#which I enjoy!

[cloudbattrolls]

Public Works

Kasolm Varzim | Present Night

Kasolm yawned as they rubbed conditioner into their curly hair; didn’t want it drying out, especially now that it was definitely the light season. Heat drifted through the city like the clouds up above, settling in like the fluffy plant seeds that blew around, gathering on the streets and sidewalks.

They looked in their ablution trap’s mirror, nodded in satisfaction, and rinsed their hands off before wiping them on a soft hand towel that had a pattern of statues on it.

Then they walked out of it, stretching, and paused to take a look at their cat, who opened one green eye to regard them as they passed her resting place on one of their wall-mounted shelves. 

“Bella, you bum.” They said affectionately. “Why do I keep you? You do nothing but shed.”

The fluffy white animal did not dignify her owner’s response with one of her own, and simply closed the eye again as her plume-like tail twitched slightly.

“That’s what I thought.” They said, shaking their head in mock chastisement. “You can’t even be bothered to give me an excuse. Who taught you rhetoric, eh? Os jovens são preguiçosos.”

The whispers sounded in their ears as usual while they walked to their front door, but equally as usual, Kas couldn’t make them out, and the amethyst necklace kept the worst of it at bay. It was practically imprinted into their dark gray skin with how much they wore it.

They smiled as they opened their door and locked it behind them, though they noted it could probably use a new coat of paint in a few perigees: the current blue was flaking off a bit. It had been a while since they’d last called for carpenter droids.

They yawned again, walking off down the sidewalk. Not one of their livelier nights, but enough energy to keep their appointment. Just so long as no one bombarded them with too many questions, it would all be ducky.

The park wasn’t too far; they’d have taken a bus otherwise. They preferred not to, though: they stuck out like a fine painting in a public bathroom, being a purple cusp on public transport. Their size didn’t help either; squeezing into a crowded area when they were wide and tall had gotten them dirty looks at least a double-dozen times.

It didn’t bother them much, but it wasn’t as if the highblood enjoyed such resentment either.

Especially now. 

They were growing accustomed to keeping their powers at a low ebb - feeling only passing sparks of growth, feeling, thoughts - but it wasn’t perfect. Getting too overwhelmed or exhausted put them at risk of being a magnet for all that, and nosing into others wasn’t their thing to begin with.

Or causing some other loucura like the living painting incident to happen. No, thanks; they could do without all that.

Kasolm smiled when they reached the park, relaxing as they came closer to the trees and the laughter and screams of the playing pupas and the occasional lusus. Just a little further to go.

“Mx. Varzim!” Called one of the waiting trolls - a young oliveblood. “Everything’s ready.”

They looked over the canvas and paints that had been set up for them, as well as the bucket of water, and nodded approvingly.

“Bom trabalho, you lot.” They said with a smile. “Nice, very nice. Let’s hope the kids don’t think it’s boring, ay?”

The olive looked a little worried, and the two lowbloods with him who’d helped set up - a yellow and a maroon - shrugged.

“That’s up to you, ain’t it?” Said the maroon, blunt if not unfriendly.

“Sure is, mano.” They agreed breezily. “All right - hora de começar. Stand back and make sure no wayward caretakers or nothing gets close to the canvas, please.”

“Yes, boss.” Said the yellowblood with a sarcastic salute that Kas chuckled at. The olive looked at them in worry and annoyance; he needn’t have bothered. The other two had worked with them before, unlike him. They knew Kas to be as mellow as a sleepy lizard.

They walked over and took out their big paintbrushes from their sylladex, the kind for wide sweeping brushstrokes. Tonight, with its warm air and smell of blooming trees and flowers, wasn’t a night for subtle work. 

Not as the wrigglers of various ages and castes filed in, some with curious expressions, others looking more skeptical or even slightly hostile, a few regulars whispering in excitement. Some sat in the provided plastic chairs; a few of the midbloods and a lowblood or two took out their own.

A few pigeons and gulls flew around the group, and Kas hoped they didn’t steal the grasped packets of snacks in anyone’s hands or decide to relieve themselves on their heads. They also hoped no one’s lusus decided to snap at one; that had happened before and it had been a mess to sort out, even if no one had gotten seriously hurt.

“All right, crianças!” They called in their loudest voice, and the talking mostly died down. “What color should I start with?”

“Blue!”

“Red!”

“No - gray!”

“Purple!”

“Piss yellow!”

Kas nodded at all the suggestions, even the last one from a kid who looked incredibly smug about what he’d just said.

“Ah, sorry, mano, my favorite yellow is the kind when your eyes are all gummy with sleep and you wanna be back in recupe and not at schoolfeeding.” They said with mock sorrow as they shook their head, and several of the kids laughed and crowed in agreement.

Even the one who’d spoken gave them a grudging hint of a smile.

They dipped their brush into it - turmeric and arrowroot powder, all natural pigments like ybe other colors - and began making bold, quick strokes across the canvas with little care for how or where they fit together.

“That doesn’t look like anything!” Called one kid, and Kas nodded in agreement.

“Not yet!” They called back. “Which color now?”

“Brown!” Yelled the boy from before. 

“Nice try.” Chuckled the purpleblood.

“Green? Blue!” Came the call from a few kids.

“Green it is.” Agreed Kas, and used a different brush to splatter the drops - crocus and indigo material mixed together - all over their existing strokes.

They added red, then black, then stopped for a moment. The canvas was now mostly covered in completely random strokes and splatters of paint; the whole thing looked like one of the abstract exhibits from their museum.

“Here comes the fun part.” The cusp said. “Now watch closely, and feel free to use your hands, ‘cause I don’t want anyone saying this is just illusion psi or voodoos. I got none of that. All I got…”

They dunked their paintbrushes in water, and put them aside, before reaching out a hand to touch the canvas.

