Had Quite The Run With MHA For A While.

A design for Miraig planned for a project called “Deathbed Dreaming”.

They would appear in this at an earlier point in the story.

Hope you like their magical Doctor Octopus Chaos Hands.

This scene was also a breaking point for Miraig, whoopsie.

Another painted portrait of Miraig.

Cameo portrait of Seteth from “Fire Emblem: Three Houses”. He’s so precious to me. I chose Peruvian Opal and Easter Lily for him.

Miraig portrait studies.

I’m so proud of this child.

I gave her the gift of humanity this year.

Vito.

Oh, what to say about Vito.

Vito is a scummy little man from the Undercity who’s quite adept at fixing a variety deals and somehow managing to keep it quiet that he’s the one that benefits the most from every arrangement he orchestrates. Sure, he may have lost a few toes to someone who grew wise, but by Zaun standards that may as well be a badge of honor indicating how slippery this bastard really is.

Those most well-acquainted with him know that his specialty isn’t scheming or intel - it’s his mastery of manipulation. He never quite lies, but carefully weaves clever half-truths that convince nearly everyone that he’s one of the “better” denizens of the Undercity. He’s skillfully lulled most of the people around him into believing that he is no threat to them - simply a means to an end. And that is a mistake on their part.

He’s no master of combat, but Vito does practice concealed carrying. His cane was built to double as a firearm, and underneath the brim of his hat, an array of throwing knives is nestled, waiting to be chosen by his hand.

This man is one of Miraig’s most staunch Undercity associates. A poor decision? Most likely. But if Vito were to give you an honest answer, he would admit he has a soft spot for her, as do his children. Too bad no one will ever know when it is he’s not turning lying into an unparalleled artform. On Miraig’s side, she does have some sort of twisted faith in him, however misplaced that may be. Luckily, even Vito has some measure of standards for himself, having openly admitted once that he may be a bastard, but would have drawn the line at selling out folks like Vander or Benzo to the likes of Silco.

The bar may be in Hell, but at least it exists.

It’s Vito.

The Scum Lord.

Finally actually starting a real art blog here. Wish me luck.

My slow mental collapse is reaching its climax because I kind of want some really bad things to happen to the apple-fruit company to vindicate my lost sanity.

I guess on top of everything else I gotta actually save shit with a real background now because FOR SOME FUCKING REASON iOS don’t believe in that transparent-background horse-hockey.

Anyway here’s my new buddy, Desmond. Desmond is dead and I killed him. My dormant brain willed it to be so in the dream that created him, and I’m not gonna argue with that decision because it doesn’t like back-talk.

So…Desmond is a very devoted cleric who practiced weaving a protective ritual day in and day out on the monastery grounds. Even his martyrdom couldn’t keep him from protecting the place. His grave is in a corner of the yard he paced, shaded by a modest young tree and bearing Lillies-of-the-Valley…although his cloak brandished Hyacinth imagery. He still casts the very ritual he was struck down for practicing on occasion, since his dedication and affinities with certain cosmic elements changed him into a sort of guardian spirit.

If I had a nickel for every biblically-adjacent mechanical savior I attached myself to in fiction, I’d have two nickels. This is the first. KOS-MOS was a light of hope in the darkest time of my life and I couldn’t be here without the inspiration she gave me. I gave her Precious Opal and Hepatica. If you know, you know.