die

Charcoal on mixed media paper

As a digital artist venturing into the world of NFTs, I was filled with excitement and hope. I had spent years honing my craft, and the prospect of sharing my work with a global audience was exhilarating. However, my journey took a devastating turn when I fell victim to a malicious smart contract that drained my wallet of $75,000 in earnings and royalties. The art community's response was disheartening; they told me it was gone forever, a harsh reminder of the risks we accept in the digital space.Feeling lost and disheartened, I began to accept the reality of my situation. It was not just about the money; it represented years of hard work, creativity, and passion. I felt as though a part of my artistic identity had been stolen. Just when I thought all hope was lost, I came across Salvage Asset Recovery. Their approach was different; they understood the emotional weight of my loss and were determined to help. Salvage Asset Recovery specializes in cryptocurrency vulnerabilities, and their team of experts meticulously analyzed the malicious contract code that had caused my financial devastation. They identified the exploit and worked tirelessly with the platform to freeze subsequent transactions, preventing further losses. Their dedication was evident, and I felt a renewed sense of hope.Ultimately, Salvage Asset Recovery successfully recovered my lost funds. If you need help reach out to Salvage Asset Recovery CONTACT INFORMATION Whats app....+1 8 4 7 6 5 4 7 0 9 6 Telegram..... 16592200206

Zoidberg: Everyone! Quick! I was reading about this man RFK Jr. who says that we have to stop all modern medical practices immediately. He says they're poisonous.... Amy: RFK Jr. was an unqualified political grifter who died in disgrace from preventable illnesses over a thousand years ago. All of his theories were discredited even while he was still alive. You'd have to be a complete moron to take him seriously. Leela: God, Dr. Zoidberg. Aren't you even a little ashamed at being such an idiot? Fry: Yeah, Zoidberg. Even I knew that. How embarrassing for you.

If i was real youd see me cry If i was real youd watch me die If i was real youd spit in my eye If i was real youd know a lie If i was real youd know my name If i was real id bring you shame If i was real id show you pain If i was real id drive you insane But im not real Im just a name Meet me in the dark Meet me in the light Ill crawl inside your skin Eager for a bite Ill coil around your thoughts Let me stay Together we can obsess Over every shade of grey Deny my existence Dont say my name I dont love you Make no mistake Im not here for salvation Im here for the pain Embrace me my child Nightmares My name #embracingnightmares

A variety of colorful and delicious looking pastries and cakes are displayed under a glass dome, resting on a wooden base. The arrangement includes an assortment of treats, such as cupcakes and slices of cake.

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You know you can always count on me, friend Like no one else, I've gotten used to the coldness of the stone So I can be with you often Silver rain will wash away the tears of the Dread Sky I will rise with the sun… I will rise with the sun… - Valyrym.  Referring to the story "The Dragon In The Dungeon" Some say I'm hitting the point. So I strike again. When the Writer dies, the World creates a seemingly imperceptible void, a void waiting to be filled, greedily begging others for revelation.  For the next One to take its place in this great spiral. Light. Narrow tunnel. Echoes. Arise. Rest in Peace Coyote - Of The Wilds was a talented writer, author of many fantastic stories which he never managed to finish. He was able to convey true, deep emotion through words, through many unfinished stories. Now, through the ending of the Story. These stories have contributed a lot to my life in 2020, as I wrote about in “Split Of… Personality”. Like for many others, he inspired me to create. I wrote “Split Of Fate”, deleted it, now I'm bringing it back to life, but I also have other plans - regarding the stories of Of The Wilds… but more on that later… This was difficult to draw. Difficult without getting eyes wet. Just a quick doodle… Well, if I were nearby, I would place an apple on his grave. 

Tuesday morning drawing. Fun fact, I listen to the Dead a lot while drawing and painting. It puts me in a good mindset. Just like listening to jazz, you get lost in the melodies and when you come out of it there is something there. Sometimes it garbage, but every once in a while you get something worth sharing.

it's from my studies of the masters, here implying to Herblock the famous editorial illustrationist from the 1900s. studying his art and implementing my art style on top made me really hooked to this piece. I hope you all like it.

Charcoal, pan pastels and Musou Black acrylic

And this is my only contribution to mermay. It doesn't look very good, I know. But I'm glad to draw a mermaid for the first time on mermay, I dreamed about it when I could only draw squiggles. I drew it for half a month, and during this time, I even managed to come up with a deep (don't shoot) lore. According to my idea, Eddie needed some sunken cargo (and not only him). Amber offered her help in exchange for some relic of her people, which is stored in the Gotham Museum (even being a mermaid, she is an opportunist). Eddie told her to go to hell and tried to get the cargo with the help of his robots, which Amber successfully sabotaged underwater to pressure him into the deal. In this drawing, Eddie's ran out of luck and got himself roughened up and almost drowned (definitely not Batman this time). Amber saved his skin. No gratitude is expected yet, but this is the least of their problems. Jean advises Amber (they are not at odds in this AU) to leave the polluted waters near Gotham before something happens to her and her health, but she is stupidly stubborn when it comes to the Riddler (and her goals).

A character I made a little while ago. She's supposed to be the Bringer of Bad News that comes to you in dreams and delivers tragedies.

For Maycean Day 7, today it's the orca's turn. For this day, I decided to make this drawing based on the minigame where you clean the teeth of a giant fork to take a selfie with it

I messed up a gradient layer but I love this result

Lindsey and I recently went on a date night while on vacation in Florida. Fantasy and reality are two very different things. I also figured this was a great way to introduce DAT (Die Alone Together) Comics. I will hopefully upload a new strip every week. I hope you enjoy it!

