#neph: ur weird and i can feel ur soul it feels good what are you?

[h8fuckk]

The succubus feels Connor's nervous energy before she even acknowledges their presence. It is faint but palpable, a subtle ripple in the air——like prey in the distance, too aware of the hunter's gaze. Her smirk curls at the edges of her lips as she hears their tentative words, the awkwardness dripping off them like cold sweat. Mortals, undead, whatever they are——they're all the same when it comes down to fear. It excites her.

She doesn’t answer them right away. In truth, their question hardly registers, lost in the fog of her own amusement. She cocks her head, letting the silence stretch between them like a taut wire. When she finally decides to speak, her voice is honeyed, smooth as silk pulled over sharp iron. ❛ Connor, correct? ❜

Her tone lingers on their name as if tasting it, savoring the syllables. She flicks her gaze up and down their towering frame, noting the long limbs, the hollow sockets where their eyes should be, the grotesque elegance of their skeletal form. For all her years of debauchery and darkness, of consorting with devils and dragging souls into the abyss, she has rarely encountered something quite like this.

Her first instinct is revulsion, but there’s something else. A spark of interest. Curiosity. What lies beneath this husk of a creature? A soul? Or something else?

❛ I’m so flattered you came all the way over here to chat with little ole me, ❜ she purrs, her voice dripping with sarcasm, though she adds a flutter of her lashes for good measure. Her movements are deliberate, sultry, but they lack any genuine warmth.

She takes a step forward, close enough that she can feel the cold emanating from their body, close enough that her breath stirs the stillness between them. She’s well aware of how her presence unsettles others. Her demon form—her true form—bristles with predatory menace. Large, veiny wings curl behind her, casting elongated shadows in the firelight, while the tips of her sharp claws brush ever so gently against her side. She relishes the discomfort she inspires, wears it like a cloak.

Nepharia inhales deeply, unapologetic as she invades their space, her nostrils flaring as she takes in their scent. Her eyes narrow, tracing over their body as if she might see through the bones to whatever is hidden underneath. They don’t smell like death—no, not entirely. There’s something else there, something more alive, more real than mere bone and ash.

❛ You don’t look mortal, ❜ she muses, her voice low, almost to herself. She leans in closer, her gaze locked onto the empty hollows of their face. ❛ But you… almost smell it. ❜ She lets the word almost hang in the air, heavy with suggestion. Her smirk widens as she tilts her head, studying him as one might study a rare and dangerous specimen, caged just beyond reach. There is desire, faint and flickering like a dying candle, but it’s not the lust she’s accustomed to. It doesn’t reek of lustful hunger or desperate infatuation. It’s something else, something that piques her interest more than she’s willing to admit.

❛ I can feel the pull of your soul, ❜ she murmurs, and now her voice dips into something darker, something far more intimate. ❛ Faint… but it’s there. Like it’s buried somewhere deep, out of reach. ❜

She lifts a hand, claws gleaming, and hovers it just above their bony chest——teasing, not touching. Her fingers twitch, aching to delve inside and find what he hides. What is he made of, really? What secrets lie coiled within that brittle cage of bones? She’s tempted to tear him apart, to see what she might uncover beneath all that decay and mystery. But for now, she restrains herself.

❛ Curious, ❜ she finishes, her eyes glinting with amusement and something else——hunger, perhaps. Or fascination.

@h8fuckk sent a prompt:

“You have my attention - now do something with it.”

Well, when she puts it like THAT--

Connor's still fairly new to the camp, trying to get to know the folks here and there. At least, to those who would talk to him. By Jaheira's grace it's the main reason he's allowed here.

Her tone is stinging. If it were a blade, it would have barbs to complement the edge.

Yeah, no pressure.

"I... Uh... I just wanted to talk."

"How are you doing? Feeling?"

[peacefiresky-archive]

dunmer woman gets her ass kicked by some nerd wearing bones; gets a Literal Heart Of Stone

An ambush. Nephitah had realized it too late.

She was tired, a bit drunk, running off of fumes, really, when the reavers had surrounded her. She was in no condition to fight. But she did. And she thought she’d killed them all.

Until the warhammer collided with her chest. Talvas told her later that her lungs had been crushed on impact, but not beyond saving.

Her heart, though...

She was lucky that Neloth found her, really. Or maybe very, very unlucky. Her recovery was a promising one, at least.

It had taken weeks for Talvas to let her move about the tower freely. Longer still for her to be permitted to go outdoors.

It was the first day of the second month when Tiven arrived at Tel Mithryn. She had been all in a fuss - worried, as always - when she had found Nephitah, sitting on the shore, facing Red Mountain. She sat hesitantly next to her, nearly silent.

“I’m not made of glass.” Neph couldn’t mask the frustration in her voice. Her fingers sank further into the ashy sand.

“Of course not,” Tiven said, ever so patient. “I just didn’t want to startle you, is all.”

“You didn’t.”

“Good,” Tiven mumbled. “That’s good.” It was quiet for a few moments.

“Does it bother you?” Neph asked.

“What?”

“Does it bother you that I’m... linked to it?”

“The Heart, you mean?”

Tiven was answered with silence. She drew in a breath. “It doesn’t. It - it did, at first, when I got Neloth’s letter explaining what had happened.”

“You thought I’d turn into Voryn.”

This time, Neph was answered with silence.

They sat there on the shore together, until the sun had turned the skies over Solstheim red and orange and golden. Neph was the first to break the unfamiliar silence that had befallen them.

“It’s weird.”

“Hm?”

“Not having a heart. A heartbeat.” She hesitated for a moment before she took Tiven’s hand and guided it to rest where her heart used to be. “See?”

Tiv smiled a bit. “Yeah. Weird.” She pulled her hand back - taking Nephitah’s with it.

“And the - the whole magicka thing. And that strange sort of... That pull. The stone wants to go somewhere.”

“Back to the Mountain, I’d wager.”

Nephitah nodded. “I think so.”

“I’ll take you there some day.”

“Not a great idea.”

“No?”

“Dagoth Ur may have been Dragonborn. If I get too close... Well, I already have the soul of one Sharmat. I don’t need another.”

Tiven laughed quietly at that, leaning oh-so-slightly against Neph. “What’s it... like? Miraak’s soul, I mean.”

“...Odd. Most Dragon souls don’t really... change me. I get glimpses of their life, but nothing beyond that. With Miraak, though...” Nephitah closed her eyes and intertwined their fingers. “I can feel him. I feel the things he’d feel - I get angry easier and I’m more impulsive and I’m more dragonlike and it’s... weird.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s no reason for you to be.”

“...If I marry you, is that technically bestiality? Since you’re a Dragon and all.”

“...I take it back. No apology will ever make me forgive you. I will toss you into the pits of Red Mountain if you ever ask me that again.”