#not sure what all the languages on the signage are

[rahuratna]

Thirst Trap

Genre: Fluff, humour, crack.

Characters: Nanami, Yuuji, Ino.

Summary: Ino and Yuuji unwittingly make Nanami IG-famous through a social media post. As the internet's thirst ramps up, Nanami remedies the situation by roping in the two young sorcerers once again.

CW: language.

"Now that's what I call ... "

"A good run!"

"Oh, hell yeah. You're not half bad, Itadori! Just stick close to me, and you'll learn plenty more!"

A warehouse stained with the remnants of dispatched cursed spirits, clothes rumpled and stained with the evidence of hard work and a new student brimming with the desire to prove himself. Now this was Ino's definition of a day well spent. The last, and most proudly worn feather in his cap was the fact that their successful team-up had been overseen by none other than Nanami Kento himself, the man who breathed inspiration into all of his endeavours as a sorcerer.

Speaking of which ...

"Hey, Nanami, what did you think of our work today?"

Striding along at a steady pace behind the two youngsters, the tall, ever-composed sorcerer looked up and adjusted his glasses.

"Hmm. You're both well-coordinated, considering that you've never been teamed up before. You've got good instinctual prediction of each other's movements and I'm quite certain that you may come up with even more effective techniques if you work together in the future."

Ino nudged Yuuji and mouthed the words "Here it comes."

"Having said that, Itadori, some points to consider."

The cheerful boy glanced back at Nanami and gulped.

"Err, yes, Nanamin?"

"Your instincts are important, but you can't always rely on them. Instincts are based on your physical senses and your ability to analyse cursed energy. It takes a great deal of focus to maintain a good hold on both these threads. If a curse user is able to fool your senses, then such instincts can be your downfall rather than your strength."

Yuuji mulled those words over, humming to himself. Ino clapped him on the back.

"You listen to Nanami and you won't go wr- "

"Funny you should say that, Ino. Because I'm pretty sure I taught you to practice caution at all times instead of throwing yourself head-first into a situation because your underclassman is watching you."

Ino winced and rubbed the back of his head, laughing sheepishly.

"Okay, okay. I admit it. Got a bit carried away 'cos Itadori was watching me. Won't happen again."

Nanami grunted in reply and the two younger sorcerers glanced at each other and grinned slightly. Yuuji's stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly in protest of its emptiness.

"Whoa, whoa. Can't have that. Hey, Nanami, what do you say we grab something to eat?"

"I suppose that would be acceptable. What do you propose?"

Ino turned excitedly to Yuuji.

"Since you're the newbie here, you get to choose! Only for today, though!"

"Seriously? Cool! I wanna eat ... hot pot on a day like this. That warehouse was kinda chilly."

Nanami nodded before consulting his phone.

"There's a good place not far from here. Let's go."

The place Nanami chose was somewhat off the beaten track. They left the main thoroughfare at some point, wandering through a maze of backstreets, food sizzling on outdoor grills, murky puddles and cosily lit bars. The restaurant they ended up at had no proper signage announcing the name of the establishment or any indication of their menu.

The food was, of course, incredible. Yuuji's eyes positively glowed with excitement as the steaming hot pot was laid out before them, the perfectly prepared ingredients on the side.

"Ooh, this is amazing! Nanamin, how'd you find this place?"

"I often come across good places to eat when I'm on missions in the area."

Ino shook his head fondly.

"Oi, Itadori, Nanami here is a massive foodie, you know that? You name any part of Tokyo and he'll tell you the best places to eat there. He even knows regional specialties in other areas that are pretty out there!"

Yuuji was now regarding his mentor with new reverence. Nanami coughed and re-directed their attention to the food.

"This is going to get cold. Shall we begin?"

"Oh! Hold on. Gotta record some of this."

Ino pulled out his phone, getting a few snaps and videos of the steaming hot pot from various angles. Now accustomed to his junior's need to record everything, Nanami sighed and began to add ingredients to the steaming soup base, softly reprimanding Yuuji who didn't want too many vegetables.

"It's winter and these are good for you. Make sure to eat the cabbage. It has roughage and the shungiku and carrots have a lot of vitamins. They also reduce inflammation of the muscles after a long day."

While the pot bubbled merrily, Nanami prepped their sauces in small porcelain dishes, mixing a little grated radish into the ponzu and adding some green onion to the sesame. He added ingredients to the main pot in a methodical sequence, placing the thicker parts of the vegetables first, followed by the assortment of mushrooms and the tofu.

Lastly, with Yuuji's mouth now practically watering, he handed over the thinly sliced beef for them to take, each dipping their portion for a few seconds until cooked, his deep murmur guiding them on correct timing. Ino had now set his phone aside and was just as hungry, digging in with relish.

When the meal was over, two stuffed and slightly drowsy youngsters followed Nanami out of the restaurant, the warmth of the food in their system buffering against the cold wind that caught at their clothes.

By the time Yuuji had been dropped back at Jujutsu Tech, he was ready to hit the bath and sleep for a solid ten hours. Loping towards the student dorms, he briefly checked his phone, shooting a quick text at Megumi.

Back from my mission. All good.

The reply came within seconds.

Did I ask?

I met Takuma!

Oh. He's cool.

Very cool. We had supper at a hot pot place.

With Nanami?

Yup. Apparently he's big on food.

I'm going to sleep now.

Check this out. Takuma sent it to me. He kinda forgot he was recording after a while.

Attachment: 1.

Shit, you're making me hungry dumbass.

Lol. Looks good, huh?

Yeah, whatever. Post it on your IG or something.

Humming thoughtfully, Yuuji entered his room and began gathering together some of his bath supplies. He paused at the foot of his bed, head bobbing to some unheard lyrics, fingers tapping against the phone screen that lit up his face in the darkened room.

After a few moments, he dropped the phone face down on his bed, exiting the room with a yawn, the basket of toiletries tucked under one arm. He promptly forgot about his casual IG post, right up until the next morning when he roused from sleep, eyes still slightly gummed together, fingers fumbling until they unlocked the screen so he could check the time ... and he shot upright in confused alarm, spying the flood of notifications that had come in overnight.

Now it has to be said, at this point, that being the easy-going, friendly type, Yuuji had made a lot of connections with others over time. Whether during his years at middle school, his sporting club days, or more recently, his time out and about in Tokyo on various missions, he'd managed to accrue a fair following on social media. While many of those who friended him and sent him the occasional inbox wouldn't be considered close to him by any means, his posts were often noticed and popular amongst them. Such was the nature of his personality.

And so, the video of Nanami with the hot pot, normally something that would fly under the radar if posted by anyone else, became an overnight sensation simply because it reached a much wider audience.

And what was the appeal of such a simple video, you may ask?

Imagine, if you will, a short video with simple tags, such as 'shabu shabu heaven', 'sooo good', 'too many veggies' and 'still so yummy, tho'.

Upon idly playing the clip (because it's a cold evening, and you might be craving some shabu shabu yourself) you're met with quite the sight.

First, a pair of hands come into view. Large, elegant digits, broad palms, perfect and neatly trimmed nails. The strong fingers handle the chopsticks with deft precision, stirring the steaming broth in the pot briefly.

Well now. Those hands would definitely be intriguing enough, but the effect is magnified as you witness the camera shift angle a little. The view pans up to the arms and body those hands are attached to, the subtle ripple of muscle in the broad shoulders that taper down to a slim waist, all wrapped in an expensive looking blue shirt, visible over the polished wood of the table. The man's face isn't visible, adding an element of mystery.

He begins adding vegetables to the pot, and now he really has your attention, because he has begun speaking.

And oh my. That voice.

The soft, smoky suggestion of reprimand as he softly lists the benefits of the food, the crisp enunciation of a man well-spoken, the low baritone that flows with marvellous richness across the riverbed of acoustic static from the bubbling of the pot.

You're captivated now, bringing your phone closer to your ear as you strain to hear more of those quiet, compelling, slightly authoritative tones. And then, the crowning moment of glory, the little gesture that takes this video from a solid nine to an eleven out of ten.

He rolls up his sleeves.

Setting down the chopsticks, those exquisite fingers unbutton the cuffs of his shirt with a practiced motion, rolling up the perfectly pressed fabric and folding it neatly just beneath the elbow on each side. The motion reveals perfectly sculpted forearms, the powerful flex of sinew beneath skin, veins tracing beneath the surface under the dusting of golden hair in the lamplight of the restaurant.

He continues his muted litany of instructions to whoever he is talking to, but at this point, the man could be reciting the Encyclopaedia Britannica entry on tortoises, on repeat, and you'd lap it up like the thirsty little tart you are ...

Ahem. Where was I?

Right. The video, which at that moment, was being watched by you (the imagined viewer) and Reiko from the sales department, and Haruka who you had lunch with just the other day, and Sara who loves to look up cooking videos on a Sunday afternoon, and Sukuna, who sometimes watched videos from inside Yuuji's mind with mild interest, and who momentarily thought "What a fine voice for a mortal worm", and ... you get the idea, don't you?

Ino received a panicked call from Yuuji that same morning. He'd been puttering about in his small apartment, popping some slices of bread into the toaster and frying up an egg for a quick breakfast, when the call had come through.

