#nimriel

[armisteadrevellion]

More fanart for The Lost Goddess by @nimthedragonbabe ! This time, it’s more of a headcanon idea I had cause for the love of god I’m starved for content

Bonus doodles

[bonusdragons]

June 3, 2023:

Sable Secondary, Spiral, Smoke.

Nimriel of Scarecrows’ clan!

[wasteful-sam]

Rolan visits Tav's room at the Elfsong tavern. Disasters ensue.

You know, fellow Rolan fic writers, I assume it's pretty common that if you write a romantic scene between Rolan and Tav, it generally happens at the Ramazith's Tower, Sorcerous Sundries, the streets, hell, even the lower floor of the Elfsong tavern itself.

But I was thinking, what if such a scene was assumed to take place in the party's room at the Elfsong tavern? Yes, in its in-game, completely one-to-one state, unchanged.

Well, that would be diabolical.

Pictured above: Rolan's losing it.

Let's picture it together:

The two lovebirds, just days after confessing their feelings. Tonight, Tav invites Rolan to visit their room at the Elfsong tavern.

Feeling absolutely blessed and exhilarated, the wizard, of course, puts on a fancy suit and spruces himself up. He'd heard before how Tav was bolstering that the party has almost the entirety of the tavern's second floor to themselves and how it is quite luxurious.

Tonight could be oh-so magical, Rolan thinks as he follows Tav into the room.

------------------------------------------------------------------

What does our poor wizard prodigy marvel at before him?

♡ A gigantic room with beds lined up in a row - no privacy in sight.

♡ A nonchalant puddle of blood on the floor that nobody bothers to clean up after that one vampire spawn encounter.

♡ A random red-haired kid (who's child is that???!) playing with a cat.

♡ A naked statue of Tav is standing neatly by the entrance.

♡ The High Harper Jaheira petting her pet (?) rat.

♡ The Aasimar and a divine maiden are making out ferociously in the corner.

♡ An owlbear and a dog are running around the room, knocking everything in their way.

♡ Alfira (?!) playing the lute somewhere from above (??!).

♡ All the party members are in the room, too, of course. Some stare back at him curiously. Others (that pale son of a leech, in particular) grin with devilish amusement.

------------------------------------------------------------------

"Sooo, this is it," Rolan draws out slowly, trying to keep his composure, "This is the room?"

"Yep, all ours," Tav declares proudly.

"And you all live here? Together? In one room?"

"Oh yes, it's very spacious," Tav nods enthusiastically, "Come on, I wanted you to meet everyone properly. They're like family to me."

Rolan sighs, his hopes for a magical evening rapidly disintegrating, "Yes, sure, it's all well and good. I suppose I was hoping for a little more privacy, and... HOLD ON. Is that a common wooden tub in the middle of the corridor?!"

Tav blushes, "Well... It has exquisite curtains," taking Rolan's hand, Tav adds more softly, "I'm sorry if it's not what you expected... If you want more privacy, there's a room right next to ours. We can... spend some time together once we're done here."

"It's alright. I am sorry for the outburst, too," he squeezes Tav's palm, feeling reassured by their apologetic demeanor. "If this is want you want... let's proceed."

As they approach the rest of the party, Tav mumbles, "I guess I'd better mention it now...That neighboring room was recently a crime scene... But I've heard they've cleaned up the blood already!"

Rolan stops dead in his tracks.

"...oh, for the love of gods!"

[between-thepages]

Family

Rating: G

Pairing: Gen, Erestor & Nimriel(OC)

In which Erestor realises he is loved, and also sort of acquires a family member.

A little double-drabble for @tolkienfamilyweek, this time even on theme (if only barely so), as this is found family.

[juniperberries-canisroot]

I almost killed Nimriel due to mistaken identity and my own stupidity.

In Mourning Never Comes, Muiri wants you to kill Nilsine Shatter-Sheild as a bonus.

This was over a year ago when I just started playing. I didn't remember names well. I just knew she wanted me to kill a girl who's name began with an N.

For some reason I thought the Shatter-Sheilds had a farm somewhere, which means Nilsine would have also owned that farm (if, ya know, they actually did in game).

