#irritable-skylark

[darkfictionjude]

I'm unsure about the tone of your response to my ask because it can be hard to tell over text I guess, but I was in no way implying that the situation would be equally bad for Jack and MC, but regardless I would still feel awful for them both given the time period if they get outed. Even present day is tough, though still harder on queer POC of course.

Oh I was fine 😭 I was just giving context on how Sky has strong backing compared to Jack. They’ll easily go after him but not overtly to Sky unless they’re really pushed the thing is they wouldn’t be outed. They would be blackilsted. Back then studio systems didn’t even like admitting they had workers who were queer they would use covert language and imply they were fired because they were unprofessional or something the only way they could possibly be outed is if paparazzi took compromising pictures and even then they wouldn’t publish a picture on the front page of two people of the same sex kissing they would blackmail the studio heads or the studio heads would catch wind of it and buy them off

[goodluckclove]

Dear The Internet,

It's late now and I'm about to go to bed but I. Hi Edgar. No I'm talking to the internet well I'm writing words for the Internet to read later.

Yeah it was really fun! The internet is nice and I like it a lot. I was talking to Katy and she says she can get me on something called the clock app which would be really convenient since. Why are you making that face? Watches irritate my wrist Edgar you know that. Anyways hang on I'm not finished yet.

Okay the internet I just wanted to thank you for being so smart and kind. When I was travelling and hanging out in libraries I had no one to talk to and I could always ask you questions and you. You never thought I was dumb or weird. Which really means a lot to. Edgar I'm okay. It just means a lot to me.

Okay. Okay I'll come to bed.

I hope we can talk again soon the internet I love you.

Your friend,

Skylark

[ninarobinson-author]

The Joe Goldberg Effect

The Joe Goldberg Effect

Is a basic ball cap all you need to blend in with the crowd and schmooze your way to the top of the social order? 

Joe is perfectly bland and boring. He isn't extreme in his attitude or manners. His clothing is indiscreet, wearing only the basics that might be found in any light academia wardrobe. It's as if he is a movie star hiding from the paparazzi and he thinks his baseball hat and black sunglasses are going to make him blend into the background- and he might be right. The only things that stand out about Joe are his rare 1967 Buick Skylark and his murderous obsessive compulsions. Take away those two things, suspend your belief and Joe might just be a master of disguise.

Joe doesn’t allow himself to get angry or show that he is irritated. He definitely doesn’t show his hand and he keeps his cards very close to his chest. Always careful not to let others see his true motives or the real meaning behind his actions. Joe is known for his calm and collected nature. He comes across as fair and rational-minded. He seems to do everything just right. Playing the perfect boyfriend, the responsible employee, or the friendly neighbor, whatever the situation calls for. He is the dad of the social group, he always plays like he is the responsible one, keeping everything under control and is always looking out for his friends. Although Joe fantasizes about the perfect woman and projects this image of the perfect girlfriend onto almost any girl he meets. Joe is also capable of projecting this fantasy onto others to see him as the perfect person they wish him to be. Whether romantically or not, Joe is able to get others to like him by making himself appear like the fantasy figure the person in front of him needs and wants him to be. It’s not like they want it to be Joe specifically, but when no one else is able to fill the role, Joe is more than willing to make their wish come true. Joe does this to get people to relax around him and fall in love with him, making it easier for him to get what he wants. Using his hypnotizing voice that is well suited for ASMR, Joe tells people what they want to hear, knowing that people will believe anything as long as it fits their version of the truth. 

Now that these people accept Joe and even rely on him they will be more likely to go along with what he wants so they can keep getting what they want, which is Joe fulfilling their needs by playing a role. Joe gets people to depend on his very presence. Joe is quiet and willing to let others talk his ear off spilling their guts to him. This creates a therapeutic effect and people begin to identify with Joe making him out to be a closer friend then is actually the case. Usually Joe knows way more about them than they do about him. Not realizing that they've been doing all the talking and not asking him anything about himself. Joe is the perfect blank slate for people to project on. They believe Joe is whoever they want him to be, their best friend, their perfect boyfriend, whatever meets their needs. People realize they need to have Joe around because he is so pleasant and comfortable to be around. Not to mention, Joe is usually the most helpful person in the room. Joe is willing to do more for a perfect stranger than that person's close friends and loved one's are willing to do. Joe looks for what people are lacking in their life and fulfills the demand. Joe is patient and knows that putting a little time in his relationships will go a long way. Sometimes you have to play the long game to win the war.

Just like how Joe can mold himself into what others want him to be, he can also mold people into becoming what he wants them to be. Getting inside of their spirit by mirroring the people around him, he makes them believe he is not so different from them. Once they feel like Joe is one of them, he can convince them to make changes they otherwise would not. Joe knows that people are not willing to surrender their beliefs and preferences for someone they just met. Joe knows that if you just pretend to show the same unique sense of style and taste, they will come to respect your opinion, because they see themselves in you. People love to believe that their way is superior and will want to stick to their own ideas. If they see themselves in you, then they will feel like agreeing with you is merely affirming their own ideas.

When Joe is unable to charm his way out of his tricky circumstances, he is willing to resort to lying. Lying in the heat of the moment can prove more than difficult, especially if you are one to crack under pressure when put on the spot or just not as quick witted to come up with a reasonable lie that you won't regret later. Remember, your lies must match your entire story and they will need to check out when others test them for their validity. Others may not do their research and check up on your whole background, so you may be able to get away with a white lie here and there.

Now Joe is one to investigate and check up on people, including searching through their background thoroughly with a fine tooth comb. To some, Joe is a stalker, but Joe knows that you cannot go into battle without knowing thy enemy. When we first meet a new person or enter into a new group of people, whether that's colleagues or a community, we are usually in over our heads and have no idea what is truly going on. There is always a story and people always have a past. Like Joe, we wouldn’t want our fantasies and preconceived projections of people to interfere with the facts of who these people really are. Even after getting to know a person, we may disregard what we learn about them and only continue to believe the first impression they had on us. Despite the fact that the reality may not align with the idealized version of that person we created in our minds. Often, only when it is too late, do we realize our mistake and find out how we’ve overlooked their actions and completely missed seeing them for who they really are. Misjudging people and situations can be avoided. By investigating, we are able to remove our rose-colored glasses before we enter the battlefield. Joe has a radar for pretenders and confidence men, maybe because he is one. As you can tell from Joe’s inner monologue, he doesn’t see the world the same way as others do. He is able to see through the facade of every person around him, seeing them for who they really are and seeing their true intentions. Although Joe may wear rose-colored glasses when it comes to love, he is usually able to see right past the masks people wear and the theater people play. Joe looks past the pretense and gets right down to the bare bones of a situation, sometimes literally.

The Joe Goldberg Effect is so intriguing, because we aren't used to seeing a weirdo like Joe be able to fool people into thinking he is this suave and smooth guy. Joe starts out having no girlfriend, he has no money, no friends, and no sanity. Yet, throughout the series, he is able to win the hearts of his love interests and enter into a circle of wealthy friends and acquaintances. Due to the genre and nature of the drama in the show, Joe uses this chameleon super power to the extreme, literally changing his name and whole identity. This doesn't mean that this power couldn't be used in a less extreme way. Perhaps the Joe Goldberg Effect can be used for more noble purposes.

If you want to understand a villain like Joe Goldberg and learn more about evil used for good, then you should read Villainism by Nina Robinson. Joe's villain origin story began with reading books, so here is a good one to start your library.

In Netflix's "You" Season 4 it looks like audiences will get to witness the peak of the "Joe Goldberg Effect." Joe's stalker tendencies, turned full on detective- as he is dubbed a "Sherlock Holmes" in this new season of "You." We will get to see how he changes his entire identity twice, Nick in Paris to Jonathon Moore the London professor. I guess the ball cap isn't enough to suffice for two whole identity changes, so this time around he's hiding his true identity behind a Hollywoodian beard. Will Joe Goldberg once again be able to charm his way up the social ladder now that he's dealing with what appears to be the most wealthy elite in the world?

Written by Nina Robinson

Feb. 5 2023

Villainism.com

Photos from Netflix's You (season 1,2,3,4)

Share this post: ❤️

[candyfloss-techno-hell]

A poem by Roger Waters

The Child Left Behind.

In dreams I drove abandoned, reckless Left the dead Mercedes on the pile Content to later pay the price of youth The child left behind.

I walked with mother in the garden The fat boy swung his thin cane at the fence She claimed his talent lay behond my ken and, Irritated that I could not understand I disengaged myself from mother's arm And fled up narrow back stairs to my room. With tiger strides you followed me, Determined then to make a stand But through hot tears I would not turn ; Enjoyed the moment of pursuit Testing like a child to see If you would really stay with me.

Waking then, you left the room for water And to snuff the candles out And, half asleep I feared the worst : I could not move, I could not shout.

At six o'clock I woke again You stirred ; your hand lay in my groin I turned first this way and then that You, sleeping, followed every move You stuck like sunshine to a cat. And blue skies burst into the dawn And linnets sang and skylarks soared And like a hatching lapwing chick I blinked and wondered at the scale of it And smelled the sheep And flung my body through the waterfall Where salmon rush in search of spawning grounds And thrashed in the crushed clover of new love : Bold, naked, stained, content Tan, strong, alive and spent

And raised upon one elbow then Across the meadow and the fen I saw a boy in khaki shorts and tartan shirt Who'd always thought that maybe if he did his best His dad would come home with the rest And who, although he tried and tried Mother, for she had to work, -Not meaning though to be unkind- Who mother often left behind. And that boy turned and caught my eye And then across the field of time I saw him flick his fringe and grin And recognize the man within And raise his fist, as if to say «We kept our faith, we stood our ground We did our best, we kept his trust. Our dad would have been proud of us.»

