#flourescent orange

[prinnay]

Sword girl, 18 x 24 acrylic paint and marker on paper

[holy-reference-in-a-username]

Can you draw your au tom and canon tom hanging out?

c'mon canon tom, don't tell me you haven't been to the Non-Canon Void before!

[raspberry-beret]

Art Weekend - Orange Alert (Flourescent Orange on White Tulips) by Stephanie Syjuco

In her "Hard Light" series, Stephanie Syjuco uses spray paint to modify white lilies and tulips, native to Asia and cultivated through colonial trade. Purposefully reminiscent of the 'Hard Light' Photoshop filter that amplifies lighting, Syjuco applies an artificial color that both negates and highlights cultural differences. Painting white flowers in white creates a double whiteness while using bright colors alerts the viewer to these changes.

[tincansamurai]

gee i wonder if these carrots i forgot about in my fridge had any food dye added to them... it's impossible to know

[technicolorxsn]

I have some black light paint but I don't have a black light so I have no idea if it actually works

[artgletic]

PREVVVVVV THANK YOUUUUU i drew another for you ( :

so theres this embodiment of deception...

[cxptainthree]

Mancando Doloroso

It was his fifth, maybe sixth attempt at climbing the Spire.

The shooter in his hands felt weighty and unwieldy; he knew his way around a splattershot, sure, but this one was hard to manage. Every shot left him feeling drained.

"It's a part of their soul," Marina had supplied so helpfully when Sen confided the heaviness the weapon provided.

He didn't think Delta had had so much to weigh on them to make this sleek white shooter feel like lead in his hands. It made him feel...actually, he wasn't sure how to feel. So, he doubled down and didn't let himself dwell on it.

The floor ahead loomed, cast in harsh flourescent light; even from behind the bars of a silver cage, Sen could see his opponent waited on the opposite side of the room.

There were two to start, this time. The twentieth floor was never kind, the fragmentation more severe. It made Sen's chest ache. The cage dropped out from under him, and Pearl caught him without hesitation.

She rambled off something he wasn't listening to and must have realized his attention lie elsewhere because she fell silent halfway through her sentence. The unusual stop almost jerked Sen back to the present, but he was determined.

The first of the masked inklings dropped in, wielding a brush. Its shiny metal face flashed as it swung at Sen, red eyes faulting for a moment as they searched for where he'd dropped into his own ink.

Swiftly, Sen lunged up from the muted orange ink, grappling one-handedly with the opposing inkling. He stuck his foot out; they tripped over it, stumbling, and it gave Sen purchase to wrench the brush out of their hands.

"Delta," he said firmly, pulling the inkling out of the sickly black ink they were standing in and into his own. The masked inkling tilted their head, trying to shove him away.

"Stop," Sen pleaded, low voice insistent. "Delta, I want to help you."

The inkling shook their head, voice warped by the smooth metal mask on their face. The heavy ink coating their body wavered, damaged by Sen's own. The octoling squeezed their wrist, mouth ajar to say something else, when they fell apart into a puddle of ink that stuck to his palm and oozed between his fingers, into the white of his shoes.

Sen jolted back, returning his grip to the shooter in his hands. The weight of it made him want to cringe, as the second of his opponents finally caught up to him. The ex-agent didn't hesitate to strike the roller down; the expression on his face easily read as disturbed.

Pearl whizzed close to his ear, making Sen tilt his head to avoid the blades of the drone's propeller.

"Hey!" She bumped into his shoulder purposefully. "Eight, c'mon. Get your head in the game!"

Sen opened his mouth and shut it again, widening his stand. The next wave was starting. He had to get through to at least one of them.

A blaster-wielding copy of the inklings from before rushed him, it's shots popping in the space between them and spattering slick black ink across the empty ground. Sen had neglected to claim any turf between waves; he was paying for it now.

The blaster gave him no room to get in close, and Sen shot them down without a second thought. It didn't get any easier to watch them succumb to the onslaught and their body liquefy into an unrecognizable stain on the floor.

Sen peppered off a few shots, hiding the evidence of the kill. He rounded on the next - a slosher insistent on trying to cover as much ground as possible. The octoling gritted his beak, grinding his fangs together. He threw caution to the wind and rushed the slosher.

