Such funny, very art
Game of Thrones Season 4 beginning + Safety Dance Literal Video

To make this clearer: below the cut is a stupid combination of Game of Thrones season 4, episodes 1 & 2 and the lyrics from Safety Dance Literal Video.



You have been warned!

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"Abbey Knows Best" - parody of "Mother Knows Best" from Tangled.

Passive aggressive parenting mentorship. Well, Sebastian tries, bless his kind heart. Poor Cardinal will need a fullblown self-esteem team after that, but that’s how Renard shows affection - by pointing out all of your shortcomings (so you can improve).

I am tempted to do the reprise at some point, but that won’t be anytime soon.

Cardinal belongs to leviathanteacups. Sebastian Renard is mine.

If you want more songs I’ve “dishonored”, here’s one from Frozen (text only) and one from Starkid’s Twisted (big comic).


Sebastian Renard for zlukaka. Such a good art challenge.
Textless version:

Ugugu, my precious zealous baby rendered in my favorite color, how did you know?
Thank youuuuu! <3
Oh, this makes me so happy! 8D And you get him so well, Ripu, you get him good. “Heathen”, not some regular heretic, like Daud and such. We’re talking serious black magic here.



Sebastian Renard for zlukaka. Such a good art challenge.

Textless version:

Ugugu, my precious zealous baby rendered in my favorite color, how did you know?

Thank youuuuu! <3

Oh, this makes me so happy! 8D And you get him so well, Ripu, you get him good. “Heathen”, not some regular heretic, like Daud and such. We’re talking serious black magic here.

Look at this! A short, but precious fic that takes the odd concept of Corvo eating rats and turns into a carousel of feelings.


so this bitch of a fic is finally done

why is Renard so inclined to getting Micino? that poor guy- actually I should probably ask about Micino too... that poor boy gets stuck in a bizarre situation and all he wants to do is be a barber! so what is Micino's goal now? we can see a drastic change in attitude from the comics and bless his poor soul--

(I hope you don’t mind me answering this one publicly)

Micino uses black magic, and that makes him a heretic. Renard hunts those down. In his eyes anyone, who can do magic even if they don’t use it for harm is a threat - sooner or later they will go insane or feel the lust for power and they will start using that magic for really nasty things. And he has a  point there, I mean look at what everyone except for Corvo did with their powers - assassins, witches, murderous crazy people.

Since Renard hasn’t actually seen Micino harm anyone, he only tries to catch him, aiming for his limbs, when he shoots. So far Micino was very lucky and never got hit, but how long can that go on?

Micino’s current goal is to pay Slackjaw off and also get rid of Renard somehow. Micino is not a violent person, so he couldn’t bring himself to kill Renard (with his powers, he surely could have tried at least). He also realizes Renard could’ve shot him in the torso a long time ago, but didn’t.

So they’re in this fragile balance where both parties are expecting the other to cross the line and justify a deadly retaliation. Each waits on the other to leave him no choice. And so they wait.

I find their situation most amusing. I hope it will keep amusing you and my other dear readers as well. :D

This stalemate will not last forever, though…

P.S. If anyone wants to ask me something about Dishonored, "Heathen-Go-Lucky", or anything else -> there’s the askbox.


"you choose your favourite character because they remind you of yourself"


Samuel is a black sheep there, really. I like very few good characters. These are just from the top of my head.

If I’m supposed to be a mix of all my favorite characters, I must be a sexy murderous confident one-man-army/evil-overlord in his late forties, who goes about his evil business trolling everyone around him and occasionally breaking out into musical acts (I love pretty much every single Disney villain out there).

While I am an awkward geeky chick, who feels guilty for accidentally brushing against someone on the subway. And I fight even worse than I sing.

Really now, tumblr…

(First Part)

Heathen-Go-Lucky: Part 8

Therapist Outsider strikes again. This time with Aladdin references. What a troll.

Granny Rags has the best tea parties (except the Feast of Painted Kettles, we all know nothing beats that).

What a fine crowd! Pity most of the Marked couldn’t quite attend… Some are on duty, others on vacations, some are feeling quite flat or perhaps even vegetative

IMPORTANT NOTICE: I will upload new comic pages only once in two weeks from now on. Next page will appear on April 20th. Really sorry for that.