Then, turning to the riverbank He put more bread paste on his hook And felt the mud between his toes And fixed the shot and set the float And settled there to watch and wait And muse, and try some different bait And proudly from another time I watched the child left behind.

(from this interview, 3:01 )

[fantastic-rambles]

The Skylark’s Song [2/4]

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

Characters: Hibari Kyoya, Kusakabe Tetsuya, Namimori Middle Disciplinary Committee, Fon (mentioned)

Warnings: PTSD, Mild Language, Violence [A/N: Depiction of PTSD may not be accurate. I apologize if this bothers anyone.]

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: My personal headcanons of the (pre-canon) experiences that made Hibari into the man that he is today. Part Two: the development of his commitment to discipline and explaining his apparent state of constant sleep deprivation. [This may end up being a four-part story, lol. Or a three-part with a small extra... which I guess is also four parts. I hope you enjoy! xD]

[Part 1]

Ever since that night, Hibari had never had a good night's rest.

Other than the week that he'd been in the hospital, woozy from the painkillers that had been constantly fed to him and barely aware of the world around him, he'd never slept for more than a few hours at any given time. At first, the nightmares--the memories--would wake him up in an empty house, screaming for his parents who were no longer there, and then he'd spend the rest of the night huddled in the corner, flinching at every shadow. For a long time, he feared that the men would return, but as time passed uneventfully, he grew more convinced that they didn't care. That they didn't think a mere child could be any danger to them. And they were probably right.

By all rights, he should have probably been taken away and moved to an orphanage, but a distant relative had been found who was willing to become his legal guardian. They'd spoken briefly on the phone, eventually coming to an agreement: since Hibari refused to leave his childhood home and Fon had special circumstances that made traveling and raising a child difficult, a housekeeper would be hired to watch over him, paid out of the fortune that he had inherited from his parents. Initially, she would come early in the morning every day and leave only when he was about to go to bed, but his growing preference for solitude and independence quickly asserted itself, so that she would eventually only come in the afternoon when he was at school, to clean and prepare his meals.

In school, his teachers also noticed a drastic change in his personality. Though he remained a good student, the previously outgoing and energetic child became withdrawn, appearing as though he was actively avoiding his classmates. Any attempts to speak with him outside of his assigned schoolwork were met with a stony wall of silence, and the many phone conversations that they had with his guardian did nothing to improve the situation.

In fact, the only activity in which Hibari demonstrated any initiative of his own was in his new studies of martial arts. Every evening found him at one dojo or another, practicing karate, boxing, kenjutsu, and a number of other combat arts with single-minded focus until he could barely drag himself back home. The physical pain was a welcome distraction, though it was short-lived as his body accustomed itself to the new routine.

His devotion to the arts and strict self-discipline meant that he quickly learned all that the instructors in Namimori could teach him. By the time he started middle school, he was no longer attending the dojos, instead practicing with masters that Fon would occasionally send to him while developing his own style. Hibari also began experimenting with weapons, discarding the sword and spear as impractical to carry and bare fists as too weak, before he eventually settled on his tonfa. The metal was hard enough to be difficult to deform, they were easily concealed, and simply adjusting the force could mean the difference between injury and death.

He still saw his parents every night. But at least he stopped screaming when he woke.

For the most part, his middle school years passed without anything of particular note until his third year, when he joined the disciplinary committee and a group of wannabe punks started to attend. In general, they were harmless, just mimicking the types of idiots that they saw in anime and manga and mouthing off out of the mistaken impression that it made them cool. But it irked Hibari to have to tell them off every morning for their appearances and watch them swagger around like thugs. When they finally started trying to extort their peers, however, he finally had a real excuse to step in.

"Hey, c'mon, you've got cash, right? We just need to borrow a couple thousand. We'll pay you back later, really!"

Hibari had been about to return home when he heard voices coming from behind the gym. If there was a response to Kusakabe, it was too quiet for him to hear, but he hoisted his bookbag higher over his shoulders as he went to investigate. As he turned the corner, the sight before him turned him cold with rage.

Kusakabe and his friends stood in a loose half-circle, a few of them holding wooden swords, leering at the student they had trapped against the wall, a young boy who looked absolutely terrified. His bookbag appeared to have been upended all over the ground, with books and pens scattered everywhere, and Kusakabe knelt before him, his hand outstretched expectantly. One of his friends stretched, cricking his neck threateningly, and noticed the prefect standing there, shaking. He smirked, reaching out to nudge their leader and jerking a thumb toward Hibari when Kusakabe looked up.

"Get rid of him," Kusakabe ordered, and three of his pack peeled away, advancing on Hibari and blocking his view.

"There's nothing to see here, Prefect-san. Get lost, unless you want what he's getting," one of them snapped, and Hibari's eyes fell to the ground as his hands clenched into trembling fists.

"Hey, look at him. You think he's gonna piss himself?" Another one laughed, jabbing his bokken toward Hibari, who took a step back, to more laughter. But in the next instant, Hibari was lunging forward, the gleam of metal in his hands knocking the wood aside and slamming the boy under the chin. Before the other two realized what was happening, they were splayed on the ground, clutching their heads as Hibari stood in front of them, breathing heavily. He staggered slightly, as if he were injured or drunk, as the rest of the gang advanced on him, Kusakabe in the lead, their victim forgotten. They were cautious now, now that they saw he could fight back, and when Hibari's head snapped up, even Kusakube seemed to hesitate. There was a gleam of madness and bloodlust in Hibari's normally flat black eyes, and his stance as he lifted his tonfa in front of his body telegraphed experience.

Even so, they couldn't back down, not from a fight that they had picked, so they approached the older boy carefully, trying to spread out to encircle him. He didn't make any move to stop them from doing so, just standing with an air of watchful patience, like a predator waiting to pounce. The fact that he was outnumbered didn't seem to bother him at all, and he kept his eyes fixed on Kusakabe. His unwavering gaze seemed to make the younger boy hesitate, but at the same time, foolish pride urged the delinquent forward.

"Get him."

After a heartbeat of uncertainty, they rushed in wildly, fists swinging and getting in each other's way more often than not. And in the midst of all of them, Hibari's weapons flashed like quicksilver, falling with precise blows upon heads and joints until he was the only one who remained standing among the carnage, like some ancient god of war. The few boys who weren't unconscious were groaning, clutching where they had been struck, and their victim had run away, leaving behind only a few pencils and a snapped ruler.

Languidly, Hibari walked over to the leader, nudging Kusakabe under the chin with his foot to make sure he had the boy's attention.

"Try this again, and I'll break your bones. A third time, and I'll bite you to death. Do you understand?"

It wasn't a threat, but a simple statement of fact, delivered in a flat tone that left no room for discussion. He waited for Kusakabe to nod, then turned around and walked away, stepping over the bodies that littered the ground.

From his experiences with hot-blooded people, Hibari didn't expect things to just end there, but nothing could have surprised him more when he arrived at school the next day. The moment he stepped inside the gates, he was greeted by a shout of "Good morning, boss!" and he turned to see Kusakabe and his hoodlums bowing to him.

"What's this?"

Hibari watched warily as Kusakabe approached him, smiling while sporting a black eye.

"Hibari-san, you're strong, and you've earned our respect. Please feel free to use us however you want," Kusakabe addressed him formally, bowing again. Some of the other students were staring at them, wide-eyed, and Hibari shoved the punk away with one hand.

"I'm not strong. You're just weak," he snapped. "That's why you just crowd together with the others. It makes me sick."

But his words didn't seem to upset the other boy, who deferentially took a step back to give Hibari the personal space that he clearly wanted. However, for the rest of the day, they hung in small groups at the corners of Hibari's vision whenever he wasn't in his classroom, following him around like a pack of devoted dogs. It was irritating, and when they began to follow him home after school, he snapped again, beating them all thoroughly, even though they didn't even try to fight back.

Gradually, though, Hibari noticed that their one-sided admiration seemed to be imposing better order on his beloved school. Small incidents were quickly straightened out without his interference, and for the most part, the gang stayed out of his way. So he tolerated their existences so long as they avoided grouping up in front of him, using them as yet another tool to protect the discipline at Namimori Middle School and in town as a whole. He never dealt with any of them directly except for Kusakabe, on the rare occasions that he had to give them orders; even so, he kept a close eye on them to ensure that they didn't overstep their bounds. 

His parents had loved the town, and so did he. Even though they had been betrayed, it was only because the authorities had all been weak: afraid of violence, dazzled by money, grasping for power, or any number of other reasons. Although Hibari intended to control them himself through the same methods, he had no intention of unleashing another pack of animals that would cause even more problems for others.

And on the day that he finally finished his compulsory education, he set out to settle the score.

[Part 3]

[angelsfalling16]

I know I'm taking a break from writing but I just had an idea for a fic and wanted to share it with you all:

So, Baz is watching his younger siblings, and Mordelia keeps singing that shiny teeth song over and over and it's so annoying that when Simon comes over, Baz is ready to snap because he can't take any more of that song. He swears that if he hears Mordelia or Chip Skylark sing that song one more time, he's going to go insane.

Of course, she keeps singing it and then eventually Simon starts singing it too. At first Baz is irritated but he finally gives in and the three of them start singing it together. And later, Baz is even caught playing it on his violin.

*

If you have no idea what song I'm talking about, I envy you, but also, you need to listen to it, so here's the link.

[chaoticgearz]

Alternative Titles #1: Flying Dandelion Seeds

(An alternative take on A Bouquet of Forget-Me-Nots, where a week before the recital, Tsuna proposes the idea for them to run away from Naminori)

Mahiru should've seen it.

He should've seen and take notice about how tired Tsuna was. After all, it wasn't easy for him to practice the piano, help his younger brother with the violin and deal with the assholes at school who kept harassing him, in a daily schedule.

