#cruisingheightswithdragons

[nightxaviation]

listen i love a character with a sweet tooth hehe

@cruisingheightswithdragons's Lilip !!!!

[bwuppy]

2, 19, 27 with clover! :D

2. how would/does your character feel about being picked up?

they're not much a fan of touch regardless so being picked up is out of the equation unless the one picking them up is someone they can undoubtedly trust, but generally it's best to stay out of their personal space.

19. is your character a picky eater?

i imagine they have massive food insecurity to due the circumstances they grew up with. learning to not be picky was more often a matter of survival than anything they had any control over.

27. how much does your character talk?

they're typically taciturn but learning how to sweet talk and have charisma was another survival tactic. bad associations with that is probably why they don't like to do it much.

[bysithis]

Writing prompt number 14!

Writing prompt 14: A quest gone very, very wrong

ahh thank you!!! <33

this piece is about my girl madlen – loyal thieves' guild member and all-round babe. in this case, i am interpreting 'quest' rather loosely as. y'know. crime.

also. this got, uh. longer than i meant for it to lmao. but i hope you enjoy! thanks again for the fun prompt :3

Madlen's career within the Guild, as short-lived as it was, had just been going too smoothly.

That must be it, she tells herself. Things were going well for once, perhaps for the first time in years, and so, of course, the gods see fit to shit in her dinner. All of them. All at one. She isn't sure which one to blame in particular, so what choice does she have but to tar them all with the same brush?

Yes, that's my lot, she thinks, grimacing. A platter of golden, glowing, divinely-wrought shit. Perfect.

From outside her cell, she hears the grating whine of poorly maintained hinges and the soft thud of leather boots as one of the guards enters the jail. It must be lunchtime, she guesses, and guesses correctly; after a couple of minutes, a dented tin plate is shoved beneath her door. For the first time today, she pushes herself up from her rickety old cot, going to retrieve her meal.

What do we have today, then? Bread: dry, stale. Standard. And – by the gods. An entire inch of cheese, just for me?

A measly dinner, but one she should be grateful for, as the guards are so fond of reminding her. Sighing through her nose, she goes to sit back down on the edge of the bed, balancing her food on her knees, picking off a bit of mouldy crush from her bread.

The most aggravating part of this is that it's not even her fault. Madlen had spent weeks stalking her mark – weeks. Following them from dawn till dusk, learning their routine inside and out, noting when they'd be home and when they'd be out. Fortunately for her, they were a creature of habit, each day the same as the one before, operating as regularly as a Dwemer automaton.

Unfortunately for her, however, they must have lost a cog somewhere: the Fredas before last, that schedule deviated.

That day, the mark came home earlier than expected. That day, the mark wasn't alone. And so, that day, young Perennia Fulced – on the arm of some big, burly Nord, with straw-like hair and eyes the colour of granite – had the misfortune of coming home to find a thief in her bedroom.

Madlen, on the other hand, had the significantly greater misfortune of taking a punch to the nose – apparently, Jarl Beer-Belly of Whiterun had no qualms about hitting a member of the fairer sex – and a short trip to the local jail. Her new home, apparently, until such time as...

Well. However long the Jarl decides. If only she'd had the coin to pay the fine.

Maybe I can escape. It isn't the first time the thought has crossed her mind. No lockpicks, but there were other ways to get the job done; that wouldn't prove an obstacle for too long. But where the hell are my things?

Again, the squeaking of hinges as the guard leaves. Madlen looks down at her remaining bread, pressing her lips together. What, no dessert?

The first few days here she spent in a panic; she had never been to prison before and really hadn't made any plans to visit. So, when that rusted-over door clanged shut behind her; when she heard the key turn in the lock; when, later that first night, the man in the cell over started whispering to her, voice hissing through the damp silence—

When all that happened, she didn't take it all very well.

Now, she is at least calm – mostly, just because she decided she would be. It's better than the alternative. And, besides, things could be worse. Bread and cheese may not be the meal of kings, but she's lived off of less.

A little while after dinner, the door outside swings open again. Madlen, lying back in her cot with the plate resting on her stomach, doesn't bother getting up. Light, barely-there footsteps approach her cell, stopping outside the barred entrance. Still, she doesn't bother even to look up.

