gaslight , gatekeep , girlboss.

[h8fuckk]

⌗ H8FUCKK ˎˊ˗ [ 𝐢 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 , 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 ] hello and welcome to the temporary roleplay sideblog dedicated to The Worst Girl in Original Forgotten Realms Lore , nepharia graylock. this is an oc very near and dear to my heart and i miss writing her very much. so i decided to move her here for right now. ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

ᶠYͧoͨᵏu ˎˊ˗ this blog will contain highly triggering and mature content , given the themes of her character. please dni if you are under the age of 21. nepharia is a chaotic evil leaning character , and will behave as such. she can be cold , and sadistic , and murderous , and altogether terrible. she is a cambion [ half tiefling / half succubus ] , rogue / warlock , companion character. ‼ 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆 ˎˊ˗ horror , gore , drug addiction , sex , continuing the toxic cycle of abuse , unhealthy coping mechanisms , and unstable relationships. forever adored and written by nyx , 31 , she / they.

BLOGROLL : @starcunin

ABOUT ⟡ PROMPTS ⟡ OPEN STARTERS

[poohsources]

🐝  *  ―  𝑬𝑷𝑰𝑪: 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑼𝑺𝑰𝑪𝑨𝑳 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺.

Troy Saga ❛  do what i say and you'll see them again.  ❜ ❛  what do you live for? what do you try for?  ❜ ❛  say no more, i know tat i'm ready.  ❜ ❛  the blood on your hands is something you won't lose.  ❜ ❛  is the price i pay endless pain?  ❜ ❛  something feels off here, i see fire but there's no smoke.  ❜ ❛  we should try to find a way no one ends up dead.  ❜ ❛  why should we take when we could give?  ❜ ❛  i see in your face, there's so much guilt inside your heart.  ❜ ❛  have you forgotten the lessons i taught you?  ❜

The Cyclops Saga ❛  it's almost too perfect, too god to be true.  ❜ ❛  what gives you the right to deal a pain so deep?  ❜ ❛  your life now is in my hand.  ❜ ❛  remember them, we're the ones who carry on.  ❜ ❛  what good would killing do when mercy is a skill more of this world could learn to use?  ❜ ❛  i am your darkest moment.  ❜ ❛  i don't know where i went wrong but i warned ya', and you failed the test.  ❜ ❛  that's just like you, why should i be surprised?  ❜ ❛  unlike you, every time someone dies i'm left to deal with the strain.  ❜ ❛  i'll remind you i saw you as a friend but now we're done.  ❜

The Ocean Saga ❛  at this rate, we won't make it out alive.  ❜ ❛  please don't tell me you're about to do what i think you'll do.  ❜ ❛  yes, but how much longer til your luck runs out?  ❜ ❛  you rely on wit, and people die on it.  ❜ ❛  you're like the brother i could never do without.  ❜ ❛  and suddenly you doubt that i could figure this out?  ❜ ❛  keep your friends close and your enemies closer, never really know who you can trust.  ❜ ❛  'cause the end always justifies the means.  ❜ ❛  do you know who i am?  ❜ ❛  you are the worst kind of good 'cause you're not even great.  ❜

The Circe Saga ❛  whatever you need to say can wait some more.  ❜ ❛  there's no length i wouldn't go if it was you i had to save.  ❜ ❛  wouldn't you like a taste of the power?  ❜ ❛  don't thank me friend, you very well may die.  ❜ ❛  did you do something to them?  ❜ ❛  if you make one wrong move, then you're done for.  ❜ ❛  you and i are now evenly matched.  ❜ ❛  you've given me no reason to bestow you with my trust.  ❜ ❛  who's to say, with the mistakes i've made that they will be the last mistakes i ever make?  ❜ ❛  this is the price we pay to love.  ❜

The Underworld Saga ❛  all i hear are screams, every time i dare to close my eyes.  ❜ ❛  i no longer dream, only nigtmares of those who've died.  ❜ ❛  when does a man become a monster?  ❜ ❛  now you tell us our effort's are for nothing?  ❜ ❛  how has everything been turned against us?  ❜ ❛  do i need to change?  ❜ ❛  i'm the only one whose line i haven't crossed.  ❜ ❛  what if i'm the problem that's been hiding all along?  ❜ ❛  what if i've been far too kind to foes but a monster to ourselves?  ❜ ❛  if i became the monster and threw that guilt away would that make us stronger?  ❜

The Thunder Saga ❛  you wouldn't have spared me. i made a mistake like this, it almost cost my life.  ❜ ❛  i've got a secret i can no longer keep.  ❜ ❛  you know that we are the same.  ❜ ❛  we must do what it takes to survive.  ❜ ❛  tell me you did not know that would happen.  ❜ ❛  if you want all the power, you must carry all the blame.  ❜ ❛  how are we supposed to trust you now?  ❜ ❛  how much longer must i suffer now?  ❜ ❛  someone's gotta die today and you have got the final say.  ❜ ❛  please don't make me do this.  ❜

The Wisdom Saga ❛  you've made your worst mistake here.  ❜ ❛  this cruel world doesn't give out presents just for being good.  ❜ ❛  you're my friend, i couldn't ask for more.  ❜ ❛  did you know you talk in your sleep?  ❜ ❛  i'm what you want here, i'm what you need here.  ❜ ❛  you don't know what i've gone through.  ❜ ❛  i know your life's been hard, i'll stay inside your heart.  ❜ ❛  life would be so much worse if you had died.  ❜ ❛  you dare to defy me, to make me feel shame?  ❜ ❛  no one beats me, no one wins my game.  ❜

[thamsesidevibe]

[h8fuckk]

evolution of neph.

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He’s so . . . polite, so strangely considerate for something that reeks of the grave. His submission only fuels her predatory instincts further. There’s a glimmer of hesitation behind his hollow sockets, a wariness that makes her feel in control. A four-armed undead skeleton, towering over her, and yet he shrinks beneath her gaze. It’s almost endearing.