"Uh, Takuma-senpai? Hi, it's me, Itadori."

"Oh, hey! What's up? Did they team us up again? Sheesh. Didn't take 'em long."

"No, it's ... not a mission. It's about that video you sent me yesterday. The one from the restaurant."

"Hmm ... oh that one! Yeah?"

"See ... uhhh ... oh damn. How do I - So, look. I posted it on my IG."

"Oh, okay. And then?"

"So ... it kind of ... became popular?"

"People like hot pot that much?" Ino chuckled. "But I mean, what's the problem?"

"It's not the hot pot, Takuma-senpai! It's Nanamin!"

Having finally come to the crux of the issue, Yuuji's words were leaving him in a veritable torrent.

"They all saw him in the video and I didn't know! How was I to know? I didn't think they'd... and now there're all these ladies and girls and stuff and they're all ... it's a mess! And I don't know what to do and he's gonna kill me and - "

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, man. I can't make sense of what you're saying. One thing at a time."

"They think he's hot! They're all talking about Hot Pot Honey Muffin! That's what they're calling him!"

Ino promptly spat out his coffee in a fine brown mist.

"Hot Pot Honey what now?"

"Honey Muffin! I can't - Dude. Please, you've got to help me. If Nanamin finds out - "

"Okay. Okay. This is fine. This is ... Listen. Let me go check the video and the comments and we'll handle this. It can't be that bad. And even if that's the case, Nanami wouldn't be bothered by it. His face is not even in the video. Nobody can recognise him. He doesn't even go out that much."

"Oh God, I'm just ... okay. Go check it out. I'll send you a link to the post. Let me know."

After Yuuji had rung off, Ino took a breath and shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. It was just a harmless little video! He'd posted some of these before himself, and there'd never been an issue. So how bad could it be?

It was bad.

The comment section was ... interesting to say the least.

Who is that man? Anyone?

I'd let him stir my pot. Just saying.

That voice. Hnmnnghhh. Smack me on the wrist and call me nawty.

Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry -

Sir. One chance. Please sir.

Awjejdbavzbzbahsb pls ur bunny hash been a bad bad gurl

Unf, bouta make that ahegoa face rite now

And, rising above the cloud of steaming, churning, thirsty commentary, that rare peak of social media strata, the dreaded moniker that had found its place from the comment of one of the many new fans that Nanami had found for himself, Hot Pot Honey Muffin.

Ino, in spite of the chill that went up his spine and the momentary panic, knew what had to be done immediately. They had to show Nanami. Keeping something like this a secret would only make things worse with time.

True, Nanami wasn't the kind of man who drew attention to himself, but with the video now as popular as it was, it was entirely possible that someone in a shop, restaurant or one of his other frequent haunts in the local area might just recognise him. He would have to be warned, and even though Yuuji had long since taken the video down, it had been re-posted and there needed to be some kind of technical damage control.

Wracking his brain, Ino hit upon a great idea. Ijichi was known to have connections who could scour the internet for traces of curse activity that might be caught on camera and erase such evidence. Surely something similar could be done about this? If he phrased his request as something urgent, something that could affect Nanami's ability to do his job, then surely they'd take it into account?

With this new burst of inspiration, Ino threw on his jacket and headed out the door to Jujutsu Tech.

"And so ... yeah. That's ... how the matter stands. We're worried about someone recognising you because of how popular this became."

This was worse than he thought. Admitting to a mistake was always difficult when it was Nanami who was hearing you out. Standing in front of him in the staff lounge like two contrite five-year-olds caught with their hands in the cookie jar, Ino battled the instinct to hide behind Yuuji.

He was the older one here, and the one who had recorded the video in the first place. He had to bear the full responsibility for what had happened and be man enough to tell Nanami. How else would he earn his (eventual) respect and admiration?

The sorcerer seated before them heard them out in terrifyingly passive silence before sighing and removing his shades, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Just when I think nothing can surprise me any more ... "

"I'm so sorry, Nanamin!" Yuuji blurted out. "I ... I didn't know ... I mean ... "

"Well, what's done is done. May I see this video, if you please?"

Ino nudged Yuuji  who stepped forward and handed his phone over reluctantly. Their discomfort grew as Nanami watched, a slightly puzzled expression on his face. The video ended and he looked up at them, frowning.

"All right. I can see why you didn't think anything of posting this, Itadori. The video itself is ... ordinary enough. It's simply showing a portion of me and the hot pot. So, why the attention?"

"Uhh ... "

The younger sorcerers glanced at each other. Ino cleared his throat.

"Well ... see, the thing is ... in the video, you kinda come across as ... I dunno ... kinda hot? At least, that's what the viewers seem to think."

"Me?"

Nanami looked incredulous and Yuuji gestured meekly to the phone.

"Just ... read the comments, Nanamin. I took the video down, but people re-posted it, so ... You'll see."

And Nanami began to read. Ino winced as he remembered the top comment, the one that would probably be first on the long list.

Roses are red, violets are blue, Your voice gets me wet Just like shabu shabu

Nanami's eyebrows were rising as steadily as the steam that emanated from the tea pot at his elbow, long forgotten. He eventually handed the phone back to Yuuji, clearing his throat.

"Well."

"Yeah."

"So ... "

"Hmmm."

"Right?"

"Yes."

Yuuji waved his hands desperately.

"But ... we're gonna handle this, right Takuma-senpai?"

"Oh yeah, definitely. I was thinking, you see. Ijichi might be able to use his network to find and remove the content from all media platforms. He's been able to do it before. I can make a request."

Nanami folded his arms and thought for a moment.

"I see. Yes, that would be possible. However, I'm against the idea of using Jujutsu Tech resources and manpower for a request such as this. That same time and processing power could be poured into much more vital concerns. Who knows how many lives could be placed at stake while we use the tools we have for something like this? No. I think another solution must be found."

Ino's shoulders sank under the weight of the knowledge that Nanami was right, as usual. But that left few avenues for removing the video. How else would they prevent this from blowing up further?

"I get it. What you're saying makes sense. What are we gonna do, though?"

"Ah. About that." Nanami lifted a prim finger. "I have an idea."

Yuuji stared at him, dumbfounded.

"You do?"

"Yes. But we will require some help. And some ... expertise on putting together a video."

It was then that Ino felt an even greater chill settle into his very bones as he witnessed something truly rare and unprecedented, something that did not bode well for him and Yuuji at all.

Nanami smiled.

It was Nobara's skill with outfits and make-up, and Inumaki's talent for setting up a scene, that had led to their current predicament. Yuuji's hair had been dyed black, his eyebrows darkened. Nobara's contouring prowess had rendered his face rounder and younger-looking, eyes magnified behind very large, thick lenses. He wore a red t-shirt with a skimpily dressed anime girl printed on it and an oversized purple jacket that disguised his lean, athletic form.

Ino had also undergone a drastic transformation. His dark hair had been shaved at the sides, the top styled into extreme spikes, tinted acid green at the ends. He had been provided with a fake eyebrow piercing and an artfully applied temporary tattoo that curved up the side of his neck, appallingly visible by the standards of society.

They sat at one of the countertops in the student dorms, the background serving as an adequate stand-in for a kitchen in someone's home. Nanami was standing opposite them, wearing his usual blue shirt and tan trousers, his sleeves remaining unfolded this time around.

Inumaki gave one final check to the camera before giving them a thumbs up.

"Salmon roe."

And the recording began.

On the counter, various dishes had been set up, all prepared in advance. They looked delicious, but you wouldn't think so, judging from the expressions of the two young men seated in plain view.

Ino grunted irritably, giving the camera a thousand-yard stare that looked very incongruous on his normally cheery face.

"Do we have to do this shit?"

Yuuji stared gormlessly into space, before laughing obnoxiously and picking his nose.

"Yeah, cos Dad said if we did we could go to that one restaurant where the waitress looked like Hatsune Kiku."

Ino's scowl deepened.

"Tch. Typical. Shit for brains here is on about that dumbass idol again."

"Now, now, boys." Nanami's voice came from across the counter, deep, polished, and a huge contrast to the two choice morsels of hellspawn sitting opposite him.

"Eat your dinner. If you're both good, we'll go to that show next week."

Yuuji's face brightened immediately.

"You mean the one where they dress up in bikinis and wrestle in the mud?"

"No, not that one."

Ino smirked.

"Ha. In your face, rat-breath."

"Be nice to your brother."

"Whatever. What are you feeding us now, old man?"

"I made katsudon. And some vegetables on the side."

"But I wanna eat omurice," Yuuji whined, thumping his fists on the table.

Nanami chuckled. "Ah, you remind me so much of myself at your age, son."

Ino rolled his eyes before tugging a steaming bowl towards himself.

"Seriously? You were this much of a loser?"

"I meant that I liked omurice too."

"Daaaaddd, please can we have omurice."

"Eat what's in front of you. Come on."

Ino stuck his chopsticks into the bowl, churning the beautifully prepared meal into an unappetizing mush.

"Huh. It tastes okay. Now give me a nice hot barbecue and I'd be really stuck in, ya know?"

