oleeverdoessomething

[oleeverdoessomething]

My silly RageBait doodles

[oleeverdoessomething]

I know something you dooont, I know something you will never knowwww

[oleeverdoessomething]

I need whoever is running this operation to buy me the Sims 4 Shameless reward trait because my life can't keep being

[oleeverdoessomething]

(lost the ask (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥)

but @cosmos-pokemon-party requested (repeating from memory) )

Petey finding out the reader’s father is as horrible to her as his was to him and deciding “Screw it! I’m your father now!” (I’m 28 BTW)

(finally finished this! sorry it took so long, but I hope you like it :) )

The Calm After The Storm

Characters: Petey, Reader.

Pairings: No Romantic Relationship(s), Petey & Reader.

Additional Tags: Abusive Parents, Physical Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, Bruises, Crying, Panic Attacks, Angst with a Happy Ending.

Word count: 922

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66636193

Reader’s Presentation: Not Specified.

You had started a job as the assistant to the city’s biggest villain. It wasn’t because you were evil, or even because you particularly liked assisting, you just needed some money, and to get away from home. 

Your boss was nice, if a little eccentric and short-fused – Petey was his name, and he mostly just needed you to get him coffee, hand him tools, and gently pry his son away when he was bothering him while he was working on something. 

The best part, though? Petey didn’t make you talk about your life outside of work. About your home life. About your father. 

God, you were so scared of your father.

It wasn’t like he tortured you or anything, but he would get mad at you, even when you didn’t do anything, and then he’d…hurt you.

He’d hit you, or yell at you, or make you stand there while he set your favorite item on fire and let it crumple to ash.

You still winced around the topic of fire, Petey didn’t seem to notice.

You hoped he wouldn’t notice when you started coming into work in scarfs and long sleeves during July, either. He didn’t, for the most part. He only really mentioned it when he was whining about the heat. It was a relief.

Then, like always, you messed up.

A particularly humid day, a particularly interesting conversation, a particularly absent decision. And you’d messed up.

——

“Hah, I get it.” You laughed, sitting back on the stool you’d perched next to him, to be in arms reach of his working area. A wave of heat ran through your bones. You winced and, subconsciously, slipped your sweater off your body, tossing it carelessly to the side. 

Petey snorted from under the robot he was working on, then wheeled himself out, probably to request an item. His eyes caught your arm on the way to your eyes, and he stopped. 

“He’s kinda like—“ 

“Hey, kid?” 

You cut off, the cold shiver that ran down your spine especially intense against the warmth of your skin. You’d always been good at reading tones, you taught it to yourself young; a survival tactic. That one was somber, suddenly — concerned. You looked down and found the soft look in his eyes, and your heart sank to your stomach. 

“What happened to your arms?” 

Shit. 

Your breath snagged in your throat. He saw them — of course he saw them, you let him see them, you idiot — the deep blue-purple marks that ran up and down the skin of your arms, spanning all the way from your shoulders to your wrists. Bruises. He’d been particularly mad those few days. 

Petey’s mouth twitched, brow furrowed, his expression made you spiral, made that primal, screaming fear light up in your nerves and pulse through your body — that face meant anger, he was angry at you, because you messed up again. You screwed up like always. You were going to get hurt again. Idiot, idio- — 

“Hey, kid, calm down.” Petey was standing suddenly, and your view of his face was blurry, and you were definitely crying. 

Shit. 

“I’m- I’m sorry.” You croaked, because that’s all you knew how to say. Right then, at least, when you were so upset you didn’t want to say anything at all.

“It’s okay. You’re fine, just breathe. You can breathe, right? For me?” He sounded soft, warm but not suffocating. You weren’t used to that, especially not from your brooding, dramatic, self-proclaimed “evil” boss. 

This was weird, but…nice. It helped. 

He watched your breaths calm, then spoke, “Tell me who did this, okay? I just need a first name.” 

Something in the edge of his voice said whoever it was was going to be on the receiving end of his next scheme.

You hiccuped, swallowed, palmed at the wetness at your cheeks, then muttered, “My dad.” 

Petey flinched. Something about that answer seemed to strike a nerve for him. He sucked in a sympathetic breath through his teeth. 

“Oh, kid…” 

He shifted, sighed, then placed a hand on your shoulder — on an untouched spot, a piece of skin without bruises or aches. It was an anchoring weight. 