Their voice is little more than background noise, a pleasant hum as she observes them. There’s no blood to pulse beneath skin, no flush of warmth or life that she can detect. Yet they still feel things, she can sense it. Desire. Not like the others, no . . . not the lust she’s used to feeding on, but a different hunger, one she can’t quite put her finger on.

She steps closer, her wings shifting slightly behind her. Her voice slithers out, smooth as velvet, dripping with false warmth. ❛ Oh no, you sweet thing, I’m not injured. And even if I were . . . I prefer to heal through more . . . intimate methods. ❜ She inhales, slow and deliberate, drawing in the scent of them. That faint echo of mortality, buried deep beneath layers of death.

But there’s no lust. No heat. Not even with the thick cloud of pheromones she’s been exuding, meant to intoxicate and entice. She’s bathed the camp in it, enough to make even the most restrained man’s pulse quicken with desire. She can play the seductress all day, but this? This requires a different touch. His mention of his soul—brushed off so casually, so carelessly—comes back to her. Souls like his, the ones buried deep . . . those are typically the ones worth chasing. The most difficult to claim, and the most rewarding.

❛ You want to make yourself useful? ❜ Her smirk sharpens, turning almost playful. ❛ Then tell me. What is it that you want, Connor? What does a creature like you . . . desire? ❜

[relentlessgrief]

With no means of being able to inhale any such pheromones, the beautiful woman's charm does indeed fall flat. The undead aberration remains unafflicted, and none the wiser.

A few tendrils snake out from underneath his robe, eager. She's so far not rejected him, and even learned into his presence. That anxiety has shifted gears a little to the other side--excitement. Thrill. Most of the camp looked at him in disgust, or being offput how strange he was.

And again, it's not something they can blame them for.

As she flirts, Connor leans away. Just a little. She's forward, but not too forward for them to be uncomfortable. Yet.

A few of the tendrils begin to extend forward, searching, grasping, reaching for anything that it can make a purchase on. Each arm had a mind of its own, and each one was curious about her, following the sound of her voice. Their approach was slow, and did not make contact with her.

But they so badly want to.

Similar to how she figures him out by smell and any taste of his soul, he figures out through touch.

"What I desire most?" Connor repeats. They don't immediately speak after, letting their thoughts linger in the air.

"...To be understood."

Friends, too. A sense of belonging. To not feel reviled anywhere they went.

"I think... I think that is what I want most."

[h8fuckk]

Nepharia’s eyes widen ever so slightly, her intrigue sharpening like a blade as the tendrils emerge from beneath Connor’s robes. They snake forward with deliberate caution, their slow, careful movements betraying a sort of restrained curiosity. Her lips part in a faint smile, not quite surprised, but intrigued by this new layer of him. ❛ I didn’t realize you had little friends with you. ❜ She murmurs, her voice soft but edged with amusement. The tendrils hover just above her skin, tantalizingly close, and she can feel the air shift as they move near. They don’t touch her, though, and that only fuels her desire to close the gap herself.

It’s clear enough—he’s holding back. But why? Is it fear? Hesitation? No matter the reason, she has no patience for it.

She reaches out, her clawed fingers moving with deliberate grace. The moment stretches between them as her hand hovers just above one of the tendrils, the barest whisper of space separating her from him. The tendril sways, and she lets her fingers brush against its surface, slowly curling around it with a delicate grip. The flesh of the tendril is cool, smooth, and strange beneath her touch, and the sensation sends a small thrill through her. ❛ Can you feel that? ❜ she asks, her voice lowering to a soft murmur, almost intimate, as her sharp claws graze the tendril’s surface.

When he speaks, his words drift between them like smoke on the wind. To be understood. Nepharia stills, her hand lingering on the tendril as his words sink in. She hadn’t expected that, not something so . . . sentimental. Her glowing eyes, usually so sharp, so predatory, soften for a moment as she studies him. She lets her gaze drift over his skeletal form, the dark robes hanging loosely from his towering frame. She, too, has spent much of her existence feeling like an outsider, misunderstood and feared. But the difference, perhaps, is that she likes it that way. Or at least, she tells herself that.

❛ What is it that you want people to see when they look at you? ❜ she asks, the words slipping from her lips like silk, low and intimate.

[edenmemes]