The Seven Strictures: Lying Tongue
AO3 Link
Author&#8217;s note:
This the first chapter of a seven-chapter fic exploring parts of Sebastian Renard&#8217;s life, that do not fit the narrative or mood of "Heathen-Go-Lucky". The fic will mostly be about his past, the events and experiences that made him who he is.
In this chapter we will go with Sebastian through an evaluation at the Abbey on one of those special days, when parents bring their children &#8220;between the ages of seven and ten to the Abbey to be tested&#8221;.
"Step into the light, child."
A row of identical golden masks peers at Sebastian from the darkness.
Trying to look brave, the boy steps away from the door, where he stood in waiting and awkwardly approaches the circle of light in the middle of the mostly dark room. His feet make an awful lot of noise on the tile floor. The borrowed shoes are way too big for him. The clothes on the other hand are too small even for his miniature frame. Still, he feels grateful for them. His own clothes and shoes are too ragged to go mudlarking in, not to mention an occasion such as this.
The bright light blinds him, but he tries not to squint. He has to make a good impression and he doesn&#8217;t have all that much to work with as is.
"Your name, child."
"Sebastian Renard, Sir," the boy says as clearly as he can muster. He used to sound so much better before the chimney-sweeping, the nights he spent outdoors and the terrible cold that almost killed him. Still, he tries his best to speak clearly and with confidence. From the side he hears a rustle of papers and one of the Overseers leans down towards the table, studying some records in the light of a lamp.
"You come to us on your own, Sebastian. This is unusual," says one of the men closer to the center. His voice is tranquil and pleasant.
"I am an orphan, Sir."
"What you are, boy, is a liar! There is no Sebastian Renard on our lists!" a very different sharp voice comes from the side. This time it is easy to tell who spoke. One of the Overseers leans forward, holding a stack of papers in his hands. "What is your real name, boy? Or do you not have one?"
"It is my name&#8230; Sir. I am Sebastian Renard. My parents were Leo and Rose Renard-&#8220;
Rustling again and before he could finish, the Overseer interrupts him. &#8220;Rose, Leo and Sebastian Renard are all accounted as dead. And you appear very much alive. How will you explain this, boy? Do you think our records lie?&#8221;
A knot forms in Sebastian&#8217;s throat. He didn&#8217;t know he was written off as dead. It all makes much more sense now. He frowns. &#8220;I think the Watch wrote me off as dead to&#8230;&#8221; the boy frowns, trying to remember the words he heard on that long ago night. &#8220;Um, to&#8230; seize my home and&#8230; property for the state&#8230; Sir.&#8221;
"Ah, the corrupt Watch Guard! Every heretic&#8217;s tale! Tell me boy, if you&#8217;ve been orphaned and homeless for&#8230;&#8221; the Overseer checks his records &#8220;&#8230; almost a year now how did you survive? Were you stealing? Eating rats perhaps?&#8221; the man behind the golden mask mocks.
Sebastian&#8217;s eyebrows furrow and his lips tighten. He would never-&#8230;. Hurt and indignation boil in him at the accusations. He can&#8217;t cry. He won&#8217;t let them make him cry. He breathes in deeply several times, trying to calm down. But as the anger subsides, instead the boy grows anxious as he feels the Overseers&#8217; judging eyes on him. &#8220;I did not steal or eat rats, Sir. I hunted pigeons and seagulls. I carried messages for coin and did-&#8220;
"Oh, he hunted pigeons!" the doubtful Overseer laughs nastily.
"Sir, I ca-"
"How did you hunt them? Pray tell!"
"I-&#8230; I can throw a knife."
"My father taught me&#8230;"
"Is that so? Well, why don&#8217;t you impress us with your skill then! Someone, bring a throwing knife and a board, or a dummy. Or do you take your words back, brat?"
"No, sir," Sebastian says clearing his throat. His nervousness grows and he tries hard not to fidget. He doesn&#8217;t have his father&#8217;s knife with him. He didn&#8217;t think he could need it today. Everything is going much worse than he could have possibly imagined. They won&#8217;t recruit him. They will brand him a heretic. And then throw him out on the street. Just like the Watch Guards did.
He shudders when a big masked man appears in his small island of light and offers him a knife. Sebastian takes it in his hands, weighing it. It feels very similar. The boy lets out a tiny sigh of relief. Lamps are lit on one of the walls. The Overseer, who handed him the knife puts a dummy there. It&#8217;s the size of a grown man, and there are painted rings on the chest and the head.
"There we go, now try to hit the target. From where you stand," the unfriendly Overseer speaks up, leaning forward, eager to see the boy fail.
Sebastian weighs the knife in one hand and narrows his eyes, evaluating the distance. He aims. He throws.
The handle hits the dummy&#8217;s forehead and the knife clatters to the tile floor.
