Samuel for rainbowwaterfall! I’m not very good at making these people look their age. :P
I’m happy to announce that for those who were interested in grabbing a print, these are now finally up for sale on Magcloud!
You can check out the originals at dA:
All prints are 12” x 18” with white borders, and a minimal signature at the bottom. Printed on 80# cover stock with HP’s Indigo digital press.
Thanks for looking!
[HAPPY FUGUE FEAST IN
JULYAUGUST, METROPHOR! I’m so, so sorry this is late. I tried for humor but it took a sharp nosedive into gaslighting and straight-up horror instead. I hope that’s okay? <3
(Also I had waaaaaaaaay too much fun referencing T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land. In my defense, I think it’s a Sokolov-style poem)
Prompt: Sokolov finally gets the Outsider’s attention; the Outsider dedicates itself to annoying the hell out of him
I. The Burial of the Dead
All afternoon, Corvo has been talking. The light has shifted around the room. It has flared briefly upon the glassware littering the tables and prismed off in mad patterns. It has caught the edge of a scalpel left abandoned after some experiment and turned it, briefly, forge-fire gold. It has landed on the speaker of the audiograph player that opens like a flower; it has landed on the open mouths of the flowers in their beds, and the Pandyssian ones that are large and drooping and brilliant have tilted and followed it, compass-like, around the room.
Now the sun is low and the light is orange, and the sky glows. Sokolov can see hazy chimneys and hazier smoke through the warped glass of the greenhouse walls. Corvo’s head is bowed, and his gloves are off and his right hand cradles his left. His fingers have traced over the mark all the time he has been speaking. He’d mentioned a dream of broken streets and targets far below and falling and it has flared gold, once, and Sokolov had needed to catch himself not to lean forward; but apart from that the magic is still. Corvo is very still. Sokolov is attentively still, not taking notes, and the only movement in the room is the centimeter-by-centimeter movement of the mad Pandyssian flowers and the vibration of the air with the Lord Protector’s words and with the soft, mechanical whirring of the audiograph.
And now the sun is sinking over the rooftops and the light in the room is otherworldly as the Void of which Corvo has been speaking, and his voice peters out, and then there is no motion in the room at all.
The tape clicks. Stutters to a stop. It is the sixth time this has happened. Sokolov does not move to replace it.
my fugue feast in july prompt for fabelschwester, who requested BAMF character portraits with split lips and i… kinda ran with it.
hope you enjoy, and happy fugue feast!
Happy Fugue Feast in July to Payroo!
I chose your request for Billie Lurk/Cecelia, post-game low chaos and ran with it. There’s also a little bit of Samuel/Corvo to fill another of your prompts (sorry it’s not much!)
For people who don’t like the tumblr format, here is a link to the A03 version.
Happy Fugue, everyone!
SCREAMS AND SQUAWKS AND FLAILS thank you THANK YOU i loves it falls onto the floor in a pile of feelings
aghhhhh cecelia was so spot on and her lingering grief and billie and the delicious bit of samuel/corvo ;w;
I finished my first (high chaos) run of the dlc! and i had to draw my new wife billie lurk, the babeliest babe to ever babe
i had to draw this with my left hand since my right is still all de quervain’ed out… funnily enough, painting with the off hand is easier than writing with it, probably since i can go and nudge around my sad wobbly shapes into some semblance of what i want them to look like
Wait is she Daud’s second in command?
omg as much as i love dishonored it has been white as hell so far
please don’t screw up please don’t screw up pleaseeeee
someone on the kmeme asked for curnow/slackjaw foe yay uwu
falls over excitedly
The Royal Protector and His Vertex in White
My attempt at a Sokolov portrait for Corvo and Emily (complete with corny title). It’s a lot harder than it looks, sob. but it was fun! i might do sokolov portraits of some other characters too :>
also I painted this all on one layer because i make bad life decisions yet it is still so much easier than traditional painting which i am not getting along with atm
someone said samuel
i highly suspect that the underage porn was all posted by the same person, since a while ago i clicked ignore (the somewhat invisible button that appears left of the note count on posts) and i have been unplagued ever since.
but yes, the ignore button is a thing of beauty when tracking tags.
Cecelia has a brother. He is a bright thing, a noisy, brave child with a smile like the sun coming up. His hair is copper and his eyes are bluer than the sky, and she is his favourite person in the whole wide world. She teaches him his numbers and the Strictures, and the old songs their mother loves, and he makes up new songs just for her. Each evening when she comes home from the factory – her back aching, her hands chapped, her cheeks still stinging from the slaps she receives when she is slower or clumsier than the other girls – he runs down the tenement stairs on fat little toddler legs and wraps his arms around her in greeting. That, she thinks, is what makes each day bearable.
So it is with a glad heart that Cecelia cares for him now that their mother is too ill for a young boy’s games. She has been ill for a very long time; a wasting disease that has left her a silent, frail shadow. Cecelia washes her and changes her sheets and feeds her twice a day and knows that none of it is enough. But she speaks cheerfully about her work and tells them stories in which she is clever and strong, and every word is a prayer that her stories will come true.
all the cecelia feels