asoiaf: a dance with dragons starters

❝ i fear i make you uneasy. ❞ ❝ knowledge is a weapon. arm yourself well before you ride forth to battle. ❞ ❝ go on. show your steel. give me cause to do the same. ❞ ❝ fear is what keeps a man alive in this world of treachery and deceit. ❞ ❝ these woods are not as empty as you think. ❞ ❝ promise me that you will never turn against me. i could not bear that. promise me. ❞ ❝ the only time a man can be brave is when he is afraid. ❞ ❝ if i must die, i will die with an axe in my hand and a curse upon my lips. ❞ ❝ tales are told of you. i hear them everywhere. people fear you. ❞ ❝ go too far down that road,  and  mistrust  can  poison  you,  make you sour and fearful. ❞ ❝ you mistake me. that was a command, not an offer. ❞ ❝ sorcery is a sword without a hilt. there is no safe way to grasp it. ❞ ❝ prophecy is like a half-trained mule. it looks like it might be useful, but the moment you trust in it, it kicks you in the head. ❞ ❝ it is not the foes who curse you to your face that you must fear, but those who smile when you are looking and sharpen their knives when you turn your back. ❞ ❝ i rose too high, loved too hard, dared too much. i tried to grasp a star, overreached, and fell. ❞ ❝ they think that this will break my pride, that it will make an end to me, but they are wrong. ❞ ❝ tell me of the things that make you happy, the things that make you giggle, all your sweetest memories. remind me that there is still good in the world. ❞ ❝ one war ends, another begins. there is always someone fighting someone somewhere. ❞ ❝ this is what i was made for. the dance, the sweet steel song, a sword in my hand and a foe before me. ❞ ❝ my enemies have told you i am dead. those tales are false, as you can see. ❞ ❝ not all that a man does is done for gain. ❞ ❝ i know that you believe me weak, frightened, feeble. ❞ ❝ it takes a man to rule. kill the boy, and let the man be born. ❞ ❝ do you mean to spend your whole life running away? ❞ ❝ kingdoms are at hazard here. our lives, our names, our honour. this is no game we’re playing for your amusement. ❞ ❝ however gentle the words, there are always darker motives underneath. i do not trust you. ❞ ❝ a good honest face, but you should smile more. ❞ ❝ my throne is made of burned bones, and it rests on quicksand. ❞ ❝ you are so radiant today i fear to look on you. ❞ ❝ prove yourself more trouble than you are worth, and you can go your own way. ❞ ❝ you need not look so pale, i was only playing with you. ❞ ❝ this is not the day i die, i promise you. ❞ ❝ i wanted you from the first time i saw you. ❞ ❝ was i so blind, or  did  i  close  my  eyes  willingly, so i would not see the price of power? ❞ ❝ men should not go wandering in this place. ❞ ❝ hold your tongue and do as you are told, or you will soon wish you had. ❞ ❝ you won’t try. you will obey. ❞ ❝ kneel and live. or go and die. it’s your choice to make. ❞ ❝ are you so blind, or is it that you do not wish to see? ❞ ❝ that is not a place you want to go to. ❞ ❝ i will not go back without doing what i came for, no matter how hopeless it may seem. ❞ ❝ the fairest woman in this world…i am drunk with the sight of you. ❞ ❝ secrets are worth more than silver and sapphires. ❞ ❝ we have come too far to turn back now. ❞ ❝ what have i done to make you hate me so? ❞ ❝ you meet so few men who value friendship over gold these days. ❞ ❝ it is true, i am a bolder man than most. ❞ ❝ i cannot go home. but i dare not stay here much longer. ❞ ❝ foes and false friends are all around me. ❞ ❝ the fewer folk who will know of this, the better. ❞ ❝ all you have i gave you. remember that. ❞ ❝ will you make me say it twice? go and do as i commanded you. ❞ ❝ love is madness, and lust is poison. ❞ ❝ i feel safe when i’m with you. ❞ ❝ have you no smile for me? am i as fearful as all that? ❞ ❝ why did i ever allow myself to be talked into this farce? ❞ ❝ don’t think i don’t see what you’re doing. ❞ ❝ i will tell you nothing. do me the same favor. ❞ ❝ if i look back i am lost. ❞ ❝ a crown should not sit easy on the head. ❞ ❝ we must show a little trust, you and i. ❞ ❝ trust only your companions, and do your best to avoid attracting notice. ❞ ❝ you’re not going to try to kill me again, i hope. ❞ ❝ if you will forgive me for saying so, you look…weary. are you sleeping? ❞ ❝ your clothes are stained with blood. take them off. ❞ ❝ every fool loves to hear that he’s important. ❞ ❝ my father used to tell me that a man must know his enemies. ❞ ❝ you are a harmless creature, to be sure. as innocent as a lamb. ❞ ❝ till then, let us drink and dream. ❞ ❝ you will be tempted to betray me. to run or fight or join our foes. i’ll not hear you deny it. ❞ ❝ soon enough you may have grave need of me. do not refuse my friendship. ❞ ❝ it is best that no man knows that you are here. ❞ ❝ i kill kings, haven’t you heard? ❞ ❝ should any ill befall you, this world would lose its savor. ❞ ❝ some will look at you and see only another doomed pretender. ❞ ❝ i think life is a jape. yours, mine, everyone’s. ❞ ❝ i will forgive those words…once. but never presume to threaten me again. ❞ ❝ your father would be so proud if he could see you. ❞ ❝ just once you might try to give me an answer that would please me. ❞ ❝ they love me well. none would betray me. ❞ ❝ i have sins enough to answer for; i’ll have no part of this one. ❞ ❝ i mean you no harm, you know. ❞ ❝ i do not trust you, but i need you. ❞ ❝ we’ll both sleep, and dream of sweeter days. close your eyes. ❞ ❝ since you ask so nicely, how can i deny you? ❞ ❝ no wine is half so intoxicating as your beauty. ❞ ❝ why should i beg for what is owed me? ❞ ❝ a lord may love the men he commands, but he cannot be a friend to them. ❞ ❝ let them try and trouble us, we’ll show them what we’re made of. ❞ ❝ a leader should be feared, by friend and foe alike. if men think me cruel, so much the better. ❞ ❝ the enemy of my friend is my enemy. ❞ ❝ a book can be as dangerous as a sword in the right hands. ❞ ❝ i am an old man, grown weary of this world and its treacheries. ❞ ❝ these are desperate days, and like to grow more desperate. ❞ ❝ we need to find shelter before nightfall. ❞ ❝ there are footsteps behind us. we are being followed. ❞ ❝ this is no common fog. it stinks of sorcery. ❞ ❝ i am glad you came to me. it is good to see you again, my friend. ❞ ❝ the man who does nothing also takes a risk. ❞ ❝ the women are the strong ones. ❞ ❝ afraid, are you? i would be if i were you. ❞ ❝ tell me a tale. some tale of valor with a happy ending. ❞ ❝ i’ll have a cup of wine as well. to clear my head. ❞ ❝ we may lose our heads, it’s true…but what if we prevail? ❞ ❝ keep your swords sharp. we’ll have us a real fight soon. ❞ ❝ this is going to end badly. ❞ ❝ what are you doing here? how did you get past my guards? ❞ ❝ it is so hard. to be strong. i don’t always know what i should do. ❞ ❝ let us instead speak of love, of dreams and desire. ❞ ❝ you wound me, wandering off like this. have you grown tired of my hospitality so soon? ❞ ❝ with this sword i defend my subjects and destroy those who menace them. ❞ ❝ it is too late for such misgivings. you made your choice. ❞ ❝ in times as confused as these, even men of honor must wonder where their duty lies. ❞ ❝ why? what did i ever do to you? ❞ ❝ we must be certain that we do not choose the losing side. ❞ ❝ dream sweet dreams. there are no monsters here. ❞ ❝ i know who you are. i know what you are. ❞ ❝ a little honest loathing might be refreshing, like a tart wine after too much sweet. ❞ ❝ a bloody sword is a beautiful thing. ❞ ❝ a ruler belongs to their people, not to themself. ❞ ❝ if the ones i killed come haunt me, i will kill them all again. ❞ ❝ you shine so brightly, you will blind every man who dares look upon you. ❞ ❝ a fair bargain leaves both sides unhappy, i’ve heard it said. ❞ ❝ there’s blood on your hands, aye, same as mine. ❞ ❝ i have done wicked things, i know, but i could not bear for you to hate me. ❞ ❝ it is good to see you smiling again. ❞ ❝ i have doubts enough without you throwing oil on the fire of my fear. ❞ ❝ blood pays for blood, a life for a life. ❞ ❝ go home, if that is what you want. i am staying. ❞ ❝ a man’d think there’s no trust between us. ❞ ❝ i would choose freedom over comfort every time. ❞ ❝ you are even lovelier than i was told. ❞ ❝ stay. i do not wish to be alone. ❞ ❝ treachery on treachery. is there no end to it? ❞ ❝ dreams and prophecies. why must they always be in riddles? ❞ ❝ one wrong word, and this could turn to blood in half a heartbeat. ❞ ❝ you lie. i can see the truth in your eyes. ❞ ❝ throw down your steel and stand aside, and no harm need come to you. ❞ ❝ you are supposed to be my friend. why must you mock my hopes? ❞ ❝ it is better to die with honor than to live without it. ❞ ❝ it does no good to brood on lost battles and roads not taken. ❞ ❝ i see you are deaf to sense. ❞ ❝ you are no better than me. we’re just the same. ❞ ❝ a man should never draw his sword unless he means to use it. ❞ ❝ you kill men for the wrongs they have done, not the wrongs that they may do someday. ❞ ❝ close your eyes. close your ears. turn away. you do not need to see this. ❞ ❝ the sooner we are gone from this place, the better. ❞ ❝ i am sorry my actions have displeased you. i did as i thought best. ❞ ❝ you do not need to trust a man to use him. ❞ ❝ if you cannot do this thing, you need only say so. there is no shame in that. ❞ ❝ never wound a foe when you can kill him. dead men don’t claim vengeance. ❞ ❝ this is what i wanted, what i worked for. so why does it taste so much like defeat? ❞ ❝ honest men should never need to hide their faces. ❞ ❝ i am not the trusting fool you take me for. ❞ ❝ men’s lives have meaning, not their deaths. ❞ ❝ he’s dead. he won’t bite. ❞ ❝ if this is the price for peace, i pay it willingly. ❞ ❝ it makes me wonder whose side you are on. ❞ ❝ dreams and prophecies. why must they always be in riddles? ❞ ❝ i will not say that you are welcome. nor will i deny that i have hoped that you might come. ❞ ❝ you have the eyes of a wolf and a taste for blood. ❞ ❝ men are mad and gods are madder. ❞ ❝ one war ends, another begins. there is always someone fighting someone somewhere. ❞ ❝ not all risks lead to ruin. ❞ ❝ is there some place with fewer eyes and ears? ❞ ❝ i need you now as i have never needed you before. ❞ ❝ tell me, is there any fight left in you? ❞ ❝ it was the wind that you heard screaming. ❞ ❝ crying? i was not crying. why would i cry? ❞ ❝ are you some butcher of the battlefield, hacking down every man who stands in your way? ❞ ❝ rain. a storm is coming. ❞ ❝ that was simple. simpler than i dared hope. simpler than it should have been. ❞ ❝ see that you do not speak of this. i’ll not have this tale spread. ❞ ❝ how could i be so blind for so long? ❞ ❝ you had a bad dream, that was all. ❞ ❝ are you prepared to defend that boast with sword or lance? ❞ ❝ i will do it. i said i would. i will. ❞ ❝ think that. believe that. tell yourself it’s true. ❞ ❝ you have more enemies than you know. ❞ ❝ i have no heart. i only have a hole. ❞ ❝ it has been too long since i’ve killed a man. ❞ ❝ words are wind. words cannot harm me. ❞ ❝ have you forgotten who i am? ❞ ❝ too many good men died that day. ❞ ❝ it is so good to see your face, your sweet face. ❞ ❝ it is still not too late to abandon this folly. ❞ ❝ i will not stay here to be insulted. ❞

