Go Away Forever With Me

Pipe Smoke - Chapter 2

Dawn broke over the city's trees, casting pinks and reds and oranges over their misty green leaves. But no sunlight dare shine through to the dim sewer office where Jaheira hung tightly to Astele's skin, curled against her like a cat seeking shelter from the rain. Eventually, Jaheira exhausted herself of dreams and stirred ever so slightly. The corners of her lips turned up in a grin as she remembered the previous night's events.

It had all started when Astele stole her a yellow orchid from someone's jacket pocket at the Elfsong Tavern. She did it to make Jaheira laugh - to steal something right in front of the High Harper, then present it to her as a gift she couldn't refuse. Astele had said, "Petty theft for a pretty girl," then gently tucked the flower behind Jaheira's ear. She remembered forgetting, if only for a moment, that she was over a century and a half years old and had a house full of children waiting for her down the street. Instead, she had smiled bashfully at the Guildmaster's comment and fluttered her eyelashes like she was twenty-something all over again.

But it wasn't really the flower or even the comment that had brought on the sudden bashfulness. It was knowing that, in a room full of patrons who had flowers stuck in their suit jackets, Astele knew her well enough to steal the yellow orchid. And that was what made Jaheira's heart skip a beat.

Astele stirred underneath her, grunting lightly as she did. She squeezed Jaheira lightly to let her know she was awake, then pressed a sleepy kiss to the top of her gray braids of hair. "You talk in your sleep, Harper," Astele teased, her voice gruff and low.

Jaheira hummed then replied, "And you steal flowers to stick in women's hair so you can get them into your bed."

Astele chuckled, lightly shaking Jaheira as she did. "Worked, didn't it?"

Jaheira softly smacked Astele's side under the blanket, silently chiding her for trying to rile Jaheira up too early in the morning. "What other kinds of trinkets does the Guildmaster give women to lure them back to her lair?" Jaheira shot back with her own brand of teasing.

Astele opened one eye, catching the playful spark in Jaheira's hazelnut eyes. She smirked. “You really want to know?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” Jaheira replied, her voice was softer than it was before. A part of her still hadn’t fully recovered from the tenderness from the tavern and from the entire night.

Astele exhaled, not ready, but figuring it was better now than never. She turned fully onto her side to face Jaheira, hummed thoughtfully, and began counting on her fingers - the hand with all five of them. “Cinnamon. I’d bring you freshly cured sticks to burn in the evenings, because you said once it reminds you of the groves near Athkatla in late spring.”

Jaheira raised an eyebrow. She had said that—years ago. Once. In passing on a night that she'd lost to Lady Lockjaw at cards. She hadn’t even remembered it until now.

Astele continued, her voice lazy and soft. “Honeyed figs from a stall near the Temple of Ilmater. You always buy them for the little ones, but you take one for yourself thinking no one notices."

She furrowed her brow and she thought of even more. "Lemon tea. Strong, sweet. A steaming mug with a touch of honey. The kind no one else in your house drinks except you.”

Jaheira stared, unable to process the list Astele was rattling off. All the things she loved that she didn't think anyone ever noticed.

“Green ink,” Astele went on, ticking yet another finger. “You only ever write in green ink and you hoard those little glass jars like they're made of gold.”

A laugh choked out of Jaheira before she could help it, sharp and surprised. “I do not hoard them," she exclaimed.

“Ten in your desk. Three hidden behind the books in your study. Don’t lie to a professional thief, Jaheira.” Astele laughed herself and added, "There's probably more down in your sanctuary, too. If I had to guess, I'd say… six more little bottles all hidden in crates."

It wasnt a guess at all and Jaheira knew it. The High Harper covered her face with one hand, feeling a rush of warmth washing up her throat and over her cheeks. “Gods, you are insufferable!”

“I know.” Astele caught and held her gaze, sky blue meeting earthy hazel. “You also like rainy days when you don’t have to be out in the wet mess. You fall asleep to the patter of raindrops and gentle rush of wind. Thunder scares you if it's too loud, but you love to watch lightening crackle against the black sky of night. You hate it when people eat while standing, and Rion does it just to annoy you. You keep your boots polished even if you're going out into the wilds or a grove out of respect for nature. You double-knot Fig's cloaks because you don’t trust her to do it right.” Her voice then dropped to a whisper. “You mourn in silence. And when you love something, you never say it out loud. You just… guard it. With everything you have and everything you are.”

The silence after that was long, heavy with all the things Jaheira could not admit, but felt deep in her heart. “You just happen to know all of that?” Jaheira asked, her voice hoarse.

“I watched over the years,” Astele said simply. “Listened. You don’t talk much about yourself, so I learned by paying attention.”

Jaheira propped herself up a bit to face her fully, brushing silver hair behind her ear. “But… why?

Astele hesitated, her eyes flicking away for the barest moment before coming right back. “Because I didn’t know how to tell you I loved you,” she said in a voice barely audible. “So I memorized you instead.”

NINE-FINGERS KEENE IN BALDUR’S GATE 3

👀

STAT

FDA will limit Covid vaccines to people over 65 or at high risk of serious illness, leaders say

The FDA announced it will limit access to Covid-19 vaccines going forward to people 65 and older and others at high risk of serious illness

I hate these motherfuckers and I hate everybody whose actions contributed in any way whatsoever to how we got here. None of this bullshit needs to be happening and none of it would be if enough people had pulled their heads out of their asses on or before November 5, 2024.

The BG3 fandom has to be one of the horniest fandoms out there. Not that I'm complaining. I love you little freaks.

happy bg3 final patch day to those who celebrate

The worst thing about depression is feeling utterly lonely even when you’re surrounded by people who love you.

Is.. is it really that hard to make a show or movie where lesbians are happy? Like - they just meet, fall in love, and get to be happy?

Boring lesbians. Lesbians that have been together for 13 years and have two cats and stable jobs and still sex each other up a whole bunch on the weekends.

I’m tired of gay trauma.

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.