The ingredients in the paints - parts of things that had once lived and grown - grew again, springing from the canvas and carefully weaving and blooming together into a cohesive piece of art, taking form into a cityscape full of light and color - all formed from carefully colored petals, leaves, and stems.

Music drifted from the canvas as well, the distant sound of dayclubs and street buskers. 

The sound of light season life.

“…is this.” Finished Kasolm with a proud smile as they took their hand away.

The kids broke into excited and disbelieving chatter, running up to touch the plants that burst into existence before their gray-hued eyes.

Kas stepped back, happy to let them pull on and even take parts of their work if they wanted. This wasn’t the museum; their park art was for the wrigglers, meant to be touched and played with. The flowers would die in a few nights anyway; they were just regular plants, despite how they’d been created.

They noticed the olive, too, was staring wide-eyed.

“I - I don’t understand.” He said. “Are you a psiionic?”

“Eh, close enough.” Kas said with a shrug.

“But you’re a highblood!”

“Don’t let it bother you, mano, I don’t. And I gotta live with it.” They said with a flippant tone and a shrug.

He looked…slightly afraid.

Kas softened a bit.

“I’m just an artist.” They assured him. “Don’t wanna be anything else, ay? Too stressful. Look at the kids, do they seem worried?”

Several of the children were throwing flowers at each other or feeding them to herbivorous lusii.

“No…” He said, his trailing off voice making it clear he didn’t put a lot of stock in that. Even though they doubted he was more than seven, at most.

“Are you worried about Kasolm?” Snorted Iolett, the maroon. “Don’t bother. I never met a more relaxed indigo. You think I’d work for some raging lunatic?”

“You would if they paid you good.” Shot back the yellowblood, Dakkry, and Iolett flipped him off as she went to clean up the canvas and paints, the former of which had been stripped mostly bare.

Kas laughed softly and yawned again. Reaching their limit, but hey, all worth it.

“Thanks, all.” They said with a wave to their helpers, the pair of lowbloods nodding back before returning to their bickering.

They didn’t bother worrying about the olive. Either he’d be a problem, or he wouldn’t.

They were just happy they’d found a way to use their powers without harm, a way that brought others joy and let wrigglers know for a moment that there was wonder in the world.

That made it all worth it.

[druid-for-hire]

[image id: a four-page comic. it is titled "immortality” after the poem by clare harner (more popularly known as “do not stand at my grave and weep”). the first page shows paleontologists digging up fossils at a dig. it reads, “do not stand at my grave and weep. i am not there. i do not sleep.” page two features several prehistoric creatures living in the wild. not featured but notable, each have modern descendants: horses, cetaceans, horsetail plants, and crocodilians. it reads, “i am a thousand winds that blow. i am the diamond glints on snow. i am the sunlight on ripened grain. i am the gentle autumn rain.” the third page shows archaeopteryx in the treetops and the skies, then a modern museum-goer reading the placard on a fossil display. it reads, “when you awaken in the morning’s hush, i am the swift uplifting rush, of quiet birds in circled flight. i am the soft stars that shine at night. do not stand at my grave and cry.” the fourth page shows a chicken in a field. it reads, “i am not there. i did not die” / end id]

a comic i made in about 15 hours for my school’s comic anthology. the theme was “evolution”

[katsinspats]

Thematically appropriate comic for Make a Terrible Comic Day!!

I saw the original post this morning and it made me get out of bed to make something, so thank u Pseudonym Jones mission accomplished

[hinamie]

make it vicious, take a stab

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

I am such a big Werewolf Stan advocate I had to jump on this particular train 🙏 (but I didn't really wanna commit to full line art, you guys understand)

Oh, and you guys aren't gonna believe this, but here's part two 🙌

[canisalbus]

[theoldkyokodied]

The Allegiance of the Ascended Vampire and the New God of Magic

[verflares]

(click for higher quality!) draconified link concept ive been chipping away at this past week ..... here's my funny little compendium concept for him:

"A heroic spirit has taken the form of this bestial dragon. Unlike it's kin, this creature exhibits an extremely aggressive disposition. It appears highly territorial, and will relentlessly chase down those who disturb its skywide patrols - of which it seems to be endlessly searching for either a long-time vassal or foe. Unfortunately, it seems the spirit within has long since forgotten exactly who it was looking for…"

[chloesimaginationthings]

Vanny mixed up FNAF Help wanted with Digital circus,,

[padmestrilogy]

love how jedi in the acolyte all think about attachment differently…when jecki says that sol shouldn’t keep holos of his former padawans and sol counters that memories help you grow. they feel like a real religion with their differing interpretations! and that’s what it’s all about, truly.

[stuckinapril]

One thing I’ve noticed about people in or entering their 30s is they don’t make as many compromises anymore. If someone doesn’t meet them halfway, is not up to standard, is just not where they’re needed to be, they’re just like “ok cool” and they move on from the person. Which is not to say they’re less empathetic or understanding, but more that they have learned that time is their most prized possession and they’re not willing to make massive compromises on it. They are not obsessed w the idea of fixing someone (bc the concept of fixing a person doesn’t really exist). They simply move on to someone who is up to par. I want that. I want to always move w the awareness that time is my most priceless belonging and I can never buy it back. Ever. So I have to use it wisely

[bluenoisen]

plunged into the deep end

[amphibianaday]

day 1527

[valtsv]

ah yeah!!! hanging with the freaks, losers, people with multiple sexual misconduct allegations, the sex pests, the maniupulators who hide behind progressive ideology,

where's the "that's a totally different sentence" tweet

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Not beating the allegations.

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[hinamie]

someone asked if i had ever drawn gojo with his scars, now i have :>