Sherlock and Sadie wish you a belated Merry Christmas!

René Descartes (1596–1650) Descartes was a late riser. The French philosopher liked to sleep until mid-morning, then linger in bed, thinking and writing, until 11:00 or so. His comfortable bachelor’s life ended abruptly in late 1649, Descartes accepted a position in the court of Queen Christina of Sweden. Descartes accepted a position in the court of Queen Christina of Sweden,Arriving in Sweden, in time for one of the coldest winters in memory, Descartes was notified that his lessons to Queen Christina would take place in the mornings—beginning at 5:00 A.M. He had no choice but to obey. But the early hours and bitter cold were too much for him. After only a month on the new schedule, Descartes fell ill, apparently of pneumonia; ten days later he was dead. - From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey “Dubito, ergo cogito, ergo sum. (English: "I doubt, therefore I think, therefore I am")” ― Rene Descartes #dailyrituals #inktober #reneDescartes @masoncurrey #wouldratherdiethangetupearly

the wounded soldier is no longer just a man begging for mercy - he is infected with something dangerous, which makes him aggressive and possibly uncontrollable. His outstretched hand may now mean not a plea, but an attempt to grab the protagonist, which increases the sense of threat. The soldier's eyes, wide open and seemingly filled with fear or madness, now look like a sign of loss of humanity. The blood stains on his clothes are no longer just traces of battle, but perhaps the result of his own aggression. The chains in the background can be interpreted as a symbol of restriction or control over the infected - perhaps he was captured or locked up, but was able to break free.

“You saved me, my heroine!” For a guy who almost got eaten, he looked way too pleased. “That’s worthy of, well, an award, you know!” He tapped his split lip thoughtfully, lying on the ground as if nothing had happened. “Ah, Zero Year may be over, but I think it’s only fair for me to name a month after you. What do you say?” His impractical coat was all messed up, his hat laying a little to the side, just as dirty and caked with snow. “It’s january, isn’t it? It’s Amberary now! Maybe not for all of Gotham, but for me for sure.” He grinned. What the hell is he saying? Why bringing up those old words? Ridiculous. Amber failed to hold back surprise in her eyes, but she almost managed to stop herself from smiling in time. Almost. He noticed. “… Get up.” --------------------------- Long story short: Amber saved Ed from predators, and he decided to be extra with his flirting. I remembered Edward's words from “Zero Year” about naming months after gothamites heroes and an idea came to me… This scene will definitely be in a fanfic, for which I have an underdeveloped idea, and which I will definitely not write. %) In any case, this is roughly how I imagine ZY!Eddie flirting, in addition to all the other headcanons. My vision of him is too different from ​​how most of the fandom sees him . xD I’m trying to jump above my head again, not having the skill in background, clothes, drapery, and full body, especially since I almost never drew two interacting characters. My most ambitious work so far. But I’m happy!

Beluga time!

Louis Armstrong (1901–1971) Armstrong relied on music to lull himself to sleep. Before he could get into bed, however, he had to administer the last of his daily home remedies, Swiss Kriss, a potent herbal laxative invented by the nutritionist Gayelord Hauser in 1922 (and still on the market today). Armstrong believed so strongly in its curative powers that he recommended it to all his friends, and even had a card printed up with a photo of himself sitting on the toilet, above the caption “Leave It All Behind Ya.” - From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey “All music is folk music. I ain't never heard a horse sing a song.” ― Louis Armstrong #dailyrituals #inktober #LouisArmstrong @masoncurrey

The work is dedicated to every soldier on Earth who gives their lives for the interests of others.

This is a major redesign of an OC that I came up with a while back. She's a hardened battle general, fighting on the worst day of her life. The assault has failed, soldiers have been lost, and the darkness has used memories of her husband to lure her to her doom. She's not going to go down easy.

Jean-Paul Sartre (1905–1980) By the 1950s, too much work on too little sleep—with too much wine and cigarettes—had left Sartre exhausted and on the verge of collapse. Rather than slow down, however, he turned to Corydrane, a mix of amphetamine and aspirin then fashionable among Parisian students, intellectuals, and artists (and legal in France until 1971, when it was declared toxic and taken off the market). The prescribed dose was one or two tablets in the morning and at noon. Sartre took twenty a day, beginning with his morning coffee and slowly chewing one pill after another as he worked. For each tablet, he could produce a page or two of his second major philosophical work, The Critique of Dialectical Reason. The biographer Annie Cohen-Solal reports, “His diet over a period of twenty-four hours included two packs of cigarettes and several pipes stuffed with black tobacco, more than a quart of alcohol—wine, beer, vodka, whisky, and so on—two hundred milligrams of amphetamines, fifteen grams of aspirin, several grams of barbiturates, plus coffee, tea, rich meals.” - From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey #dailyrituals #inktober #jeanPaulSartre @masoncurrey

Samuel Beckett (1906–1989) On a late-night walk near Dublin harbor, Beckett found himself standing on the end of a pier in the midst of a winter storm. Amid the howling wind and churning water, he suddenly realized that the “dark he had struggled to keep under” in his life—and in his writing, which had until then failed to find an audience or meet his own aspirations—should, in fact, be the source of his creative inspiration. “I shall always be depressed,” Beckett concluded, “but what comforts me is the realization that I can now accept this dark side as the commanding side of my personality. In accepting it, I will make it work for me.” - From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey #dailyrituals #inktober #samuelbeckett @masoncurrey