The cloying black ink sprayed over him, seeping through his armor and shattering some pieces of the holographic tech. Regardless, Sen got what he wanted; he raised his knee quickly, jostling the slosher out of his adversary's hands. It clattered uselessly to the ground.

The inkling paused and drew their hands to their chest. They ran.

"No!" Sen lunged after them, giving chase, but the inkling pitched over the side of the platform and into the endless abyss below. Sen went off the side after them.

His hand caught in the deployed handle Pearl had to offer, and with some difficulty, she righted him on the platform of the room again. The drone deployed a bomb, which bounced to the feet of an approaching brella. It got caught in the brella's shield and exploded, spraying orange ink into the face of another masked inkling.

That one pitched backward, sinking unceremoniously into a puddle of ink.

"Eight," Pearl's projected eyes narrowed. "What's going on? Come on, take care of this!"

Sen waved the drone off. He was running out of chances.

"I have to get one of them alone," he looked up at Pearl, who wavered in midair; she was unsure of where he was going with this.

Pearl tilted up in the direction of the enemy cage, already bringing along another brush. "You got it."

Sen nodded. The octoling was glad to have her support.

The brush was another bust; this one never even made it to him, caught in his ink. Briefly, Sen wished he hadn't invested in those poison ink chips, wanting to tear them right out of the palette if it meant he could get his hands on one of these masked inklings.

The roller gave him more trouble than he'd admit, tracking wide swaths of black ink across the floor that had Sen frustrated. He gunned them down out of impulse and moved on.

Pearl, to her credit, tried to get the blaster in a corner. Unfortunately, she lost track of them under a swarm of jelletons that the enemy drone deployed. Occupying herself as a sprinkler to try and cover ground, Pearl didn't notice the blaster until it had already fallen prey under a poorly-placed bomb. Sen watched the altercation out of the corner of his eye and resolved to forgive her botched effort.

He was down to the dualies and the shooter; the latter seemed to have perched at the top platform, watching Sen's desperate display from the safety of its ledge. He had no doubt they'd come down and face him when they were good and ready.

The dualies certainly were eager to take a shot at him, and their mobility gave Sen a real run for his money. He struggled to keep up.

The octoling frowned to himself, sidestepping as the inkling came rolling right past him. He lunged at them, knocking one dualie out of their hand and pushing them down on uninked ground.

Pearl hovered nearby, spinning nervous circles. The shooter-wielding inkling watched from above.

Sen pinned his target's chest under his hips, knee dug painfully into their wrist.

"Delta," he pleaded for what felt the dozenth time since he started this endeavor. "Please, I don't want to fight you."

He dropped his shooter aside. The absence of weight as it left his hands had Sen feeling more confident. His fingertips traced the edge of the inkling's mask, and they stopped struggling.

Sen's hearts sank in his chest. The seam of the mask was completely smooth, as if the shiny metal had been fused into their face.

"No," he mumbled, trying to dig his claws down. The inkling under him writhed as thin beads of black ink pushed up around his sharp nails. "No, no, no. Delta, please."

The inkling tried to kick him off, and Sen nearly let them. He tried again to pry up the mask, and it was starting to give. The octoling slid his fingertips under the edge as it rose. His mouth watered unpleasantly as more black ink oozed out from under the mask, frighteningly warm. It stuck to the inside of the mask as he pried it off.

There was nothing underneath. The inkling splattered into a puddle under his knees.

"Eight!" Pearl warned, deploying a suction bomb.

Instantly, Sen grabbed his shooter and rolled to the side. The enemy shooter had joined the fight with a massive splashdown.

Sen's vision blurred. He wanted to be sick. He didn't have time.

"Looking for me?" The inkling's voice warbled.

Sen got to his feet. The shooter was approaching casually; unsure, Sen's body tensed as he waited for the inevitable attack. It didn't come. Pearl puttered nervously nearby.

"Sen," the voice went on, as the inkling toed the line of Sen's orange ink. "Come here."

He shook his head and gripped tight on his shooter so much that he nearly squeezed the trigger on accident. A part of him wasn't sure if he was refusing the order or warning them not to step into his ink in its poisoned state.

