Reblog To Tell Your Mutual You’re Proud Of Them And It’ll All Work Out

I need more people to ship them and make content for them. Im starving

How do fanfic writers feel knowing that people might have been masturbating to their work?

hope everyone has fun tomorrow!

Slit throats are red, Mindflayers are blue, We'd risk it all, For a Hamster called Boo

gabrielle saying that for the few minutes xena's soul was possessing her body she felt warm and protected..... what if you did horrible things in your past and felt like an irredeemably bad person and you were a warrior who doesn't have it in her to give up the fight and you thought that made you bad beyond saving but then this woman you've fallen in love with (against all odds) tells you that for a few minutes when she could feel your spirit inside of her and truly understand what it was like to be you, she felt nothing but safe and warm and loved and protected. what then. 😐

Pipe Smoke

It was the pipe smoke that roused her from a deep slumber. After the rush of soft hands and velvet lips, gentle gasps and shaking hips. After words said at least five years overdue, perhaps even longer. It was after the simple rustling of leaves had turned into a tempest of sweat and flame and arching release. It was the pipe smoke that roused her.

The night had been slow and sweet; reverent even. Holy. Both of them taking turns being cleric and goddess, intent on heavenly worship of the other. It was the type of delicate lovemaking she had gotten used to once upon a time, and not something she thought she’d ever feel again. Warmth and life crept back into her tired bones, stirring them to shiver and hum, stirring her chest to rise and fall, breaths coming in rapid successive gasps twice, no, thrice, in one night.

It had felt like home.

And maybe that’s why she said it, mumbled it under her still ragged breath whilst halfway dreaming. “Smoke in the study, Khalid.”

The smell of an old long leaf, a tobacco antique even to her, lingered, then lazily mellowed into nothingness. Her breathing settled back into an even rhythm when no new smoke flooded her dreams. Suddenly, she was being gently pulled by a strong, yet wiry arm. She twisted her body against warm, pink flesh, her cheek finding a new place to rest atop a soft, broad shoulder. The smell and feel was so similar and so, so safe. She curled into it, smiling. A soft sigh escaped her lips in response to a whispered comment she couldn’t quite hear.

— —

That experience was… different. Not at all what she was used to. Her line of work didn’t leave room for softness, kindness, gentle touches, or fluttering kisses in the aftermath of a storm. She was used to the feeling of her dark-haired kingpin’s sharp dagger trailing down her spine after a victorious coup, or a quick nightcap with a golden-haired lady after a stressful day of negotiations - her court wasn’t there just for fucking protection, after all.

And she was used to being in control.

Every order obeyed, every enemy quaking in fear of her vicious wrath, every kingpin and guild member falling neatly in line lest they meet an undesirable fate either at her own hand or upon her command. She wasn’t used to subservience. Or giving into temptation. Or whispering sweet lover’s words in the heat of passion - she wasn’t sure she was used to passion. But she was used to being the one calling the shots.

So when her - lover? Ally? Frenemy? Mumbled about smoking in the study, she scoffed. An eyebrow raised slowly at being called the name of a dead husband. Either she’d done a good job, or the old crone was finally losing her fucking mind. She scoffed, yet she found herself sitting down her tinderbox, letting the tobacco she had just lit die out, then working her fingers to empty out the bowl even though she was in her own fucking office.

She thought about a quip. A wry comment lay on the tip of her tongue and she opened her mouth to say it. Then she shut it. Instead of flinging a well crafted and very witty insult, she rose from her chair, shed the oversized tunic she had thrown on, and slid back into her bed. Her strong arm pulled the other woman on top of her, waking her just enough so she could twist to rest her head upon her new pillow’s broad shoulder.

“You’re lucky you’re only half a Harper, grandmother,” she whispered into a mess of gray hair.

The only response she received was in the form of a soft sigh.

She would just one shot all the enemies

AH-mazing!

She is quiet. Sharp tongue stilled. The noises she makes are soft and contented, never mind how Jaheira’s teeth scrape, how the bruises bloom. When Jaheira’s mouth moves lower, her breath hitches, her fingers tangling in Jaheira’s braids, and still she does not speak. “What?” Jaheira raises her head. “None of the Guildmaster’s trademark quick wit?” “A good commander knows when to shut the fuck up and do what needs doing,” Astele breathes, “and I am a good. Fucking. Commander.”

have had this sequel planned since i wrote the first fic :") very happy to finally finish it!

Look you have to take minthara to the circus ok? You have to. Letting her tell her one joke and also kill a clown is important enrichment for her.