Discover Top Posts Tagged with #penwright

Pen and Momo, fearless protectorates of justice and bravery

How many attractive glasses-clad unicorns named 'Pen' are currently involved with your family in some capacity? One is fine; two is a coincidence; any more than that and something is up.

“So I’m sure there’s no correlation.”

ft. @harmonscorner‘s Golden Pen, Pen Stroke, and PiemationsArt’s Pen!

{Previous} {Next} {Beginning of Arc}

#Ickle Muse #Penwright #mlp oc #Piemations #ask-goldenpen #The Change #Meninx Penn

“...what?”

Another commission done, this time for @aramis-dagaz of a pretty pregnant Ickle helping Penwright plan out some key parts of his next story. It’s been a while since I drew these two but it feels nice! <3

#Penwright #Ickle Muse #commission #mlp oc #fluff #commissions #mod art

Ickle: penwright and I don’t really have pet names for each other.

Mudpie: uh huh. Hey Ickle, what’s the Portuguese word for “honey”?

Ickle: “querido”?

Penwright: *from the kitchen* yes, sweetie?

Ickle: ...

Mudpie: don’t you ever lie to my face again.

#ickle muse #penwright #mudpie #laugh rule

Top 5 people you associate with this year?

aw man only 5? gahhh

@magicppanda (for dealing with my dumb ass being at her place all the time)

@infinitycall (for again, dealing with my dumb ass)

@penwright (my b, my love, my fellow dying whale)

my ex-boyfriend (journey of self discovery right there)

can i cheat and say the rest of the fresh four? is that allowed?

ask me unconventional/random “TOP 3/5/10″ end of the year lists!

#top 5 #magicppanda #infinitycall #penwright #alex's life #Anonymous

For @techmomma‘s Mythnoir AU:

Peregrin Wright was human once. At least, his family was so lightly fae-touched that he might as well have been human. The only indication that he had any kind of faerie blood in him was that he had the Sight, allowing him to see through most common and weak glamors and behold the non-humans wearing them for what they really were. But in this city, the Masquerade was more of a courtesy than anything, and didn’t really impact Peregrin’s mostly human upbringing beyond making him more tolerant than usual for his non-human neighbors.

Ever since he was a child, Peregrin had a very active imagination and developed a talent for writing stories. He also became increasingly fascinated with the macabre and occult, channeling those interests into tales of subtle horror and strange, unworldly places and events. Where most pulp writers wrote increasingly gory and blood-soaked thrillers, Peregrin gained a following for his apparent restraint, focusing more on vivid, even whimsical, descriptions of grotesque, unsettling scenes and their psychological effect upon his characters than just gruesome for gruesomeness’s sake.

This was not just a mere stylistic choice. As a young man, Peregrin served briefly during the War (for there’s always the increasingly but not yet so distant War in noir), albeit in an unglamorous but safer role as a rear echelon signals officer. Safer, but not entirely, and Peregrin saw enough senseless death to last him multiple lifetimes. Writing his brand of weird horror served as a way of processing his own fears and increasingly dark thoughts and keeping himself grounded by openly embracing the darkness and terror within him.

(As a side note, the War was largely between human nations. The Council remained officially neutral, though individual non-humans did get involved for their own reasons, most secretly, a few not so much.)

But Peregrin didn’t emerge from the War unscathed, though not from enemy action. It was then he was gripped by the Hunger.

As with many things in his life, there was no single, defining point when the Hunger appeared, instead growing slowly and subtly over time. A fellow soldier with culinary talent introducing him to the virtues of rare steak. A seeming immunity to reek of decay. An increasingly sallow and sunken appearance, despite a growing appetite. Lingering, unnatural thoughts when passing by the long lines of covered corpses by the field hospital. His stories growing ever longer, more intensely detailed, and with deepening wells of horror awaiting any unsuspecting readers as a means of exercising control over his demons.

It wasn’t until he reacted to the presence of a rat in his tent by mindlessly pouncing upon it and biting the back of its neck that he realized that something had fundamentally changed about him. But the taste of warm blood and raw flesh was unlike any meal he had experienced before. His horror was shoved aside as he quickly consumed the poor creature, leaving nothing but a pile of snapped bones.

In the stories, this would’ve been the point where the tragic hero, realizing the monster he had become, would go irrevocably mad. But for Peregrin, such shock and disgust barely lasted the night. Of all of his strengths, his greatest one was his ability to get used to just about anything and approach such drastic changes with a clear head. No one was any the wiser.

When the War finally ended and he was mustered out, Peregrin took up writing full-time, settling in a small, modest studio apartment in the non-human side of the city. By this point, he had fully become a ghoul, unabashedly feasting upon the dead.

Contrary to stereotype, Peregrin is always clean and well-groomed, at worst smelling faintly like a musty attic. His apartment, increasingly choked by stacks and shelves of books, is no dirtier than an old library, plagued only by dust and the occasional spiderweb in the corner. Instead of raiding graveyards and the sewers for dead flesh, he instead eats raw chicken or beef bought from the grocery store and always with a knife and fork like a civilized being, though when he’s feeling fancy he’ll lightly season and sear his steak or buy some blackened bones. And while his modest income from his stories only allows for a simple glamor, even without it he could pass for a human, albeit a very pale and gaunt one and only in dim light.

For the most part, Peregrin leads a quiet, unassuming life, content to write his stories and add to his growing library of esoteric and occult knowledge. Occasionally, though, trouble finds him, whether it be ghosts from the War (figuratively speaking. Usually), the consequences of possessing books that the Council would have a collective fit if they knew he had them, or simply from living not far enough from the rough parts of town.

#aramis dagaz's characters #Penwright #Peregrin Wright #mythnoir au