A snort comes from the table.
"May I-"
"No, I think we&#8217;ve seen enough!"
"Brother Brook, calm yourself. Please, do try again, Sebastian," says the tranquil soothing voice from before.
The boy glances towards the center of the table, feeling grateful. So some of them do believe him&#8230; He goes to pick up the knife and returns to his position. He throws again. The knife sinks in the bullseye on the dummy&#8217;s head almost up to the handle.
There is a moment of silence and the boy slowly turns to look at the table.
The nasty Overseer is sitting with his arms crossed, leaning back against the back of his chair. &#8220;Well-well, aren&#8217;t you just a prodigy? A brilliant street urchin, promising gang material! Nonetheless, it is good you came! Perhaps we can save our brethren the labors of hunting you down later and choke the weed before it grows!&#8221;
Sebastian pales, all the pride and relief he felt when he managed to hit the target draining out of him. He feels a surge of nausea as his stomach does something unnatural, sending his head spinning.
"Brother Brook!"
"What? Look at him! A rat that crawled out of the gutter in stolen clothes, spitting lies within the walls of the Abbey!"
"I&#8217;m not lying&#8230; Sir&#8230; Please&#8230;" the boy utters weakly. All he can see is the line of golden masks against the darkness glaring at him in constant indignation and anger. "I live by the Strictures, I know the Litany-&#8230; Word by word. I only ever broke the Fourth Stricture to survive the cold nights&#8230; I never stole or lied," Sebastian tries to defend himself and stay on his feet. It&#8217;s growing harder and harder.
"Did you just say you know the whole Litany, child?" the kindly voice asks him.
"Oh! He knows the whole Litany! A nine-year-old! How precious! Well, page 62, last paragraph! Come on now! Come on! Don&#8217;t be shy!" Overseer Brook laughs.
Sebastian stares nervously at the row of golden ellipses, that is starting to blur and swim in front of his eyes. He tries to focus. &#8220;We must stand now-&#8220;
"No, no, no! That it all wrong! That&#8217;s not what it says!"
"Indeed. That, my child is the last paragraph on page 61. The fragment you are looking for starts with "By this fla-"," the softer voice helps, but before it can finish the hint, the boy in the circle of light starts reciting with desperate vigor.
Silence falls in the room. Only the little scarred child in the circle of light chants like a machine. Every comma, every pause - in place. Precise as a recording. When the paragraph ends the boy falls silent. He is breathless and he sways a little, as he stands staring blankly at the row of men, who sit leaning forward in full attention.
"Bring the boy a chair and some water," the tranquil voice from before commands.
The next thing Sebastian knows is he is sitting in a fairly comfortable chair and an Overseer is trying to put a glass into his small unsteady hands.
"You&#8217;ve gone too far this time, Brother Brook. Look at the boy, he almost fainted," the kindly Overseer scolds the other.
Sebastian puts the edge of the cup to his lips. The Overseer&#8217;s words only make it through to him half-way. His hands stopped shaking and slowly he is coming to his senses. He leans against the back of the large cushioned chair. The Overseers seem to argue, but he still doesn&#8217;t quite make sense of what they are saying. Meanwhile a new voice addresses him. He can&#8217;t quite pin which of the men at the table is talking to him. But after being repeated a few times the request makes it through to him.
"Page 75 paragraph 2, child&#8230;"
The boy breathes in deeply and bites his lips in concentration. He clears his throat. The two arguing men fall silent. Keeping his eyes on the darkness above the table, instead of the table itself the boy begins reciting again.
It is a long paragraph. But no one interrupts him. When he is done the silence in the room is almost tangible. It does not last long, however.
"Page 134, 3rd paragraph?"
As the boy starts reciting once more, a group of the Overseers at the table follow his progress with an open copy of the Litany. Some glance towards him and back to the book in open disbelief. Then they request another paragraph and another. It comes easier and easier to Sebastian. With every new recitation he feels less nervous. He&#8217;s obviously making an impression. Perhaps they will give him a chance after all&#8230;
"You&#8217;ve mentioned breaking the Fourth Stricture, boy," the unfriendly Overseer states, when Sebastian finishes his seventh recitation. The boy&#8217;s new-found confidence disperses.
"I&#8230; yes, Sir."
"And the Fourth Stricture is&#8230;"
"Roving feet, Sir&#8230;"
"Indeed. And you say you did it looking for shelter and never broke any other Stricture?"
"Yes, sir, I only broke the Fourth Stricture to hide from the cold."
"Where do you live now? Where did you get these clothes?" the Overseer asks after a pause. He doesn&#8217;t sound half as accusatory as before.
