#art challenge entry

[majicart-26]

chocolate bunny mom and her baby peeps

[thefreelanceangel]

A Scorpion's Song

Bearing the instrument into the empty halls took all of her strength. She could not sling it about like any other burden; it needed to be handled gently, the weight managed, not merely endured. And she'd born burdens enough in the past years, this one too many, one too heavy for her.

Her knees buckled; she sank to the floor, feeling the old, crackling tatami give beneath her slight weight. Trembling with weariness, she kept her hands locked about the wrapped weight in her arms, held hard against her belly, until she and the floor reached their tentative agreement.

Gently, Kyako let the koto slide down her thighs to rest on the dusty floor. Her arms ached, relieved of the weight. She sat on her heels, flexing her fingers, and looked at the empty hall. The golden eyes she'd inherited, that she hated with all her heart, swept the water-stained tatami, the tattered remnants of shoji. When she twisted to stretch her lower back, the ink-and-plaster mural stretching high overhead mocked her with memory.

Yes, the scent of fresh plaster and wet ink existed only in her thoughts, but oh how vividly she recalled those smells accompanying the slap of plaster on the wall, the chatter of her sisters as they mixed ink, the distant bustle of feet moving throughout the Soshi home. On that day, with their fate only bearing down upon them but not yet present, the household and Kyako's life held only the banality of peace.

She exhaled, untying the silk, and smoothed it away from the strings of her koto. With a few delicate adjustments, Kyako tightened the twisted silk strings that needed attention, folded the silk wrapper back to let the instrument gleam, and sat on her heels. Her nails caught briefly on a string when she reached to pluck them; she watched mutely as blood welled from her fingertip.

When had she last knelt by her koto to play?

Kyako's mask moved slightly; she wiped blood off onto the hem of her skirt before reaching up to adjust the lay of heavy silk across the bridge of her nose. Even being here, here of all places, where she'd first been given her mask, taught the meaning of it, had the pride she wore it with instilled in her... She could not simply remove it. Would not. Not even here, where she'd vowed to keep her face all, save the kami and the spouse she'd never managed to obtain.

A laugh sounded, in tune with the string she plucked.

"I broke that vow, Mother," Kyako said aloud. "Not as you feared. I have never taken the mask from my face in public. But the man who fathered my child saw my face in the three nights we shared. And I saw his." Her mask shifted again as her golden eyes warmed. "Ryuki inherited his eyes, the kami were merciful in that. She is well, last I saw."

Her fingertips stroked over the strings, careful not to draw notes from them just yet. "I left her. As you did me. I wonder if your reasoning differed from mine." Kyako curled a fingertip, plucking a string with the tip of her nail. "I wonder if it matters."

...or if it ever would.

Rational explanations, after all, did not change the actions they sought to clarify.

Her family, save for one estranged daughter, were still dead, after all. Her household, those who'd contributed to a household, to the thriving of a samurai family, were still dead. All of them.

Except for her.

Kyako closed her eyes, adjusting her posture, and laid her fingertips on the strings. Notes drifted through her mind, forming into chords, and she recalled a song that she'd first learned a decade prior, living on sufferance in a household that displayed her as a novelty.

With the first notes she plucked, blood stained the strings, running down her fingers to soak into the dusty tatami, to bead on the polished wood of the koto. Kyako fed the abandoned household with blood and music, head bowed over the strings.

In the light of the lantern she'd set in the hall, she moved her hands across the strings. A few drops of blood from freshly sliced fingertips flicked over the koto, staining the tatami.

And she felt them gathering, drawn towards the light of her lantern, the warmth of her blood, the life that she brought back into the long-abandoned Soshi hall.

Not many remained, she'd not expected the household itself to linger in the walls once painted by their hands only to be stained by their screams.

Those that came... She knew.

Kneeling to her left came Hideyuki who cleaned fireplaces and carried water, his strong forearms always tensed in her memory, his broad hands occupied with loads of wood, buckets of water, a heavy stone to repair one of the wells.

Beside him, her father's favorite man, Ichiro. Kyako recalled so little of him, save as her father's shadow. And the hands which had clasped her own when she, as a very small child, stumbled and fell. He'd helped her to her feet, wiped away a tear, smiled at her insistence on smoothing her clothing down. He'd laughed, too loudly for the halls, and never apologized.

Kyako's chest tightened as she felt him beside her.

His name rested on her lips, unspoken, and Kyako's hands continued to move across the strings.

Nobu.

Under his eyes, she'd sat for months to learn the very instrument she now played. Under his eyes, she'd embroidered and read, studied and played. Under his cool grey eyes, for the earliest years of her life, she'd walked to her bed with Nobu at her right shoulder, three strides behind her.