I also remembered an NPC all the way in WhiteRun, who was a woman with an N name, who worked on a farm. What struck me odd about her was that she had like idle NPC dialogue. Like, no special dialogue and there was no option to sell her the crops. I thought *surely I must kill this NPC who has no unique lines and has no impact if she dies. She's not even married to Servagio Pelaguis, surely this random NPC is the one I have to kill. After all Endious Pappius was a random no nothing NPC, why wouldn't this one be too?

My first tip off should have been that she was all the way in WhiteRun, BUT, Bryling in Solitude owns StoneHills Mine, which is in Morthal. In my mind, a rich person owning land somewhere else (or in this case, outside the holds borders) wasn't weird at all.

I made my way to WhiteRun and was tryin to line up my shot when I figured I should look at my journal just to make sure I got the right person. Ofcourse I didn't. Nimriel was literally moments away from dying, I was just tryin to find a good place to hide so I could snipe her off.

[wasteful-sam]

Thank you @ashprince-of-bel-air AND @irondeficienttav (I'm sooo sorry, I saw it, but forgot T_T) for tagging. <3

This is so true it's not even funny. x)) Nim is good at practical/survivalist stuff, but when it comes to emotional intelligence and, let's be fair, life in general, she can be such a dumbass! x)

No pressure tags: @velocitross, @shewolfofvilnius, @sunflowerrolanadorer, @citruskushh, @vera-king-hrfl, and, of course, anyone else who wants to join <3

Character Headcanon Generator

Thank you for the tag, @emmy-dekarios-bg3!

As Gale would say: Spot on :D

no pressure tagging for @ele-millennial-weirdo @ashprince-of-bel-air @miradelletarot @tillysketch @dearest-and-nearest @arcanearcherayz

[dawns-beauty]

Children of the Green: Design Updates

I wasn't really satisfied with a number of the Bosmer NPCs I redesigned, so here are some updates I've made.

Beleval

I gave Beleval a broken nose.

Nimriel

Completely changed her look, including a new hairstyle.

Elrindir

New brows, ears, earrings, and hairstyle.

Anoriath

Changed up his old hair mashup with something a little more sophisticated. More stick-out-y ears and some earrings.

Brelas

Gave her lil horns and tweaked her sculpt.

Anuriel

Gave her an ESO-inspired hairdo, with some new brows.

Dervenin

The stress got to his hair, poor guy.

[shewolfofvilnius]

OC Tag Game (Tavaria!)

Thanks for the tag @wasteful-sam - Go check their replies to these about the incredible Nimriel from their fic Worthy!

[i don't tag people, but anyone who sees is welcome to participate!]

Pictured: (L: Tavaria pre-game (Chosen of Bhaal-era), R: Act 1)

How would you describe their personality?

Prior to Orin scrambling her brains out, she was nearly as psychotic and violent as her younger sister but far more cunning and manipulative. She's a decided intellectual, keeping abreast of new fields of study into medicine, science, magic, and druidcraft in order to make her a more effective killer. She's extremely curious about the world around her. She's also quite observant, and is able to use this to twist others' prejudices and weaknesses against them. Post-scrambling, Tavaria's kinder childhood nature reasserts itself. She frequently comes to others' aid expecting nothing in return. Although her ability to wild shape remains sundered, she regains the ability to talk to animals, making her a friend to man and beasts. And where her more violent tendencies remain until the confrontation with Bhaal, they're now more protective, more of a mother bear - against Kagha, against the gobling generals, against Thorm, etc.

----

What brings you character joy?

Sunmelon. The fruit. Although her memories are lost to her for a time, she had fond recollections of enjoying the fruit alongside her best friend Lia's brother Cal, the only other tiefling she'd known that enjoyed that particular foodstuff. Learning something new that day - be it a new medical technique or way to harm (prologue) or being able to discover something new and help people (post-scramble), Tavaria's curiosity brings her great joy.

----

What does your character strongly dislike?

Being called 'devil' (and anti-tiefling prejudice in general). This later extends to a broader disdain of persecution. She also has a profound dislike for those who would treat animals as mindless beasts (and slaughter them without regard for them, without thanks for their offering, etc). She knows as a semi-carniverous person (just a reality of tiefling physiology) that animals will perish for her meals - she can't live on sunmelon every meal her entire life - and she honors them. She makes sure no part of it goes to waste when she can. And she HATES when people leave them for waste or disregard that animal in it's end. Even as The Dark Urge she has a far less cruel-to-animals streak than her predecessor, and it's one of the things that caused her to grow to HATE 'The Boss' (the white dragonborn default durge)

Is your OC scared of anything?