"I was taken in by a kindhearted family. They&#8217;ve provided me with shelter for the winter&#8230; they let me borrow these," Sebastian admits, embarrassed.
"Why didn&#8217;t you look for help from some neighbor instead of sneaking into people&#8217;s attics until then?"
"I&#8230; the other children don&#8217;t like m-my face," the boy says, bringing a hand up to his face self-consciously. "They chased me away each time&#8230; Then I gave up," Sebastian chose not to tell about the stones they threw at him and how they beat him within inches of his life, whenever he was not fast enough. They effectively made it impossible for him to reach their parents, that was what mattered.
After a moment of silence, the kindly voice from the center of the table speaks. &#8220;We would like to talk to the people, who have sheltered you, Sebastian. Please, tell us the names and an address.&#8221;
* * *
"We&#8217;ll see now if there was a single grain of truth in what you&#8217;ve fed us, whelp."
Sebastian&#8217;s little calloused hands ball into fists. Even now as the Norrises are being questioned, Overseer Brook simply would not let him wait in peace. Sometime during the inquiry, he left the room to join Sebastian in the corridor, much to the boy&#8217;s displeasure. He was anxious enough without this man and his stinging words.
Shreds of polite conversation come from behind closed doors to Sebastian&#8217;s right.
"&#8230; He&#8217;s always climbing things&#8230; Very agile&#8230;"
"Nothing ever went missing&#8230; Few times he spotted chimney fires&#8230;"
"&#8230; mother never missed a sermon&#8230;"
"&#8230; that the big-eyed blond lad always in the front row until last year?"
"&#8230; yes&#8230; such a shame."
"Soon we will deal with you, pup. You know what the kennel-masters do with the runt in a brood?" The golden mask regards him cruelly from across the corridor.
Sebastian nods, not looking the man in the eyes. &#8220;Yes, Sir,&#8221; he answers in his husky little voice. He is hurt, but not afraid. He is not a runt. If he were one, he would have been dead a long time ago. Life in the streets of Dunwall is an unforgiving kennel-master.
In a moment the doors open and Mr and Mrs Norris come out accompanied by an Overseer. Mr Norris heads out, looking as unfazed and serious as ever, while his wife lingers beside the boy, whispering half-coherent words of reassurance. However, Sebastian&#8217;s attention is elsewhere: the Overseer who led them out is addressing Brook &#8220;They testified for the boy and named others, who can confirm his identity.&#8221;
"I see," Sebastian&#8217;s tormentor says. If he is disappointed, he hides it well.
"Good luck, Sebby," Mrs Norris manages before she is ushered after her husband. When the Norrises are gone, the distrustful Overseer stands up from his place and instead sits down on the bench next to Sebastian. To the boy&#8217;s surprise he pats him on the back. &#8220;Excellent job, my boy. You are a most promising little lad,&#8221; the man&#8217;s voice is suddenly warm and genuinely friendly. It reminds Sebastian of his uncle from Morley and the boy gapes in bafflement at the angry golden mask.
"I don&#8217;t understand, Sir."
"It was a test. And you passed it brilliantly. Such a strong and virtuous heart in a child&#8230; What happened to you could have broken many a grown man! And instead you survive, and you come to us, confessing your misdoings no less – that takes extraordinary courage and virtue. You are no runt, boy! You look the part and, frankly, it will not be easy for you in Whitecliff. But you show more spirit and resolve than anyone I ever tested. You will make a great Overseer. All you need now is time and training&#8230;” the Overseer says, a smile apparent in his friendly voice. “Your parents would have been very proud of you."
Tears that he had held back through the questioning stream from the boy&#8217;s eyes. Sebastian hides his face in his hands, trying to wipe them off with his sleeves. His bony little body shakes, but not a single audible sob comes out of him.
"There, there," Overseer Brooks offers him a handkerchief. “The hurtful things I said to you were baseless, but necessary. To make it through the Rites you will need to be strong of spirit, mind and body. Now I know you have the strength of character to pull through.” Overseer Brooks pats the boy on the back a few more times, watching the child attentively. "Until we go to Whitecliff, you can stay here, at the Abbey, if you prefer."
Sebastian gapes up at the man in shock from behind the handkerchief that he is still pressing to his lower face.
"The Norris&#8217;s kids don&#8217;t like you much either, do they?" the Overseer asks bitterly, brushing aside some of the boy&#8217;s hair to see a powdered-over bruise on the side of his forehead.
The boy swallows. &#8220;The girls are nice to me&#8230; But I&#8230; if I will not be a burden, I would very much like to stay here&#8230; Sir,&#8221; he looks up at the golden mask hopefully.
It nods.
* * *
As he goes to sleep on a make-shift bed in the barracks Sebastian&#8217;s eyes sting, but his cheeks hurt from grinning.