Tsuna wanted it all to be perfect so that he can finally be accepted into Naminori. But he should've noticed how much he pushed himself.

The sound of hands slamming on the coffee table rang throughout the treehouse and Tsuna stood from where he sat. Everyone was exhausted and irritated due to school.

(Nezu is more of an asshole than usual today, purposefully keeping Tsuna and Sunny in his class longer as he bitched about Sunny's "problematic" behaviour in his class, even though he did nothing wrong, while Mochida and his goons surrounded Mahiru, Shouyou, Yuu and Izuku which started a fight, only for it to be ended when Hibari swooped in to stop it. They managed to escape from the skylark's wrath. They barely managed to arrive to their respective clubs and private lessons on time.)

Everyone looked as the brunette clawed at the table in frustration before he yelled out: "LET'S JUST RUN AWAY FROM HERE!"

Mahiru choked on his bottled water in surpise. WHAT!? He was about to say something when Yuu and Shouyou yelled out their agreement.

"Yeah! Let's leave this place! I'm sick of living here!"

"I'm getting tired of living like this! Let's leave!"

He barely hears Izuku squeak in surprise when the two shouted out. Mahiru just held his hand to the middle of the table to catch their attention.

"Wait, wait a minute! Tsuna, Yuu, Shou! Calm down and think about what you said! As much as I agree about how much I hate Naminori, don't you think that's a bit too irrational!? Tsuna, you should know better than this! Even if we had the tools to run away, without a plan or a place to go, this idea is just plain stupid!" He said.

The three of them whipped their heads to him and Mahiru had to stop himself from flinching in fear. Shouyou stared at him with a cold and calculating gleam in his eyes, Yuu was glaring at him with so much anger, it was practically burning him on the spot while Tsuna had a blank, broken look in his eyes.

"Mahiru, look at us!" Tsuna motions his arm to the rest of the occupants in the treehouse with him. "Another second here and any one of use can go insane! I'm pretty everyone here is sick and tired of living in this shithole! We need to leave before someone snaps!" The brunette growled out in anger.

Mahiru was ready to argue with him again but held his tongue when the words sank into him especially when the fresh bandages and gauze on their bodies came into view. Tsuna was right He's always right. Mahiru just bit his lip and slowly nodded.

"Yeah... Yeah you're right, we need to leave this place."

Tsuna was about to say more when Sunny tugged on his shirt. "What about mom?" Ah, Nana, how can they forget about that delusional woman? Tsuna just patted his younger brother's head to soothe him. "Don't worry about her. Mama can take care of herself." He said in a soft voice, opposite to him shouting a few seconds earlier.

No one knew where they're going to go once they've left but after they get off the train, they'll figure it out from there.

[hopeswriting]

FANDOM: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

EVENT: Flufftober 2020

PROMPT: Baking Making Sushi Together

AUTHOR: @hopeswriting​​

RATING: G

PAIRING: Mukuro & Yamamoto

SUMMARY:

Yamamoto keeps bringing food to the Kokuyo gang. Until he can make him stop, Mukuro wants to work at TakeSushi so they're even. He comes to the shop for his interview.

WORDS: 1965

*

"Ah come on in, come on in." Yamamoto guides Mukuro into the shop with a hand on his back, closes the door behind them. "Dad, Mukuro's here."

“Welcome in, welcome in,” Tsuyoshi greets from the kitchen. “Please make yourself at home, I’ll be right there.”

"You're closed?" Mukuro asks.

"Yeah, because we need to do your interview, right?”  He spins on his feet to wink at him, and rounds the counter to disappear in the kitchen.

"Wouldn't it be more insightful for you with the clients there?"

"Nah-uh, no can do. We need to know first you’ll be a competent employee before we can let you interact with the clients. We’re a high esteemed shop after all."

Mukuro didn't move from his spot when Yamamoto comes back, and his eyes zero on the cloth in his hand. Yamamoto rolls it up into a ball and throws it his way.

Mukuro lets it fall at his feet.

They raise one eyebrow at the same time.

"I’ll be on cleaning duty?”

“We’re all on cleaning duty. We open the shop and close it together. And so,” Yamamoto makes a grand gesture towards the tables, with all the empty dishes still on it. He grins, “this is all just for you.”

Mukuro smiles wider, but the gleam in his eyes tells another story. He nudges at the cloth with a decidedly displeased look on his face.

“Hey come on,” Yamamoto chides, “it needs to stay clean so you can use it. And also,” he grins wider, waves the other piece of cloth he brought with him, “apron mandatory.”

Mukuro walks past the cloth, Mist flames surrounding his hand.

“No weapon allowed.”

“And yet, there it is.” He tucks his trident just under his chin, its pointy end cold against his skin.

“And it’s still not allowed,” Yamamoto shots back in a sing-song voice. “Do you want the job or not?”

“Do I?” The trident presses against his skin, but it has yet to actually stab him so Yamamoto takes it as a yes.

“Alright then, let me—“

Mukuro snatches the apron from his hands. His trident disappears in Mist flames, and Yamamoto swallows back a laugh while he puts the apron on with too much entirely unnecessary dignity.

“Lads?” Tsuyoshi steps out the kitchen, drying his hands with a piece of cloth. “Is everything alright? Just so you know, I do not like how your flames feel right now, and I like even less having my shop damaged.”

Yamamoto laughs. “You mean his flames, right? You better get used to it dad, because it’s his default mode.”

“I will stab you to death, you Irritating Rain.”

“See?” Yamamoto reaches blindly in his back and gives him a little shove. Mukuro shoves him back but with a flames enhanced hand, and he braces himself on the counter to not have his nose or teeth smashed. “See?”

Mukuro shoves him again for good measure before rounding the counter. He offers his hand to his father.

“Good evening sir, I’m Rokudo Mukuro.”

Tsuyoshi shares a knowing look with his son but knows better than to laugh with him. He shakes Mukuro’s hand. “Good evening to you, please call me Tsuyoshi. I heard you’re looking for a job?”

“I absolutely do not,” Mukuro says, and stays unfazed faced to Tsuyoshi’s questioning look. “But your son over here keeps bringing us food entirely out of his own volition, and I have yet to find a way to stop him.”

“Ah yes, he’s quite tough at hide-and-seek isn’t he? Always have been.”

“For now.” Mukuro glances at him, the threat clear in his eyes. Yamamoto makes a V sign.

“You’re trying to show your gratitude then? How admirable of you.”

“I want to clear a debt, sir. Nothing else, nothing more.”

“A debt, uh?” Tsuyoshi laughs. “I must say, you’re exactly as my son told me.”

Yamamoto perks up at the opportunity his father just gave him, all but too ready to double-down on the statement. Flickers of Mist flames come to life and he rolls over the counter, landing on all fours at his father’s feet.

He jumps to his feet his guard up, facing the dining area but Mukuro didn’t actually move from his spot. Yamamoto concedes the win without a fuss despite the smug smirk on his face.

Tsuyoshi coughs, a grin playing on his lips. “Alright lads, I must go take care of tonight’s deliveries. I trust both of you will behave, won’t you?”

“Sure dad, don’t worry about a thing. You take care out there.”

Tsuyoshi ruffles his hair before disappearing back in the kitchen. They face each other, Mukuro’s arms crossed on his chest.

“What now?”

“Well, we need to clear out the tables first and wipes them out. The chairs too, sometimes they can need a little cleanup so give them a look. We’ll wipe out the floor next and do the dishes, and then we can see how good of a cook you can be. Sounds good?”

Mukuro gives him the silent treatment, but spins on his feet to presumably get to work. Yamamoto follows behind, at a safe distance.

“What about some music? I can put it on my phone.”

Mukuro takes exactly two more steps. He whips around, but Yamamoto already took the picture.

Yamamoyo makes a run for it.

“No weapons allowed!” he screams while ducking under the trident, but at least Mukuro calls it back to him before it can sink in the wall.

Yamamoto keeps the chase short for the sake of the shop, even if he doesn’t fail to notice how Mukuro doesn’t damage it at all in his fiery quest to save his pride.

He makes a show of struggling and begging and bargaining when Mukuro get his hands on him. His phone is pried from his hand, and Mukuro stands in all his victory, a foot on his chest.

“I’ll crush it at the first shadow of any suspicious behavior.”

“Aww man, you’re such a Killjoy Mist.” Yamamoto wipes the dust of his clothes, a pout on his lips. He already sent the picture to Hibari and deleted the message.

Hopefully Hibari will come lurking and take some more pictures.

They get to work after that, wipes the tables and the floor, do the dishes with little to no commotion.

“I think we’re set?” Yamamoto takes in the row of ingredients on the table he gathered from all over the kitchen.

“You ask me?” Mukuro deadpans, from where he’s slumped in his chair.

“We’re going to make sushi rolls. It’s really easy so don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t.” He stands, eyeing the ingredients. “What am I to do?”

“Just follow my lead. You’re a visual learner, right? I thought if you tried to replicate what I do as I go along, you’d learn even faster.”

The silence falls in the kitchen. Yamamoto’s smiles diminishes the slightest bit, and he tries to read Mukuro’s suddenly serious face.

Surely it’s not something he said? He likes to think he became quite good at not ticking him off unintentionally.

Mukuro lets out his peculiar laugh of his, and he relaxes. “You two-faced Rain. When did you even notice that? Or should I ask how?”

“Thanks,” Yamamoto chirps.

“I do not like it.”

“Aww don’t worry, I’m all too happy to leave all the deceit to you. Here—” he splits the ingredients in between them “—the sushi rice is already done, so let’s start with the cucumber.”