The inkling pressed on, beginning to struggle through the ink towards Sen. It was clear they were taking damage.

"Delta," he breathed as the inkling adversary suddenly dropped their weapon. This had never happened before. Why now? "Please, let me - let me help you."

"Sen," Delta's voice skipped and pitched in weird ways, "Sen it hurts, please - make it stop - where's Gamma?"

Then sharp static cut through their voice, and Delta's head rolled to the side limply. They fell to their knees, silvery mask beginning to slide off their face. Tarlike ink oozed against it as the metal clattered to the floor, still connected by thick ropes of viscous ink.

Delta's body dropped limply to the floor. Sen sank to their side, weapon discarded; his hands pulled fistfuls of their blackened jacket into his grasp.

He begged, quietly, for them not to disappear; even if he knew that they'd fight again. He wouldn't be able to explain it to Gamma: that he'd failed, that he was going to fail again and again and again.

Over, and over, and over and over again.

Delta's body was quickly liquefying under his touch, a thin veneer of semi-transparent ink floating atop the thick black. Sen's stomach churned as he recognized it as blood.

[is-the-snake-video-cute]

What are some really colorful snake species/morphs that are ethical to keep as pets? I know there's quite a few iridescent species of snake, but what about snakes that are just super vibrant and colorful?

Oh, there are so many!

You can get a cornsnake in almost any color you want, with vibrant pinks and oranges and yellows! If you love colorful snakes, check out flourescents.

If you love iridescence, check out kingsnakes. They have smooth, glossy bellies that shine like rainbows in the right light. I especially love the iridescence on Mexican black kingsnakes.

Speaking of kingsnakes, I'm absolutely besotted with lavender albinos. Photographs never do them justice, but they're a lovely dark pink/light purple color with dark red eyes and they're beautiful.

Banana enchi ball pythons. They're stunning.

Speaking of enchi ball pythons, enchi clowns. Probably my personal favorite ball python morph!

If you love colorful and you're an experienced keeper looking for a display snake, Amazon tree boas are the way to go.

There are so many incredibly vibrant and beautiful snakes out there that make great pets!

[dandunn]

https://www.inprnt.com/gallery/jessebuckart/melting-rabbits/

Print of this is now available!

//I'M FINE WITH IT

I'M FINE

I'M FINE IT'S OKAY!!!!!!!!!!///

[peachetteprice]

27 Hawthorn Court | Simon "Ghost" Riley

Chapter 4 - The Apple Falls Far

Chapter Summary:

Ruth has doubts about her previous endeavours with the investigation. Though her worries are soon dispelled after a familiar face invigorates some much-needed passion for justice.

1.8K Words

Content warning: mentions of alcohol (?)

Ruth entered the bar at no later than seven in the evening.

There was a dainty whisper of a piano and saxophone harmonising in some form of light jazz - though she was never much of a connoisseur - shrouded by tangerine and fuschia flourescent lights which somehow possessed the ability to amplify the band's smooth tones, handily concealing any discolour Ruth felt about those case files by virtue of bewitchment.

It was a dark and damp evening, all things considered. The only thing that could have salvaged her mood was a heavy drink and some menial chatter with the bartender.

So, she approached the bar, and - after waiting for some time, clearly understanding the general predicament Ruth had gotten herself into - the bartender asked with concern;

"What can I get you?"

Ruth sighed.

There was nothing she could have done except sigh. It wasn't her place to inform anyone of her own broken hubris, let alone a bartender privy to the most detrimental of secrets. Dissolving marriages, petty crime, cheating scandals; it was his day-to-day, and it was in Ruth's best interest not to become part of his orderly convoy of discussion for the next patron.

"Give me your strongest," she muttered, bottom writhing on a stool too small for her. 

It was such a subtly aggravating predicament.

After some time, as the bartender rooted beneath the bar top for a drink suitable for a grown woman, he swiftly placed it before her.

Ruth stared at it for a moment before saying;

"I said your strongest, George." She sighed. Because George was playing 'barkeep', and she was his sole customer, though he wasn't doing a very good job at it. "You can do better than orange juice."

And he likely could. 