"Oh, Hatsune Kiku likes barbecue, but she says, in her interview with Doki Doki magazine, Issue five hundred and three, that she can't eat too much of it, 'cos it gives her gas and - "

"Can you shut the hell up about that green haired freak for like, two seconds?"

"Kiku is not a freak!"

"Are you two eating?"

This earned a blessed silence for a few seconds, while the two 'sons' masticated in a manner that was singularly unappealing. When they were done, Nanami produced two bowls of caramel pudding and slid them across the counter, allowing his hands and arms in their blue sleeves to be briefly caught on camera.

"Well, here's dessert."

"Oohhh, pudding." Yuuji grabbed the bowl and moved it around slightly, watching the pudding jiggle. "Hehehehe. It bounces just like Kiku's - "

"Oh, for fuck's sake, you creepy - "

"Language, boys."

"Urgh. I hope I'm getting paid for this. Hanging out with this loser is taking years off my life."

"He's your brother. You two have to look after each other when I'm gone."

"Like fuck I will. He's gonna become a NEET however you see it."

"Then it's up to you to set a good example for him."

"Ha. Me? The second you're in the ground, I'm gonna take the money and buy myself that sweet, sweet little Kawasaki Ninja, then I'm gonna hit the road."

"You'll see things differently with time. Look at me. I was the splitting image of you back then. I settled down nicely."

"Ugh, whatever. I ain't gonna settle down. Now where's my cash?"

"Finish your pudding first, son."

The video, released from a burner account set up by Inumaki, spread as quickly as the first one had. In the days that followed, gossip spread in social media circles about 'Hot Pot Honey Muffin' and his two god-awful sons. The rhetoric around him changed drastically. It turned out that having children, like the boys played so charmingly by Ino and Yuuji, was a huge turn-off to most people.

The two young sorcerers certainly served their time when it came to punishment. It took ages for the tint to grow out of Yuuji's hair and he cringed every time he saw Hatsune Kiku on TV. Ino developed a very strong aversion to bikes for a while and found it hard to stomach pudding. They both decided to deactivate their IG accounts for a while.

Nanami read some of the new video's comments shown to him by Inumaki with some satisfaction.

Can you believe those are his kids?

How the heck is he raising them?

And the younger one. EWWWWWWW.

The older one looks like he microwaves pigeons for fun.

Roses are dead, Violets are a lie, I saw your children, And my pussy is dry.

Nanami adjusted his shades before looking up at Inumaki and nodding gravely.

Success.

[punkshort]

Chapter warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), language, lots of smut, fluff, did I mention smut?

Epilogue

September 2005

"Are we almost there?" you asked Joel, who looked back over his shoulder at you from atop his horse.

"Almost," he assured you, turning back to the road in front of him.

He had wanted to keep it a surprise, but you saw the signs on the highway and figured it out a few hours into the trip. He was taking you to Yellowstone for "a few days", and it had taken you almost a full day on the back of a horse to finally get there. Your back and legs were sore, but you didn't complain. You were excited at the idea of getting away with Joel, just the two of you, the way it used to be.

You wondered where he was planning on taking you, having ridden by several campgrounds at this point as you made your way down the twisty road that led you through the entire park. You began to see signs for Old Faithful and your face lit up.

"C'mon, this way," he called over his shoulder as he steered his horse onto a road that led to a massive parking lot peppered with buildings. He led you past a visitors' center, a restaurant, and a general store until he stopped in front of a huge hotel.

"Whoa," you said, sliding down from your horse as you gawked up at the huge building, which was made to look like a giant log cabin.

"Me and Tommy came up a week ago and checked out the area, should be safe," he told you as he tied your horses to a railing.

"The whole building?" you asked incredulously. There was no way they could have gone through each room.

"Well, no, but we cleared the first floor and barricaded the stairs after we checked the hallways," he admitted. "Still should be on alert, though."

He led you up the steps and cracked the front door open, peeking inside for a minute before opening it all the way and letting you in. He held his rifle in his hands as he checked out the dining hall and kitchen before returning to you in the lobby. You had plopped down on a couch to rest, your head twisting around as you took in the artwork and informational signage on the walls.

"Tired?" he guessed, arching an eyebrow at you.

"A little," you admitted guiltily. "Guess I got too used to a life of luxury."

He laughed and held his arm out to help pull you up from the couch.

"C'mon, I already picked out a room for us," he said, leading you down the hall with his arm slung around your shoulder.

"I feel bad you did all this work and it's your birthday," you told him.

"You don't know if it's my birthday," he reminded you, and you shook your head.

"According to Maria's calendar, it's tomorrow," you said as you gave him a gentle poke in the ribs. No one was really sure what the actual date was. It had struck a big debate in a town hall meeting, various people swearing up and down they had kept track since the outbreak, but no one could agree on the same date. Maria compromised and picked a date in the middle, and it had been that way ever since.

"A few days all alone with you is well worth it," he said. Once you reached a door marked 19 all the way at the end of the hall, he dropped his arm from your shoulders and gripped his rifle.

"Lemme double check it's clear," he told you, pushing the unlocked door open and advancing into the room, doing a quick sweep before coming back out to the hall, ushering you inside.

"This is nice," you said, shrugging off your backpack and kicking off your boots. It was a standard hotel room: one king sized bed, a dresser, end tables, and a bathroom. But it looked like he had taken the time to clean it. You noticed there wasn't much dust on the surfaces in the room, and the bed looked freshly made.

"It's not much," he said as he walked to the covered window. "But this is why I picked it."

He flicked the curtains open so you could see outside. It was getting dark, but you could see a massive, open, rocky terrain directly outside your window. You squinted, trying to figure out what you were looking at when suddenly a huge gush of water shot straight up into the sky.

"Holy shit!" you yelled, quickly walking over to press your face against the window. Joel laughed. His timing couldn't have been more perfect.

You watched the geyser erupt for a few short minutes before it slowed and disappeared, and the quiet of evening enveloped the area once again.

"That was so cool," you said, looking up at him leaning against the window frame.

"We can get a better look tomorrow," he promised you. He pushed off the window to return to his pack, taking out a lantern and putting it on top of the dresser so you could see as the sun began to set.

"Is this where you and Tommy stayed when you came here?"

"No," he chuckled. "We were practically still kids. Thought we were tough roughin' it in the woods. First night we thought we heard a bear, next mornin' we booked the tiniest cabin you've ever seen, spent the rest of the week tryin' not to kill each other."

You laughed at the image he painted for you then flopped on the bed with a groan.

"Comfortable?" he asked you, standing up from emptying his backpack and turning around.

"Mhmm," you hummed, turning your head to look at him across the room. "Come here."

He strode over to you with a smirk and leaned down, his fists pushing into the mattress to hold him up on either side of you. He bent down to press his lips softly against yours, your eyes fluttering shut at the tenderness behind his kiss. You ran your hand up his exposed forearm, lightly tracing his veins under your fingertip while your other hand wrapped around the back of his neck, your fingers carding through his curls as you pulled him down further to you.

"Y'know, it's the anniversary of our first kiss," he mumbled against your mouth before pulling back and standing up.

"Oh, that's right," you said with a grin, then sat up on the bed as you watched him tug the curtains closed. You dragged your eyes up and down his body, thinking back to that night outside the bar and how much simpler life was back then.

"What're you thinkin' about?" he asked you, the corner of his mouth tugging up when he turned around and caught you staring.

"I was just wondering what would have happened that night if I went home with you," you told him. You giggled when his gaze darkened, his mind clearly taking what you said very literally.

"I mean, with us," you clarified. "And the outbreak. What our lives would have been like, if we would have even found each other that day..." your voice trailed off, leaving out the darker thought you had. What if Colleen had bit you?

Joel could tell you were overthinking when he saw your unfocused eyes trail around the room and your teeth sink into your lower lip.

"I always woulda found you, no matter what," he assured you. When that didn't seem to snap you out of it, he continued. "Besides, if you had come home with me that night, there was no way we were leavin' my bed the next day. I can promise you that."

That finally made a grin pull across your face and your eyes light up.

"Oh, yeah?" you pressed him, wiggling your eyebrows. You crawled across the bed, laying flat on your stomach and beckoned him to join you. He shook his head but walked back over to the bed anyway.

"Thought you were tired?" he murmured, his fingers gently trailing from the back of your neck down your spine.

"Not that tired," you said, turning your head to the side so you could look up at him standing above you. "Tell me what would have happened that night."

He felt his cock move in his jeans, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from groaning. It always amazed him how you could bring him to his knees with just a few words.

He swung his leg over yours so he was kneeling on either side of you, his hips resting on the back of your legs. He ran his hands up your sides before slowly dragging them back down to your hips, giving them a squeeze.

"Assumin' I didn't fuck you in the elevator first," he said lowly, his fingers dipping underneath the hem of your shirt. "I think I woulda laid you on top of my kitchen counter, pushed that little black dress up," he said as he lifted your shirt up to your shoulders, his hands massaging your sore back. "Then I woulda fucked you with my tongue til you were screamin' my name."

"Hmm," you moaned, wiggling your ass enticingly. "You do seem to have a thing for kitchen counters."

