#oc: peter

[grimbothefool]

I'm having fun

[cynical-tuba]

Leo and Peter did some training. Leo wants to be able to use Celerity to dodge arrows. He just has to practice!

Leo got 2 success to dodge...and Peter got 5+ successes so uhhh.

This is how it ended up.

(x)

[scrimtas]

erm actually I have nothing to show except an alarming amount of fnv character sketchy portraits i did some time ago because I WANTED MY LOSERS TO HAVE MATCHING BACKGROUND PICS FOR ARTFIGHT The first three are my mains (Jackal. the NCR side courier 6 who really screw things up, Jeremy who plays the independent ending courier role while NOT being the courier and..Valerie who is not The Protagonist, actually, but i like her too much so im gonna pretend she's the main char too), others are the supporting crew. Not in chronological order..quite obviously.

finally. i can wear my proud mother of a few dumbass kids t-shirt. (quite metaphorical one)

characters with new portraits i didn't post are the ones who have a reference and not a portrait..and Johan I'm hoping to redraw

[thegreatobsesso]

Happy Storyteller Saturday 💜

This is your invitation to share a snippet of your writing that you love, and talk about why you love it.

Bless! Not sure why this was the first thing that popped into my head to post, but here you go:

Sober Electra screamed in protest; if she was here she’d be waving a big neon sign that said, SHUT UP, DUMMY. But Sober Electra wasn’t here - all the vodka killed that boring bitch and now Drunk Electra was steering the ship!  Ship, ship - a drunken sea captain, eyepatch and peg leg, sailing straight into the eye of the storm. “My dad,” she said, vaguely aware of the silly grin she was probably wearing. Peter just looked at her like he was waiting for more.  Right! That wasn’t enough for him to understand the thing she was trying to say; she needed more words than that. But they were hard to find when he was looking at her like that. Why did she feel like she was gonna catch on fire when he looked at her?  “He used to say, when I mouthed off,” she stumbled forward, putting on her best impression of him, “Ellie, you stop that right now or I’ll wash your mouth out with soap. And then sometimes, when I kept on sayin’ stuff he didn’t like, then he did.”  Even Drunk Electra knew to stop there because that train of thought pulled into the station at a bad place. Toot toot, next stop Damageville, where a thin, half-used bar of blue soap slides down your throat because of all your thrashing and then you can’t breathe anymore. Dad’s fists under your ribs, trying to dislodge it, failing because it’s wet and slippery.  Pulling magic out of yourself you didn’t even know you had.  The only time she ever actually moved something with magic, too. But now, with Peter, she was going to do it again. That was what he did. That was why she was with him, now. Dad had just cried and thanked God and called it a miracle. What a fucking dumbass.  “That sounds awful,” Peter said over her deafening inner monologue. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”  She wasn’t uncomfortable. She felt like straight-up shit. She’d just been having fun, too. Now her mouth tasted like soap.  “It’s fiiiine,” she said, turning her head toward him too quickly and nearly face-planting into his lap. She caught herself with a hand on his chest, or, maybe he caught her first by steadying her shoulders.  She was okay.  She was here now, wasn’t she? Jack-o-lanterns grinned from the windowsills and make-believe cobwebs blanketed the balustrades. If there were any spirits haunting the graduate tower they were friendly ones and all the bad stuff was over and gone. The past was a bridge under water, or something.  “Maybe it’s time for bed,” Peter said. “How’s that sound?”  “It sounds so good,” she hummed. “I’m...”  She closed her eyes, imagining the nice thick blankets, curling up, cozy and comfy. “Mmm. I’m cold in here.”  Peter shrugged off his button-down sweater and held it behind her, leading her hands through the holes. Then she let him put one of her freshly-sweatered arms around his waist to steady herself as they stumbled back to her room.  “I have a secret,” she sang as he helped her with her key. “And I’m not gonna tell you what it is, no - matter - what.”  She pinched her fingers and pulled them across her lips, like a zipper.  “That’s alright,” he said, smiling as the wards pulled back. “Tomorrow you can tell me all about the secrets you’re not gonna tell me.”  He came in just far enough to supervise her descent into bed, and she fell asleep without taking off her heels. 

