Nov 29, 2022
đ for cog and raini!!
send me a đ and a character and I'll describe them using images I already have saved
Cog:
Raini:
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đ for cog and raini!!
send me a đ and a character and I'll describe them using images I already have saved
Cog:
Raini:
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
A incredible commission by @marina-does-things of my wizard Rainivere (left) and her pirate girlfriend Ecstasy (right)! Sometimes, the first time you meet the person you're going to spend the rest of your life with, she holds you hostage to negotiate the terms of your party leaving her and her crew the hell alone. And you're incensed by it, obviously. ...but also, it was kinda hot. And sometimes, your paths keep crossing (you both know it's not by accident, but neither of you are going to be the first to admit it) and you end up wrapped up in each other's lives thoroughly enough that extrication seems impossible. Until one day, horrified, you realize you've fallen in l*ve.
I can't recommend marina-does-things's work highly enough! Their art always has such wonderful attention to detail. If you're looking for a commission, I would recommend checking them out!
Playlist: Rainivere
Alternate Title: I Lost My Ability To âFeelâ Twelve Levels Ago (No I Didnât)
Things You Said Instead of âI Love Youâ
You have never once in your life said the words âI love youâ to anyone.Â
...admittedly, that may not be true. You love your dads, and you must have told them at some point growing up. But theyâre family, so itâs different. The thought of saying those words to anyone else-- Itâs unthinkable. The very idea makes something in your chest seize up, high and tight, makes you want to live the rest of your life alone and unbothered in the middle of nowhere. Most days, you donât think you could choke the words out if your life depended on it. Theyâre too⌠much. Too open. Too intentional. How some people bandy them about like it's nothing, youâll never understand.
But sometimes the one person helping to keep you alive is sick, and the closest thing the two of you have to a healer is, well. You. And you lied about being a cleric, youâre wildly unqualified to play nurse to anyone, and on top of everything else you have an absolutely horrendous bedside manner. You can light a fire, you can keep it burning, but theyâre shivering so hard itâs like youâve done nothing at all. You donât like that they had the audacity to get sick when they should know you need to keep moving to keep finding work. You donât like the way your chest goes tight as you sit and watch them suffer. And you certainly donât like how damn helpless you feel in the face of a fever that just wonât break. Zize isnât getting better, and thereâs nothing you can do about it.
...fifteen gold. Thatâs what you managed to scrounge up when you left home weeks and weeks ago, what you managed to hide in a small pouch in the bottom of your bag in case you needed to cut and run in the middle of the night. The profits from the jobs you two can get mostly go toward paying for food and transportation, a roof over your heads when you can get it, but you havenât had to break into your emergency fund yet. But Zize isnât well enough to work, hasnât been for long enough that your communal coffers are starting to run dry, and your conviction that whatever heâs come down with will pass on its own wanes with each day that it doesnât.
So, finally, you make up your mind. You build up the fire, wait for Zize to fall asleep, dig your coin pouch out of the bottom of your backpack, pull up your hood and set out to find help. Help that, ultimately, takes the form of a small glass bottle you cradle carefully in both hands as you return to your campsite. You wake Zize up and help him sit up enough to drink, and by morning his fever has broken. By that afternoon heâs back on his feet and the two of you are on the road again. Youâve stopped for dinner when he finally asks how you managed to afford the potion; you lie through your teeth as you stuff your empty coin pouch back into your backpack and tell him you stole it.Â
~~~
Thatâs the first time your heart goes soft for someone; it isnât the last. Years pass, and while you donât get any better at saying âI love youâ the circle of people who you might consider saying it to grows slowly, begrudgingly, larger. They love you, you know that. Even if they didnât say it -which they do. Often. Youâre starting to suspect itâs just so they can see your reaction- they show it constantly. You see it in the way Cylthia motions Kiya to circle toward you when things get tight in a fight, in the way Lent will clap a hand on your shoulder and pour healing magic into you without having to be asked, in the way Zize always takes the room closer to the stairs when you stop for the night in an inn. You see it in the way you read each otherâs movements as easy as if they were your own and protect each other like itâs the most natural thing in the world. You know they love you and you hope that they know you love them too, without you having to come out and say it.