He grinned as he gently yanked your shirt over your head, leaving your top half bare and pressed into the bed.

"What else?" you asked breathlessly, your eyes sliding shut as he continued to rub his rough hands along your sore muscles.

"You remember those red shoes you were wearin'?"

You nodded and let out a soft whimper when his fingers found a particularly tough knot in your back.

"When I saw those, I thought about fuckin' you with 'em slung over my shoulders," he said, his erection straining against his jeans now.

"I should've packed them before we left my apartment," you muttered with a half smile. "I'm sure they would have been useful in the middle of the woods."

"Oh, you wanna talk about what went through my mind in your apartment?" he asked, reaching underneath you to unzip your jeans. He could feel the anticipation bubbling inside him becoming unmanageable, desperate to bury himself inside you.

"What about it?" you whispered, lifting your hips so he could pull your jeans off, leaving you in just your underwear. He hissed through his teeth when he saw the lacy pair you chose to wear for him, leaving very little coverage. His huge hands stretched out over each one of your cheeks as far as he could before curling his fingers and giving your ass an aggressive jiggle.

"Shoulda at least packed those little red panties stashed away in your drawer," he growled, his hands massaging your ass before traveling down the backs of your thighs, his movements becoming erratic. He felt your body still under him, and he froze, wondering if he crossed a line.

"What the hell? You went through my underwear drawer?" you asked sharply without turning your head to look at him. He cleared his throat before answering.

"Well, I-I didn't mean to, I was lookin' on top of your dresser and the drawer was open..." Joel stammered, feeling embarrassed until he felt your body shaking under his hands, your palm covering your mouth to stifle your laughter. He exhaled harshly when he realized you were just messing with him, his mood quickly changing back to playful.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now," he said darkly, making you yelp when he grabbed the sides of your underwear and roughly pulled them down your legs.

You tried to turn over, but his hand splayed across your lower back, effectively stopping you with a tsk.

"Nah, I think you're good right where you are, sweetheart," he said as he hurriedly unbuckled his belt. You heard the telltale sound of a zipper, and you thought you were going to jump out of your skin. Not being able to see him but to hear and feel everything was driving you wild.

He only pushed his jeans down far enough to free his cock, stroking it in one hand while his other hand curled around your hipbone, giving you a firm but gentle tug. You immediately obeyed, lifting your hips off the mattress but keeping your arms and head flat against the comforter. Your breaths were shallow as you anxiously waited for him to touch you.

Joel watched your arms reach straight out, your fingers gripping the duvet as your braced yourself for him. He looked down to admire your ass propped up in the air. He kept a firm hold on your hip as he slid his cock between your folds, collecting your arousal all along the length of him. You let out a low moan when his tip pushed up against your clit, and he couldn't help the smirk that danced across his face.

"You like messin' with me, hm?" he asked, dragging his cock through your folds again before his tip found your entrance, and he paused.

"Answer me," he demanded, his brows furrowed as he stared at the back of your head. You felt a shiver run down your spine at his tone. It was one of the things you loved most about him: his duality. The way he could be so gentle and soft, but also rough and harsh.

"Yes," you said breathily, and you felt his cock twitch against your cunt. Before you had a chance to think, his hand came down on your ass with a loud smack, followed immediately by him sinking into you with one swift motion.

"Fuck!" you cried out, waiting as the sting from his hand and cock slowly subsided into pleasure. Your fingers gripped the duvet so tight, they felt numb. You panted against your arm, waiting for him to move.

Both his hands gripped your hips lightly as he tried to ground himself, the sensation of your walls squeezing him making him dizzy. He watched, slack jawed, as the red handprint he left on your cheek slowly faded. Once it was gone, he swallowed and steadied himself.

He pulled back almost completely and paused before he pushed back into you as deep as he could, eliciting a moan from your throat. The angle caused him to get so deep that his tip was pressing against your cervix, making your eyes roll to the back of your head with each deep, powerful thrust.

He began to roll his hips steadily, his grip on you tightening as you whimpered under him. He could tell he was hitting that sweet spot by the soft noises you made and the way you clenched around him, causing him to quickly approach his high.

"Joel," you whined under him, desperate to hear his voice, still unable to see him.

"Would you have let me fuck you like this?" he gasped, his head tilting back and his eyes sliding shut as he continued to fuck into you. "That night at the bar? Would you - "

"Yes!" you cried out, your hips bucking against him now, desperate for release. "I wanted you so bad that night, baby, please..."

A switch flipped inside him when he heard that name - baby. He groaned, his eyes flashing open, his jaw clenched as his fingers left deep bruises in your hips.

"Fuck, y'know what that does to me," he muttered, slamming his hips into you over and over until he felt your cunt flutter around him, and you choked out a gasp, letting your orgasm wash over you as he continued to jerk inside you relentlessly.

He felt your body sag, but you fought to hold your hips up on shaky legs as he chased his release.

"That's my girl. Such a good girl, always make me feel so good," he murmured more to himself than anything. A few more thrusts and he pulled himself out of you quickly, spilling himself all over your back as you panted for air underneath him.

You both collapsed onto the bed: you on your stomach, him on his back, as you each attempted to catch your breath.

"Jesus, fuck," he rasped, staring at the ceiling. You turned your head and gave him a quiet giggle.

"I should mess with you more often," you teased, pulling the hair back from your face.

"I'm gettin' old, you know," he said, turning his head to the side. "You might kill me."

You hummed as your fingers danced up his still clothed torso, your eyelids drooping. With a groan, he pushed himself off the bed to fish out a rag from his backpack, cleaning you both up before tossing it on the floor and shimmying out of his clothes. He collapsed into bed naked, pulling you against him and yanking the sheets over the top of you both.

He buried his nose in your hair, inhaling deeply before he drifted off to sleep.

You woke up the next morning to Joel's rough, calloused hands lazily drawing circles over your stomach. You were both still naked under the sheets, Joel's arms wrapped around you from behind as you slept on your right side, tucked against him. His warm breath fanned across the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine as you pressed yourself into him further. You were both barely awake, eyes closed as you enjoyed each other's gentle touch under the cool, white sheets.

Joel pushed his hips against your ass, craving your warmth while his hand slowly traveled to your ribs, stroking the old scars that served as a reminder of what you were willing to do for him. You sighed, eyes still closed as you pushed yourself back against his hardening length. His fingers continued to blindly trace your scars until he slid his hand down to your hip, pressing a small kiss against your shoulder. His beard tickled your overly sensitive skin, giving you goosebumps. Joel yanked the covers over you further, thinking your reaction meant you were cold. He returned his hand to your hip, his massive palm gripping it lightly while he encouraged you to roll your ass against him slowly, and you happily obliged.

His right hand spread across your stomach and pulled you close, while his left hand found its way from your hip to between your legs. He let out a soft moan when he felt your wetness collecting there, all for him. He kept his eyes shut and rested his face against the back of your neck, lazily teasing your clit with the pad of his middle finger. You sighed, your hands reaching up to grip the pillow you had been sleeping on as you continued to slowly rock your hips against his cock.

You could feel your slick spreading over your inner thighs, your legs still pressed together while Joel continued to work you slowly, like he had all the time in the world. You felt the telltale stickiness of his precum leaving a trail on your lower back while you continued to rub up against him.

You lifted your left leg in the air, your ankle resting on the side of his knee. Reaching down, your fingers wrapped around his cock, notching his thick head against your aching cunt and sighed with relief as he pushed himself into you. His hand left your clit to steady your hip against him, his other hand still pressed firmly on your stomach.

You both kept your eyes closed, savoring the slow, languid feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you, filling you up. You could feel every inch of him from this angle, fitting so perfectly inside you, rubbing his tip slowly and steadily against that one spot only he managed to find.

His left hand slid down your inner thigh, his hips still rocking gently against your ass, until his palm reached your knee. He pulled it up towards the ceiling, your foot falling onto the bed behind his legs, opening up your hips to deepen the angle.

You gasped softly and your grip tightened on the pillow. His chest was pressed up against your back, and you could hear the stickiness on your skin from your combined sweat with each of his slow thrusts and roll of your hips.

His hand remained on your knee, spreading you open for him as he steadily fucked into you from behind. You could tell by his exhale on your neck that his breath was coming quicker now. You felt the familiar coil tightening in your lower stomach, and you tipped your head back, mouth hanging open, eyes still closed.

Your movement must have finally made him open his eyes to look at you because he craned his neck over to claim your open mouth with his, his tongue lazily swirling around yours.

There was no rush. No frantic, hurried movements. Just the two of you enjoying a peaceful, serene morning.

You whimpered softly against his mouth. He could feel your muscles tensing under his hands, a sign warning him you were close. He kept his hand on your knee but reached his right hand down to your clit, two fingers working you back and forth until the coil finally snapped.

You moaned, the loudest noise either of you had made so far that morning, as your hips stuttered against him. He felt your release coating his already soaked cock as he forced his eyes open to watch you. He kept rolling his hips into you steadily while you came down from your high, gasping for breath and covered in sweat.