Here are all the reasons I love this flashback scene from The Insuppressible Electra Ray:

The sweater he puts on her at the end is hugely plot-relevant and basically the entire scene was written around a reason he'd do that, but it turned into a scene where we learn a bit about her trauma and get to attend a cozy Halloween party at a magic school.

I love writing people in various stages of being drunk/drugged/otherwise compromised. It's so fun.

The past was a bridge under water, or something is literally one of my favorite lines I've ever written.

Electra is so fucking stupid, I love her to death - she presents as so powerful and threatening but she's literally just a dumb frat guy.

<3

[mirabritart]

A walking tour of the Tomb.

I love to draw young Peter looking at his father with WONDER and AWE. That little guy wants nothing more than to grow up and be a crazy skeleton.

background by itself under the cut bc I worked really hard on it :)

[dairyfreenugget]

ALMOST FUCKING DONE WITH THE REFS

[themilkcans]

Since the project is over and turned in, here's my OC based 10 page graphic novel:

[thebiggesttoe]

I posted the sketches a while ago and I’m happy I finally had the time to bust this out!

[kagrs]

Donnie tries to guide Peter through his first boof.

[squarebracket-trickster]

To atart us off, after our draw outside the dennys parking lot at 3am, i intend to extrnd an olive branch: for Blorbo Blursday, how would thy blorbos endure group therapy?

I take your olive branch, with with narrowed eyes. happy (belated) blorbo blursday my esteemed nemesis.

I'm gonna talk about three OCs I have not discussed yet on this blog because I think their childhood co-dependency issues are the most likely candidate to end them up in group therapy sessions.

None of them would be there willingly. It'd have to be court-mandated (and let's face it, these three being legally required to attend therapy is already basically a plot point).

All three of them would sit there, starting pointedly at a spot on the wall just behind the therapist, in silence. The therapist would try every trick in the book to get them to talk but it would be 15 minutes of pleading before one of them breaks.

Alex would break first, and only because cookies were offered. She say something like, "convince me that everything said in this room is, in fact, private and no one from the secret government intelligence organization that has been training us since we were children is listening in. If you can't do that, we have nothing to say to you."

And the therapist would be like, "these trust issues run deep don't they?"

To which Alex would respond confidently, "make me talk."

Aloe and Peter would nod at that. Nothing else would be said the whole session because Alex has reflexes so fast she can redirect bullets, Aloe is a strategic genius, and Peter, through sheer force of unhealthy management techniques, is the only reason these two haven't burned down the world yet. The therapist has been given their files. They are the most dangerous teenagers in the world. If they won't co-operate nothing short of threatening their families will make them.

These three have sooo much trauma and sooo many issues. They may be co-dependent wrecks but, by god, are they a united front.

[alwri-tes]

Peter and Isabella Briefly Spar, a snippet of Shadow's Hidden Blade

Peter helps train Isabella in combat so she's prepared to take down her mother's killer.

Isabella only waited for Peter to aim his knife at her before she lunged, swinging right for the throat. He let out a guttural yelp, and something hard slammed into her ribs and thrust her onto the floor with a thud. 

“Sorry!” They both wheezed at the same time. 

“You went straight for the throat. I like it.” He panted. “I threw you aside on instinct. Be prepared for something like that.” 

Isabella stood with a grunt, feeling her tailbone throb. “Shadow’s blessed us both with amazing strength.” She picked up the hissing knife. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You praised Shadow.” His voice was warm with pride.

She felt a thrill of pride, imagining a door to her magic and ancestry swinging open for the first time in years as she swung for Peter again. 

Shadow, give me speed! 

She could hear the cheering of her ancestors as dodged Peter’s strikes with ease. Who am I fighting, an old man? Did Shadow drain his strength and give it to me? 

Or am I just getting stronger? 