[h8fuckk]

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[spicyrpmemes-galore]

random, kinda kinky prompts  compiled

remember, consent is key and implied in all of these feel free to specify which muse is which and/or combine prompts

{ bar } : our muses have sex in a bar restroom 

{ outdoors } : our muses have sex in the woods

{ kiss } : for one muse to forcefully kiss the other

{ slap } : one muse slapping the other during sex

{ ticklish } : one muse tickles the other during sex

{ penetrate } : one muse uses a dildo on the other

{ window } : our muses have sex against a window

{ kneel } : one muse orders the other to their knees

{ dress-up } : one muse tries on lingerie for the other

{ grind } : one muse has the other grind on their thigh

{ scar } : one muse kisses the other’s scars during sex

{ voyeur } : our muses have sex in front of an audience

{ drip } : one muse drips hot wax across the other’s body

{ count } : one muse making the other count each spank 

{ beg } : one muse forces the other to beg for an orgasm

{ exhibit } : our muses have sex in a museum after hours 

{ shove } : one muse pins the other to the wall during sex

{ changing } : our muses getting frisky in a dressing room 

{ tied } : one muse ties up / handcuffs the other during sex

{ tub } : our muses share a shower / bath that turns sexual

{ grip } : one muse grabs the other by their throat during sex

{ good } : one muse gently praises the other during rough sex

{ risky } : our muses have sex somewhere they might be caught

{ spank } : one muse pulls the other over their lap to spank them

{ lift } : one muse picks up the other for sex in a standing position

{ louder } : one muse commands the other to be louder during sex

{ roadside } : our muses pull over to the side of the road to have sex

{ guide } : for one muse to instruct the other how to touch themselves

{ kitchen } : one muse lifts the other up onto the kitchen counter for sex

{wall} : one muse picks the other up to have sex with them against a wall

{ quiet } : one muse commands the other not to make a sound during sex

{ road } : one muse gives the other oral / fingers them while they’re driving

{ awaken } : one muse slips under the covers to wake up the other with oral

{ buzz } : one muse has the other wear a remote controlled vibrator in public 

{ lap } : one muse pulls the other into their lap to finger them / play with them