Mukuro mimics his movement perfectly, cuts both end of the cucumber and starts peeling it. And in his defense he gives Yamamoto’s uncharacteristic silence almost ten whole seconds.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“This knife may not be my favored weapon, but it is still a weapon Yamamoto Takeshi.”

Yamamoto laughs, holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, let’s not use full names. It’s just, you know, all that.” He gestures vaguely at the table. “You don’t have to do that. I’m just being a good friend.”

Mukuro sticks his nose up in the air. “We’re not friends. You’re a nuisance in my life that I want out of it.”

“Yeah, yeah, but can you blame me? You guys don’t even have a proper functioning kitchen.”

“What’s next?”

“And you’re living in ruins. Cut it like that, along its length.”

“Mind your own business.”

“And now that you have a kid—“

“Fran is not my kid.”

“—you can’t just keep living like that. Ah careful, you need to remove the seeds first.”

Mukuro clicks his tongue. “Maybe if someone wasn’t distracting me with meaningless blabber.”

“Are any of you actually looking for another place to live?”

Yamamoto catches the raw tuna before it slaps him on the face. He puts it back on Mukuro’s plate like nothing.

“Nope, not like that. We need to cut it in thin slices and make long stripes with it. See, like that.”

Mukuro points his knife at him, entirely not looking. “You Nosy Rain, you will stay out of my business.”

“What about renovating the building then?”

Yamamoto looks up at Mukuro’s laugh, raises his eyebrow at the mischief in his eyes.

“Are you suggesting we rob a bank? Because that’ll certainly anger one Skylark I know.” He laughs some more, his mind definitely made up already, and Yamamoto spares a thought for the poor Namimori bank he just doomed.

“You didn’t hear it from me.”

“Oh yes I did. Now if only you could say interesting things more often.”

“No I didn’t,” he defends himself only halfheartedly, and fully resigned already. He spares a prayer for himself for when Hibari’s wrath will descend upon him. “You just put words into my mouth.”

The expression on Mukuro’s face tells him he’s not listening, and he huffs. They finish with the tuna, and Yamamoto places the bamboo mat on the table, puts the nori sheet on it and goes looking for the sushi rice.

“Fine, but I’ll still come visiting. And bring food with me.”

“You’re not visiting, you’re breaking in.”

“Thanks to whose failings?”

Yamamoto ducks under the knife’s swing, and does his best to not burst out laughing.

“Want to say that again?”

“Nope, I’m good. Here, looks at this sushi of peace I made.” He waves it under his nose, and draws back when Mukuro glances at it. “The knife first.” Mukuro narrows his eyes, but for all they say Yamamoto knows the whole of the Kokuyo gang loves their sushi. Case in point, he gets back the knife.

Mukuro takes his sweet time to do his own sushi roll. He presents it to him, perfect in every way, and it’s only then he notices the Mist flames around it.

“Come on, really? You Mediocre Mist. Really? Since when?” Mukuro puts on his best, fake, innocent smile, tilting his head. “Did you even do anything?”

He pushes the plate closer to him. “Go ahead, try it. I believe you’ll find I’m perfect for the job.”

Yamammoto eyes the sushi roll, spins the plate around. “What’s inside? What does it really look like? I’m not eating it.”

“No?” Mukuro says, in that tone that really means I didn’t know you a coward, Yamamoto Takeshi. Please do not ever interact with me because I have standards for the people I want to be a pain in the ass with.

Yamamoto takes a bite out of the sushi. Something moves inside his mouth, and for all he knows it’s fake he can’t fight against his instinctive response.

He does make sure to aim for Mukuro’s face when he spits out the sushi.

The kitchen does not make it unscathed.

*

BONUS:

Hibari does come lurking and take pictures. It doesn’t stay a secret for long at all because they spread them like wildfire to the others, and no one is even trying to not tease Mukuro with the pictures, least of all Hibari.

Mukuro gets the job (he was always gonna get it) and keeps it. The rest of Kokuyo gang immediately starts looking for one too because like hell they’re gonna let Mukuro provide for them all on his own.

Eventually they move out from the abandoned center park to a proper house because they buy themselves more and more comfort with their salaries, and, you know, people generally want to not live in ruins if they can help it.

They get a big, nice, secluded house with multiple entrances (and more importantly exits), with multiples rooms and big windows, and with multiple hiding places and room to run away (or fight). I don’t know how realistic this is but with their backgrounds I don’t think they’d settle for anything else.

(This was all part of Takeshi’s plan but they don’t need to ever know that.)

------

Takeshi keeps visiting and bringing food even then, and is the first one among the Guardians to turn one of the guest rooms into Takeshi’s room.

Mukuro keeps working at TakeSushi at least until they dive into the mafia business for good (which I headcanon happens at some point after they’re all finished high school).

He doesn’t get to interact with the clients because he can’t play nice for shit with them. Always uses his flames so he can say “well, technically I didn’t do anything”.

He always manages to make himself a server when Hibari comes eating in the shop though. Only so he can poison his food and get on his nerves of course.

------

The Kokuyo gang does rob a Namimori bank, almost. Like, they go through every step of robbing a bank except actually leaving with the money. After all it’s just to prove a point and make one Skylark angry. No civilians are harmed.

They do steal one banknote of 1000 yen as a token and, again, to anger one Skylark.

Takeshi gets dragged in the ensuing fight because Mukuro snitches on him, and also he was trying to not have them fight in the first place and failed.

Tsuna gets dragged in the fight too because “Dame-Tsuna, as their Sky it’s your duty to mediate the quarrels between your Guardians”, or something. So of course Gokudera jumps head first into the fight too.

Ryohei follows because he doesn’t want to miss on the fun, and so does Lambo.

Chrome sides with Lambo because, you know, he’s five years old, and 1) she does trust no one is going to hurt him but also they’re all getting loose at the moment and Lambo is reckless, 2) she thinks Tsuna deserves to not worry about Lambo and relieves his stress on his shitheads, battle maniacs, trouble magnets, disregarding-the-consequences Guardians to his heart content.

It turns into a free for all and they all have great fun, and it’s a great bonding time moment for them all, or whatever Reborn says.

And that’s all I have for this AU for the moment except for the fact we don’t talk enough---or at all--- about how Takeshi, Hibari and Mukuro would be such an absolute disaster, chaotic and unrepentant of a trio (and also would balance each other nicely too, really).

*

Thank you for reading! Any and all review are appreciated ^^.

[hibari-kyouya-skylark]

 The ebony haired cloud guardian and once by the yakuza raised man is dressed in a simple black kinagashi,he sits inside his foundation; a dojo-like and traditional japanese room. his posture in seiza, as he enjoys a bowl-cup of sake. slanted indigo eyes observing the falling sakura petals outside , some petals falling inside the room. hibird was sitting next to him on top of the x-crossed tonfas on top of the tatami. "you enjoy that too, hm?" hibari stared at the yellow canary , who chirped in response. a small smile curving the skylark's face.

  ah yes, he was simple enjoying the silence and peace. however that silence was suddenly torn apart in an instant. a somewhat familiar face bursted into the room yelling in a panicked way. causing the man to cringe inside his mind and he closed his eyes,

"miura haru was it....?"

 he muttered with an irritated expression. taking a moment, he breathed out a sigh. then looked at the girl. "you  better have a good reason to dare disturb the peace herbivore." honestly, if she doesn't then he doesn't care, girl or not, he's just gonna bite her to death.

@queenharumiura​

[undergrounclmafia]

@gameboyheroes​ asked :  For a little more than a year, Kyouya's found blood puddles and piles of purple flowers all over school and Namimori itself. But today? Today he's run into a certain herbivore who had to stop by the nurse's office since he couldn't stop coughing. In his palm? The same bloody purple flowers that decorated the town throughout the year. Tsuna manages a quick 'Hi, Hibari-san' before he just... collapses. -- (( Hanahaki Tsuna @ Kyouya ))

There is something amiss going on in his peaceful town of Namimori. Over the months, he have been finding suspicious amount of blood and flowers scattered about his town, but had no idea where they were coming from. He knows for a fact that h was not responsible for the puddles; he keeps track of who he bites to death, after all.

It was another day at the school, and the Skylark did his lazy rounds as he always does around this time. He hears the sound of coughing in the distance, and his eyes narrow in suspicion. Whoever it was should be sent home, not risking infection in his school.

He should not have been surprised to find Tsuna behind the sound. However, his eyes instantly zeroed in on his palm. Was that ... Blood? More importantly, familiar petals seemed to be cupped in his palm. Before he could reach him, yank his hand up to inspect the flowers closer, the other had collapsed.

Hibari caught him by the waist, letting hin dangle over the crook of his arm. Clicking his tongue in irritation, he threw him over his shoulder unceremoniously as he carried him off school grounds and to the Namimori hospital—this was something the school nurse was not trained to handle. 

[ohmykhr]

hi!! hope you're doing well! May I please get “Thanks for the.. Uh.. Gift?” for hibari and gokudera? ship if possible, but platonic is okay too!

Hello, thank you for requesting and for being patient! This is in the TYL timeline, I hope you like it.

Kyoya was worn out and irritated due to a long flight from Japan to Italy which, on top of everything else going wrong that day, had been delayed for several hours. However, he wasn’t allowed to lash out or bite people to death as he wished - Tsunayoshi’s smile had been dangerously sweet when he told him that specific rule. Kyoya wasn’t about to cross the little animal. 

So, it was safe to say that Kyoya was not a happy camper when he finally reached his and Hayato’s shared loft at 2 am.

‘’How was your flight?’’ Kyoya shouldn’t have been surprised to see Hayato wide awake at that hour considering his messy sleep schedule. The skylark simply grunted as a reply.

Hayato winced sympathetically. ‘’That bad?’’

‘’I have something for you.’’ Kyoya suddenly remembered, rummaging through his travel bag. Hayato eyed his boyfriend curiously - it wasn’t like him to get him gifts without a special occasion. 