He was so transfixed on your face, so obsessed with the way he could unravel you, that he didn't even realize his own climax had snuck up on him. He groaned into your neck as he felt his thick ropes of cum shooting inside you.

Reality came crashing down quickly, his eyes widening as he pulled his hips back aggressively, watching the rest of his spend coat your back and the sheets.

"Oh, fuck," he gasped, scrambling to sit up on the bed. You gave him a confused look over your shoulder, still lost in the afterglow of your orgasm. He grabbed your ankles and twisted you around so you were flat on your back, pushing your legs apart and peering between them to confirm his fear.

"Fuck!" he said, more panicked now. You sat up when you realized what happened, looking down at the trail of cum that was leaking out of you and onto the bed.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to - fuck!" he said for the third time, his jaw clenching while his hand angrily raked through his hair.

"Wait, just calm down, let me think for a second," you told him, your hand over your chest. Your eyes scanned the room as you mentally did the math, trying to remember the last time you had your period.

"What's there to think about? Christ, I'm such a fuckin' asshole," he said as he stood from the bed and paced around the room, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"I think it's fine," you said timidly, still counting the days in your head. "Yeah, it's fine. We're fine," you said more confidently now.

"How?!" he exclaimed, clearly still in a panic. You kneeled on the bed now, holding out your hands to try and quiet him down.

"Joel, there's only a handful days a month where this would have been a problem, and fortunately for us, this is not one of those days," you explained calmly. He looked confused, so you continued.

"I'm supposed to get my period in like, 4 or 5 days. I'm not ovulating, it's fine," you emphasized, and you watched as his eyes softened, absorbing your words.

"Oh, shit," he muttered, tipping his head back. His body sagged with relief as he flopped back on the bed, his hand on his heaving chest.

"Relax, it's okay," you cooed, running your fingers gently through his hair. He sighed and looked up at you.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he repeated, and you shook your head.

"Don't be. It was such a nice way to wake up, let's not ruin it," you said softly, leaning down to press a kiss against his lips.

"Mmm, it was, wasn't it?" he said, smiling against your mouth.

"Except now, you made a mess, and I need to clean myself up," you teased, sliding off the bed to head into the bathroom.

"Wait," he called out, and you turned around. "Before you do... c'mere."

You walked slowly back over to his side of the bed, his gaze raking up and down your naked form.

"What?" you whispered, his hand reaching up to grasp yours.

"Let me see," he told you, his gaze flicking down to your cunt and then back up to your eyes. Your breath hitched in your throat at his request.

"You already saw," you teased, and he grunted, dropping your hand and pushing himself up so he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I wanna see again," he said sternly, his gaze dark. His hands reached out to grip the backs of your thighs, pulling you toward him so you stood between his knees.

You placed your hands on his shoulders and took a step to the side, parting your legs. He watched with his lips parted as a trail of his cum dripped slowly down your thigh.

"Fuck," he whispered to himself, his hand coming down from your leg to palm his half hard cock.

"Oh, now you like it?" you chided him, but he just nodded and swallowed, still staring.

"Would it be bad if I wanna do it again?" he whispered, looking up at you.

"I'm not sure we should celebrate it, Joel," you muttered, your nails grazing his shoulder. You shifted your weight, trying to hide the familiar ache growing between your legs.

"You want it, too," he said, noticing how you tried to keep yourself from pressing your thighs together.

You bit your lower lip as you stared into his eyes, pupils blown wide with lust. Your gaze flickered down to his cock, fully hard now and waiting for you. His hands massaged the backs of your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours as he waited for your response.

You re-counted the days in your head hurriedly before you nodded.

"Just this once," you whispered, knowing it was a lie the moment the words left your lips. He growled, one hand sliding up your back while the other firmly held your thigh so he could twist you around, tossing you on your back behind him.

He crawled on top of you feverishly, a wild look in his eye as his mouth lunged down to cover yours. You could hardly keep up with his tongue before he dragged his mouth down your jaw, sucking and licking the sensitive skin on your neck.

"Joel," you whined, your legs spreading under his weight. It felt like his body was vibrating with excitement, the urge to claim you in the rawest sense taking over. He reached down to line himself up, and with barely any warning, buried his cock inside you all the way to the hilt, making you cry out underneath him. He groaned into your shoulder, his arms wrapped around you tightly, his pace merciless. Your fingernails left marks on his back as you held on for dear life, a stark contrast to the lazy way he fucked you earlier that morning.

He was lost in his own head, pounding into you like an animal, the thought of filling you with his cum driving him crazy. You whimpered, trying to adjust your hips to ease the sting with no success. It occurred to him he was being too rough when he heard the noise you made, and he slowed his hips, lifting his head from your shoulder to look down at your face, which was trying to mask the pain.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, rolling his hips a little slower.

"It's okay," you squeaked, your eyes screwed shut. "Keep going."

"Don't wanna hurt you," he murmured, holding your hip down and rolling his cock inside you more deliberately, the way he knows you liked.

"Not hurting me," you told him, forcing your eyes open and blinking back tears.

"Liar," he said, planting a soft kiss against your lips. You moaned and tipped your head back while he continued to thrust into you slower, your nails easing up on his back.

"Think you can come for me, sweetheart?" he panted, watching your face closely for any more discomfort.

"I-I don't know," you admitted, your brows furrowing in concentration. He pulled his hips back so his hand could travel between your bodies, the pad of his thumb brushing against your clit.

"How's that?" he asked, causing you to squirm underneath him and gasp.

"Better," you groaned as his thumb built up your second orgasm of the morning. "Yeah, like that, fuck - talk to me, Joel," you begged.

"You like it when I talk dirty to you?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes," you hissed, arching your back as he continued rolling his hips into you.

"What'dya wanna hear?" he grunted. "Want me to tell you how tight your pretty pussy feels, even though I already stretched it out last night and this mornin'?"

You moaned and pinched your eyebrows together, his words washing over you, making you climb higher.

"Or you wanna hear somethin' sweeter?" he asked, his hips slowing a fraction. "Wanna know how much I think 'bout you all day? How I can't focus on anyone else when you're in the room, hm? How I've never loved anybody the way I love you?"

You felt the tears prick your eyes again, but this time it wasn't due to pain.

"Joel," you whispered, bringing a hand up from his shoulder to rake through his hair. His thumb picked up the pace and your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

"That's right, say my name," he groaned, loving the way he alone could make you come undone. "Wanna hear you scream it when you come for me, can you do that, sweetheart?"

You nodded obediently, eyes squeezed shut and jaw slack as you felt yourself about to let go. He felt your walls tighten around him, and he smirked, his thrusts picking up the pace again.

"Oh, fuck," he gasped, his hips stuttering. "C'mon, let me hear you."

"Joel!" you yelled out, just as you promised, your back arching off the bed and your hand yanking his hair violently as you felt the wave of your climax wash over you yet again.

"That's my girl," he said through gritted teeth, his hips snapping into you again, the hand that was previously on your clit found its spot back on your hip, keeping you in place.

"I'm gonna come, sweetheart," he panted, his vision getting spotty. "I'm gonna come in this tight pussy, make a fuckin' mess."

"Do it," you whispered, your body lax underneath him, eyes slid shut.

"Need you to say it," he pleaded, his voice pained. You opened your eyes and looked at him. His forehead was dripping with sweat, his eyes wild as he stared down at you, waiting for your permission again.

"Come inside me, Joel," you murmured. You felt the goosebumps pop up under his skin at hearing your words. He hung his head, giving you just a couple more thrusts before his body stilled with a deep groan.

"Fuck!" he growled, looking down as he throbbed inside you, watching as his slow thrusts eventually pushed his hot spend out, collecting at the base of his cock. His arms gave out, collapsing on top of you, catching his breath against your shoulder.

"Goddamn," he croaked, turning his face towards you after a minute. "I like bein' inside you after."

"Yeah," you whispered, your eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of having him everywhere.

"Happy birthday," you added with a smirk. He let out a huff that sounded like a tired laugh, and he gave your shoulder a quick kiss.

"Thank you," he muttered, dragging his lips over the curve of your shoulder, making you shudder.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked as his hand wrapped around your waist.

"No, I would have told you to stop if you hurt me," you said, opening your eyes to look at him. He searched your face for a moment before nodding and shutting his eyes.

You let him stay like that for a few minutes until the stickiness between your legs became too uncomfortable.

"Joel," you murmured, and he hummed in response. "I gotta clean up."

He let out a groan of protest before he shakily pushed himself up on his arms and slowly slid his cock out of you with a hiss, staring at the mess he left between your legs.

"Nuh uh, don't get any ideas, I need a break," you warned him, pushing on his shoulder so you could stand. He laughed, helping you up on unsteady legs.

"Couldn't do it if I tried, I ain't Superman," he joked as you wobbled towards the bathroom.

"Coulda fooled me," you called back over your shoulder before you shut the bathroom door behind you.

"I thought we were going to see the geyser again?" you questioned wearily as you watched Joel unhook a canoe from inside the cabin he had just broken into. He dragged it out onto the grass before turning back to find paddles inside.