Nobu stood beside her, behind her, with his arms crossed. Just as he'd stood the day they broke down the front gates, waiting for the command to be given to get her safely out of the compound.

And it'd been Nobu, behind her, who'd taken the blade intended to take her life.

One note after another, played in sequence, and music rippled through the room. Kyako played on, adjusting the placement of her fingertips, using the tips of her nails when the strings sliced too deep. Every string she touched turned a brilliant red, fading into a dull rusty brown, tiny droplets of blood rising in a spray that stained her pale hands as she continued to play.

Her offering to those who'd died in these halls--pain and music and blood.

And their acceptance of it... She felt it.

They listened to the music, taking as much from her presence as she took from theirs, and Kyako's mask shifted delicately as she smiled.

Even when no Soshi lived, something of them would remain.

[nitzeart]

Process for this DTIYS! I had so much fun and love the character's design 🤗

Congratulations to @ carolemellow on reaching 100k! I only discovered her a few months ago, but she's quickly become one of my favorite illustrators/artists today 🩷

[lizzybeeee]

When you spend 20 years attempting to bring down the child slavery, murdering, human trafficking exploitation ring that stole your childhood, murdered your friends, and killed countless innocents only to have them rebrand as 'Noble Freedom Fighters™' off-screen.

[v-albion]

Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss

Another dtiys entry, this time for @kathaynesart

It’s been a long while since I’ve drawn Replica!Donnie and I miss his extra af eyebrows

[theaceofshovels]

@angstflavoured’s dtiys!! Had a lot of fun with this!

[shpepyao]

I am far behind the funguary, but I still wanna finish it Here are first 7 prompts of fungi based critters

[princema-k]

THE LIVING MUSEUM: CHAPTER 1

(interactive puzzle at the bottom!)

As luck would have it, the detective had a case that had just been given to her by the Chief Constable Barton (talk about a high order!) I watched as she leafed through the folders on her desk before slipping out a small stack of papers and bringing them over to me. Clearing her throat, Detective Layton ran over the details…

“At approximately 2:00pm, a fire alarm in the Natural History Museum sounded. Around 5 minutes later, visitors in the museum reported that they witnessed several exhibits, and I quote, ‘come to life before their eyes.’ There were visitors who told officials that the suits of armour on display had started to move and raise their weapons, visitors who reported that paintings on the walls started to melt and blink, and visitors who said that the dinosaur skeleton exhibits had opened their mouths and moved their heads. But the most damning of all seemed to be the Tyrannosaurus rex exhibit, who not just moved but assumed a lunging stance with its full body, as well as somehow roared.”

“Right, that’s odd. And?”

“Well, since the officials were only able to question the visitors outside of the museum due to everyone having been evacuated because of the fire alarm, naturally they went inside to check the exhibits themselves.��

“And they found…?”

“Nothing. They did a whole sweep of the area, but they found nothing out of place. All exhibits were in their normal places, the paintings were just fine, and everything was untouched.”

“Wow…”

“I assume the reason that Barton held onto what information they had on it and handed it to me was due to the witnesses. Despite the fact that the Yard found no obvious signs of tampering, everyone swears up and down the walls that the museum had seemingly come to life at that moment.”

“...That is a proper mystery. And these files are all we have on the matter?”

“Well, in a sense, yes. These are all the files we have,” Detective Layton muses as she taps the bottom of the stack on the coffee table. Then, getting up, she drops the stack back in their folder. “...Which is why I was thinking of heading over to the museum myself to do a bit of personal investigation.”

“As expected of the great Professor Layton,” I say cheekily as I stand and follow her to the front door, grabbing my jacket off the hanger in the process. The detective sighs lightly as she places her hat on her head, pulling the brim over her eyes in mock disappointment. “Please, Ms. Altava. It's just Detective.”

Now lifting the brim, she smiles brightly as she grabs her umbrella.

“So, Ms. Altava… let’s go investigate this living museum with our own two eyes, shall we?”

And with that, our adventure into the peculiar museum begi-

“Ah, but before that, I have here the directions to the museum written for me by Barton, and it seems to be a puzzle of some sort. As you’re now my assistant, why don’t you give it a shot? Think of it as a warm-up of things to come.”

…Right. She’s Layton’s daughter, after all. How could I have forgotten? …And are we sure they're not really related by blood…?

PUZZLE 1: Where's The Museum?

Take your time and think about the answer, or Flora (and the puzzle master) will be very disappointed in you...!