It was then, that, only a few moments later - after a rummage through the cabinet on his hands and knees (which was really a wicker basket full of snacks and cartons of juice) - the bartender produced apple juice, this time, placing it before Ruth with a proud smile

"That's more like it," she hissed with adoration, stabbing the straw through the flimsy sheath of aluminium foil, "did you have a good day at school?"

"Yeah." His eyes wavered around the bar, and Ruth watched them ardently as he spoke. "But Molly stole my brachiosaurus."

"Why did she steal your brachiosaurus?" 

"I don't know." Muttered George, and he went straight back to wiping stains along the bar top with a heavy-machinery-themed rag where there were none. 

So, there was silence. And Ruth let it hang.

Perhaps she was thinking of how her own day went, uneventful and uninspired as she crawled through the streets of Greater Manchester on roads too choked with traffic and suffocated by people too idiotic for their own aspiring ideals. It was a day of rampant teenagers stealing their parent's cars and running them dry around the estates, middle-aged alcoholics starting public brawls in the car parks of Asda and Tesco - a national issue - and faux calls from elderly ladies complaining about pieces of litter discarded in their front gardens. 

"How did you feel when she stole your brachiosaurus?" Ruth was palming over the text on the rear of the carton, now, reading line by line. No added sugar, no added colouring, naturally sourced ingredients.

"I felt sad."

Sad. Huh.

Ruth knew a little bit about feeling sad. Dull, she would have called it, not wanting to give anybody the impression she was streaming tears in the shower on a dark night or onto her pillowcase before she fell asleep. Dull was a feeling she felt often, and in small waves, though sometimes big - but nothing more than a wailing rumble because that was a different feeling entirely - and it was one she knew rather well, too. It wasn't her favourite emotion, per se, but it might have been her most default one

It was intruiging, it truly was - George's predicament, that was - and she wished to further the conversation, probing

"Did ya feel anything else?"

George pondered for a moment, eyelashes fluttering against the sprig of curls in front of his forehead. He'd need a trim soon. "Maybe a little bit angry." He whispered, almost as if it was a secret he shouldn't tell.

"Angry. Because it was precious to you? Your brachiosaurus."

George thought, napping a carton of apple juice for himself, and - although it was almost seven-thirty and he wasn't allowed sugar before bedtime - Ruth thought he might have needed it and let it slide. "Yeah. And it was mine."

"It was yours." She affirmed, sucking the last dribbles from the bottom of the carton. 

"Molly was being mean." He grumbled, flicking the curl of hair from his own forehead. He had the most beautiful set of locks, did George, and he was the spitting image of his father when he was younger, too. Bright, gleaming blue eyes and sweet bulbous cheeks that crinkled whenever he smiled.

George was the complete antithesis of Ruth. She had dark, rather frazzled-looking brown hair from too much styling in her younger years - much more monotone and less saturated than George's - and matching brown eyes, though if the lighting was generous, they almost shone with flecks of gold.

"Did'ya shout at her to give it back?" Ruth pondered, smiling a little as she spoke.

"Daddy said you shouldn't shout. He said that if you ask politely, they'll give it back."

Hm. Daddy. Chris, he was called. A bastard of a man. 

"And did she?" Ruth brushed the hair from his eyes, ensuring it wouldn't irritate his lashes anymore.

George simply nodded, intent on drinking his before expelling his thoughts.

Yes, he explained. She did give it back because she was just being a little bit mean, but not loads mean. Otherwise, she wouldn't have given it back. If Molly was being loads mean - and George was really dragging out the vowels in 'loads' - he would have called on the teacher to intervene, of course, because that's how dynamic in a reception classroom prevailed.

"Why d'you think Molly stole your brachiosaurus?" She repeated, barely remembering she'd asked it earlier.

George gulped down the last droplets of juice, blinking blankly, before answering;

"Maybe she was lonely."

Maybe she was lonely.

What drivel.

There was a full glass of wine, now - to the rim, in fact - within Ruth's palm. The case files were on her lap, including her typed notes at her hip. Truth be told, there wasn't much to say about it. The affinity she felt to that little boy, plagued eyes boring through her skull, was crippling. The suspect's disposition, moreover, equally so, just as were the troubling words spoken by Price in the booth of the McDonald's in Sale.

