirouettes
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