She has a phobia of and weakness to thunder, both regular run-of-the-mill thunder and thunder-based magic. Her first family died horrifically in a thunderstorm and while she eventually grew calmed by the rain and grew to appreciate the power of lightning, the sound of thunder still freaks her - even the leader of the cult of murder is scared of the sound of thunder. This phobia persists even after scrambling.

She also develops a new one as she starts to fight to resist the Urge - that she'll fail. That she'll grow weak and give in. That she'll hurt the tieflings. That she'll hurt Rolan, or Lia, or Cal. That the people she cares about most will die at her hand. She's terrified she's not strong enough to defy Bhaal.

What is their alignment?

In childhood was largely chaotic good but trends chaotic neutral as she becomes a teenager. Chaotic evil from the moment the Urge surfaces until Orin scrambles her brain. She's Chaotic Neutral again from the Nautiloid until the confrontation with Orin and Bhaal in Act 3. Chaotic good through the epilogue and into the Lia/Gale fic - but this will not be her alignment for most of the upcoming Return to Avernus fic after the contract she once signed with Raphael truly comes due.

[armisteadrevellion]

Fanart of Nim and Farengar from The Lost Goddess, a Skyrim retelling by @nimthedragonbabe !!

For the love of god please read this Webtoon it’s so good and funny and silly and the art is beautiful and gorgeous and my god I’m obsessed PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEAZEPLEASEPLEASE read it.

Background image credit in the first drawing goes to u/fax_machine on Reddit!

[wasteful-sam]

Men in armor are great and all, but women... 😩😩😩

I've been playing with the tiefling boys so much lately that I forgot how badass and elegant Nim can be. And that armor...aaaaahhhh.

[between-thepages]

Double Trouble

Rating: G

Gen, Elladan & Elrohir & Nimriel(OC)

Summary: When Nimriel finds the twins outside her door, she just knows something is up.

Another little fic for @tolkienfamilyweek, this time including my OC, Nimriel and Elrond's twins.

[tatharel-of-doriath]

greycloak | An Envoy's Elegy, Chapter 1

not night, not dawn—caught at the threshold, draped in the color of things left behind

Story Summary: She was meant to stand at his side, not watch from afar. But such were the grey threads Vairë wove. Not a queen, but an envoy. Not beloved, but necessary. So she left, half sent, half willing, to lands where distance might dull the ache and silence could be kinder than remembrance.

Still, memory lingers, and duty binds. Sometimes, leaving is the only mercy left.

This is the lamentation of Tatharel, Envoy of the Woodland Realm to Dorwinion and Rhûn, for all the things that cannot be.

Words: 2,307

Pairing: Thranduil x OC

AO3 Link

Grey was not an unfamiliar color to her.

Grey Annals. Grey Haven.Grey elves. The color represented liminality, the space in between, like the muted colors of dusk, a breath between this world and another.

She adjusted her grey cloak.

Mirkwood had changed in the intervening years after she had left just as the Shadow started to fall over the forest, the Year 1050 of the Third Age. Now, a century after her departure, the woods had grown more twisted, and a quiet malice lingered in its branches.

She approached the woods from the east on foot. The Wilderlands between Mirkwood and Dorwinion stretched five hundred miles of open grasslands, well-suited for horseback travel. But dangers lurked in those lands—treacherous enough that she dared not attract more attention than needed.

In fact, that was the strategy for her entire visit to Mirkwood. Inconspicuous. Discreet.

A letter rested against the spidersilk lining of her satchel.

You are cordially invited to the wedding of His Majesty Thranduil Oropherion, King of the Woodland Realm, and Her Ladyship Ithildis Nimriel, Chief of the Nandor

She should have been used to it when she read the letter—after all, their engagement had been announced a hundred years ago. Yet, her fingers trembled, tracing the dark green ink and golden emboss over and over again.

The letter was delivered around sunset, and she had read it beneath the sweet fruit-laden vines. She did not speak, but in the dying light, a faint layer of mist settled in her eyes, marred jade. The next day, like His Majesty’s good little diplomat, she had informed her Rhûnish host of her leave, packed her satchel, and departed for the two-week journey west.

The broken, angled trees gave way to tall beeches as the kingdom gate came into view. A pair of trees formed a vaulted arch as their branches embraced each other.

