Mocker
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markwalker2024.bsky.social
Mocker
@markwalker2024.bsky.social
4 followers 16 following 9 posts
Passionate Designer and Developer

DM me about the logo design: graphics design, animation, and other digital services.
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markwalker2024.bsky.social
That sounds like such a fantastic idea 🥹 Bleach OC ships in Kubo’s style would be stunning. I can totally picture how powerful that would look framed above your bed. I hope you get to bring that dream piece to life someday!
May 9, 2025 at 5:28 PM
markwalker2024.bsky.social
Hey, I can surely help you with the logo design let me know your vision. This is my email: mark@americanwebsmaster.com
May 5, 2025 at 5:21 PM
markwalker2024.bsky.social
I can surely, Help you with the graphic design!
January 31, 2025 at 7:19 PM
markwalker2024.bsky.social
I can help you, You can see my work in my profile and also if you want send me an email on: markwalker.awm@gmail.com

I've been designing logos, Illustration for 6 years let me know your vision and I'll surely help you.

Prices are not fixed!!!
January 31, 2025 at 7:09 PM
Reposted by Mocker
crossroadart.bsky.social
Congratulations on 4k! And thank you for the art share 😆

I’m Bear, a fantasy illustrator that’s often found drawing a squire badly riding a centaur, stabby horses and a henchmen dealing with his werewolf boss.

& Here’s my art feed👹
bsky.app/profile/did:...
Though a rain splattered windscreen a terrible woman stands in a dark, vast, near empty parking lot. From the waist up she is in shadow and below that she is illuminated in the headlights. She has pallid skin, an untamed mane of black hair whipping in the wind and wears a black knee length coat, a pair of dark shades and black knee high boots. Her stance is casual and patient, breathing a cloud of vapour while one hand sits in her pocket. A pair of windscreen wipers pulse across the visage of her.  She is looking directly into the car at the young man in the back seat who is reflected in the rearview mirror. He is wearing a pink hoodie and sees his miserable fate in her. The top half of his face is in shadow, while the bottom half of his face is lit with the warmth of street lights that cast the shadows of rain drops onto his cheek and nose. He is defiant, but he is also scared. The sun breaks through a forest of silver birch trees in their autumn foliage and over a misty blue stream being crossed by two centaurs. They’re breathing a warmly lit fog into the cool air and the ripples left by their hooves are the only disturbance on the water that floats a few gold and orange leaves on its surface. The first centaur is pale grey with long black hair, well below their hip and covering their eyes. They wear a garland of mushrooms of a species that can rightly be surmised by the easy manner of the centaur, with their arms folded behind their head in a lazy stretch as they stare into the canopy rather than where they are going. The following centaur looks used to this. He is bay brown, and contently follows with his arms to his sides.  Columns of trees, stripped of their leave and dark from the damp, stand between the gently falling snow in the silence of the forest. A stream flows slowly as a growing sheet of ice solidifies its banks and the carpet of snow is only broken by a few blades of grass and sticks that themselves are getting buried in the fresh falling flakes. In the eerie serenity a pair of black boots stride through the snow. They belong to the god of the short days, whose reign as the Holly King is now, in the heart of winter. His attire, unsurprisingly, is entirely black. Black trousers, black surcoat, black cloak. The scabbard of the sword his pale hand rests on is black, as is the belt which holds it. Detail is lost in the layers of the shade, making so much of the deity a wondering shadow. The belt it’s self, however, is fastened around the silver corset of the kings waist, whose overlayed holly leaf engravings matches those of the sword, the gods gorget (the silver armour around his collarbone and neck), and the metal clasps securing the snow dusted cloak and furs to the gods shoulders. As the king walks, his long fastened hair, trails in the wind behind him, catching flakes of ice that appear to add more salt to his already stark pepper, and frost both his silver coronet of holly leaves and his his antlers, completing their resemblance to the sentry like trees around him. A warm glow of light breaks through the sparse canopy and rays, fragmented by branches, fall onto the King. It illuminates his pale angular features and he turns his stoic face and white eyed gaze to look up at it. In the radiance a small wren glides down to him with intention to perch in the deity’s antlers. The god doesn’t break his stride or wait for the company to land, but you could almost imagine the very edge of a smile in the corner on his mouth, before it vanishes like a snowflake on his cheek. It’s hard to convince yourself that everything is going to be ok in the face of someone like Sloan. Theo had tried to put up the arrogant front of a deeply unimpressed teenager, however his failure was evident in her shades, where he could see the reflection of his own uncertainty in his eyes. They watched the face of the predators before him with a primal calculation gear towards survival. Her smile was the foremost object of disturbance. It was distinctly wrong. A little too wide and crowded with jaggard hyena-like teeth. It could, arguably, hold a candle to the definition of a maw. The fact that her skin was scored with a hash of pale scars didn’t help the impression either, it told the story of someone not easily dissuaded from any given intention. All this set in the backdrop of a mane of black hair with webs of silver that Theo himself still had decades to possess. She raised one eyebrow behind her shades. Theo noted it too, and smoked his joint with a sinking feeling. Even in the bright, safe light of the beach they stood on, Theo estimated that he was the nameless victim in the prologue of a horror. If only he was so lucky. This is not in fact the prologue, this is chapter one and he is the P.O.V.
January 19, 2025 at 6:18 PM