‘’Here.’’

A neatly wrapped bag was placed on his hand. Hayato opened the red ribbon carefully, revealing a bag of catnips. He looked back to Kyoya in confusion.

‘’Thank for the...Uh...Gift?’’ 

‘’It’s for Uri. That’s the brand she likes, right?’’

Gokudera bit the insides of his cheeks to hold himself back grinning from ear to ear. It was the little details with Kyoya. These tiny observations he remembered that had made Hayato fall for him in the first place.

‘’Correct,’’ Hayato grabbed Kyoya’s heavy travel bag from the floor, bringing it to their shared bedroom as Kyoya trailed behind him. ‘’I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.’’

[ramblingrybo]

Hyacinths? You’ll need some hair lacquer

I have an intimate knowledge of hyacinths. The same can be said of strawberries, potatoes and cocktail onions. It was what we picked or sorted in the fields and factories of Boston when I was young. In those days, most casual work was connected to agriculture and there was plenty of it. It might have been mind-numbing but it guaranteed a ready source of income with which to buy comics, records, guitar strings or cigarettes, depending on your age.

I started working on the land when I was ten. A double decker bus would pick us up after school from the scout huts near Skirbeck church and take us to the fruit fields of Frampton, four miles away. The bus would be crammed with hyper-active school children, harassed young mothers and short-tempered grannies with ill-functioning hearing aids. Nobody talked; everybody shouted. This was punctuated by the odd slap and scream. It was pure bedlam.

When we were finally released from this uproar upon our arrival, all you could see were endless rows of bobbing rumps. All you could hear was the distant growl of a tractor and the trilling of skylarks in the vast skies above us. Within minutes, we were picking our own row, filling a bucket in exchange for a few pence and then repeating the process, more slowly each time. At first, you would start to pick with fast pecking hands. Very soon, however, any sense of urgency would disappear, quickly replaced by a mechanical lethargy until finally a state of paralysis set in. This was reflected in the shape of the body, from bent to crawling to completely inert. Some people, however, took this one step further. One summer, we found Gonk’s younger brother, Rabbit, curled-up asleep in one of the furrows. However, for the rest of us, three hours of routine picking left us with an aching back, knees covered in mashed strawberries and glazed eyes. 

All soft fruit work was piece-work but at least with raspberries and gooseberries you didn’t have to stoop so far. That was the good news. The bad news was that you had to pick with prickles or thorns for company. Raspberries were bearable although the fruit was so delicate, it was like picking soft meringues - easily squash-able. Gooseberries, on the other hand, were savage. Trying to pick gooseberries quickly while only wearing a pair of Marigolds, was like feeding your hands into a factory loom. It was only the regulars who made any money. They could strip a bush within seconds and fill a wicker basket within minutes. I was so impressed the first time I witnessed it. 

‘Wow, that’s amazing. I just tried to do that and left a lot of skin behind.’

‘You know why they’re so good, don’t you?

‘No.’

‘It’s the gloves they’ve got. They have metal palms. You could strip the barnacles from the bottom of a boat with a pair of those.’

Soft fruit piece-work was for the beginners. If you wanted to guarantee full time work for the holidays and enjoy a weekly pay packet, you needed to join a gang. I was lucky. As a fourteen year old, I found Maggie. She was an experienced ganger who didn’t suffer fools gladly. A strict disciplinarian, Maggie hated lateness, sloppy work and anybody answering her back. She had an acid tongue, skin as leathery as an old saddle-bag and a forearm smash that could stun a mule. If you toed the line, working for Maggie was a cinch. If you didn’t, you could be harangued, physically assaulted, summarily dismissed or, worst of all, find yourself walking all the way home from Spalding, a tedious and exhausting trek of fourteen miles. Work could be anywhere in the south of Lincolnshire. We would get picked up at 7a.m. in Boston and be working in the fields of Bicker, Pinchbeck, Dogdyke, Cowbit or Moulton Chapel by 8. The van which picked us up was held together with bits of bailer twine and wire - a description which could also be applied to some of  the regular workers whose company we kept every holiday. Moose was one of them. He was a huge, kindly man with the strength of a cart horse but the brain of a child. Poor thing believed anything we told him. His trousers were always at half-mast, he sported a basin haircut and lived in a shed behind his mum’s council bungalow.

Most of the work was picking potatoes which is back-breaking and relentless. We prayed for the tractor with its plough to break down. When it didn’t, we had to pick two-handed to keep up although heel and toeing could lighten the load considerably. This entailed stamping on the potatoes to bury them with the heel of your boot and then scraping back with the toe to cover the evidence with soil. Well-practised proponents of this skill could tap-dance a whole row of potatoes out of existence. Many of the best workers were women who could work for hours without a break. As most of them smoked and kept their cigarettes in their mouths while picking, many of them sported nicotine stains on their upper lips. As a result, lunch times in the van could be a bit of a trial for the rest of us. Watching a nicotine stained woman eating a fried egg sandwich was not an appetising sight. Many a slice of pork pie was returned to a lunch box, uneaten.

Sometimes we were released from the retches and furrows to work on tractor-drawn potato harvesters, machines which harvested the crop and allowed sorting to be carried out on a mobile conveyor belt. A line of us would pick out the rotten or damaged potatoes. Once again, it was relentless work but at least we were standing up. The only problem came in really hot weather when the fields were dry. The harvester would create dust storms which meant that we had to wear hats, goggles and scarves to protect heads and faces. Looking like flying aces from the First World War, we baked, lost all sense of hearing and dreamt of ice-cold drinks.

Promotion came at the age of sixteen when we moved from the fields to the factory. Thinking we had finally made it, we got jobs at Johnson’s Seeds, working in the bulb packaging department. Little did we know, however, of the suffering which lay ahead. At first, our daily routine was a doddle. No rain, decent breaks, a canteen, good pay. And the work? Undemanding, if a little dull. My job was to load crocus bulbs into a mechanical hopper which vibrated back and forth and graded them. It wasn’t difficult -  a bit of lugging, pushing a couple of buttons and some prodding. And repeat. But then we switched to hyacinth bulbs and for the next few weeks our lives became a living hell.

We should have heeded Beryl’s warning on the Friday afternoon. 

‘Hyacinths on Monday. You’ll be needin’ some hair lacquer, lovey.’

I waited until she had gone before turning to Gary.

‘Hair lacquer? What’s she on about?’

‘Search me. It’s probably the medication.’

‘You reckon she’s off her trolley?’

‘Must be.’

A further clue was provided first thing on the Monday morning when we arrived at the hoppers. Eric, the manager, was positively buoyant. Chortling to himself, he winked at Stuart, the foreman, and both of them began to rub their hands together like two football supporters eagerly anticipating a cup final. 

‘Come on, then, what are yer waitin’ fer? Git them machines runnin’ and them hyacinths tumblin’.’

And we did. And five minutes later, we were scratching crazily at our necks, throats and scalps and emitting high-pitched wails like the noise cars make when they are being crushed slowly in a scrapyard with a giant iron claw. Very quickly, any exposed skin was red raw and nasty welts had been scored by fingernails into our flesh. We jigged and flailed like members of a religious cult while Eric and Stuart rocked with laughter from the safety of their office. 

And what was to blame for this sudden change of behaviour? Sounds implausible I know but it was the waxy skin on the hyacinth bulbs. You see, it breaks down into small flecks when it is tossed about in a hopper. These flecks become airborne and alight on the open pores of necks and throats and cause extreme irritation. The only way of preventing this is to apply a thick coating of hair lacquer to the skin to block the pores. Rather than being off her trolley, Beryl had been trying to protect us. What we took to be the mutterings of a mad woman were, in fact, the kind words of a co-worker.

We didn’t make the same mistake twice. On our way home, we called in at the chemist’s.

‘Five tins of hair lacquer, please.’

‘Blimey, young man, it’ll set like cement if yer use that much.’

If it was possible to protect against the effects of hyacinth bulbs, the same could not be said of cocktail onions. These were what we ended up sorting and grading in the factory job which took us through our college years. It wasn’t that they made your eyes stream. We soon got used to that. No, it was what lingered afterwards which was the cause of much embarrassment. You see, the smell of cocktail onions stays for days, not only on your clothes but on your skin as well. Baths, deodorant, after shave, all were useless in the struggle to remain fresh and wholesome. A weekend trip to the cinema with your girlfriend could be a fraught affair. In the warmth of the auditorium, the smell of onions returned with a vengeance, seeping out of bodily pores and crevices. 

‘What on earth is that smell? It’s not you, is it?’

‘No, of course, not.’

‘Have you had a bath today?’

‘Yes, I had a long soak.’

‘Can you lean away a bit?’

‘That OK?’

‘Actually, can you sit over there?’

Even when we had left the job for good, we were haunted by the odour. Working in a cocktail onion factory might have been good money but it didn’t half play havoc with your love life.

So, there we have it. The trials and tribulations of working in the fields and factories of Boston as a pupil and student in the late 60s and early 70s. And its legacy? A life-long admiration for anybody working on the land and an appreciation of the choices which were made available to me in my own life.

Next time: ‘On the Verge of Orchids (or Where did I put that Herb Paris?)’ 

[maxfieldparrishes]

shake the bones

Part IV. Insomnia is a bitch. 

(read on AO3)

The night air is chilly, but Kallen pays it no mind as her feet take her wherever they please.

She stumbles as the side of her foot comes down hard on a seam in the pavement, but she rights herself and finds her footing, running on with wild abandon into the night. Tokyo does not sleep and neither does she, no matter how tired she feels or how heavy her eyes are and she's come to learn that, when these agonizingly slow nights find her, there's nothing she can do but meet them where they are.