"Lonely..." She sighed, finger travelling the circumference of the glass.

Perhaps she was lonely, too. Perhaps she needed a drink elsewhere, somewhere a little more crowded, a little more stuffed with people who could talk her ears off - whether they were a part of her conversation or not.

Yes, that was it.

She needed a drink.

And so, by nine, she had adorned her newest pair of black heels - ones with thick wedged soles and velvet trim - with a smart top with jeans. She wasn't one for princess dresses or overt makeup, nor did she wish to see any of her colleagues (or God-forbidding, any of her previous convicts) in an outfit that showed more than its provocation whenever she bent at the waist.

By ten, she was sitting in the pub with a vodka and coke in hand - though, it was more at her fingertips as they lazily drawled over the side of glass, smearing the condensation along - eyes transfixed on the bartender as he shifted from one side of the bar to the other with a smile that could only be described as 'over-compensating'.

It took another few minutes of silence before anyone approached her. She might have accepted the invitation to conversation, had she not recognised the stranger beside her who did, unfortunately, try.

"I didn't take ya for a vodka-and-coke drinkin' woman."

That voice. Deep, gruff, heavy.

John Price.

"I don't wanna talk." Spat Ruth.

Clean, cut, and straight to the point. The truth was, she hadn't come to the pub for chatter with a man like him. His words squirmed through her mind like the fall-out from a bad ear infection, and she despised another set of his words compounding the agony.

"Thought I'd thank ya." His lips smacked in the plenary of an awkward moment. "For bein' so professional and giving the case up, that is."

The case. The case files. They were still in her home. On her piano stand, where she'd also placed her unfinished glass of wine that was probably brewing with a layer of dust, now. And here was John Price, right beside her, shoulders occupying the air made for two. Maybe he knew. Maybe he knew she had taken the case files (or at least taken copies of them, at least), and he was there to confront her about it with every inch of his brooding six-foot stature.

"S'that it?" Questioned Ruth. 

"Sure." He nodded, flexing his chest with a gruff groan. "Wanted a bit of conversation, that's all. One investigator to another."

"Sorry." She huffed, fingertips turning wrinkled from the condensation on the outside of her glass. She still hadn't touched it, not in five minutes. Not since John sat down beside her. "Guess m'not in the mood tonight."

"Fair enough." He sniffed, palm running along the wood grain of the bar top. "I'll leave you be, then."

The thought was swift to occur - alarmingly so, even - as John stepped from the bar stool, his head still firmly aligned with hers on the vertical. And the thought was, in no fewer words than some:

"What's gonna happen with the case?" 

It made John come to a standstill. In the few seconds following, he paused, pondered, and pivoted himself back towards her. His shoes were already pointing in her direction, that, they both could see, but he had since adjusted the tilt of his shoulders so that his eyes could more easily glide over her face. Ruth looked back at him, pupils bloated, a worried knot niggling her brow. 

Neither knew what the other was thinking.

And neither, for a rather long time, said anything.

Until John, being the bigger - albeit only - man, grumbled;

"It'll get sorted, Wyatt."

And, after that very sentence, Ruth could only think of one thing. It plagued her every thought, caused an even larger kink to dig into her brow, and sent another queue of thoughts to sit pending as the current wasted away behind her eye sockets. And the thought was, of all possible thoughts;

If she had stolen his brachiosaurus, it was a bloody massive one.

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[plasticsparkphotos]

Transformers: Shattered Glass - Grimlock

Today's #deskbot pal. I absolutely love the color layout on this guy in bot mode. The flourescent orange and purple just work so well. I am a halloween person though, so that might also help 😅

#transformers #grimlock #shatteredglass

[soylent-crocodile]

Red Bulborb (Monster)

(Copyright Nintendo, Artist Unknown)

(I don't know why the Pikmin wiki's version of this art has a flourescent blue background, but I am not an image editor nor could I find better version of this art, so that's what we're using.