"It goes off like every hour or somethin', we'll see it a bunch more, I promise," he said, handing you a paddle. You took it gingerly from his hand as he tossed his own into the canoe and began pushing it on the grass towards the water.

"You sure the horses will be ok?" you asked, not thrilled about the idea of floating down something called Firehole River.

"Yeah, they're good. I got them all set up in a shed. Plenty of food and water. You alright?" he asked, finally noticing the discomfort on your face.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you nodded. You wanted to do whatever he wanted to do. After all, it was his birthday.

"Don't look fine," he said, giving the canoe a final shove but keeping one foot inside so it didn't float away.

"I'm just not really good on water," you finally admitted. "I get sick, the waves make me nauseous."

"Oh, don't worry about it, sweetheart. You'll be alright. River doesn't have any waves, it's slow. But if you do start to get sick, we can go back."

You agreed, if only because he seemed so excited for whatever he had planned and you didn't want to ruin it. You took a tentative step into the canoe, your hand flying out to grab onto Joel when you felt it shift under you.

Once both feet were inside, you quickly sat down so your weight didn't rock the boat. Joel jumped in with ease after he gave the canoe a shove from shore, and he began to paddle north. It was a cooler day, but the sun warmed your skin to the point where you ended up shedding your coat after a few minutes.

"Hardly even need to paddle, current's takin' us fast," he said, setting down the paddle and leaning back, admiring the huge trees that lined the river. He turned his head to watch a small herd of deer drinking from the river as you floated by a clearing in the woods.

"This is actually very peaceful," you admitted, closing your eyes and leaning back against his chest.

"Feelin' sick?" he asked as he rubbed a hand up and down your arm.

"Nope, I'm good," you told him. "Where are we headed?"

"It's a surprise," he said with a grin.

"It's your birthday, you're supposed to be the one surprised."

"I seem to remember bein' surprised this mornin'," he teased, and you swatted at his arm.

"Fine," you grumbled, closing your eyes again.

All of the physical activity from yesterday and that morning must have caught up with you because the next thing you knew, Joel was whispering in your ear, waking you up.

You squinted up at him, the sun still powerful overhead.

"Must've wore you out," he joked as he tried to paddle the canoe to shore. Your body was still draped over his and clearly in his way, so you sat up to free him, stretching your arms with a yawn and looking at your surroundings.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Maybe half an hour," he said with a grunt when the canoe hit land. He stood up and hopped on the shore, leaning forward to haul you and the canoe halfway onto the gravel before reaching out his hand to help you up.

"What a rugged, sexy boyfriend I have," you giggled, and you swore you saw his cheeks flush when he smiled.

"C'mon, grab your backpack, we gotta walk a bit but it ain't far," he said, waiting for you to be ready.

"What's not far?" you tried again, adjusting your shoulder straps as you fell in step next to him.

"You'll see," he said with a smirk, and you rolled your eyes.

You walked for maybe 15 minutes on rocky, white terrain before you saw the steam in the distance. You squinted, trying to figure out what you were looking at. It wasn't until you passed by a sign that said "Grand Prismatic Spring" that you figured it out.

"Is this a hot spring?!" you exclaimed, and he nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up as your excitement bubbled over.

"Largest one in the country," he said as you got closer.

"Oh my god!" you cried out, unable to contain yourself when you saw it. It was huge. The steam was thick as it hovered over the water, but you could still see the size of it, and the colors. It had to be the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. The vivid oranges on the shore that faded to bright yellows, then greens to a deep blue took your breath away.

"Can we swim in it?" you asked him, and he shook his head.

"It's too hot, you'll burn," he told you regrettably when he saw your face fall. "But there is another spot a bit of a ways over there called Opal Pool. Me and Tommy swam it in when we were here."

"Sounds beautiful," you told him, leaning up to give him a quick kiss on the lips. "Lead the way."

It was only a ten minute walk from the hot spring to the small body of water. Joel warned you as you yanked off your shirt that it wasn't a hot spring, so the water was a bit cooler, but it should still be comfortable. You shimmied out of your pants, eager to soak your sore muscles in the crystal blue water.

You tested the water out briefly with your toes before going all the way in as quickly as you could, submerging yourself up to your collarbone. He was right, the water was a little chilly, but it still felt good. You turned around just in time to watch his fully naked form come in after you, a quick puff of air leaving his mouth once he realized the temperature before he made his way over to you and wrapped his arms around your ribs, pulling you close.

You hooked your legs around his waist and rested your arms around his shoulders. Leaning forward, you pressed gentle kisses against his neck and a contented sigh left his mouth.

"This might be the best birthday I've ever had," he murmured into your ear.

"I don't know," you said, leaning back. "That Beefaroni I found you last year was pretty good." He laughed before pressing a kiss against your lips.

"Yeah, that was a good one, too," he relented, bringing a wet hand out of the water to brush back the hair from your face. You leaned into his touch with a sigh.

"What would it have been like if we ended up living here, like you wanted?" you wondered out loud as you stared into his deep brown eyes.

"I'm sure there's pros and cons," he said, his eyes traveling down to your tits just barely concealed by the water. "This is definitely in the pro column." You laughed as you rested the side of your head against this shoulder.

"Woulda been harder to survive. Constantly havin' to hunt and trap. Woulda been lonely. Not that I feel lonely when it's just us," he corrected himself quickly, and you rubbed his arm, letting him know you understood. "Sometimes it's nice to have other people around, is all."

"And the pros?" you asked him, your breath raking over the skin of his throat.

"Pros are easy," he said with a smile, and his hold around you tightened. "Just you and me. And all this. No threats. No danger. Just... peace and quiet."

You hummed and brought your head back up to give him another kiss, your lips slotting perfectly against his.

"It's nice that we can have both," you whispered against his mouth.

"Just as long as you're happy," he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours.

"I'm happy," you assured him. "I'm beyond happy."

Tag List: @chiogarza, @sparklejumpropequeen-777, @shotgun-shelby @partyofone3413 @nana90azevedo @ninaminaromina

[newedenproject]

I have a thought experiment for everyone. But first it needs a brief history lesson

So when nuclear power first started being developed and nuclear waste became an evident problem. The US government decided that any waste site should have a warning to any future inhabitants not to disturb the nuclear waste. This is called Nuclear Semiotics And that this warning should be understandable into the far future. The number they arbitrarily set was 10,000 years. For context on just how long 10,000 years is, the earliest known written language is only 5000 years old. And the languages have changed many times since then.

Proposed solutions ranged from extreme hostile architecture like giant spikes, religion around genetically engineered glow cats, to simply burying it deep and hiding all trace relying on isolation and obscurity to protect it.

What they ended up going with was pretty much a multi layered signage system warning of the hazard, and burying it deep in a remote location.

Now back to the thought experiment.

In essence, it’s the nuclear semiotics problem, but turned up to hard mode.

Imagine you are an advanced civilization, you have a danger. A danger you are able to contain, but you can not destroy. It is long lasting but you know that there is a risk of its containment site being found by intelligent species who might try to disturb it. You can not assume this intelligent species will have any cultural, biological, or technological similarities to you. Let’s assume you can build structures and technology that is resilient enough to last eons of environmental damage. But they can be destroyed if someone is determined enough.

How do you communicate to all potential species that this site is dangerous and should not be disturbed?

My answer under the cut. So comment with your own ideas before reading mine.

Ok. So any message needs to be as simple as possible. The simpler, the less can be misinterpreted. So my solution on how to communicate that a place is dangerous, is to make it fucking dangerous. This area needs to be hostile to life. But not just biological life. It needs to be hostile to electronics. To mechanical devices. Nothing should be able to get to this area without being hurt. And if they get too close, they shouldn’t be able to even survive.

But the damage should also be localized. Stay in the area, you get hurt. Get away from the area, you can recover. A dead messenger isn’t very effective after all.

Sure this will cause interest and attract explorers. But even the bravest explorer can’t explore a death trap.

[stories-and-chaos]

Tarnished pt 15

[Helluva Boss AU where Blitzø’s childhood theft from Stolas’ palace is discovered and major consequences ensue for everyone involved.]

[Part 15/?? Word count 1431 Cw: language]

—————

Early that afternoon, a sleek limousine pulled up to ‘Slick Seduction.’ A sharply dressed imp in sunglasses popped out, fell on his face, then dusted himself off to hold the door open. A tall avian demon exited gracefully. His outfit was much more elegant than what was usually worn by the Sinners and Hellborn in the area. By royal standards it was downright modest.

The doors to ‘Slick Seduction’ opened before the royal demon had fully exited the car. He stalked through, looking for all of the realm like he owned the building. The imp glanced up and down the street as he followed his master inside. The limo stayed idling in the street.

The pair were escorted to the owner’s office. “Not every day I get a business offer from a royal,” the Sinner said as they entered the room. “So what did you have in mind, your highness?”

Blitzø froze at the door as Stolas took his seat before the desk. No fuckin way. “Hentai-for-hands?!”

The Sinner growled “what?!” as Stolas squawked, “I beg your pardon?” But there was no way Blitzø could have mistaken this asshole for anyone else. Deep red skin, one giant eye, and hands that ended in way too many magenta tentacles. The demon only had half of his original shiny black teeth; the ones Blitzø had punched out years ago were replaced with gold teeth.