“Halt,” said one of the guards, his spear glinting. “State your purpose.”

She did not speak, only letting down her hood to reveal her dark hair and Sindarin features.

The guard hesitated, then repeated, “State your purpose.”

She sighed and withdrew the letter along with an official seal of the Woodland Realm, a grand image of elk horns interwoven with leaves.

Recognition flickered in the guard’s eyes.

“Welcome back.” He stepped aside.

Silent, she pulled up her hood and continued. Behind her, a sharp whisper cut through the quiet—"I swear you’re the dumbest ellon alive on this side of the Sea. Don’t you know who that is?"

A short distance later, after crossing the stone bridge and passing by some elves who were lighting silver and blue lanterns for the evening, she arrived at the palace gate. Between tall columns of stone hewn to resembled twisted vines, tall doors of teal interlaid with silver filigree rose.

Four guards in bronze leaf-wrought armor stood in ceremony, and their faces were hidden underneath the carapace-like helmets.

Before she could remove her hood, they turned as the gates swung open.

If she was thankful, she did not show it. The doors sealed behind her, and with them, the last of sunlight. Her steps were soundless—a specter drifting into a kingdom that she had once called home, where she had once found love. Her grey cloak faded into the dark.

The wedding was beautiful, as expected. The great houses of Elves, Men, and even Dwarves attended, a colorful affair of rich brocades and intricate embroidery under green and silver lantern-light.

Although she mingled with the dignitaries, smiling and conversing when expected, she stood out like a pale apparition that should have long been laid to rest. She wore not the earthy colors of the Nandor, the jewel tones of Men, or the indigo hues of the Noldor. She was clad in a modest grey gown befitting of one on court business, not as an honored guest. Her dark hair remained unadorned with no silver circlet or gems. The only piece of jewelry she wore was a necklace containing a single sapphire, the stone no larger than her fingernail. It was plain and unobtrusive, a gift from her father when she had reached her fiftieth year. And now, it was the only sign of her lineage.

She clapped when the circumstances demanded it, gave her voice to song when others did, and performed the appropriate gestures when it was polite. Her behavior and expression were flawless, no cracks for the less well-intentioned to pick apart.

She told herself it was fine, really, when she saw the wedding vows exchanged, when he bound his fëa to another for all of eternity, woven into the First Music, never to be parted, never hers to claim. She had survived the persecutions in Beleriand. She had survived those long years of the War of the Last alliance, when she had worked herself to the bone to keep the kingdom whole in his absence. She would survive this too.

As the festivities began, various courtiers were presenting their gifts to the newly-wed couple seated on a raised dais.

And so, she approached the King and now-Queen, her expression carefully arranged in pleasant neutrality. She did not look at him, and instead focused her gaze on the hem of his robes.

She curtsied, not some dainty frivolous thing, but in the traditional Iathrim style, as she had done a lifetime ago in Menegroth. She dipped low, her right hand clasped over her heart, and her head tilted forward in respect, but not bent in submission.

From the folds of her grey skirt, she withdrew a small lacquered box and undid the clasps.

Her voice rang, deep and clear.

"Tatharel of Doriath, daughter of Sûlthir and of the House of Elmo, presents Your Majesties the white gems of my house, borne from the Fall of Doriath and the Kinslaying at Sirion. From the Blessed West, my father and kin send their wishes for a long and prosperous reign.

May your union be as eternal as the starlight captured in these stones."

She concluded, the image of Sindarin refinement.

A pause, perhaps too long.

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. His eyes were clear, like the waters of Lanthir Lamath of her childhood, but to her, and only her, who had seen countless passings of the seasons at his side, a whisper of a fracture, nearly imperceptible, appeared. He knew. She raised her eyes and held his gaze.

“Lord Sûlthir and the House of Elmo honor us with this gift. The treasures of Doriath are not lightly given. Your house has our thanks.”

The court stirred. The Sindarin lords of the king’s council—minor nobles like Oropher in Thingol’s court—knew exactly what those stones represented. They gleamed white now, but once, they were crimson, delivered from a sea of burnt corpses and wretched despair.

Then, the next courtier stepped forward, and she disappeared into the revelry.

She found herself lingering amongst the others, polite smile ready, engaged but never indulgent.

At the edge of the feast, Celeborn approached her.

“My lord,” she greeted him.