But itâs not enough. You know it isnât. And that doesnât make it any easier to choke those words out, but... You need something. You need a way to tell them without words that you see them, that you understand them, that you want them to stay. That thereâs a place for them in your life, not just because they happen to fit into it but because you carved out that space with each of them in mind. There arenât-- There aren't words to explain that kind of devotion, the kind of importance that gives someone. Or, if there are, you donât fucking know them. There has to be something else. A gift, something you can make them, a spell you can cast--
So you build them a house.
You pour hours of work into every detail of it, from the grand entrance to the quiet corners of the garden you designed from scratch. You want it to be safe. You want it to be home. You want it to be a gift, a love letter to the people you would and have fought the world for, but practical enough that it canât be questioned outright. For weeks you stay up late, offer to take watches alone -which you never do- snap at anyone who so much as looks at your spellbook with far more ferocity than usual, and practice and practice and practice until your fingers twitch to mark the spellâs somatic components within the folds of your robes and you mouth the incantations in your sleep. And more importantly, you spend hours sitting and reflecting on each person, each relationship. You sculpt them each a bedroom, to show who they are and what they mean to you and what you want to say to them. You build Zize a workshop, with a ratty couch piled with blankets taken from your room and a door that connects their room to yours. You build Lent a quiet retreat with a view of the garden, a table full of food and, ultimately, a small shrine to a goddess whose name you can only say with disdain. You build Cylthia a room with a roaring bonfire, the illusion of unlimited space, and the comforts of a real bedroom just feet away. You build, and you practice, and when youâre ready you take great pleasure in holding up a hand, pulling out your spellbook, and telling the party that youâre not paying for an inn that night. You open your spellbook to a page absolutely covered in notes, tuck your nerves neatly behind the usual smugness that accompanies showing off a new spell, and raise your hand to cast. A door shimmers into existence in front of you and as you reach out to grasp the handle you look back over your shoulder.Â
âIâve been working on something.â Please see this for what it is. âYouâre welcome to tell me how impressive I am at any time.â Please donât pull away from me when Iâve made myself vulnerable. âIf you donât, I might not let you back in.â If you do, I donât know what Iâll do.
You open the door and step back out of the light that comes pouring out of it to let your friends enter first, heart in your throat as they do. The entryway says âThis is for youâ. The kitchen says âI love youâ. The sitting area says âPlease donât leave meâ and the dining room says âI would tear down the stars for youâ and each bedroom says âI love you too, I love you too, I love you too. I know itâs âtooâ because I know youâ. You hang back while they explore, wringing your hands within the folds of your robes, watching up the stairs and waiting for the final judgement to be made. And this once, just this once, when they come back with smiles and praise and hands that rest on your shoulder or ruffle your hair, you allow it. This gesture is your âI love youâ, and they heard you loud and clear. Theyâre telling you that they heard you, that they see you too, and you are not fighting back tears or a smile as you shrug it off and pivot the conversation to what an arcane feat the house around you is. Your chest feels warm in a way youâve never quite experienced before. And, for the first time in your life, you think you might be able to get used to it.
last :3
The secret!! The secret is. I have like 18 projects going on right now. Enjoy this one, which is from something Completely different than the last oneÂ
LAST â the most recently written two sentences of my current project For weeks you stay up late, offer to take watches alone -which you never do- snap at anyone who so much as looks at your spellbook with far more ferocity than usual, and practice and practice and practice until your fingers twitch to mark the spellâs somatic components within the folds of your robes and you mouth the incantations in your sleep.Â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Last, Next
Bro watch out....thereâs some real gay shit in here đś
LAST â the most recently written two sentences of my current project âAll I was gonna say was: shit, if I didnât know better, Iâd think you were fussing because you were worried about me.â Rainiâs scowl darkens, and she quickly refocuses her attention back on the shaft of the crossbow bolt.
NEXT â the next line. meaning i will finish the sentence Iâm on and write a new one, which youâll get. Their lips brush, and itâs distraction enough that the whispered, âthree,â slips by unnoticed until itâs too late.
Amnesia Campaign Notes!
HEY folks whatâs up itâs me, back at it again, thinking Iâm so funny and good at notetaking. Anyway, in honor of this campaign wrapping up, hereâs the highlights from my campaign notes!! Split up by session, and with as little context as possible. Enjoy!
Started to write prose, this came out instead. idk what happened. is this anything??