'If you've brought more cheese, great,' she says, staring up at the ceiling. 'If you've brought more bread, forget about it. Half of it was mould.'

'I hope you don't think I've come all the way from Riften just to bring you your supper, lass.'

At the familiar voice, Madlen's eyes widen, head snapping in the direction of the door. Finding herself met with a familiar face, she bolts upright, sending the plate clattering to the floor and bits of mouldy bread flying everywhere.

'Brynjolf? What—' Cutting herself off, she gets to her feet, crossing over to the door. Staring out at him, she wraps her fingers around the cold iron bars, leaning in as close as they'll allow her, as if to prove to herself it's really him standing there and not some trick of the light.

'What are you doing here?' she finishes, voice lowered to a hush, eyes tripping down over his face, over the familiar quilted doublet, down to the dusty tips of his boots, and then back up.

Brynjolf smiles, the skin at the corners of his eyes creasing. 'Pleased to see me?'

'I'll say.'

'Then I hope you'll be equally pleased sharing a carriage to Riften.'

'Oh, I'd be ecstatic,' she replies. 'I hear it's a lovely trip this time of year. But, Bryn—'

Predicting Madlen's question, Brynjolf holds up a hand. 'I know a guy who knows a guy. Let's leave it at that, shall we?' He pauses, giving a meaningful look around. 'At least until we're out of here.'

That time comes mercifully quickly. Brynjolf left after just a couple short minutes, replaced by another visitor an hour or so afterwards – one of the guards, an unsmiling lad with a terrific case of helmet hair. The friend of a friend, Madlen wonders, giving him a once-over? Or just a man doing his job? Either way, he does a fantastic job of looking like he doesn't want to be here. A sentiment with which Madlen can empathise entirely.

Soon enough, she's handed her pack and led outside, the guard all but shoving her out the door.

'See we don't meet each other again,' he warns, voice cold. When Madlen turns to retort, he's already disappeared back inside.

Probably for the best, she reflects. I'm not chomping at the bit to visit again.

Brynjolf meets her at the head of the stairs leading down to the Wind District. Behind him, the city of Whiterun basks beneath a high, pale yellow sun, too small and far away to chase away the bite of the wind, but welcome, all the same. Besides, after days spent cooped up in the stifling stone underbelly of Dragonsreach, Madlen welcomes the chill in the air, nipping at her cheeks and nose.

'There you are,' Brynjolf says, conversationally, as if he's just been waiting for you to come back from a trip to the market. 'I was beginning to think you'd given them some lip and changed their minds.'

'Me?' Madlen intones, arching her brows; she's in high spirits – and it shows. 'I would never.'

With a shake of his head and a low chuckle, Brynjolf turns, taking the first few steps. 'You're a bad liar, Madlen.'

'Given my trade, I should hope not.'

'I hate to bring up the recent past, but you got yourself thrown into Dragonsreach dungeon, lass. You might want to give your trade a second thought – or a first one, for that matter.'

The words are spoken lightly enough, but they sting a little, like soapy water finding a fresh cut. Madlen's immediate reaction is to go on the defence. To explain herself. To tell Brynjolf what really happened. Instead, she takes in a lungful of sharp, clean air, slinging her pack over her shoulder and falling into step alongside him.

'How did you find out?' she asks at length. They've reached the bottom of the stairs, now, Dragonsreach looming behind them.

'A little bird told me.'

'Ah, of course. Such gossipy waterfowl we have down in the Rift.' Here, she pauses, glancing across at him from beneath long, pale lashes. 'I was surprised to see you. Guess I figured...'

Another pause. Brynjolf waits, patiently, for her to finish, gaze fixed straight ahead of him.

'Well, you know,' she continues, picking her words carefully. 'I've not been with the Guild all that long. Didn't think I'd be worth the trouble.'

At that, he draws to a slow stop, turning to look at her. 'Is there a question in there?'

Madlen purses her lips. 'Do you go to such lengths for all you new recruits?'

For a while, he doesn't answer, the silence stretching for just long enough that she starts to wish she hadn't bothered asking. And then, finally, he smiles, humming a quiet laugh. Starting to walk again, he half-turns, tossing an answer over his shoulder. 'Just the pretty ones.'