{ first } : one muse has never had sex before, and the other is their first partner

{ mouth } : one muse to put their fingers in the other’s mouth to keep them quiet 

{ table } : one muse fingers / plays with the other under the table in a public place

{ thrill } : for our muses to have sex somewhere public with the risk of being caught

{ bound } : for one muse to strap the other down and tease them with a toy (specify )

{ plugged } : one muse instructs the other to wear a buttplug / inserts one into them

{ guide } : one muse takes the other’s hand to show them how they like to be touched

{ chase } : our muses take part in a sex game where one chases / hunts the other one

{ pull } : one muse winds their hand into the other’s hair to pull / move their head during sex

{ video } : for one muse to send the other videos of themselves in compromising positions

{ overstimulate } : one muse makes the other cum over and over, again, until they’re too sensitive 

{ title } : one muse tries to rile up the other by calling them a title they like ( sir, daddy, mistress, etc. ) 

{ still } : one muse commands the other to hold still while they tease them / finger them / fuck them / etc. 

{ relief } : one muse has been worked up and denied orgasm for days. the other decides to give one to them

[h8fuckk]

Pale, narrow eyes watch him as he moves away from her. She doesn’t need to see his face to know he’s battling himself again. It’s a dance they’ve rehearsed a hundred times, though neither of them ever calls it what it truly is. His resistance feeds her hunger like dry wood to a flame, and despite his efforts to douse it, that heat only burns hotter. She smiles—a faint, satisfied curve of her lips—because she knows he saw her. He can hide behind whatever fortress he’s building in his mind, but the way his eyes had lingered, devouring her like a man who has tasted forbidden fruit, doesn’t escape her. Control.

It’s always about control. Not just for him, but for her too. Every seduction, every whispered temptation, every carefully measured gaze she casts his way——it’s all about keeping herself in power. And yet, her need to dominate him, to be his undoing, is at war with a deeper desire: the craving for his affection. She tries to deny it, and in front of him, she’d never admit that she’s already failed.

The truth is, she misses him. Not the Lord Gortash who stands now behind his desk, dissecting her words with the same precise care he gives to his machinery. No, she misses the man who once held her, even as she considered killing him. The man who understood her ambition because it mirrored his own. The man who once whispered her name with a hunger that rivaled hers, who made her feel like she was more than just her patron’s weapon.

She forces herself to stay still for a moment longer, arms crossed over her chest. The soft fabric of her gown shifts with the movement, cool against her skin, a pale rose color. The slits along her hips part slightly as she shifts her weight, offering a glimpse of freckled pale skin. The way the gown dips low in the front reveals just enough to tempt, a silent promise of what he’s denied himself for far too long. She chose this dress with care——as if it were a weapon to be used against him.

But it’s not just about seduction tonight. She knows better than to think it’ll be enough to break him. When she finally moves, it’s deliberate. Slow, measured steps as she crosses the room to him. Her feet don’t make a sound on the cold floor, though the scent of her—musk, rose, patchouli—follows her like a specter, clinging to the air between them. He refuses to look at her, and she lets him have that small victory for now. He can pretend she isn’t there, pretend he isn’t thinking about her. But they both know how fragile that pretense is.

She comes to a stop at the side of his desk, her fingers brushing lightly against the wood. The sharp tips of her claws tap softly as she leans in, her body bending toward him, pulling them into closer orbit. There’s no need for him to look at her for her to feel the tension that rises between them. ❛ That’s not what this is. You aren’t afraid I’m going to kill you. ❜

Her voice is low, softer than a whisper, yet it carries a kind of lethal assurance, the same assurance that comes with knowing someone better than they know themselves. ❛ You’re just afraid that giving in to me would make you seem weak. ❜

There’s no real accusation in her tone, no cruelty——just truth. It slides from her lips like silk over stone, soft but unyielding, a fact she knows he can’t deny no matter how much he wants to. He can pretend all he wants, hide behind his work, behind his logic, but she knows what lies beneath. She’s seen it, felt it, tasted it on his lips. And she needs him. That’s the bitter truth of it. Not just for the power they share, not just for the empire they’re building together, but for reasons she can’t bring herself to fully understand, much less admit. She needs him, not the soul he could offer her, but the man——the one who made her feel something other than the gnawing hunger and self-loathing that’s consumed her for as long as she can remember.

[lordgortrash]

He hates her sometimes.

His careful self-discipline transcends any natural inclination. It started in his youth, when he served Raphael: how the devil sought to break him, as he broke all things. Enver survived—more than survived, PERSISTED. And in the years since then, that same iron will has served as the foundation upon which he’s built an empire. He’s stood in resolute opposition against devils, heroes, warlords, and all of them broke against him like waves on stone.

Nepharia, however. She’s like a drug burning hot through his veins. He can still recall the first time they met—the fervor of his arousal, uncomfortable in its sheer intensity. She is the spark to his powder keg, an uncontrollable fever that drowns out all rational thought. With time, he’s grown accustomed to the effect her succubus blood has on him. That doesn’t make it any EASIER.