I'll be posting Pikmin homebrew for the next two weeks! My history with Pikmin is a funny one- I have been fascinated by its fanciful creatures since one of my classmates brought in the Prima guide to Pikmin 1 in middle school, but I didn't much play the games until the first two were rereleased on Switch this summer. I did rent the original back when that was a thing, and I own Pikmin 3 for the Wii U, but I got particular far in neither. Instead, I watched Chuggaaconroy's Let's Plays, in fact finding him through an attempt to watch, rather than play, Pikmin.

Now, though, I've finished Pikmin 1 twice and started- and paused- Pikmin 2. I adore the setting and its creatures more than ever, and this blog here is how I express that love. So here's bulborbs!)

Bulborbs are strange nocturnal omnivores, neither insect nor mammal, who dwell in forests. Most bulborb are about the size of a songbird, stalking the undergrowth for insects and roots to devour, but a few grow much bigger.

The giant bulborb is a species the size of a turkey, and is farmed in some places. Its rump and snout are both very meaty, with the rump in particular being a rich combination of fat and muscle that is described as having a sweet, flavor closest to pork. Rare and dangerous, however, is the maneater bulborb, an aberrantly huge creature named for its ability to devour travelers and hunters whole.

There are many varieties of bulborb. The orange bulborb is a more dangerous and particularly alert species that can be represented by giving it the Advanced simple template and an additional +2 to Wisdom. The whiptongue bulborb is known for its anteater-like tongue it uses to collect large masses of insects, and can be represented by replacing the bulborb's bite attack with a tongue attack that has grab. In the giant bulborb, this attack has a 10ft reach and deals 1d3 damage, and in the maneater bulborb, this attack has a 30ft reach and deals 1d6 damage.

Giant Red Bulborb can be taken as a familiar.

Red Bulborb Companion

Starting Statistics: AC: +4 Size: Medium Speed: 30ft Attack: Bite (1d6 plus Grab) Ability Scores: Str:17 Dex:12 Con:14 Int:1 Wis:15 Cha:6 Special Qualities: Swallow Whole (1d6 Acid)  7th Level Advancement:AC: +4 Size: Large Speed: 40ft Attack: Bite (1d8 plus Grab) Ability Scores: Str:+4 Dex:-4 Con:+4 Special Qualities: Swallow Whole (2d6 Acid)

Red Bulborb, Giant

This bright red, turkey sized animal waddles around on two tiny legs, giant stalked eyes watching for food. Misc- CR½ TN Small Animal HD1 Init:+2 Senses: Perception:+4 Low-Light Vision Stats- Str:13(+1) Dex:14(+2) Con:12(+1) Int:1(+0) Wis:10(+0) Cha:6(-2) BAB:+0 Space:2.5ft Reach:0ft Defense- HP:6(1d8+1) AC:13 (+2 Dex, +1 Size) Fort:+3 Ref:+4 Will:+0 CMD:12 (-2 vs Trip) Weakness: Vulnerable to Fire  Offense- Bite +2(1d4+1) CMB:+0 Speed:20ft Feats- Iron Will Skills- Perception +4 Ecology-Environment- Forests (Temperate) Languages- None Organization- Solitary Treasure- None

Red Bulborb, Maneater

This massive creature is apparently all head and ravenous maw, with only stalk eyes, two avian legs, and a bright red rear to contrast its large mouth. Misc- CR4 TN Large Animal HD6 Init:-1 Senses: Perception: +11, Low-Light Vision Stats- Str:21(+5) Dex:8(-1) Con:18(+4) Int:1(+0) Wis:15(+2) Cha:6(-2) BAB:+4 Space:10ft Reach:5ft Defense- HP:51(6d8+24) AC:16 (-1 Dex, -1 Size, +8 Natural) Fort:+9 Ref:+6 Will:+4 CMD:19 (-2 vs Trip) Weakness: Vulnerable to Fire  Offense- Bite +8(1d8+5 plus grab) CMB:+10 (+2 to Grapple) Speed:40ft Special Attacks: Swallow Whole (4d6 Acid, AC14, 13HP) Feats- Lightning Reflexes, Skill Focus (Perception), Power Attack (-2/+4) Skills- Sleath +5, Perception +11 Ecology-Environment- Forests (Temperate) Languages- None Organization- Solitary, Huddle (1 Maneater Bulborb, 1-3 Giant Bulborb) Treasure- None

[mlmxreader]

Yellow Daffodils | Kyle Gaz Garrick x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Hi! Hope you're doing well, saw you were writing for Gaz!