The Seven Strictures: Lying Tongue

AO3 Link

Author’s note:

This the first chapter of a seven-chapter fic exploring parts of Sebastian Renard’s life, that do not fit the narrative or mood of "Heathen-Go-Lucky". The fic will mostly be about his past, the events and experiences that made him who he is.

In this chapter we will go with Sebastian through an evaluation at the Abbey on one of those special days, when parents bring their children “between the ages of seven and ten to the Abbey to be tested”.

Read More

Lautrec x Oswald PORN (you know you want it, you're a gooooood girl >8DD)




Shhhh Lautrec its okay it is only human to want punishment for sins

YES, YES, YES, YES, YES. YES x 1000.

You draw so fast, you are an art-machine-gun! You killed me dead and I am happy! I DIED.


Captain Wilbur Rowe, my character for Zlukaka’s Heathen-Go-Lucky Dishonored fancomic.

Almost at his 50s now, captain Rowe is a hard-working and respected man in Dunwall City Watch. Even though he spent most of life constantly travelling between Serkonos and Gristol, Dunwall is where he feels at home and where his duties lie, at least the ones he chose to prioritize. He likes to be among his people and keeps several city watch squads in check, which is quite a wearisome task sometimes, considering some colorful individuals he is responsible for.

Now, have some heart-quotes:

"He loves Dunwall with its faded colors and dreary quiet nights. The plague did little to change his heart."

"He spent a happy childhood on Serkonos but it does not feel right to him anymore. People there are too carefree, their songs too merry, colors too bright."

"He was a city guard, a river barge pilot and a ship captain. He is a captain still, only the ship has changed. Its decks are made of cobblestone."

"Captain Rowe married twice. First time to a beautiful Serkonan woman he met in Dunwall. Second time to his job."

"His mother taught him to dance and his father taught him commitment. But Wilbur never saw his parents dance together."

If anyone wants to know more about him, send me a (♥) via ask, and I’ll reply with a heart-quote for each ;) 

Also, some theme music!


Sebastian, you’re forgetting your mask is off and people can see your face. Although in this particular case the mask wouldn’t save you.

Overseer Renard just offering his professional opinion on Captain Rowe’s sweet mustache. They’ve worked for months in peace when the mustache appeared and threw things into turmoil, making Renard suddenly comment on Wilbur’s looks and not just his professionalism and personal qualities.