The knife flared a blinding purple as she swung, and the world melted away. It was just her, the pure magic crackling like lighting through her veins, and the small shivering girl huddled in a corner of her consciousness.  

Look! She thought to her past self. Look at how strong we have become! Your dream lives!

“Isabella, NO!”

The knife froze a hair above Peter’s heaving chest. Struggling to hear him over the crackle of the knife and her own wheezing, and thundering pulse, she backed away. 

���What-”

“You subdued me.” Peter sounded genuinely shocked. “You knocked me over and pinned me to the ground.” His expression was an unreadable blend of emotion, but Isabella thought she picked up glee, rage, and slight fear. Confidence surged through her, but then she remembered she should be feeling bad, so she made her mouth twist and her feet move away from him.

“We’re finished for today.” Peter groaned. 

Isabella’s ear twitched. “Do you hear that?”

“It’s probably a whisper.” Peter rubbed his face, sounding woozy. 

“No. Footsteps and rustling, from out there.” Isabella pointed to the closed arena entrance. “Sounded like someone walked up to the door, leaned against it, and walked away. Could just be my imagination or an animal, but…”

Peter had his knife raised before she even finished talking. He crept towards the door and pressed his ear to it. After a beat, he slowly opened the door. Squinted out into the darkness. 

The footsteps got louder. Closer. 

“We’re closed. Get out of here.” Peter yelled into the twilight.

“Is that really any way to greet an old acquaintance?” An unfamiliar nasally voice, quieter than Peter’s and very, very close by. Goosebumps erupted over Isabella’s skin. 

[grimbothefool]

There they are. look at em. my beautiful boys (and 2 rats), fresh out the microwave in my brain that i rotate my ocs in

[cynical-tuba]

Leo looking at the sweaty, dad bod, useless one, who's obsessed with Dragon stories rather than doing his job:

(x)

[pikanyachu]

Updated Peter and Patches references and icon for artfight

[become a patron] [commission info]

[thegreatobsesso]

a scene from The Insuppressible Electra Ray, because it's been awhile :)

A sweet little scene between Electra and Peter, ~24 hours before she becomes famous for killing him 💙

--

🔖 tag list: @avrablake​ @adie-dee​ @dontjudgemeimawriter​ @ryorine​ @thelaughingstag​ @winterandwords​ @afoolandathief​ @asomeoneperson​ @cedar-west​ @diphthongsfordays​ @lowslore​ @poetinprose​ @cilly-the-writer​​​​​​​​ @harps-for-days

--

Electra POV

It wasn’t like either of them chose it. She and Peter just ended up on a couch together in front of a crackling fireplace, him sitting up and her head in his lap, like ivy around a trellis. Like they just grew that way. 

“I used to think all magicians could fly,” he said. 

She laughed. “The fuck brought that up?” 

“Santa,” he said, playing with the furry ball on the end of the hat she forgot she was wearing. “I remember thinking when I was really little that he must be a magician, to fly to all the houses in the world in one night. And that that was like, what a magician was.” 

She giggled, imagining him as a little kid, expecting to grow up and turn into Santa Claus. And then there was her, who learned about Santa Claus via crouching on the stairs and listening to her parents argue. For fuck’s sake, Gabriel, let her have one normal thing. 

Normal? Her father’s voice, a soft echo. The way it got quiet after that. The way it was worse than the noise. 

The memory settled cold on her skin like a thin sheet of ice and she shook it off, burrowing into his thighs instead. “You flew me,” she said, facing him with a teasing smirk. “You should try it. Make your childhood self proud.” 

There was something weird about him tonight. The way he looked at her, like he’d just woke from an afternoon nap.

“Can I kiss you?” he said. She blinked. Nobody had ever asked her that before. He flickered in the orange glow of the fireplace. 

Say no. De-escalate. Run for your fucking life. “Yeah,” she said. 

He bent down to meet her lips where she laid frozen on his lap, and even then, he did it slowly enough for her to back away if she wanted to. 

