May 30
Just a small render of Village Chris. Btw inspired by the amazing Thundercat and his album Apocalypse
seen from Syria
seen from United States
seen from Chile
seen from South Korea
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Syria
seen from China
seen from Australia
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Indonesia
seen from Syria
seen from Malaysia
seen from Sweden
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
Just a small render of Village Chris. Btw inspired by the amazing Thundercat and his album Apocalypse
I can’t believe I finally finished this render!! After almost TWO WHOLE YEARS I found a way how to make this render work, so it’s not a “dead project” anymore 😭 sorry, I’m just so so happy at this point ❤️
Made a render of Moira just because I was feeling it was about time of remaking some of my older renders with my new “style” or approach. Whatever you want to call it.
And just as a funny reminder we will never know what happened to her or if Natalia (aka Alex Wesker with a new body) ever did anything to the Burton’s. Enjoy!
And I’m absolutely delighted by this render 🤩
Saint Brad Vickers, part of “The Holly Trinity- Vickers”
I. HATE. THIS. RENDER.
Why? I don’t know. Maybe I’m not in “the mood” for creating digital art, or it’s just not my month. Curiously I am incredibly inspired when I’m overwhelmed with stress aka during exams or finals. Maybe a few more weeks and BOOM! Inspiration!!
Still, enjoy my newest creation which was made with another purpose and it’s not going to be published until I reach a significant point in my fanfic between Brad’s daughter and Ethan Winters. And I still love Brad, don’t get me wrong 🥰 he’s the best secondary (maybe third?) character of all time IMO
September 24th, minutes before sunset.
The city he knew so well changed radically in a matter of days. Brad still remembered when all started going downhill as it went hand in hand with the only goal he had in mind; that plan took away all his previous time before finding himself sitting on the cold wooden floor, filling his soul with painful desolation. The only purpose that meant more than the search for redemption, the stubbornness to silence those voices that pointed the wretched accusing finger towards him. That single purpose stretched two more lives, enough for a man in love and totally desolated; that single intention (and as far as he concerned he considered an ultimate gift) left just one last sign. That beacon of hope before the incoming eternal night.
A call from his wife telling that her journey through half a country concluded. The conclusive communication with whom he considered the love of his life, mother of his first and only child and whom he profoundly admired despite all the problems they had together.
Emily had a few chances of communicating, a lot against her and too much weight on her shoulders. But she was a woman of enormous integrity, who never let nothing and anybody tell her what to do during her twenty-eight years alive. Emily Vickers always found her way of getting what she wanted directly or indirectly. Brad knew her too well in that regard; Emmy will make it because her tenacity and obstinacy determined that way. His dearly beloved wife was and will always be a praiseworthy soldier leading fellow compatriots to success, even if the path to success was taken from seventh level of hell.
Outside his home sirens from police cars, ambulances and firetrucks screamed everywhere. Unlike human voices this continued to making sounds. Hours went by, or maybe days since he had contact with a human capable of reasoning. His body ached, his hands bled from brandishing his favorite baseball bat and he ran out of bullets while trying to defend innocent civilians who desperately seek to reach the RPD.
Nothing was going well in Raccoon City and nothing would ever be close to something like ordinariness. No one could ever do something against this new Arklay with too many steroids. Everything could have been avoided if folks at RPD listened when they should have, avoiding taking them for incompetent junkies. How would the story have changed? How many lives could have been saved? His teammates always knew it and they were right, nevertheless other officers chose to dismiss those warning signs.
He uncapped the whisky bottle just by moving his callous thumb, taking a long sip at the same time he let himself rest on the hard, wooden floor; day was agonizing to an extreme and he could feel his inner demons stalk him again. Those horrific voices never shut up, repeating again and again how repulsive his existence was over leaving his comrades/friends behind to a vile death. It didn’t matter how many times he repeated (or his wife did) his actions were in accordance with the a military instructions manual, he keep hearing Chris Redfield scream towards him blinded by anger, those reproachful stares and the heavy weight of “having murdered his own friends”. How could he forget about it?
Brad drank half a bottle until he felt his head slowly but surely erasing all discomfort. Tomorrow he will feel like a piece of crap, however he had to watch over Jill’s apartment as she instructed him to. Hangover or not, it was his last pending duty on RC, after that he could leave if fate granted it. He understood he had every chance against him in the precarious defensive situation in which he found himself in, nonetheless his heart hoped to be able to at least hold his new born daughter again, smell her childish perfume. Brad desperately hoped to be alive for that.
The small communication device started ringing and was heard when the clock present in the room struck seven o’clock. He got up as fast as he possibly could without tripping over a pile of objects in his path. Newspapers, magazines from previous weeks, empty glasses and so in complete disarray. Emmy would have yelled at him in five different languages over that mess; in DC it would be about an hour less, there would be enough bustle on the streets to move cautiously. Brad pushed the green button briskly and brought the receiver to his left ear.
“Hello?” He already knew who the caller was, yet he did not want to desperately call her name out. Umbrella tapped their phone as soon as they got back to town on July 25th.
“Swallows are beautiful as they migrate south, right?” Emmy heard her husband’s voice and intuitively knew he drank; she couldn’t help crying quietly as she sat with the car stopped on a busy avenue. Chelsea slept in the back seat, guarded by the two family pets. “They always reach warmer places and thrive together.”
His heart skipped a beat and tried not to collapse. Brad nodded as if his wife could see him doing it.
“They are amazingly beautiful, and I adore them with all my soul. God’s most beautiful creation in this planet.”
What a gorgeous, strong woman we have here 😍
It’s like Arklay on steroids!