#oc: penny

[tastescomics]

#12 Candy Crush Just a man being fed, ya know~

[thedeafprophet]

Alexander and Peninnah Hastings circa 1899

[most certainly not the first 1899]

[katiedid-art]

“Mama! I love the rain!”

“Me too, kid.”

—

Yeehawgust day 4: Desert Rains

Penny and Liv take some time to enjoy a rare rain shower

[oedonchapeldweller]

look at my dinosaurs boy

[taibobo]

penny doodles

[kpd-zero]

Astarion: How could I say no?🥰

Also Astarion: *Walks tf away*

[defira85]

For the WIP Title Game: Jar of Hearts?

From the WIP Ask Meme here!

My Orin fic! Technically it is named after the Christina Perry song (jesus fucking christ that song is 15 years old next year?? What?????) because I just really happen to love that song even if the lyrics aren't particularly accurate to Penny and Orin's relationship

But Orin's relationship to Bhaal? To Sarevok? Hmm. If we ignore the one specific line about kissing, you could kind of squint and see it as her telling them to fuck off...

Anyway! There is a specific reason that it's called Jar of Hearts which I won't spoil here but I have been doing a lot of research into all kinds of weird corners of the FR canon. Mythallar arcane batteries. The city of Sigil at the centre of reality. Incantatrixes (incantatrices?). There was a specific subspecies of demon that I've now apparently misplaced FUCK I'll need to re-research that. Doppelganger culture. It's really going off the beaten path as far as BG3 fics go so we'll see if it's at all interesting to anyone but me but I'm having fun planning it!

[btteredtoast]

my ocs Penny and Marcus, down on their luck millennial ghost hunters/roomates who enable each other’s insanity so bad. Yay <3

[gingermaple]

do you like stars?

[spaceboy-art]

My gal Penny! Last name Albright.

She's kinda like if Midwest Emo was a person. And that person was also Joan D'Arc.

FunFacts!

Sad butch lesbian who goes by she/her or he/him

Her hometown is based off a real town I lived in in Kansas

She got hit by a truck and woke up in another world (truck-kun strikes again!) She was 13 at the time.

By the time she was 19 she a full blown war criminal and one of the most dangerous ppl in the nation. Not completely of her own volition ofc.

When she finally returned to her original world only 6 months had passed. While 6 years had past in the other world. She became unrecognizable to her old home just as much as it did to her.

How does one cope with that? Seeing that everything is almost exactly as you'd left it while you became a wholly different person. Wracked with guilt at all you'd done in your time away.

She's a major history nerd! She takes particular interest in catholicism and the crusades.

Feel free to ask questions!

[tastescomics]

Did you update Penny’s profile?

I did in some places, can't find or edit ALL the posts but- I was bothered by how she looked. The expressions? On point. But her attitude and such on the full body didn't scream PENNY in my head. I re-drew her full body. And while she is a bit thinner in the waist/belly to start off with in the series, she's still pudgy under there and I like that it will make a fun contrast as her journey goes >v>

[thedeafprophet]

And here is dear Penny herself at last~

I know we were calling her cake (cat snake) baby but honestly? She's a creamsicle

[spritzspritzspritz]

A few wips that i think look really cool but am not sure how to finish

[juniperss]

Paintings and Daydreams

A/N: ummm look at me coming out of writing retirement to write this little ficlet for my new Lackadaisy OC, Penelope that @libras-interactives wanted me to write....featuring Maeve. This is set in the same universe as Under the Devil's Moon but these two OCs aren't in the fic.

Characters: Penny (OC), Maeve (OC) Content warnings for hints of neglectful childhood, childhood poverty, and trauma surrounding food and money insecurity. Word count: 1,236 Translations: A Chara: Means 'friend', A stór: "my treasure"

Penelope leaned back on her stool, forcing her to gaze at the painting in a different perspective while at the same time straightening the length of her spine. The tension she had been holding in her shoulders dropping away and each vertebrae of her spine releasing with a satisfying crack. It had gotten dark outside again while she'd been working but she couldn't remember how long ago that was. Only that it had happened twice which meant that she'd been in her apartment for at least two days now with the painting in front of her with minimal breaks. Not that she minded much save for the familiar ache in her fingers now causing her to flex them one by one.

The painting was coming together well; a picnic scene filled with greens of trees and grassy knolls, the blues of the spring sky and a glistening pond, and the blushes and purples of new flowers. She hadn't been hired for this one that much was clear by two simple facts. The first being that it was done completely in watercolor, not a style that brought in many customers, and two being that it wasn't a portrait. Most people who sought Penelope Thompson out were interested in pictures of themselves or their loved ones to hang in their homes. 

This painting was for herself, at least as far as she was concerned, and would only be seen by a handful of people unless Mitzi convinced her otherwise. It was born from another storm of anxiety that seized her chest in a grip so strong she felt as though her ribs were going to crack.