He sits. It takes a concerted effort to drag his thoughts away from the devil at his back, but as he takes in the components scattered across his desk, his focus takes on a new kind of clarity. The disembodied hand of a Steel Watcher lays in front of him, most its plating removed and lined up in sequence. It’s the range of motion on the thumb digit that needs improvement: a ball joint over a pivot will significantly increase its capacity for handling small objects and people.

He glances at the schematic sketches in his notebook, searching among his bits of hardware for the proper assembly. But even as he reaches for a bearing, her scent washes over him. Nepharia appears as a shadow in his peripheral vision, and he hesitates, watching her clawed fingers DANCE across his desk.

“You’re just afraid that giving in to me would make you seem weak.”

He’s on his feet in the space of a heartbeat, chair scraping the floor in loud protest as his jeweled grip fastens around her throat. His hands are LARGER than they look; fingers stretched wide, he encircles the better part of her delicate neck. He holds her there, locked in place—but he doesn’t squeeze.

“I wonder. What is it you hope to accomplish with this game of yours, Nepharia?” He leans in close, hot breath washing over her cheek as dark eyes cut into her. “Do you think you can provoke me into fucking you? KILLING you?” The metal tips of his gauntlet press into her skin, leaving hard indentations. “Or perhaps when you betrayed my trust, something inside of you broke. You poor, wounded thing.”

He seizes her lips in a rough kiss, more an attack than a gesture of affection. He drags his teeth across her lip, biting her before pulling back.

“Don’t tell me you actually CARE?”

[h8fuckk]

The sharp sound of his chair scraping across the floor fills the air as his hand seizes her throat, and Nepharia's pulse quickens——not from fear, but from the thrill that shoots through her like wildfire. His fingers encircle her neck with commanding strength, and she feels her breath catch, not in protest but in anticipation. It's precisely what she wanted, what she needed——to feel him react, to feel him close, even if it's born of fury rather than desire. In truth, she doesn't care which. Power, anger, lust——they all blur together for her, intoxicating in equal measure.

Her hand rises instinctively, clawed fingers wrapping around his wrist, as if she were holding him there rather than pushing him away. There's no effort to resist, no thought of pulling back. She could, if she wanted to, could rip his arm from her throat with ease, but she doesn't. The look in her eyes betrays her, a wicked glint of pleasure hidden in the shadow of his grip, her lips parting slightly, a breath stolen not by the chokehold but by the closeness of him. She's relishing in the dominance, the proximity, the way his breath warms her cheek as he speaks——control still radiates from him, and it's that control she's desperate to unravel. But then his words slice through the moment, sharp as any blade.

The satisfaction that had lit her gaze falters. It dims, like a candle flickering in the wind. He's wrong—and yet, he isn't. The night she'd nearly killed him, it wasn't out of malice, wasn't out of hunger. It was fear. Fear of what she was beginning to feel. Fear of what it might mean if she let herself care too much. If he'd let her speak that night, if he'd given her a chance to explain herself, perhaps he'd know the truth. But it's too late for that now. Her pride won't let her admit it. She's terrified——not of his hand around her throat, not of his anger, but of something far worse: the idea that he might reject her heart in the same way he's rejecting her body.

The kiss—if it could even be called that—drags her back to the present. His lips crush against hers, rough and demanding, leaving no room for tenderness, no space for affection. And still she melts into it, unable to resist the fire it sparks in her. A low sound, almost a moan, escapes her throat involuntarily when his teeth bite down on her lip. Pain mingles with pleasure in a way that's all too familiar, all too addictive. She'd chase that feeling to the ends of the realms, would let him rip her apart if it meant he'd touch her again. Her body reacts on instinct, lips parting as if to seek his again, but she doesn't move. He holds her there, frozen in the moment, and she knows how she must look——pathetic, desperate, craving something she doesn't even have the courage to ask for.

His words hit her again, a final blow to whatever confidence she was clinging to, and she feels the last remnants of control slipping through her fingers. But she's Nepharia——a creature of pride, of arrogance. Her expression shifts, carefully masking the hurt that gnaws at her, replacing it with something more familiar: seduction.

❛ Whether you wanted to or not, ❜ she breathes, her voice low and honeyed despite the grip on her throat, ❛ you've given me everything I've dreamed of. ❜ She lets her hand slide down his wrist, slow and deliberate, claws tracing over the metal of his gauntlet until they reach the exposed skin of his forearm. Her touch is light, a sensuous crawl that follows the line of his arm, teasing the tension in his muscles as she moves.

❛ I'm not trying to toy with you, Gortash. ❜ Her hand continues its slow descent, tracing over the fabric of his sleeve, across the curve of his bicep, until it comes to rest against his chest. Her claws barely graze his skin, and she drags them down lightly, ❛ I was simply trying to show you my appreciation . . . ❜ she lets the words hang in the air between them as her hand drifts lower, her fingers tracing the hard lines of his torso until they reach the buckle of his belt. Her claws catch on the leather strap, and she gives it a soft tug, pulling him just a fraction closer, the motion both possessive and inviting. Her lips curve into a smile, though it's a shadow of her usual smirk—more subdued, ❛. . . the only way I know how. ❜

[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.

[relentlessgrief]

Neph was unique.

Unique in the sense that she often elicited certain types of sentiments among the camp, and they were a mix. Astarion seemed to like her well enough. Wyll was skeptical, Laezel did not trust her. Shadowheart was the 'wait and see' type of person. Karlach did not care for her. Gale was curious.

For Connor, it was a weird space. Their previous life as a priest of Lathander would say that she's a creature of sin. She should be doused in holy water and sent to a church and either burst into flames so she's sent back to the fiery seven hells where she belongs, or she repents.

Current Connor, now dead and revealed to be a parasite living within his former body's skeleton, perspective sure has a way of changing perspective. Being reviled by many after coming from being adored has created empathy and a desire to understand.

That doesn't mean that he doesn't find her a little intimidating. She's beautiful, and moreover, she's firm. She knows what she wants, which is great. But the forwardness against his shy and nervous nature of wanting to be accepted has him on edge.