Satan’s taint, not even thirty seconds in and you’re fucking it up dumbass. Blitzø cleared his throat. “Ah, hmm, sorry. I’ve seen you in passing before and you are very memorable.” The imp was sweating bullets as the wannabe Overlord laced his tentacles together. He hoped that jackass had seen enough imps over the years that he wouldn’t remember Blitzø specifically.

After a long moment, Slicker shrugged, the motion uncomfortably boneless. Now they knew why he had the tentacle motif on his signage. “Hentai’s an art form, just like the services I provide here. Back to business?”

Blitzø sighed inwardly in relief. Slicker’s avarice for a connection with Hell’s royalty outweighed any suspicions he seemed to have. They were betting on him wanting a boost in money or influence to get an agreement.

“Indeed. As my servants conveyed, I’m looking to acquire the services of someone…shall we say, outside of my household staff and their expertise. They’ve spoken highly of your establishment and the individual they hired last night in particular.” Stolas kept his tone lazy, reminding himself to talk like Stella’s friends who so annoyed him. “A female Hellhound I believe it was?”

Slicker pursed his lips in feigned thought. “Oh yeah, Deedee, Donna, something like that?” He pulled open a drawer in a filing cabinet and rustled through the papers. “D, D, D, ah, Dina.” He pulled out her file and made a show of reading it over.

“Well, sad to say we’ve got a binding contract, me and the Hound girlie. She’s agreed to work for me until she’s paid off all the money she owes. Fees from the kennel agency, job training, room and board. She’s been working at it but these things take time.” He closed the file and gave Stolas a look that would seem sympathetic if you didn’t catch the gleam in his eye.

Stolas gave a laugh. “Come now, how much debt can one little girl accumulate in a handful of years. I’m sure we can work out an agreement.” He rubbed his taloned fingers together, silently conveying he was willing to pay what the Sinner was asking for.

But the demon shook his head with a quick glance to Blitzø. Shitshitshit he does remember me. “No can do your highness. Her contract has a minimum employment clause; she’s gotta work for at least five years under me and she’s not there yet.” He spread his hands. “She’s tied my hands, I’m afraid.” He twisted his tentacles in knots to demonstrate.

Stolas was getting annoyed at his smarmy attitude, but he was sure he’d forgotten more about contracts and Hell’s laws than this Sinner ever knew. “Might I take a look at this contract? Just to confirm.”

“Suit yourself.” Slicker pulled the paper in question out and slid it to Stolas with a smirk. He looked incredibly confident about the situation.

Stolas read through it rapidly. It was better than he thought. Not ironclad, but tight. Then he spotted something next to the signatures at the bottom. He showed the paper to Blitzø, pointing to the notation in question. Blitzø lifted his shades to make sure he was reading it correctly. He gave Stolas a nod before resuming his bodyguard stance.

Now the Goetia smiled wickedly. “Everything does seem to be in order Mr. Slicker. My only question pertains to when the contract was signed?”

“Just after she arrived. Like the rest of my employees, I find it best to establish our business relationship as soon as possible.” Slicker still had his smarmy confidence, not caring about something so insignificant as dates.

Stolas nodded, looking over the contract again. “From what I understand that was before she would have been too old to stay at the Hellhound adoption agency, correct? Meaning Dina would have been a minor at the time.”

Slicker’s eye narrowed suspiciously. “And your point, your highness?” Blitzø didn’t even try to suppress his grin at this point.

Neither did Stolas. “Even in Hell, one cannot sign a contract until they reach the age of majority. Which means this contract-“ Stolas waved the paper in the air, “-has no legal merit.” He invoked a bit of magick and clapped his hands over the sheet. It disintegrated into a puff of fire.

Slicker turned an even deeper red in anger. “Ah yes, and you mentioned doing the same for your other employees?” A bit more magick and a snap of his fingers set of a cascade of ‘fwumps’ in the filing cabinet as any other invalid contracts obliterated themselves. “All of those are void as well.”

Stolas stood up gracefully. “It seems there is nothing keeping Miss Dina here, so we’ll be taking our leave.” The Sinner was desperately opening drawers to search through the remains of his files.

Of course, neither of the men trusted the bastard to inform his former employees of what occurred. “Let’s get Dina, Floof. Then we can spread the word.” Fortunately they’d coordinated with the girl through Scarlet in the early morning. She was waiting in the agreed room, awake and ready to go.

“Dina?” Blitzø knocked on the door which opened instantly. She looked so much like Loona he had to do a double take. She was smaller and slimmer with her hair cut short but the resemblance. “I’m Blitzø, the ‘o’ is silent. Let’s get you to your sister.”

She quickly slipped out. “You adopted Loona, right? She and your friends mentioned it.” Her voice had the same exhaustion as Loona’s when they first met.

“Yup. We can talk it all later though. Stick next to Stolas here; your old boss might still try something.” The prince wrapped an arm around the girl to keep her close. As they made their way back to the front door, they could hear a commotion from the office. Demons poked their heads out, rubbing sleep from eyes and generally looking confused.

They could all hear Slicker yelling about the contracts and losing employees. A crowd was gathering in the lounge. Blitzø, ever a showman, jumped into the tiny stage. “Ladies, gentlemen, and nonbinary specimen, the dumbfuck running this place messed up big time with your contracts. If you were under eighteen when you signed, it was never valid.” That woke everyone up and dozens of them stared at the office door in fury. Message delivered, Blitzø hopped down to rejoin Stolas and Dina.

They had just left the building when Slicker followed, yelling “YOU MOTHERFUCKERS WON’T GET AWAY WITH THIS!” Blitzø smoothly pulled out his favorite flintlock pistol from his jacket and thrust the muzzle under Hentai-for-Hands’ chin.

“Not much to get away with when it’s your fuckup. Now be a good little prick and back the fuck up before you lose more than some teeth.”

The demon backed up a pace. Blitzø motioned to the others to get in the car. He kept his pistol trained on Slicker. “This isn’t over, impy,” he snarled as Blitzø followed into the vehicle.

“Yeah, looks like you’ve got another appointment. Or thirty.” He pointed with his chin at the growing crowd emerging from the brothel. Then he slammed the car door shut and the driver peeled off.

—————

<<First <Prev Next>

[kleptonancydrew]

Playing DAN and HAU next to each other is a great example of HER placing a game in a foreign country and then having a cast from everywhere else. We don’t see this in CUR, SAW, or CAP and it is also mixed with VEN, ICE, SPY, LIE, and TMB. I understand that in a global society there will be people from all around the world in a given spot but I feel in HAU specifically it is a slap in the face to the Irish to have a British cast. 

Others have spoken about the dismissive attitude towards the very valid concerns the Irish would have with the English. Kyler herself displays a common attitude of the English educated in not knowing of the atrocities the English enacted on the Irish. Donal is a presented as overly hating the English with no perceivable reason - so he seems unreasonable when anyone who knows about Irish history would know he is perfectly within his rights. 

He absolutely would have been an adult during the Troubles, and is at most a single generation removed from Irish independence. We do not know what he did or who he lost, but we know that he watched others be killed over these issues. All of those in the story were alive for the Good Friday agreement - which turns 25 next month. 

Another hit is the near complete lack of Irish in the story. We have some names sure, and Ogham runes, but the Irish language is beautiful and there has been so much work put into preserving it. It survived years of illegality and of people being outright murdered for speaking it. We know HER can integrate language, and they have in so many other games. Irish should be a part of this. (Also all signage should be in Irish and English because while there are two languages Irish should technically receive priority.) 

The Irish Diaspora is huge, mostly because of specific steps that were taken by the English to exterminate Irish language, people, and culture and replace it with their own. Irish potato famine you say? Yeah, we can blame the English for how bad that was. We can blame the English in general for the shift to farming the land rather than being more pasture based. 

Ireland has been essentially at peace for most millennial lives (and typically Ireland tries to stay out of outside wars - which is why the “military type” comment at the end of HAU seemed out of place) but as we have seen this past year a match could still set everything off. My dad, who has competed professionally in fishing, recalls not being able to fish in the waterways growing up because the English prohibited it. One of my grans ran a B&B where she educated English guests on what had been done to the Irish. Irish history is rarely taught properly (that is to say, with the Irish perspective in mind) outside of Ireland, which is a true shame. 

[littlebetesofeverything]

Welcome to Night Vale Ep

And we are back! My brain is getting mushy from studying vessels and keeping my alpha and beta agonists straight. So hopefully this puts me to sleep. Also can we have more Carlos now that I know they have a voice for him?

Valentine's aftermath? boo, I wanted a live play by play TnT

Why would it bring down the town? You know what, knowing some of the citizens I don't want answers.

That strange fiery orb is a star, Cecil. What airport is XTA? The Bermuda Triangle is my guess

That's what all TSA people say. Also, I like the kid asking how many people I've kissed will be sorely disappointed.

Health tip? sounds like they are describing tape worms and now I can't get Venom out of my head.

Okay, I get behind the glitter slander. I was a camp counselor once, that stuff is pure evil.