So happy! , he's so underrated :(((

Could I rest the prompt Surprising the other with a gift with him please?

Thank you, have a good night!!! ❞

: ̗̀➛ Gaz is always full of surprises when it comes to you, and every time you think he's done, he pulls out another.

: ̗̀➛ swearing

↳ DNI if you interact with rape porn/noncon, proship, profic, DDNE/dead dove, etc. stay the fuck away from me <3

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Pop music was playing over the radio, much to Gaz's disdain as he shoved his hands in his pockets and scanned the shelves with his eyes; he did his best not to grumble and shake his head, hearing Robbie Williams' 'Candy' play loudly throughout the building. It was a headache, honestly, and he could not stand it.

It was a shame, really, as he looked up and down the shelves trying to find the right object he was looking for. He did it every time he returned from active duty, always concealing it behind his back as a surprise even though he was an awful liar when it came to you.

Last time it was a triceratops, before that Basil Brush. Now he was torn between an otter and a bison. It was true that Gaz did prefer to pick out the softer and fluffier ones for you, just as you always did prefer to pick out the more realistic and coarse ones for him.

You knew each other far too well, although you still knew that there was no one in the world you were more fond of, and no one in the world that you would have rather been stuck with for life.

Gaz knew that well, a small smile coming to his face as he paused and gently picked up the otter; it's brown faux fur was soft to the touch, and its big round eyes made it look like it was the happiest little thing in the world.

He nodded, content enough with his choice before he tossed it into the shopping basket and continued his round throughout the shop; again, Gaz paused.

Although this time he was surrounded by an abundance of flowers of pink and blue and orange and white and... and in the far corner, hidden amongst some roses and some thistled, a perfectly full-yellow bunch of daffodils.

Gaz grinned, licking his lips as he picked them up and admired them.

Every petal was a gorgeous, vibrant, almost golden colour that seemed to glisten and gleam beneath the flourescent lights; the stigma and style were the same colour, fading into a softer greenish yellow towards the filament and anthers.

Sitting atop bright green stems, they looked so proud that even the see-through plastic covering at the bottom could not take away from it.

Slowly and carefully, Gaz laid the bunch of flowers in the basket, humming softly to himself in content; you always got him flowers, every Thursday and every Sunday, and yet he could rarely return the favour. He grabbed a second bunch, if only to make up for some lost time at least.

Still, he continued onto the next aisle, picking up a packet of good biscuits, a box of his favourite teabags, a jar of your favourite coffee and, most importantly out of the lot, a card for you.

Gaz was quick to head to the self checkout, hands shaking as he hastily scanned every item before paying and bagging it all up, practically bolting out of the shop and towards his car.

He nearly dropped the fucking keys before he managed to get in, grinning and tugging at his seat belt so hard that it stalled.

But still, with the shopping bag in the back seat, Gaz was giddy; putting on his usual playlist, which was a mix of Cannibal Corpse and Infant Annihilator and Sabaton among some others. Singing along loudly as he followed the familiar roads that he knew all so well.

Gaz knew that he was home again, he knew that the winding roads and the gentle breeze and the driveway he had painted black all meant that he was home at last. He paused for a moment once he parked the car, looking at the house with a big smile on his face.

Just a few metres and he would be home properly, and he would not have to leave. He felt his shoulders shoulders slump when he picked up the bag, locking the car and opening the front door; his jaw stopped clenching when he entered the house and saw you there.

You grinned, opening your arms as you beckoned him forward. "Hi, baby."

Gaz grinned as he hid the bag behind his back, closing the distance and softly kissing your cheek as you put your hands on the sides of his shoulders. "Good morning, darling."

You licked your lips, pulling away from him slightly so that you could hold his face in your hands. "You're home."

He nodded, slowly blinking as he hummed ever so quietly under his breath. "I'm home now, for good... and I got you these."

He pushed the bag gently against you, giddy as he waited for you to take the flowers out; with the bag on the kitchen side, you admired the pretty yellow petals for a moment, taking a long sniff as you closed your eyes and nodded.