She runs past her favorite corner store, past the train station that takes her to school, towards the river, dodging those in her way. Most of the passersby are drunk and smiling, turning to look at her with bleary, glassy eyes as she sprints past them. One group has a man who shouts after her, but she forgets about him as she pushes herself into a sprint to make a light.

The park is full of shadows when she arrives, and the only sounds she hears are traffic and night birds, just as she wanted. The Shibuya river is a trickle, a narrow canal compared to the width of the Kano and the estuaries where she'd grown up, but there's something soothing about being near flowing water. Kallen takes a minute to take in the sight of the Shibuya, the lights of the city glinting on it through the trees, but then her restlessness seizes her by the throat and she has to run again.

She has two options: run until she vomits, or scream at the top of her lungs for an hour straight. Running doesn't bring the cops or piss off the neighbors, so that's what she chooses.

Kallen remembers all the trees in Izu. Beech, black pine, cedar--cryptomeria, she remembers Naoto had called by its Latin name. She remembers Naoto taking her into the woods, a little girl with coltish legs and too much energy, quizzing her on birds. As she runs, she pushes herself to recall as many as she can: Pacific loon, greater short-toed lark, Japanese skylark... She takes a ragged, gasping breath--barn swallow, Pacific swallow, Japanese waxwing--and tries to ignore the burning in her calves. Japanese thrush, Eurasian tree sparrow, Japanese bush warbler, and she falls to her knees, hard, in the middle of the path, rolling off to lay panting next to a cypress tree.

She wonders where that little girl went. Kallen is sure she doesn't know.

Kallen raises a fist and pounds it against the tree trunk, the rest of her body still. Whatever it is that hovers over her, she can't fight it, and she can't outrun it. All she wants to do is run until she collapses, to push herself, feel nothing but strain until she forgets herself.

There's something bubbling inside her, water or lava, she doesn't know. Geyser or volcano?

Kallen raises her hand and wipes sloppily at her face, smearing snot, sweat--and are those tears?--but she stays laying where she is. Hopefully, no one will come by and question why there's a young woman laying on her side under a tree, in a deserted park, at three in the morning.

She gives herself five more deep breaths, then she'll get up. Otherwise, she has an utterly bizarre feeling that whatever possesses her on these nights is going to drag her back home, face down on the pavement, by the nape of the neck. It's not rational, but it motivates her to move when otherwise she'd just lay there, blinking and sleepless, until the sun comes up.

Kallen pushes herself upright, sighs, shakes the dirt and leaves from her hair, and begins her run back.

-

When she sees her apartment complex, Kallen slows herself into a jog for the last few blocks. Her street, so busy in the morning, is silent and still now, the few lights peering out from the windows muddied and dim. But soon, she knows, there will be a slow trickle of people, then a flood of them, as they all rush out to make their way to school, or work, or wherever it is they're going.

She had left Lelouch asleep on the sofa he had moved, and he hadn't stirred as she tiptoed past and silently shut the door behind her. Hopefully she can return and slip inside, back in her room, without waking him; if she's really lucky, her door won't squeak at all.

Technically, she's supposed to use the main entrance. But the service door is easily wiggled opened, and it's far closer to her apartment than walking all the way around to the front of the building. Kallen slips inside, jogs up the stairs to the fifth floor, trying to remember all the while why she wanted a fifth floor unit (a little bit bigger and a private bathroom), and sticks her hand down what passes as the pocket of her leggings to find her key.

Slowly, incredibly carefully, she inserts the key and presses it to the inside of the lock, making sure to maintain the pressure as she twists it open, and then takes the knob in her still-sweaty hand and twists that too. Kallen tiptoes inside and turns to press the door almost silently shut, bracing a knee against it as she turns the lock to the "closed" position, not noticing that the small lamp on her bookshelf is on. To be fair, the light from said lamp is super dim, so dim that if she turns it on in the daytime it's almost like it isn't on at all.

"You know, for a woman who's so deadly in a Knightmare, I'm surprised you aren't more aware of your surroundings outside of one."

Kallen leans her head back and closes her eyes. "First of all, save it, because I'm not in the mood. Second of all, you were asleep when I left."

"I was." Lelouch stretches his legs out in front of him, sweeping them to the side to sit fully up. "I think I just missed you. I heard the door squeak and by the time I fully woke up you were gone."

Damn that door. "Well, I'm back, so you can go back to sleep," Kallen says, moving to take the yoga mat from its spot under the side table and unrolling it in front of the television. "This doesn't make much noise." But as she starts her post-run routine and goes into Downward-facing Dog, stretching out her hamstrings and back, she notices that Lelouch is staring at her, and his expression is... unamused.

"So this is it, then?"

"What are you talking about?" she asks between deep breaths, pedaling each foot before stretching her heels down to the ground.

"Are we not going to talk about the fact that you decided that three in the morning was an excellent time to go for a run?" Lelouch sits up straighter. "Where did you go?"

"One, I'm an adult and I can run at three a.m. if I want to, it's none of your damn business," Kallen responds, "and two, Shibuya."

"You ran to Shibuya?"

"Yes, Lelouch, I ran to Shibuya," she says, lowering herself into Cobra, keeping her breathing rhythmic. "Most people are capable of running. Some of us even enjoy it." Kallen finds it in her to be amused by his glower.

"Fine, fine. You can do what you want," he says, with an airy sigh and a wave of his hand, "but why?"

Crap. "No other time to do it," she says, after one beat too long, and she knows that Lelouch knows she's lying. Kallen hopes he'll drop it, and decide it's too early in the morning for an interrogation, but death hasn't made Lelouch any less ruthless.  

"Really. So you do this every morning?" he asks. "This is your routine?"

Kallen pushes herself back into a runner's lunge. "Just drop it."

Wrong thing to say. Lelouch has never let anything go in his entire life, both the first half and the second. "What's going on?" he asks, and there's genuine concern underneath the irritation, and that little hint of concern pisses her the fuck off.

"Nothing."

"Kallen," he starts, his tone even and so annoyingly rational, that she comes out of her forward fold with a vengeance.

"What?" she snaps. "You want to know why I ran? Because I can't sleep and I can't stay here all night and stare at nothing. So I go for runs. I don't want to stay awake, but I can't sleep. I don't... I don't shut off. I never have. When this kind of night hits me it's just... there's really nothing else I can do but run."

Lelouch is staring at her again, slightly shell-shocked. "Do you have trouble sleeping a lot?" he asks.

"Don't psychoanalyze me," Kallen snaps again. "Do you think I have trouble sleeping?"

"I wouldn't really know, considering I've been... dead," he says, "but I'm going to go with yes."

"A-plus, here's a gold star." Kallen starts to roll up the mat. "Now you know."

"Yes," Lelouch says, "and the question is, what are you going to do about it? You can't function like this."

That stops her dead in her tracks. "What am I going to do about it? I have tried everything. Valerian root, melatonin, benadryl, everything. What are you going to do about it?"

He doesn't have an answer ready for that. Lelouch has always had a plan for everything, but he cannot fix Kallen, just like he couldn't fix Nunnally, or C.C., or Suzaku. He cannot make her better. When the world was wrong, before, he had fixed it. But this is different. "What about seeing a doctor? There are options for medications," he asks, resisting the urge snark back at her.

"Pills are out of the question." Kallen waves her hand. "You get one guess as to why."

"Right." Lelouch blinks and puts his elbows on his knees. "So... that's it?"

"That's it." Kallen stows the mat underneath the side table. "Nothing else to do about it. Not right now, anyway." Turning her back on him, she says, "I'm going to take a shower. You should try to sleep," and goes off without a backwards glance.

He had tried to stay awake, but the light was still low and the night still held sway outside, and the sound of the shower running provided the white noise he liked, and he had fallen back asleep before he realized it was happening.

Lelouch had wondered about the shadows under Kallen's eyes when she first picked him up, but chalked it up to her grueling schedule, as she had told him when they arrived. Now he knows better.

When he woke, Kallen was gone, and the clock told him it was well before the time she needed to leave by. Lelouch wonders if she had slept at all. He doubts it.

He needs her to help him, but Lelouch think he needs to help her first. Kallen is loyal, honest, one of the strongest people he knows, but she is struggling. Neither is she happy, and though it may be self-centered, Lelouch's first thought is that he didn't die and come back to life for her to be miserable in the new world they helped make together.

His second thought is that there's no food in the apartment. Lelouch grabs the apartment phone, the sticky note with Kallen's cell number, and leaves a voicemail with a grocery list.

[foreverfamilyforevervongola]

I don't know if you are still taking requests for this, but if you are, could you do 26 with Mukuro, Hibari and Haru?

Exploring by herself in the city of Florence probably hadn’t been the best idea. But Haru had her phone, and a fold-up map, which was her preferred method of finding directions. She thought going on a shopping spree while Mukuro and Hibari had their meeting would be fun.

She visited shop after shop, loading up her arms with bright-coloured paper shopping bags and hat boxes. After a few hours of shopping, her phone rang, and Haru balanced her purchases with one arm while she dug her phone out of her skirt pocket.

“Hello?”

“Where the hell are you?”

The anger in Hibari’s voice was enough to make Haru flinch. “I’m out shopping,” she replied.

“I told you to stay at the hotel.”

“I got bored,” defended Haru. “So I decided to go shopping.”

“Get back here. We’ve done our business and now it’s time to go.”

Haru bristled with irritation. She had known it would only be a one-night trip, but she still had a few things she wanted to do. “I’ll only be another hour.”

“Miura-”

Haru hung up before Hibari could finish what she knew would be a threat. She stuck her phone back in her pocket and let out a defiant huff. Hibari and Mukuro had expected her to wait around for hours while they did their job, and now they were just going to have to wait for her while she finished up her shopping.