He regarded her for a moment, and his expression softened.

“Please, Daeradar, as you had once called me. Your mother called me Adar after Galathil passed, and I will not have any child of hers address me so formally.”

“It is good to see you, Daeradar,” she said.

“It has been many years since we last spoke, Tatharel.”

“Indeed, the East has kept me busy. Much to do, much to consider, should we want to preserve the delicate balance with them.”

Silence. Then,

“Bah, let us not speak of trade and intrigue tonight.

“Tell me, child, why those stones? Why now? Why to him when he weds another?”

She hesitated. “It felt right.”

“Those were the treasures of our house,” Celeborn said, his silver eyes narrowed, “which you carried sewn between the layers of your skirts in the ruins of that Age. Why not bring them to Aman when you sail?

“You could have kept them with you as they were intended for your own wedding,” the lord said.

“Would that not be wasteful? Our kin there are in the care of the Valar and have no need for such things.”

“Neither does Thranduil.”

A sharp truth. She said nothing.

A stillness settled, and the sharpness melted away.

“Before he departed, your father entrusted you to my care. But you are now far beyond the age of an elfling needing guidance, and I know no words of mine will stay your journey. May you have a safe passage east. Lothlórien will always be welcome to you.”

She curtsied. “And safe travels to you as well, Daeradar.”

Despite the revelry, the king briefly retired to his study with his advisor Lord Faeron, a stately elf also of Doriath, for they both wanted to hear of the news of Dorwinion and Rhûn.

Tatharel entered the king’s study. Nothing in her expression or demeanor betrayed her although she had once spent countless hours reading proposals by his side in this room. She remembered the way he would press his lips to her temple when she was too focused on the text, the way his fingers traced idle circles over her wrist, and the steady beat of his heart as they debated the fate of the kingdom.

Yes, she remembered it all, but so what? Now, they were merely king and subject.

“Your Majesty,” she greeted him, who was seated at his desk. He inclined his head slightly in return. “My lord,” she greeted Lord Faeron, who lounged on the divan she had shared with Thranduil in the past. The councilor’s eyes were bright, and he had an easy smile of feigned relaxation.

She stood on ceremony, as befitting of a courtier.

The councilor spoke, “Sit, Tatharel. We’re all old friends here. The journey from the east is not an easy one, and I heard you traveled on foot.” He looked at Thranduil. “With your permission, of course, Your Majesty.”

He gave a small nod.

“What are the news from the East?” asked the king.

“Since my last missive, the wine still flows from Dorwinion, and the roads remain open for now,” she said. “Yet, the Rhûnish lords grow restless. They remain cautious, but their motives are beginning to surface. Some seek to expand their dominion, either through consolidation of their internal city-states or expansion westwards.”

“To fund these designs, they are in need of gold. Which is why,” she paused, “I recommend reconsideration of the current trade negotiations. Their eagerness for gold will drive them to find other trading partners. Dorwinion wine and other luxuries are restricted imports. Should they find others desiring of these things, it is not inconceivable that they would accept a lower gold payment in exchange for greater quantities sold. Our realm would lose its economic leverage.”

“Interesting,” Lord Faeron had a knowing smile, “excellent work, as expected of Tatharel. What do you think, my lord?”

He leaned back into his chair, his eyes thoughtful.

“Of course, the Woodland Realm has some of the finest diplomats in Arda.”

The corners of her mouth lifted into a standard diplomatic smile.

“It appears we ought to act with some haste. What do you propose, Tatharel?”

There. He had said her name, which he had once breathed with utter devotion under the stars of Beleriand. Now, it was just another name. Something in her chest curled, drawing tighter and tighter tension.

They spent the next hour discussing strategy, of adjusting tariff policies, fostering Rhûnish demand for luxuries, and exploiting information asymmetries.

As the conversation lulled, Faeron rose and said, “Well, it would be remiss of us to keep Your Majesty away from his bride on his wedding night.”

She stood as well. “I must return east. The situation is precarious, and there is much to do. I will write as events develop.”

“Stay awhile, Tatharel,” the councilor smiled. “It has been a hundred years since we had last spoken, and with your early return to Dorwinion, who can say when the next time we speak again will be?”

“Indeed,” the king agreed, “the road eastwards is perilous, and it would please me to see you find sojourn in these halls before departing.”