A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I | J (Need a hint?: 1 | 2 | 3)

(thanks to @justkillingthyme for beta reading, and several mutuals for puzzle testing!)

[elodee]

HERMIT A DAY MAY - DAY 18

JoeHillsTSD x Where the Sidewalk Ends

For Joe Hills I chose Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein!

I loved this book along with A Light in the Attic when I was a kid. It was one of my earliest exposures to poetry and since Joe is a poet himself, I thought this would suit them well!

In addition to doing a drawing for Joe, I also tried my hand at an original Joe Hills poem in the style of Silverstein. Writing poetry is pretty far outside of my usual wheelhouse, so I hope it turned out suitably Silverstein-esque! I'm proud of it regardless. :)

Here is the text of the poem:

-

JOE HILLS

A puppet is Juppet

A felt little guy

That felt is swell

And svelte

And blue as the sky.

But try as I might

I can't help but think

All that felt

Must swelt

In a Nashville July!

-

To learn more about Where the Sidewalk Ends and see my style references, continue below the cut!

(Happy Hermitcraft stream weekend! A fine weekend to donate to Gamer's Outreach)

Where the Sidewalk Ends is a 1970s book of poetry by Shel Silverstein. Each poem is accompanied by a whimsical ink drawing also done by Silverstein.

The poetry is fantastical and imaginative, often written from a child-like perspective. Though the poetry sometimes touches on darker themes, it does so from a thoughtful place and the collection is enjoyable for people of all ages.

Even if you aren't someone who likes poetry, I highly recommend picking up Where the Sidewalk Ends or A Light in the Attic. They are both wonderful.

Style references:

Every poem in the book has a cute drawing to accompany it. Here is the poem from the above image:

THE ACROBATS

I'll swing

By my ankles,

She'll cling

To your knees

As you hang

By your nose

From a high-up

Trapeze.

But just one thing, please,

As we float through the breeze-

Don't sneeze.

The illustrations for Where the Sidewalk Ends are whimsical with sparse, stippled shading and cartoonish characters

The lineart of these drawings is thick and a little messy but still easily readable even when the subject of the drawings is unusual (which is pretty much all of them)

[3dogbones]

BRO TF HAPPENED TO MY QUALITY AND VERY SMOLL HIGHLIGHTS AND AND AND WTF TUMBLR… click for better quality please 🙄 IT LOOKS SO MUCH BETTER TRUST I SWEAR

Anyways this is for @itsxroxannex dtiys NOTICE ME SENPAI!!!

[mumder]

Congrats on reaching 500 followers @karineverse !! 🎉

~ Click for better quality : reblogs are greatly appreciated ~

I thought this DTIYS would be a good refresher since ive been drawing skeletons and monsters lately. It was a nice change of pace ~ ( also! I was very very veeeery heavily inspired by one of Rinotuna's artworks at the time !! Iove their works so much..)

I wanted to draw him in the style of multiple mediums- though I only settled on... 2. Namely watercolor-ish on the left, and a more digital/kinda rendering? approach on the right

v Headcanons under v

- everytime he paints, he tends to get the paint all over ( you can see it in the painting lol) and even on his face and hair, hence the stain (haha so smart ikr)

- he has a tendency to forget things and will write them down on whatever paper/fabric/you name it, just to remember

- Looooves Inktober, always completes the challenge

- listens to music whenever he draws/paints, and usually spaces out and.....does something else instead

- He has soo soooo many drafts and unfished sketches (i mean, what artist doesn't have 300+ neglected wips- totally not m—)

- He designed the top he's wearing :))

- Because paint always got on his fingernails he thought painting them black would help (they didn't, it made the paint pop out more whenever it got on it even)

- He doesn't use a palette, his hands are the palette

- He has ink swirl tattoos

[sirtotallynotatimetraveler]

Day 30 - Bye Bye There!

HOLY CHEESUS CRUST FINALLY I'M DONE

[aeliem]

for @formelydailynowweeklykillersans's dtiys

this popped into my head the second i saw your post i meant to do this earlier but what can i say, procrastination is a bitch ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(i had so much trouble with the light trail lemme tell ya)

i forgot to record the timelapse :( here are some process pngs as compensation

[saltyb0ba]

im not even fixated on ratchet and clank rn i just like these silly guys

[gelangci]

(Sl)Ash, because we love him

This is a DTIYS by @itsxroxannex

first time doing DTIYS, and I love how this turns out :>

the original below the undercut :D

(i love your art so much and halo dari Indonesia (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧)

[v-albion]

@hitokshellart BIRTH 🫵 + dtiys

(Hope you have a wonderful day and have your boys being cuddly in soft sunset)