A younger, less experience version of her might have blushed at that. As it is, Madlen just rolls her eyes. 'Oh, ha.'

'To tell you the truth, lass, Mercer was against it. Bailing you out.'

'Oh.' Somehow, Mercer's thoughts about it all had barely entered her mind. 'Why?'

'It's like you said. You're new. So new you've still got a shine to you. I look at you and I see potential. You just need a little breaking in, you know? Like... like a pair of boots.'

'A pair of boots? Gee, thanks.'

He ignores her, continuing, 'Mercer... doesn't see what I see. Not yet. Doesn't mean he never will. Just give him time.'

'I guess.'

'You can give me a full report once we hit the road. Then maybe we can figure out a version of events that'll satisfy him.'

'Sure.'

Madlen lapses into quiet, then, looking ahead at nothing in particular as the two of them trot down the stairs towards the market. As much as she may not care for the man, she's not so stupid as to think Mercer's opinion immaterial. In the coming weeks and months, she'll have to work hard to earn back his trust – though, given how little of it she'd apparently won in the first place, that hopefully wouldn't take too long. Silver linings.

'So,' she says, finally. 'You really came all this way just for me?'

Brynjolf smiles, a crooked thing. 'Well, not just for you. I came for the meadery, too.'

Madlen snorts. 'Gee, thanks.'

'And I need someone to help me carry all those bottles.'

'Yeah, yeah.'

'Just wait till I've paid for them before you leave, yeah? Don't want you getting done for stealing twice in as many weeks.'

'Oh, for the love of Mara...'

[zatsy]

Well now I’ve GOT to hear about YOUR pokemon trainer oc!(if you’re so inclined)!!! 👀

It's very thin on the ground so far (I literally started workshopping her yesterday dkdjfjsk) but her name is Zoey & she's super into dancing & battling! She comes from a contest family in Sinnoh, but she starts her journey proper by attending school in Paldea with a Buneary she got from her mom (it does not respect her in the slightest). She's pretty intuitive when it comes to battling, but she lacks polish because she's more concerned about getting her body moving than reading or attending class. I hope to draw her & expand on her character soon!!

[cassthepilot]

2 and 3 for the winter drawing meme!

It’s all fun & games until someone gets nailed in the didgeridoo

In her defense, it’s easy to aim low when you can’t aim high.

[meetthetf2hacker]

🎨 omega?? :3c BUT ALSO 🎨 hacker cuz I like her n ur oc content gives me life!! I wish you a good recovery and for the pain to ease <3 hope everything goes well for you!

Djdjxjdkxj 💗💗💗💗💗 I know I say it over and over again but it makes me SO happy that people like my content. Omega is such a cool character too, I love her design.

[vicekings]

Kris with JD for the text meme? owo

JD to Kris:

[ariquar]

4 20 29 with Ari!

4. Are they afraid of bugs?

He's not really afraid of them but he doesn't particularly like them. Not like Teldryn does. Teldryn has tried to convince him that silt striders are cute and ash hoppers taste good. Ari does not agree with either of those statements.

20. Do they like other people playing with / touching their hair?

Absolutely! Ari's hair is very thick and he loves it when Teldryn helps him brush it out. He used to be very meticulous about his hair and would only let others touch it if they were helping him straighten it, but has since found more comfort in letting it loose in its natural, fluffy state. 

Sometimes he simply lays on Teldryn's chest and lets him pet through his hair, which usually puts him to sleep. 

He also lets the kids in Riverwood braid his hair for him, oftentimes with flowers out of his garden. 

29. What is their love language?

Ari shows love through actions and looks rather than words. It's easier for him to simply give Teldryn a warm smile and touch his hand than to let words break a comfortable silence. And it's easier for Teldryn, too — neither of them are very familiar with showing affection through words. 

Platonically, he's one to put his arm around someone's shoulder or give them a knowing look rather than say anything. Even with his sister, he's more likely to nudge her or pat her shoulder than outright say that he loves her, despite her being his best friend at this point in his life. And that's fine with Faewen, since their family has never really been the type to make such statements. 

With his Blades recruits he's a little more apt to make his acknowledgements heard, but then again it's more of a student - teacher pride that he shows.