He spoke to her not with the care had for an elleth whom he had once cherished beyond the high heavens, but instead, with the paternal concern a king had for his dutiful subject. They were ghosts now, suspended in grey—too far from love, too close for indifference, drifting between the past of starcrossed lovers and the future of distant strangers bound only by duty and etiquette.

She curtsied, neither accepting nor rejecting.

“Good evening,” she said. Then, she looked at both, and said,

“It was good to see you, my lord.”

It was unclear whom she was addressing.

The following morning, from his balcony, he watched her don her grey cloak, melting into the colors of neither day nor night, neither fully there or fully gone, but of something in-between.

He had prepared for this, had known from the very moment she curtsied the prior evening, that she would not stay. Yet, there was still a part of him, a part that he could not bring himself to face, that wanted to reach through the morning haze to find the elleth who had followed him east to Rhovanion all those years ago and ask her to stay.

She turned and met his eyes, endless summer green against desolate winter steel. She stilled.

A breath.

Memories of Menegroth, Sirion, Lindon, Amon Lanc, and Greenwood the Great flickered through them, like silver fish-scales glittering in a clear stream before fading into the haze.

As she disappeared into the pale dawn, she felt his gaze linger and drew her cloak tighter.

[honorable-guardian]

20 for aly and grim :)

20. clumsy attempts at flirting 

The day was fresh, though the sun had nearly reached its height as time was slipping away from them. They’d gone to the market together, but Grim had wandered off to inspect a blacksmith’s wares– Aly engrossed with the vast selections of exotic foods that they initially came here for.

He spotted her across the way, smelled her sea-salt-and-flowers scent first, actually, but she had yet to notice him, slouching underneath the shade of a leafy willow, legs crossed as she rested on a bench. Even like this, in these small moments, she made his heart full and giddy. He thought the feeling might go away in time, but still he found himself almost nervous to speak to her. Not that she’d be rude or cruel, he simply found her too good to be true. And yet she was. And she was perfect to him.

Slinging the goods he bought over his shoulder, he straightened his back and walked over casually, a small smirk on his features; an expression only she was privy to. Quiet pawsteps made his way to her, leaning casually on the tree. Lost in thought, she didn’t notice until he cleared his throat, her head swiveling to look at him.

“That’s a sharp outfit, miss. Did you…” he paused, frowning. He didn’t really think this far ahead, for once. “...make it yourself?” He grimaced. “Well, I would know because I live with you. And see you make clothes. You’re very talented at it, of course.” Her eye widened, a closed-mouth smile crossing her face. 

“Oh, yes sir. My mamá forbade me from play and fun unless I made a whole new outfit once a week. Very hard stuff, as I’m sure you know. But it’s all talent in my case.” She winked. Or her approximation of a wink, considering her lack of an eye.

Grim bit his lip, giving her a weak thumbs up. “Wellll… it looks good on you. Very nice.” He tried to raise his eyebrow for effect. But he, as well, only had one visible eye. He simply appeared surprised.

There was a long silence, the two just staring at each other.

“You’re supposed to say something about how good they would look on the floor,” Aly whispered, leaning in. The worgen leaned down to meet her, and she pecked a kiss on his snout. His ears flattened in a blush as his heart fluttered.

“I’ll be sure to fold them neatly if they find their way there later.” He whispered in return, a smile gracing his lips before returning the kiss to her forehead, artfully dodging her antler prongs as he leaned in. 

“Let’s go home, dear.” he rumbled, straightening back up and offering a hand to his partner. “I’ll get the wagon.”

[nimthedragonbabe]

New Life Festival 

Hey adventurers! It's been a while since my last post. I'm sorry for my absence on Tumblr, I kinda focused more on Webtoon and Instagram this year.

Speaking of this, Nim's adventures are still going on on the other platforms! This is a Very Special Chapter that I made for the Holidays. 

Since 2020 it hasn't been the best of the years, I want to wish you a bright 2021. May Talos always guide you!

See you soon! ^^

Webtoon: “The Lost Goddess - A Skyrim Tale” Instagram 

[thana-topsy]

@nimthedragonbabe did a #Draw This In Your Style challenge and I had to hop in because Nim is such a BABE. 

I gave her a little crown of succulents because I think they’re cute. (〃‿〃✿)

[squidmayo]

@nimthedragonbabe

Tried out your “draw this your style” challenge ^^ I really like Nim’s design and I hope you like it :D