Her anxiety got worse when the weather changed drastically; memories of a childhood were survival depended solely on the kindness of nature, of legs pulled tight to her chest trying to keep heat trapped as best she could during a winter snowfall, memories of cool fingertips pressing themselves to her burning forehead under the suffocating weight of the summer sun.

She had lain in bed for hours trying to breathe her way to peace before throwing the covers from herself and blindly making her to way to a blank canvas. Telling herself over and over that the rabbit trapped in her chest was being silly, that wasn't the same little girl living in the drafty shed of a house with no meals guaranteed. No, she was an artist now, doing well enough that she could paint as she pleased and teach when she needed.

Though that didn't stop her from hoarding non-perishable good or from keeping money stashed away for a rainy day.

Rap, rap, rap!              

Knuckles against the door startled Penelope out of her thoughts and sent her jumping, long legs kicking out directly in front of her and her arms swinging in wild circles and in the process connecting with the glass bottles holding her brushes and the cup of grey paint water.

"Penny! I know you're in there, I can see your shadow," a voice called through wood breaking off momentarily before adding, "and you wouldn't be anywhere else." Penelope knew it was Maeve. She'd know it was her even if her friend hadn't spoken. Mae was one of the small number of people who knew where she lived and one of the smaller number of people who would bother coming to get her in the first place.

Penelope's long legs carried her to the front door and opened it to reveal the smiling and ever friendly face of Maeve O'Connor. Penny was taller than most people, all legs and arms, but the size difference between herself and Maeve was comically apparent. 

“There ya are. Comin’ outta the dark like a ghost.” 

Mae’s accent was more noticeable after a long day of working at the bakery and Penny wanted to wrap herself up in her friend’s voice like a warm blanket. Maeve had a way of pulling the darkness away, illuminating everything that might seem so scary and too dour with the simple action of just being. It had taken Penelope months of interactions before she’d gain the courage to ask Maeve what she saw in her that made her stay when Mae was all the warmth, humor, and jovial spirit that anyone would need. And Mae had just laughed before answering: “Because my warmth is a fire I stoke constantly to stay burning without scorching others and yours is naturally bright and never violent, Pen. You don’t realize how comforting your presence is, how solid you are, do you?” The memory sat in her brain as though a spotlight was pointing directly to it. That’s when she had decided she’d always be as strong for Maeve as Maeve was for her. 

“Earth to Penelope. Hey, you alright?” 

Penelope blinked again and realizing that her friend must’ve been waiting for a response nodded absentmindedly. “Just a little tired, I’ve been painting.” Maeve snorted, tossing her head back slightly with a laugh. “You don’ say? I was wonderin’ why your blush was green.” With the grace of a ballerina and the familiar ease of someone who knew the layout of the home, Maeve weaved her way around Penny’s tall and wiry frame and into the apartment. 

“Gree-” Penelope had just begun to form a question when Mae returned to her with a damp rag, handing it over before perching on the stool that had been Pen’s seat just a few moments ago.

“You’ve got paint on your cheek, A Chara. Well, you’ve got paint just about everywhere but that’s not important. Now hurry up and clean up! We’ve got to meet Mitzi at Lackadaisy!” 

Maeve was right: there was paint everywhere and it took a good five minutes for Penelope to scrub her face, hands, and arms clean. 

“The paintin’ is lovely, by the way. Especially this weird lil fella with the red eyes, he’s rather whimsical. Someone you know?” Penelope glanced up from fastening the buckles on her heels to admire the work that Maeve had just complimented. There were a few cats in the painting partaking in a variety of spring time activities, but the figure Mae pointed out was tucked off to the side, leaning up against a large oak tree watching the others. He was a strange individual by most standards and if it hadn’t been for Penelope’s careful work, Maeve doubted that she would have enjoyed looking at him for much time. But Penny had drawn him beautifully, giving his awkward form a whimsical and oddly endearing quality. 

“No….no, he’s no one I’ve ever met…I..I dreamt of him actually.” 

A hum escaped Maeve’s lips and she raised an eyebrow giving her expression a quizzical look. “A dream man, hmm?”

 Penny, ignoring her friend,  moved to stand next to her friend, holding out her arms and spinning, awaiting inspection and appraisal. “Beautiful, A stór. Now, let’s go!” Mae was always saying how beautiful Penelope was, even with the paint speckles, and over time she had begun to believe her friend. In spite of her big ears, triangular face, gangly body and overall awkward demeanor, Penny was content with the odd beauty that she possessed.

After all, an artist could find beauty in all things. She pulled the door closed behind her, casting one more look at the painting, before locking her apartment and linking her arm through Maeve’s. They were off to see Mitzi.

[ecruteaky]

penny! she carries the mail! but gets lost easily!

[kpd-zero]

I wanted to see if it's possible to light a candelabrum with the Everburn blade. The answer is yes, but...