Empty eye sockets lock onto her. They take a posture of submission--but that submission should be treated as a sign of respect.

"I've heard that before. You aren't the first."

Laerel Silverhand has informed him that he was otherworldly and a being of pure magic. A woman once told him that his soul was hard to see, muddy and clouded. Another sensed that there was more to Connor than what was present. Other aberrations did not regard him as one of them--he was outcast by them. And they were said to allegedly have no soul.

So what was Connor?

"Yes, I am Connor. I just... Wanted to get to know you. You're on this other side of camp alone. I did not want you to be. But I can leave you alone, if you want."

She's pulling for something. Trying to find SOMETHING to pluck from them. But anything she tries to grasp slips through her fingers like sand. There's comfort in that.

Two predators, face to face. One craving flesh. The other craving the soul.

"You aren't hurt at all from today's adventures, are you? I can heal you. Make myself useful."

[h8fuckk]

He’s so . . . polite, so strangely considerate for something that reeks of the grave. His submission only fuels her predatory instincts further. There’s a glimmer of hesitation behind his hollow sockets, a wariness that makes her feel in control. A four-armed undead skeleton, towering over her, and yet he shrinks beneath her gaze. It’s almost endearing.

Their voice is little more than background noise, a pleasant hum as she observes them. There’s no blood to pulse beneath skin, no flush of warmth or life that she can detect. Yet they still feel things, she can sense it. Desire. Not like the others, no . . . not the lust she’s used to feeding on, but a different hunger, one she can’t quite put her finger on.

She steps closer, her wings shifting slightly behind her. Her voice slithers out, smooth as velvet, dripping with false warmth. ❛ Oh no, you sweet thing, I’m not injured. And even if I were . . . I prefer to heal through more . . . intimate methods. ❜ She inhales, slow and deliberate, drawing in the scent of them. That faint echo of mortality, buried deep beneath layers of death.

But there’s no lust. No heat. Not even with the thick cloud of pheromones she’s been exuding, meant to intoxicate and entice. She’s bathed the camp in it, enough to make even the most restrained man’s pulse quicken with desire. She can play the seductress all day, but this? This requires a different touch. His mention of his soul—brushed off so casually, so carelessly—comes back to her. Souls like his, the ones buried deep . . . those are typically the ones worth chasing. The most difficult to claim, and the most rewarding.

❛ You want to make yourself useful? ❜ Her smirk sharpens, turning almost playful. ❛ Then tell me. What is it that you want, Connor? What does a creature like you . . . desire? ❜

[h8fuckk]

@faebhaal sent: "We make a surprisingly good team… let’s not talk about it."

The succubus walks with a slow, languid confidence, the hem of her silk nightgown whispering against pale thighs. It’s a stark contrast to the carnage of earlier, but Nepharia thrives on contradictions. A demon washed clean, skin and wings gleaming under the pale moonlight like a goddess stepping out of some darkened myth.

She spots Ithaca at her tent, seated amidst the flickering shadows cast by the campfire. Around them, the goblins celebrate their victory, loud and brutish, their howls mingling with the crackle of the flames. The scent of burning wood and roasting meat fills the camp, but Nepharia hardly notices. Her senses are sharper, more acute after the battle——keen enough to pick up the faint sweetness in the air around Ithaca. The woman smells of peaches and gardenia, a light fragrance that lingers even after blood has been spilled.

Nepharia's lips curl into a sharp smile as she steps into the light of the fire, holding a bottle of dark amber liquid. The night feels ripe for indulgence. After all, what’s left to do once the bodies have fallen and the screams have faded but to drink and relish in what they’ve done? She steps closer, the bottle swinging lightly in her hand, and releases a breathy laugh that feels more like an exhale of satisfaction than humor.

❛ Want to drink about it instead? ❜ she offers, her voice silky smooth, a note of mockery dancing beneath the surface. She raises the bottle, letting the firelight catch the liquid inside, the promise of something stronger—something far better—than the swill the goblins have been passing around like mindless animals. ❛ Promise it’s way better than whatever shit the goblins are guzzling. Probably their own piss. ❜

Her smirk deepens as she watches Ithaca, the way the firelight flickers against her dusky rose skin, making her seem almost ethereal, if not for the madness Nepharia saw earlier in those strange violet eyes. The savage glee, the hunger. It’s funny, really. Nepharia had assumed the pretty little thing was softer than she was. She had been wrong. ❛ I have to admit, ❜ she purrs, the weight of her words deliberate, ❛ you surprised me today. ❜

Her gaze travels over Ithaca with open appreciation, eyes narrowing as if seeing her in a new light. The woman’s beauty is undeniable—iridescent, and the delicate features that wouldn’t seem out of place in the dreams of some lovesick mortal. But Nepharia knows better now. She knows that behind that pretty cover lies something darker. Something dangerous. ❛ I should probably stop judging people based on their pretty pink covers. ❜

In truth, she likes this——this feeling of alignment, of shared purpose with someone just as fucked up as she is. The grove’s destruction had been a necessity, a calculated move to keep their ruse intact, but Nepharia had expected to be alone in her enjoyment of it. Ithaca’s enthusiasm, her almost gleeful indulgence in the violence, had been a revelation. Perhaps this journey wouldn’t be so dull after all.

[faebhaal]

"You probably should. After all, you know as well as anyone that even the prettiest flowers can be the deadliest." Blazing rings of violet look from the bottle of alcohol that's shown off up to the gorgeous fiend of a woman. If anyone were to put Ithaca to shame in the category of otherworldly beauty, it would Nepharia, with skin pallid like bone, hair like flowing starlight and so fiercely bewitching eyes they could stare a hole straight through a soul.

But that's not the only thing they share. It's started to set in that they were two sides of the same coin. There's also the quirk that the both of them seem to revel in ultraviolence.

You surprised me today.

