BunnE Does Art

A place for me to post, share and follow all the art stuff I care about Minors absolutely DNI Commission me at: https://ko-fi.com/bunnedoesart DoL/MNL/Occasional monster stuff DM Friendly!

[starstruck-13]

Momentary break from minecraft posting to share this Miku I drew

I'm starting a casual challenge to draw a shit ton of Mikus so I started with my own version of her!

Silly thing but I also selfship with Miku, that shit got me through highschool XD (dw I don't care about doubles or anything I'm here for the love of the game)

[spicyamby]

How to make your beloved get the ick

[nepnepnepnepnepnepnepnepnepnep]

[bunnedoesart]

The genderfluid cycle is just this but back and forth forever

[sailermoon]

having unwashed hair will have you believing shit like i can’t be saved

[fairycosmos]

you literally have to unironically listen to some shit like party rock anthem so you don’t kill yourself

[woodwool]

severely deficient in whatever vitamin makes u a person

[asyahyasya]

The boy is studying)

[ibenology]

the average twitter vs tumblr community experience

[fourohfourlifenotfound]

[spicyamby]

Yeaah A friend got me into the freak circus

Anyway here my mc Meymey being a depressed person with pierrot

[soulren]

“Ghosts are real” I can see how you could believe that

“Ghosts aren’t real” it’s very fair and rational that you believe that

“Ghosts aren’t real anymore” I’m about to hear a poem or very sad story

“Ghosts aren’t real yet” the fuck are you going to do

[undergroundwubwubmaster]

✨️ Twinkle twinkle little star, how the hell you draw an arm ✨️

[flishyfix]

🌱 This fruit juice is refreshing! 🌱

Aaa im actually quite proud of this one i hope you guys like it as much as i do 🥹🫶

Im gonna make these arts of YS with different references i have saved on my pinterest! I had them saved for so long and i always wanted to try to use them :3

(reference image: https://pin.it/5KXubRNXK )

[leokatto]

Mira doing Mira stuff :DD

Featuring Rumi da biter she iss XDD

[junjunjunko]

wip because I have to keep my blog alive or something

[rattus-pocus]

Happy new year everyone ! 🎊 👏

How was your holidays ? Do you have any wishes for 2026 ?

2025 is over now and we, little rattus, have a lot of things to think of and do in 2026 ! 🐀✨

[sourberry21]

Hi is anyone in this house like teo in this big 2025 (beside me)

[bunnedoesart]

The Saint of Claws

In a town in the mountains, that has long since lost its name, there lived a carpenter. He wasn’t particularly skilled, but he worked hard and had a good heart, his prices changed with the harvests and his scraps became toys for the town’s children. He was strong and able and kind, and when orders were slow he would take sacks down the mountain with the caravans to trade for food and clothing. One winter, however, was especially harsh. There was a war to the south and the caravans came rarer and rarer by the month. Finally, with his town on the verge of starvation, the kindly carpenter set out down the mountain alone, a bundle full of toys to trade for his town’s life. The journey was long and with no caravan to shield him the carpenter feared he would not make it and that his town would die, like him, frozen and starving. His eyes were red and swollen shut so he marched on blind, his fingers were blackened and necrotic yet still clung to his bag of toys, his stomach had been empty so long he wasn’t sure he still had a body at all. And yet, half dead and bruised all over, the carpenter descended the mountain and reached the warmth and light of a city in celebration. The war had been won, trade was lively and there was much joy in the air. As cold and broken as his body was, the carpenter’s heart was warm. His town, his family, everyone he had endured such ordeals for would live, a caravan would leave for that small town atop the mountain the next morning and he need only rest in the carriage. Food and drink and gifts were showered upon the carpenter, such bravery and determination he had displayed, while he handed out toys for the children, giddy with excitement at the bright lights and merriment. And so, with his sack of toys empty and a place by the fire, the carpenter rested with thoughts of his town on his mind. In the morning, when the caravan set out up the mountain, the carpenter sat in the carriage and shared tales with the other traders of the war, of the weather, of their families and their lives. The path up was easy for a carriage, even as the cloud turned dark, the wind picked up, and the snow formed thick and treacherous slopes up the mountain. The journey was slow, but gave the carpenter time to get to know his travelling partners better. He learned of their names, their families, the places they came from and hoped one day to see. He learned of their interests, their histories, their regrets. In that journey he came to know them as well as they knew themselves. So tragic then, as it was, for such fast friends to find themselves only hours later buried under a snowdrift, huddled for warmth as the understanding that they would never be found sat silently between them. The caravan would never make it to its destination and the townspeople, like the carpenter and traders, would starve and freeze to death.