"Oh, Kyle, they're gorgeous..."

"Gorgeous flowers for the most handsome person I know," he mused. "And there's some for you, too, of course."

You rolled your eyes fondly, shaking your head. "I can't believe you got me flowers..."

"I saw 'em and immediately thought of you," he said softly. "I know they're your favourite, anyway."

You took another sniff of the flowers, trying not to laugh loudly. "I fucking love you so much... I can't believe you actually bought flowers..."

"You get me flowers all the time," Gaz chuckled softly. "It's about time I paid it back a little, don't you think?"

You could only smile as you shook your head. "Y'know, Gaz, just when I think you're done with surprises... you always pull something about."

Gaz shrugged, taking the opportunity to pull his phone out; he opened up the camera app, held it steady, and took the picture before you could stop him. "And you just provided me with a new wallpaper."

"You're terrible," you laughed softly, daring to close the distance and kiss his cheek softly. "I love you."

[vaguelyregrettable]

Sidney dreams of Hell

Dreams of orange flames and passed life streams

Her entrance is announced like an hourly sale over a cheerfully monotone speaker

Everyone welcome our newest guest, Sidney the sinner

We hope you enjoy your time here, we know we'll enjoy you

Signs hang overhead, bold fonts and lowered prices

Every day is golden here, let us know if you're not smiling

Racks fill the eye, shelves of nondescript, full of merchandis of even less

Some other lucky soul happened to win the contest today, lucky thousandth soul

From the gray gates of limbo, the great in between, everything begins to dance like mirages

Oasis after oasis, Sidney knows better than to chase water while surrounded by flame

But for every last penny of common sense, she can't determine where forward truly is

And so the arrows lit up, flourescent signs of extravagance, pointing ever deeper in

Memories decorated the hallway growing alongside her decided path

Like paintings being created for content the brushstrokes appeared at inhuman speeds

The inhuman creation of her past cast doubt on the validity of herself

If she was able to be conjured up so quickly, easily could she really be?

Aisle after aisle the manufacturing of life and after tormented her

The people around her stared, some screamed, most mumbled

The sounds of tortured souls, not quite as poetic as she'd hoped

A supermarket of misery, with a sale on irony

Dante was too much an artist to dream of such mundanity

Inferno had taken its stocks public, and investors had thoughts

With every human sized flame another robotic greeting

The coupon clippings littered the ground

Percentage savings on absolution

The halls of beige unfeeling flames stopped hard

A new void appeared, before blinking to life

We apologize for the interruption but today's adventure is brought to you by our sponsor

Droning on and on the voice fulfills its rigid lecture

A wash of gray overtakes the nothingness, a new depression to be cured by product

The next door is brought to you by the number one doctors trusted anti depressant

Sidney enters into a new circle of hell

Blistering cries, the kind she's expected, and sweltering heat

The apartments on fire and the alarms blaring

Sidney no longer dreams of hell

[rjalker]

here's a link to Hauntlight in Hero Forge...sorta. Hero Forge is lacking a lot of options.

"https://www.heroforge.com/load_config%3D512931406/"

Some clothes for it to wear in its anthropomorphized form. Pretend that's a giant eyeball on the face. Hero Forge doesn't have a cyclops option yet.

Flatland being Victorian, I assume ankles are likewise illegal

[ID: A cropped screenshot from HeroForge.com, showing a 3D character model with shiny ink black skin, leaning on a flourescent orange and yellow cane with its other hand on its hip, wearing a dress of dark and medium brown, with a two-layered skirt that reaches to the ground, and long sleeves. Its face has no mouth, eyes, or nose, but is orange with a black stripe down the center to mimic a single giant eye. End ID.]

You can see all my posts about hauntlight in chronological order here:

"https://rjalker.tumblr.com/tagged/hauntlight%20the%20irregular%20line/chrono"

[iheartliquor]

i dont like orange literally the only orange i like is the old streetlight orange, and also neon ultra neon flourescent orange and orange crush orange but paler and slightly more neon . but mainly dont like orange but i like the old streetlight orange, i miss it . i hate the fucking leds