“I…” He trailed off again, then, suddenly, “How old are you again?” 

You blinked, confused, still quite frazzled from what just happened. The world was only just evening out, stopping spinning. 

“T-twenty eight?” 

Petey hummed, nodded, and stood. His worry was hardening into something new.

“Great. We’re getting in the car, going to grab your stuff, and you’re gonna live with me now, alright?” 

It took you far too long to process that, to realize he'd just handed you an out. An escape, a way to get away from your dad. Sickening hope swelled in your chest, flowed up and chased the despair and shame from your blood. 

“Exc…use me?” You muttered, disbelieving, slowly forcing yourself to your feet, because he was already walking towards the modified vehicle he still called a car. 

“I’m not letting you spend another second in that bastard’s care, kid. I’ve got a spare room, okay? Sound good?” He was talking a little too fast, your head was still spinning, but you recognized the urgency as determination — determination to help you. Happy tears stung your tired eyes. 

You slipped into the passenger seat, listening to the vehicle roar to life at the twist of Petey’s keys. “Okay. Yeah, that sounds nice.” You muttered, fluttery with hope. “Thanks…Dad.”

He seemed a little surprised, but didn’t rebuke you.

“Of course, kid.”

[oleeverdoessomething]

Another silly blot doodle

[oleeverdoessomething]

"aaaerrgh debilitating lee mood kjhasdkddf oh my god"

"...Why don't you ask-"

We do not ask here, we only communicate in vague cryptic messaging until the hint is taken.

[oleeverdoessomething]

You 🫵 are Cool 👍

Thank you so much gang, you are also very cool

dhkjshdjch

[oleeverdoessomething]

Fin-tastic 🍤

[oleeverdoessomething]

The insatiable urge to play a game combined with the terrible knowledge you'd suck so badly no one would like playing with you

[oleeverdoessomething]

When my hostage slave escapes the basement and flees the state so now I can indulge in the Dandy's World fixation that's been tearing me alive for months

I feel like the Dandy's World art style is really similar to how I draw Goober and The Gang

~🍤~

How I look pulling up to fandoms never having played the game before and my only knowledge being from fanfics, YouTube shorts, and Tumblr post, at the ready to horrifically mischaracterise everyone and then disappear

[oleeverdoessomething]

I crocheted a dolly so now my other dolly has someone to play with 😼

~🧶~

They sit and look super duper pretty :3

[oleeverdoessomething]

Broken Sketchbook Art Dump

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Yapfest ���

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This guy's name is Sommer, he's a cockroach :3. He was originally a character for a Roblox game about abuse that got zapped into my mind but then I realized I don't know anything about making a Roblox game...so it got abadoned 💔. Might write about him...perhaps because he is my baby.

~✏️~

Goober is a side note. I wanted to draw characters from a series I'm working on, Peggy and Mary-Anne :3. I gotta revise the first book and then I might throw it here. The apocalypse started, kids got sold to a company to try and genetically modify them to be able to survive in the world. The planet was dying off faster than they'd be able to cure it, so this was the best option, most of the kids didn't survive. Peggy was the oldest and is done with life as a whole--the only reason she hasn't died yet is because she feels an obligation to make sure Mary-Anne stays alive. Mary-Anne is much more optimistic and wants to separate herself from the lab as much as possible, she's better than that (she's not). First story is just about leaving the lab, the second one is gonna be about life afterwards. Blah blah blah this is what they look like. Little gremlins.

~✏️~

Unfinished drawing of Stella (from Sweet No Death by ArcadeKitten, go check that out) in one of the outfits from Dream Boutique. It's unfinished because the colours weren't right and it was pissing me off beyond what I can handle.

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Unfinished drawing of spring guy. I didn't like how the abstraction looked and I couldn't transfer the image in my head onto paper so I just scrapped it. It looks alright.

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Silly ass clown I drew two years ago. I got new markers and wanted to draw with em

[oleeverdoessomething]

[oleeverdoessomething]

how I’ve been feeling lately

[oleeverdoessomething]

If it was acceptable to carry around a sippie cup and take a little nap I'd be unstoppable

[oleeverdoessomething]

 𐙚  ﹒  quick moodboard to get me in the mood for blog making ( little agere blog soon ! ) ﹒ ✦

[oleeverdoessomething]

Discord white board drawings with loving hostage slave

CW for fancy looking slur