It wouldn’t particularly be worth it once Hibari got his hands on her, but for the moment she would have fun.

She checked her map and saw there was a shoe shop on the other side of the block. Instead of winding her way all the way around, she found an alley and cut down it.

And that was the decision she wished she hadn’t made.

It was dusk, and the shadows were beginning to stretch across the city as the sun lowered. The arching roofs of the two buildings made it difficult for light to seep through once the sun was descending, so the alley was dark, with a few pinpricks of light leaking through.

It was why she hadn’t noticed the three black-clothed men until they were in front of her, with leering stares that made her instinctively step backwards.

“Hi there, beautiful. How’d you like to get a drink with us?”

“No thank you,” returned Haru. “I actually have somewhere to be.”

She spun on her heel, but one of the men moved to block her path. “This wasn’t the direction you were heading.”

“I changed my mind,” said Haru tightly. “Now please step aside so I may leave.”

“Come on, don’t be cold. We’ll show you a good time.”

“I said no.”

“Playing hard to get. We like that.” The one standing in front of her gripped her shoulder, nails digging through the material of her blouse. “Makes the game more fun.”

With speed he wasn’t expecting, and strength he didn’t anticipate, Haru dropped her shopping bags and grabbed him by the arm. She flipped him over her shoulder, sending him slamming into his two companions. All three of them were thrown forcibly to the ground.

Her escape route now clear, Haru took off running. She could hear her assailants swearing, their slick charm now replaced with anger. Her feet pounded against the granite sidewalk, eyes darting back and forth in search for a refuge. She was about to dart into a shop when fury overtook her anxiety, a fury that was not her own.

Slowing her sprint into a jog, Haru turned around, squinting down the street. Though she couldn’t see Hibari and Mukuro, she knew they were there. She retraced her steps, moving cautiously along the buildings. She reached the corner of the alley, but before she could peek around the wall slim fingers covered her eyes.

“I wouldn’t look if I were you,” spoke Mukuro, ushering Haru away from the scene.

“You didn’t kill them did you?” asked Haru, prying his hands away. “They’re creepy predators, but I didn’t want them dead.”

“You are far too good to these low-lives,” sighed Mukuro.

He didn’t answer her question and Haru knew better than to press further. When Hibari came out of the alley, expression livid, Haru held up her hands in feeble protest.

“Okay, I clearly would have gone back to the hotel if I knew this was going to happen.”

His tonfa slammed next to her head, causing her to squeak. Glaring at her, Hibari growled, “Walking unfamiliar territory alone and taking a shortcut down an empty alley is almost as foolish as disobeying my order.”

“All right, I’m sorry,” said Haru sincerely. “I shouldn’t have hung up on you like that. But I wanted to have some fun. You two aren’t exactly the shopping types, and I couldn’t sit around the hotel all day. I can take care of myself. But thank you, for helping me.”

“I know you can take care of yourself,” said Hibari, giving Haru’s ear a sharp, reprimanding twist. “But that doesn’t mean you can make idiotic decisions that put you in needless danger.”

Haru frowned. “Coming from the man that never goes a day without acting recklessly.”                                                                                           

“That’s different. I’m all-powerful.” Glancing at Mukuro, he said, “Give her her purchases.”

Mukuro gave a lazy wave of his hand and Haru’s shopping bags appeared in her arms. A bright smile appearing on her features, Haru said, “Thanks!”

“Oh, you’re only carrying them back to the hotel,” said Hibari, starting down the sidewalk. “Then they’re in my custody. You’ll get them back when your punishment is over.”

Haru winced. “Right. I figured.” Mukuro nudged her back, propelling her forwards. As they walked towards their hotel, Haru dug through one of her bags and pulled out two small stuffed animals. “Um…will you accept apology gifts?”

Mukuro took the gray owl with a wide grin. “I knew you wouldn’t go all that shopping without thinking of me.”

Hibari studied the round, soft yellow bird and slipped it into his pocket. He gave Haru’s chin a quick squeeze and said, “You’re a pain in my ass.”

Grinning, Haru said, “I love you too. So does this mean I’m not banned from your next business trip?”

Mukuro slung an arm over Haru’s shoulders. “Why would you be banned? You think I want to travel with the skylark by myself?”

“You’re both banned,” said Hibari with a roll of his eyes.

[seijuurouxryuu]

We Are Not Meant To Be (But We Are)

Title: We're Not Meant To Be (But We Are) Author: Shiro (TeitoxAkashi [AO3]/ seijuurouxryuu [tumblr]) Rating: T Pairing: Reborn/ Hibari Kyouya, Yamamoto Takeshi/ Sawada Tsunayoshi, (one-sided)Hibari Kyouya/ Yamamoto Takeshi, (one-sided) Reborn/ Sawada Tsunayoshi Event: @khrrarepairweek Prompt: Bodyguard/ Hitman AU | Kidnapping Tags/Warnings: No Archive Warning, Graphic Deciptions of Violence, mentioned of drugs

Day 6: Cloud Day

Hibari glared at him. "Quit it." He tried to turn around again but Reborn held him back. "Wait."

"What do you want?"

Reborn looked at him and sighed. "I know that you like Yamamoto."

AO3

Watching Yamamoto chattering and smiling brightly at Sawada annoyed Hibari a lot. Every day, he would hear the Rain laugh at whatever Sawada said, joking with him, holding him. Whenever he managed to see them together, he could see the affection from them, the sickening tenderness in their eyes for each other.

Hibari hated it.

His mouth would run dry, rage bubbling in him followed by cold shiver down his spine. He would unconsciously clench his jaw, curled his hands into fist, wanting nothing but to bite someone to death.

And yet, when he saw them so happy, he couldn't do anything. When he saw them together, contented, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't find any will to even try and break them up.

They deserve each other, fitted like puzzle pieces, complimenting each other in every step, every movement. They were meant to be.

And Hibari knew that.

So he turned around, looking away each time and leave. He left every time, but the cold loneliness in his heart did not. Never did, and perhaps never will.

"Yo, Hibari." He looked back from his perch on the window stilt, gazing far away, watching the foreign land that was never his home, to see Reborn by the door, leaning against it with his arms crossed. The hitman was holding a folder, which he suspected it to be his next mission.

He grunted at him and turned, facing the hitman fully. The now physically adult hitman seemed to be amused at that and sauntered into the skylark's room, handing him the folder. "Hunt. Yes?"

Hibari's eyes flitted over the words before he closed the folder. He stood up and headed out. "Let's go." Reborn rolled his eyes at that before following, easily falling into steps beside the younger man.

Blood. There was blood everywhere. None were their as they go on rampage, never holding back. Horrified scream rang out in the air as they slaughtered through the crowd, fire burning in the background. Multiple gunshots resonated in the air along with the screams, the smell of iron in the air increases.

The herbivores ran, and they both let them, concentrating on those who were still up and fighting- futilely- against them. They would let them run, let them have the small moment of hope, but they were not done with them. Hibari whirled around, his chain from his tonfa circling around him and took out some, clipped some. He brought his tonfa down and crushed the head of one man whose name and face he didn't bother knowing with one blow.

The blood splattered on his face didn't bother him, neither did it stop his killing frenzy. If anything, the feel, colour and smell of blood increased his thirst for more.

He ducked down low and did a 360, catching the one who tried to punch him with his thigh and pulled himself up as the man tried to claw him off. He smirked, lips pulled back to show his teeth and twisted the man's head off, pulling it out from the neck. He jumped away and landed gracefully on the red floor, flooded with blood. He threw the head up and down, ignoring how the flesh seemed to splatter all around.

He wondered if a certain Rain were to throw this head at someone, would it punch through, or would the head shatter first.

He scowled and threw away the head at that, annoyance bubbling in him. He flicked his tonfa and the chain swung, cutting down someone with the speed it was going before the chain shortened.

Reborn, a few feet away from him, roundhouse-kicked someone, throwing them back before he pulled another trigger at someone else. He could see through the corner of his eyes that Hibari was overpowering the crowd that decided to team up against him, could feel the shift in emotions in the man. He clicked off the empty magazine of his gun and swiftly snapped in a new one, kneecapping someone on their left leg. The pitiful man screamed, clutching onto his leg. Reborn had to give him his credit when he noticed that there was no way he could win against the two of them.

That no one can win against the Strongest Hitman in the World and Vongola's Strongest Guardian.

"P-please! M-my wife and kids! I-if you kill me, w-what would they do?!"

But still, stupid.

"That's overused." Reborn hummed, sauntering closer. He leaned on one leg, smirked as his dark eyes glinted. "Tell me something more interesting, and maybe I'll let you go, hm?" The man stuttered an affirmative hastily. "Great!" Reborn chirped cheerily. He tapped his chin as though he was contemplating. "Hmm, let see. Ah! Right!" He leaned down, looming.

"What's the drug that your boss decided to develop?"

The man hesitated for a moment. Reborn tutted and aimed at his right leg. "W-w-wait! I-I don't know!" He pulled the trigger as the man screamed, dropping onto the ground.

"P-p-please! I really don't know!" He shot at his torso, deliberately avoiding the lungs and heart. "Next will be your head if you don't tell the truth~" He sing-sang, shifting his aim to the head.

"E-Ecstasy!" The man blurted out. "I-it's a sort of ecstasy and aphrodisiac! I- I heard that whoever that takes it experience a sort of black out during the whole time yet still feel a high that felt like a dream! That's all I know! Honest!"

Reborn hummed. The man doesn't seemed to be lying. "T-there's information on the drug i-in the research room!"

"Oh?"

"Y-yeah! T-the research room is linked to boss's room." Reborn paused, reading the man, taking him off piece by piece in his head. The man was sweating profusely, but he wasn't lying. He had just spilled the Famiglia secret without any remorse. He smiled. "What's your name?"