The driver was the first to leave, struck as he was by the avalanche with not even a canvas curtain to protect him, broken bones and bloody wounds left him weak, and he went to sleep in short term. Next was the eldest, a brother to the driver who had spent his final moments holding a corpse’s hand and whispering an old family song, despite knowing death listened in. Finally was the youngest, calm at first but with increasing fear he had tried to scramble to the surface, frozen and terrified, and the snow came down to quiet him. And so the carpenter sat there, his eyes were red and swollen shut so he sat scared in the dark, his fingers were blackened and necrotic yet still clung to his empty bag and his stomach - which had just recently been so full and happy, now felt empty and screamed to be full. To be full. The carpenter was strong and able, if he had only filled his sack with food instead of letting it all fall from the mountain when the caravan was crushed, he might yet be able to feed himself and live, and return to his town atop the mountain. And as the carpenter’s brittle, frostbitten hands scraped around in the dark, his bloody, swollen eyes cracked open to see meat, still fresh enough to warm him, and his vacuous stomach howled with joy as his travelling companions fueled the carpenter’s survival. So enraptured by the feast was the carpenter that the danger was forgotten, and he gorged himself on all three men that he had come to know as brothers of his own before even thinking to climb free of the snow. Only once sated did his hardened, frost white fingers begin to scrape a narrow hole in the snow, wide enough only to accommodate his flaking, pale head. His bulbous eyes no longer feared blindness from the cold, staring straight ahead into the whiteness, and his stomach, oh how his stomach warmed him.  Only once his head broke the surface of the snowdrift did he consider his objective again. He must return to the town and share news of the caravan. Truly the town would be so glad to see him back safe and hear tales of the wonderful feast he had found. Reaching down past the gnawed bones and torn rags, what used to be the carpenter picked up his sack, and began moving onwards towards his town. His arrival in town was not as he had hoped, however. Weeks had passed, though he failed to understand how, and those that had not died in their homes had barely made it to the town limits before succumbing to the harsh blizzard. He had not meant to be gone for but a day, he was sure, but all the same the town was silent and cold. With nothing in the world left for him, what used to be a carpenter returned to his shop, and began to work. No lumber had been delivered, and no orders would be received, and so all he could make were toys of scrap wood. His thin fingers were nimble and strong, so sharp that after a while he had no need for his tools. His eyes cared not for sunlight, so he worked throughout the night on his collection. But his stomach still growled, and there was so much food outside. One by one the corpses were cleared, and for each one a toy was made, something to remember them, built of wood and bone. Only once the town was empty did the carpenter once more depart from his shop, stopping only once down the mountain to make three more toys, for the brothers he lost in the snow, carving with his sharp fingers gifts for them made from bone. Even now he travels, though his hunger grows ever stronger throughout the year, on one great night of feasting the carpenter sates himself on the deserving and leaves gifts made of bone for those who are not, carved with his own cursed hands. A reminder to all the dangers of cannibalism, and to keep your loved ones with you always. The man that was a carpenter. The man who became a monster. The man who is remembered as a saint.

I tried something a bit different today, did some writing in-world for my upcoming game just to get some ideas out of my head. It's probably not very GOOD but I hope if you read this far you at least enjoyed it a little.

Go follow @bunnedoesgames on twitter for updates about my game, 2026 is gonna be a big year for it.

Thanks for reading and Merry Christmas <3