A phrase Ithaca is sure all of her companions felt to some degree. Horror. Disgust. Unease. Those were what she predicted the majority felt despite them already having a taste of her darker habits. There's only a couple of exceptions, and the succubus is one of them. If anything, she's the least judgemental of the group with Astarion coming in a close second.

It's not the act of butchering the grove that has her stomach feeling sick when she reminisces about the day. It's the reactions from the people she's started getting attached to.

No, quite frankly every minute bathed in gore had been near orgasmic. From the sticky, sanguine syrup she licked from her hands and blade right down to the symphony of cracking bones and screams. There's an instance Ithaca recalls she had infact let out a small moan when her sickle had split the skull of some annoying druid.

It all was a necessary evil, the fey had rationalized, for the good of the group to fix this mess and not blow their cover. Besides, the druids may have well been as bloodthirsty as she; especially how the healer was so ready to poison them all without a second thought. Not to mention the treatment of the tieflings.

Nepharia had been just as mirthful indulging in the carnage just as much as she had. And strangely, Ithaca appreciates it. At least there's one less person to give her a morality lecture. Still lingering on it weirdly brings about a wave of frustration towards her looming identity crisis along with a hunger that feels uncontrollable.

Ithaca hums softly, scooting over to make room for the succubus. The company not unwelcome; maybe a bit comforting. Better than any of the goblins that's for sure. When adequate space is given, the fey stretches out and settles down once more. The two of them side by side is a vision of the physical embodiment of dreams and nightmares — hauntingly alluring, hard to shake away.

"I think I surprise myself even. Everyday is like waking up in a new world." the faerie murmurs, turning from Nepharia to watch the rabble of the celebration. Drunken goblins yelling, falling over each other, the rest of their companions staying in their respective areas, and the pretty drow that led the raid onto the Grove that keeps looking over in her direction.

Fingers pick at the threads of her modified bottoms; pants that had been crudely cut above the knee and barely covering soft, strong thighs. "Do you think I'm a monster?"

[h8fuckk]

Nepharia knows what she is——a thing of temptation, of sinful desire wrapped in alluring cruelty. It’s a role she’s long since embraced, reveling in the knowledge that her beauty is as dangerous as any blade she wields. ❛ Mm, you’re not wrong, ❜ Nepharia purrs, her voice lilting with dark amusement as she fixes the other with a gaze that’s part hunger, part invitation. ❛ Deadly things can be so . . . irresistible, don’t you think? ❜

When Ithaca shifts, scooting over to make room, Nepharia accepts the unspoken invitation without hesitation. She moves with a fluid grace, settling beside her at the edge of the tent, where the flickering light of the fire bathes them both in a golden glow. Her wings, still outstretched, are an imposing sight, but here, in the quiet of the camp, they are less necessary. A moment later, with a flicker of dark crimson magic, her demon form dissolves into something more tiefling, more mortal. The magic swirls around her, a brief haze of dark red smoke, and when it fades, Nepharia’s wings are gone, her body slimmer, smaller, her lavender eyes less blinding than the otherworldly glow of her more demonic ones. She flexes her shoulders slightly, adjusting to the smaller form, enjoying the way her shoulders feel lighter without the heavy stretch of wings weighing her down. ❛ Ahhh . . . sometimes it’s nice just—relaxing in this form. ❜

Nepharia opens the bottle, its dark contents sloshing gently as she raises it to her lips, listening to Ithaca murmur about feeling like waking up in a new world every day. It’s an oddly whimsical sentiment for someone who’d just split open skulls like ripe fruit and bathed in blood. The liquor burns as it slides down Nepharia’s throat, but it is nothing compared to the other cravings that claw at her insides. No drink could quench the hunger for souls, that dark, insatiable need that lingered at the edges of her mind, always present, always pulling.

She glances across the camp at Gale, sitting by himself, brooding. ( She imagines what it might feel like to take his pompous soul, slowly draining the life from him until his arrogant voice is silenced forever. It would be bliss. The only thing stopping her is that unstable orb within his chest, unsure how killing him might make it react )

Nepharia looks back at Ithaca, drawn by the question that lingers between them. A simple one, yet loaded with meaning. Do you think I’m a monster?

Her initial response is easy——yes. It would be a yes for both of them. Monsters are what the world creates out of necessity. The powerful prey on the weak, and the weak are left to cower or die. It’s always been that way, and it always will be. Nepharia has never been one to lament that truth. She wears it proudly, like a crown, because in the end, being a monster means survival. But there’s a flicker of something else, something deeper in the question that makes Nepharia pause, if only for a moment. A sense of kinship, perhaps.

❛ In a world full of monsters and victims, ❜ she says, her voice soft, ❛ I know which one I’d prefer to be. ❜ She holds Ithaca’s gaze, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth as she hands over the bottle, their fingers brushing briefly in the exchange. Her smile widens, though there’s a hint of something darker in her eyes. ❛ And I’ll say this . . . you’re everything but a victim. ❜

The words hang in the air between them, heavy and deliberate, and Nepharia knows it for what it is——a compliment, twisted and sincere all at once. Ithaca has proven today that she is more than capable of surviving in this cruel world. The succubus leans back, stretching her legs out in front of her, her nightgown sliding higher along her thighs as she shifts comfortably into place beside Ithaca. She casts a glance around the camp, the goblins still howling and stumbling in their crude celebration, the others keeping their distance. For once, Nepharia feels something like . . . contentment. It’s fleeting, as all things are, but it lingers long enough for her to savor it.

❛ Monsters, ❜ she muses, her gaze drifting back to Ithaca, ❛ are just the ones brave enough to take what they want. ❜ There’s a softness to her tone, a quiet sort of acknowledgment that the world they live in demands blood and sacrifice. With that, Nepharia leans in slightly, her smile turning into something more intimate, more conspiratorial. ❛ So yes, sweet, wretched thing, ❜ she adds in a low, silken whisper, ❛ I think you’re a monster. And I think you’re perfect. ❜

[h8fuckk]

it’s not a want, but a need, to start a bg3 campaign with a durge bard that looks like chappell roan.