"E-eh? Uhm- Giuseppe."

His smile stretched an inch. "Well, thank you for your information, Giuseppe. With this, I'll grant you the fastest way to die!"

"W-w-wait! You said you'd let me go if I tell you something!"

Reborn nodded. "Yep, I did. And you did told me something interesting. But," He drawled. "You just broke the Omerta. You would ended up being killed anyway. I'll do it for you instead. Consider this an honor."

He smirked and pulled the trigger with one last parting words, ignoring the loud protests. "Le mie condoglianze."

The bullet went through the head as it lolled back, lifeless. Reborn hummed and turned away, flicking the blood of his hand and gun. His eyes scanned the blood tainted room, fire burning down the curtains and some of the furniture. The fire was the least of Reborn's concern as his eyes locked on Hibari's bloodied figure.

He had already dealt with the rest of the enemies- no- victims, stomping on one's head until it reduced to nothing but bits and pieces of flesh and gore that clung onto his shoes. Instead of the pure glee of bloodlust he had earlier, it had shifted into thick annoyance and irritation, killing intent increased ten fold.

Reborn watched, let the younger man take everything out on the already dead body. He knew why he was like that after all. Recently, Hibari had been distant, far more distant that he usually was. Whenever he spotted Tsuna and Yamamoto together, he had this look on his face before he avoids them quietly. Whenever Reborn saw him looking at the couple, he would see the tension in the shoulders, the curl of his fist, the anger burning in those sliver eyes.

He knew what were those.

It was the sign of jealousy.

Hibari did a really good job at hiding them, but Reborn could tell.

Because he himself had that look whenever he saw how happy Tsuna was with the Rain before his attention was diverted.

He tilted his head slightly, face blank before he called out. "Oi, Hibari!" The skylark jerked once before stopping. He whirled around and locked eyes with the hitman, sliver-blue orbs burning in jealousy, in envy, in bitterness and in loneliness.

Reborn licked his lips at that.

He pointed up the stairs. "Let's go catch those people and grab the information."

Something flitted in Hibari's eyes before he moved. He wordlessly walked up to Reborn and they both climbed the stairs.

It was a one-sided slaughter fest. In an hour time, Reborn and Hibari had killed every single human being in the building, combing through until there was no one left but them. It was a bit fun, if Reborn had to say. To see and feel how feral and uncontrolled Hibari was. To share the excitement and adrenaline with Hibari. Reborn hadn't feel that thrill for a long time.

He loves it.

He doesn't forget though, that he still had to retrieve the information on the drugs. It was one of their main task other than, well, killing everyone. The information was needed to counter the drugs that had been sold and spread all over the country.

He stepped over the bodies and headed into the boss's room, followed closely by Hibari. Fiddling around and opening the secret door to the research room, they swiftly gathered the information and headed out. But before they stepped out of the building, Reborn pulled Hibari back and stole a kiss from him.

He managed to tangle his tongue with the other's once before he had to broke it off, licking off the blood from his lips where Hibari had bitten him.

"What do you think you are doing?" Hibari snarled.

"Kissing you." Reborn said nonchalantly.

Hibari glared at him. "Quit it." He tried to turn around again but Reborn held him back. "Wait."

"What do you want?"

Reborn looked at him and sighed. "I know that you like Yamamoto." Hibari swatted his hand away, eyes flashing. "Listen. I know you like him, but you and I both know that he isn't going to leave Tsuna. So give up.

"Give up, and let me hold you." Let me love you.

"... I thought you liked the small animal."

Reborn nodded, a wry smile on his face. "Well, as you had said, liked. He.. He and I are not meant to be. Not suitable." He shook his head. "But he doesn't matter. I still to like him, but not like that any longer. Not when you caught my eyes."

Hibari stared. "I'm willing to wait for you." Reborn continued. "I'm willing to wait until you'll take my hand, until you forget about Yamamoto."

"You know that that's impossible."

"It is not impossible."

Reborn took a step forward and grabbed Hibari's hand, squeezing it tightly. "I'll wait." For you are worth it.

For we're meant to be.

"For Primo's sake- must you guys kill all of them?!" Reborn took a sip at his espresso, twiddling his sideburn as he watched Tsuna groaning. "I should have known- I shouldn't have send the both of you together. What was I thinking- ouch!" The brunette pouted as he rubbed his forehead where Reborn had flicked.

"What was that for?"

"For ranting." Reborn poked the sore spot and rubbed harshly. "You of all people should know that they would ended up dead in the end when we send the evidences to Vindice. Might as well do it ourselves. It's more fun this way."

Tsuna huffed as Reborn grinned. "Not to mention, you're the one who told us to not hold back."

Tsuna's eyes darken slightly, his lips jutting out. "That's because they killed a few of ours with that stupid drug of theirs.."

Reborn smirked and leaned back. He looked smug, which made Tsuna sulk even more. The brunette sighed in exasperation. "... Well, good job. Thank you, Reborn."

The hitman said nothing and ruffled the soft, brown hair, eyes soft as Tsuna yelped.

"Hey- stop!"

The door slammed open. The two of them looked towards the door to see Hibari storming in. Tsuna blinked. "Oh, Hibari! Welcome back! How's-" Tsuna shrieked when the skylark grabbed the hitman's tie and tugged him down, crashing their lips together.

Reborn's hands immediately grabbed Hibari, a hand behind his head to pull him closer, deepening the kiss while another around his waist to keep him in place.

"W-wha- Do it outside!!" Tsuna yelled and they broke apart.

Hibari hissed while Reborn laughed at the brunette. The skylark huffed and tugged the man out, leaving the room.

Alright.

A/N= Hibari is absolutely the kind to do that-- yep-- uhum. Reborn is the same as well pppffftt--

Le mie condoglianze means my condolences in Italian. It's from google so I don't know if it's any accurate.

There's a stretch of time from the third and last part. They were given two week to deal with everything; they finished it the first week before Reborn and Hibari separated, the skylark having another set of minor mission. Reborn lingered around before heading back to Italy.

[I apologize from any grammar, spelling, etc. etc. mistakes]

[linniehays404936-blog]

✅ Organisation Guidebook Printing.

Are you exhausted of your eye colour? . Since of its milky appeal, the water located paint conditioner is perfect for any kind of colour paint yet are going to not be actually appropriate in water based varnish. If we include the tertiary or intermediary shades in the different colors tire, an akin plan can also match violet with red-violet or yellowish with yellow-orange. Having said that, if you live significantly from one of these shops, your local drug store more than likely brings products that will certainly operate properly on your color-treated completely dry hair; simply make certain to read through the element listing just before obtaining the hair shampoo.

You may locate numerous presents as well as resources to your birthstone or even people dear to you on-line and also view the numerous various styles as well as rates they come in. Gold engagement rings in certain appeal exceptional when surrounding an unique rock with the try to emphasise its colour, but you'll be surprised the amount of various forms you may acquire your rock in. Various colors could be secured by disrupting the oxidation by sky, warmth and also lighting. Today, without any all-natural predators, they are coming back. Include the hyperlink, vlink as well as alink qualities to your body system tag if you would certainly as if to indicate your web link colors throughout your internet page. Make an effort topping lipstick with a soft level of light-toned peach or neutral colored buff for an extra little bit of sparkle. Gold & Yellowish - Originally Ogon were actually gold in different colors, yet had a tendency to switch blackish with improved water temperature. For even more chronic areas of darker skin layer, an aiding hand is actually sometimes required to help in reducing their appearance. This will certainly allow you to see what hair colors you ought to stay clear of. These openings may certainly not look apparent right now, gymdietsupplement.info yet they are going to often tend to stand out more if you are actually repainting the panelling a light-toned color. Walk about toy team - you'll observe that they are actually rather well aware of children's' colour preferences and utilize the colour to draw in children's attention as well as sell their products, as business working with grownups, they use the exact same tactics - colour qualities of the trade spot, highlighting certain functions with the help of colours. Other birds logged today consisted of 10 Gannets, a Grey Heron, 5 Typical Scoters, a Sparrowhawk, a Buzzard, four Kestrels, a Merlin, pair of Peregrines, two Water Side rails, a Lapwing, four Snipes, ten Curlews, 14 Redshanks, pair of Turnstones, 29 Mediterranean Gulls, 110 Black-headed Gulls, seven Popular Gulls, 130 Razorbills, a Stock Dove, a Fantastic Detected Woodpecker, seven Skylarks, 3 Fieldfares, six Redwings, 3 Blackcaps, 11 Chiffchaffs, ten Goldcrests, seven Blue boobs, three Excellent boobs, 120 Starlings, 14 Chaffinches, 3 Siskins, 42 Goldfinches, 11 Linnets, 3 Lesser Redpolls and a roaming group of 11 Crossbills. We utilized black as the wall structures were actually a lightweight colour and thought it would certainly accent the place, as well as I think it did well. Modifications with respect to up arrangement in fashion, colours as well as layouts have produced these shoes still appealing and relaxed. Since you are coloring the whole entire intensity of the piece, integral colours are actually costly. When I was actually more youthful I usually tended to be actually pulled to sinister different colors, I have actually seen that. Being a hair stylist I have transformed my colour lot of times over times, and have actually found what jobs and also what enhances my skin. Her hair is actually certainly not normally curly, her skin is typically decent and her eyes are in fact green. Wash your hair a day or two prior to you tint it. You hair requires the organic oils to defend it. Additionally avoid combing your hair strongly before you color it. This commonly has a tendency to irritate the scalp.

Signs consist of fever, chills, migraine as well as pale sensitiveness, and also a rash of black reddish or even brown spots on the ankle joints as well as hands. Simply during the night the world ceases to have fun with vivid colors, it comes to be a grey or even dark .