She didn’t. She didn’t. She didn’t want to stop him so she didn’t and it didn’t take much before her paralysis broke and she was the one making things happen. Her arm wound itself around the back of his neck and she pushed herself up to meet him. 

He felt like a winter’s day. Snow falling outside, making everything fresh and white and clean again. 

Quiet. Soft. Everything she wasn’t. And it was so, so - 

“You’re beautiful,” he said, when they were both well past the point of no return. And she should have stopped it before they got here - before they got up from the couch, went to his room, took all their clothes off and crawled inside each other, but she hadn’t. “I like you. I just, really like you.” 

She couldn’t string together more than a single word right now to save her life and if she had to look him in the eye for one more second she was sure she’d burst into flames, so she buried her face in shoulder and arched her back and made a noise she’d never admit to as long as she lived, the brittle cry of some soft little woodland creature as its back was broken. 

The curtains fluttered. Papers flew off the desks. The windows were closed. It was just Peter, doing another thing she’d never seen him do - losing control of his power. And even now, that’s all it was: a gentle breeze. 

She’d never never never been so grateful the lights were off. She didn’t want him to watch as she came to the crushing realization that there was no coming back from this. The way he’d touched her face afterward, like he couldn’t believe she was real. The way she allowed him to shut his eyes and lie down next to her. 

She stared at her own hand sticking off the side of the bed. There was a little tremor there, starting in her wrist and going all the way down to the chipped red polish. 

If she didn’t get out of here she was going to die. 

“Hey,” he said, half-asleep. “Hey, where you goin’?” 

Her arms were reaching for her clothes on their own accord. “Sorry,” she said. “Sorry, I just, uhh. I gotta go.” 

“Hey,” he said again, more awake and more concerned. He encircled her, his arms around her like the safest, warmest tower in the whole castle. “What’s the matter?” 

She didn’t know how to tell him that he was wrong about her. That everything he thought he saw was just a lie. That she’d just let him fuck her, knowing it was a lie and not stopping him. 

“Nothing,” she muttered. “I’m just, uhh, gonna go sleep in my own bed. Yours is hard as a rock.” 

“Electra.” 

He didn’t make a single move to stop her. He didn’t tighten his grip. He just said her name like a plea and it was only when she turned back to him that he laid a hand over hers. 

“You don’t have to lie to me.” 

She struggled to catch her breath in the tiny curtained room with him just a heartbeat away. I have to lie to everyone, she nearly said, but it died in her throat. “I just need some space,” she tried again. A couple words strung together in a configuration that was objectively true. “But it was... really nice. This. Umm. So, thank you. I’m sorry I’m so... full of issues.” 

He pulled a sort of sad smile that almost broke her into pieces. “I know you said you don’t-” He stopped, reconsidered. “It’s not about Simon, is it?” 

If she didn’t feel so fucked up, she would have laughed – she hadn’t thought of him for one second all night. 

“No,” she said simply, yanking the hem of her dress down over her hips. “Christ, not even close.” 

She wasn’t trying to hurt him. She wasn’t. She just didn’t know how to extricate herself here because she was a fucking idiot. She felt raw and exposed and inexplicably embarrassed, more than she’d been at Halloween, more than she could remember being in her whole life. 

She leaned in and kissed him again, on the cheek - a pathetic little watered-down peck that probably said it all. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” She paused, forcing herself to hold the eye contact he seemed to have no trouble with. “Right? Can we just... see each other tomorrow?” 

He reached down and pulled the blanket higher, past his stomach. “Yeah,” he said, and that made whatever was crushing her chest feel a little bit lighter. “Okay. Definitely. See you tomorrow.” 

The halls were empty at this hour - silent, but for the crackling flames that lit the way.

That was good. If someone saw her right now, they might be able to read what she was scared of all over her face and understand it before she did. 

[mirabritart]

In addition to extremely enlightening spell-casting instruction (X) , while living in the Tomb under the guardianship of an Arch Lich, Peter also got to sit in on some meeting with powerful wizards and dark entities. Those were less helpful.