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AI art "why did I make this" featuring #Kemonomimi and #Girl

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why did I make this

if any of u guys seen my account for a while u probably saw a gubby art. thought about improving it with tsubaki 3. also ignore how weird the dialogue is

#Kemonomimi #Girl

Published on Oct 24, 2026

𝄞 ּ ֶָ֢. zipper !! 🐾

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1girl, solo, tanned skin, dark tan, white hair, short ponytail, rabbit girl, white rabbit ears, rabbit tail, short stubby white tail, yellow eyes, white eyelashes, pouty lips, looking at tv, off-shoulder shirt, white shirt, off-shoulder white shirt with flat colored no-outline peanut butter jar drawing on chest, blue shorts, white socks, barefoot, no shoes, toes visible, sitting on couch, holding game controller, both hands on controller, living room, tv on, focusing on tv, front view, facing viewer, speech bubble, sitting, knees up, leaning forward, couch, television glow, indoor, night Front view, the girl sits square to the camera on a deep-cushioned couch, her weight settled onto her right hip with her left knee drawn up and her left foot braced flat against the seat cushion, right leg folded under her, so the pose is lopsided and easy rather than symmetrical. Both hands wrap a chunky dark-grey game controller held low over her lap, thumbs resting on the sticks, index fingers curled over the shoulder buttons, wrists slack — she is between inputs, mid-cutscene, not mid-mash. Her chin is tipped down a fraction and her eyes are cut hard to the left of frame, pupils pinned to the television off-screen left, the yellow irises catching a thin cold rim of screen light so the gaze reads as fixed and unblinking; her pouty lips are pressed into a small downturned purse, lower lip pushed out, one white brow drawn slightly lower than the other in a sulk halfway between apology and confession. White rabbit ears rise from the crown of her head, one angled up and one flopped outward, twitching very slightly; her short white ponytail is gathered high at the back and juts out to the right, its tip flicking over the collar of the shirt. The off-shoulder white shirt has slipped off both shoulders so the bare tanned slopes of her shoulders and the whole line of her collarbones are exposed, the neckline riding low across her chest; centered on the chest, printed flat in solid color with no outline at all — a clean peanut-butter-brown jar shape with a paler lid band and a slab of flat tan filling — sits the drawing of the peanut butter jar, crisp-edged against the white cotton and unshaded, like a sticker pressed flat into the fabric, the cloth pulling and creasing faintly around it as she leans. Blue shorts, cuffed and soft, cover her hips and upper thighs where they meet the couch; white socks are pulled up her calves, their ribbed cuffs slightly slumped, and her feet are bare inside them — heels and toes pressing into the cushion, right toes curled up against the fabric, an impressed dent spreading in the cushion under her right hip and a shallow trench where her left foot pushes. A short stubby white rabbit tail pokes out from under the hem of the blue shorts against the seat, a compact round puff of fur. The couch dominates the lower and middle frame: a worn grey-blue fabric three-seater with a deep seat and a couple of slouched cushions, one cushion compressed and shoved back behind her shoulder, the fabric seam running horizontally behind her hips. Behind her, the living room recedes slightly out of focus — a low shelf on the right with a stack of cases, a lamp with its shade dark, a wall with a framed rectangle too soft to read. The only light source is the television, off-screen to the left: a cool blue-white key that strikes the left side of her face, her left ear, the left shoulder and the near edge of the peanut butter jar print, leaving the right half of her face and the right side of the couch in warm shadow, and throwing a long soft shadow of her left ear and ponytail across the couch back to the right. Her white socks pick up a faint pale bounce where the screen light hits her shins; the rest of the room stays dim, the darkness beyond the couch reading as a real unlit room, not blackness. Palette held to tanned skin, white, the flat peanut butter brown of the print, blue shorts, and the cold blue-white of the screen — nothing else competing. To the upper left of her, beside her ear and clear of her face, a rounded white speech bubble with a short tail pointing to her mouth holds black hand-lettered text in four lines, reading exactly: "Sorry, Kreek. Didn't do my chores. Also I finished the peanut butter." Guilty, cozy.

why did I make this

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