I'm pretty sure there is something different but I can't put my finger on it. I want to know how Cecil can put images on the radio.

the language of dance is a fun one but I worry about the signage based on if it is a solo or duet. Guess dance lessons are in your future, buddy.

There it is... Follow the money always works out.

I like the addition of traffic reports. Makes it feel more radio-like besides just the weather.

Lol the answering in yes and no reminds of tomorrow and my standardized patient answering closed questions

ohhh corrections time! Give me no context Cecil, I live for it.

Cancellation of art? yeah you complain about getting shut down

how do you activate valentine's cards is a question but the answer may not be

RIP Stacy, intern #5. Yeah I'm sure you forget because you don't have an intern to remind you. huh Cecil?

ELECT THE DRAGON!!! Hiram sounds like he could be nice as mayor. Love the smear campaign. I can't wait for election season in Night Vale.

If Fedex won't deliver, yeah it IS cursed. you don't fuck with FedEx.

a 2 cent increase? that is utterly price gouging.

God that Amazon ad is more terrifying now that it was probably meant in 2013.

Old town is a nightmare seems to track for Night Vale ngl

AH yes the cycle of good and bad days. At least that doesn't change when you go to Night Vale.

Are the love bombs really that bad, Cecil?

I think I will listen to one more, since it looks like episode 19 is split? It has A and B so I guess that should be listened to back to back. but first I need to get even comfier and plan out my outfit for tomorrow.

[venkidu]

Master Detective Archives: Revival Code

Summary: You awaken in an unknown location with a splitting headache, no memories, and a fuzzy blue ghost who calls himself "Yakou Furio”. What the actual hell is going on?

Rated M for language and canon-typical violence

Cross-posted on Ao3

*CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR ALL OF "MASTER DETECTIVE ARCHIVES: RAIN CODE" AND ITS ACCOMPANYING DLC*

Chapter 0, Part B

Ripples of pain shoot up your legs each time your feet slam into the ground.

You’re pushing and shoving your way through the crowd, eyes too focused on checking the signage hanging from the ceiling to really pay too much attention to the people around you.

Finally, you spot it - platform three!

You make one final push through the crowd and leap through an open door, tumbling onto the floor as Yakou zooms in behind you.

As you push yourself up off your hands and knees, you hear a clicking noise coming from behind you.

Holding a hand against your ribs in an attempt to soothe the stitch in your side, you glance all around you - you have no memories of being on a train, but judging from the lavish interior, you’re pretty certain that the Amaterasu Express is no ordinary ride. A plush, red carpet is beneath your feet, and dark wood panelling with gold inlay lines the corridor. Spaced evenly along the walls were wall scones in the shape of winged figures, casting a warm glow that travels throughout the space.

You’re still taking it all in when a disembodied voice startles you.

“Thank you for choosing the Amaterasu Express Direct to Kanai Ward. Our train utilizes Amaterasu Corporation’s state-of-the-art technology for an automated, safe, and comfortable service. There is no crew aboard the train. Thank you for your understanding.”

“Automated?” you repeat in confusion. “No crew?!”

The blue beachball-like form of Yakou appears to be leaning against the wall next to the door, arms crossed. He nods in understanding.

“It means the only people on board are the passengers,” he explains.

You wander over to a door that has a window set into it and peer through the glass. A large console computer, with flashing lights, blinking buttons, and several levers and switches is visible, but sure enough, no person is inside the room. You reach down and give the door handle a tug. Locked.

“This train has five cars. It will operate non-stop to its destination,” the robotic voice speaks up again. “Food and beverages are available in Car 2. Restrooms are available in Car 1 and Car 5. In case of an emergency, visit the Backup Control Room in Car 3 and contact Control Headquarters via the intercom. We hope you enjoy your trip aboard the Amaterasu Express on your journey to Kanai Ward.”

You walk over to a map that hangs from the wall in a gilded frame. According to the map, you’re in Car 5.

“Hey, Yakou, are you allowed to tell me when the last time I ate was?” you ask your spectral companion.

“Yes, I would absolutely be allowed to, Master! If I knew when that was,” he chuckles, rubbing the back of his head.

You scoff a little before your stomach makes a loud gurgling noise.

“It’s clearly been awhile,” you mutter, feeling slightly embarrassed.

Yakou floats over to study the map. “The dining car is in Car 2. Let’s go see what we can find!”

You nod. “Maybe we’ll meet some of the other passengers too?” you suggest.

Yakou shakes his head. “If I remember Kanai Ward correctly, the place was kind of on lockdown. It was impossible to leave and almost impossible to get in. In fact, now that I really think about it, I’m surprised there’s a train heading there.”

Yakou suddenly looks downwards, his tail twitching again.

“Yakou? Are you okay?” you ask.

He suddenly looks back up and gives you a big grin. “Yeah, I’m fine! Just thought I remembered something, but I’m probably wrong! Come on, Master, let’s go get you something to eat!” He zooms on ahead.

You feel a slight shiver run down your body, but the rumbling in your stomach forces the ominous feeling out of your mind. You follow the blue ghost.

“So do Death Gods need to eat?” you inquire as you walk alongside your companion.

“In a sense, yes,” Yakou replies.

You begin to ask what his form of sustenance tastes like, but he quickly interrupts with a “I’d rather not talk about it!” while frantically waving his arms in front of himself.

You giggle and shake your head as you reach the end of the corridor. A large white door with the same logo from your ticket stands in front of you.

You give a tug on the gold handle attached to the door and pull towards you.

You begin to step through, expecting to see a hallway identical to the one you just walked down.

What you see instead is a black, humanoid figure laying on the ground, one arm outstretched as if it were reaching for the door.

You yelp and slam the door shut and press your back up against the surface to hold it shut.

“Yakou,” you whisper. “What was that?!”

Yakou floats before you, eyes wide, form trembling.

“I-I think it was a c-corpse!” he stammers. “Master, you gotta open the door back up and check!”

You pause and stare at Yakou in shock.

“Why am I the one checking?! You’re the detective!”

Yakou begins to laugh nervously and waves his arms out in front of him.

“Okay, this is about as good a time as any to mention that when I was a detective, I did my best to avoid dealing with murder cases!

“What.”

“Yeah, I know it sounds totally crazy, but corpses totally freak me out! I mostly stuck to lost pets and cheating spouses!”

“Unbelievable!”

You’re trying your best to sound mad but you can’t fight the fear that is bubbling up inside of you and the tears that threaten to spill form your eyes.

“Yakou, what do we do?” you whisper, tugging on your hair.

Yakou stares at the door as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. His hands tremble slightly.

“We have to check behind that door,” he states. Upon seeing the panicked look in your face, he zooms closer to you and places a spectral hand on your shoulder. “I know, it’s scary, I’m scared too, but we can’t formulate a plan unless we know what we’re up against.”

You nod, swallowing the spit and snot that has gathered in your mouth from crying. “Okay.”

“I’m going to be right beside you the whole time, okay?”

“Got it,” you whisper.

You take a deep breath and pull the door open once again and tentatively step through the doorway. You notice that parts of the walls and carpet have black smudges on them, like they were brushed by fire at one point.

“Hello?” you call out meekly.

No answer.

“Okay, Master,” Yakou sighs, placing his hands on where you imagine his hips might be. “I’m going to teach you how to be a detective.”

You whip around to face him. “What?!”

“I’m going to teach you how to be a detective,” he repeats with more confidence. “I’m not much help physically-” He tries to pat your shoulder as if to remind you “-but I was a detective. I still have that knowledge. So, you’ll be my hands and I’ll be your guide.”

You sigh. “I guess we don’t really have a choice, do we?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, well, what’s first?”

Yakou rubs his chin. “Do you know how to check for a pulse?”

You shake your head.

“Okay, that’s fine, I can teach you! It’s really easy. Just take your index and middle fingers and hold them on the side of your neck, right under your jaw! Do you feel anything?”

You do your best to stay completely still for a moment, focusing on the vibrating sensation you feel underneath your fingertips.

You eventually nod. “It’s kind of like a beat.”

“That’s your pulse, Master - it indicates that your heart is beating and that you’re alive. But now, you gotta go check, erm…them,” Yakou gestures towards the blackened figure.

“Do I have to?” you whisper.

“I’ll be right beside you,” Yakou promises.

You do your best to take a calming breath before nodding. “Okay.”

You slowly crouch down next to the body and wrinkle your nose as a sickly sweet scent hits you. You reach out towards the figure’s neck, fingers trembling.

You let out a short gasp as you make contact with the skin.

You wait.

No pulse.

As you pull away from the body, small flakes of blackened skin stick to your fingers. A startled cry comes from your lips and you hastily wipe your fingers on the floor as you scramble away from the body.

You clutch your chest and lean against the wall as you struggle to calm your breathing.

Yakou floats up next to you. “No pulse, I’m assuming?”

You shake your head. Yakou sighs before giving you a confident smile.

“Well, hey, that was pretty brave of you for checking! I’m impressed, Master!”

“Thanks,” you reply shakily.

As you slowly push yourself back up, Yakou floats back over to the body and begins to circle it, occasionally pausing to take a closer look at the remains.

“Master, I hate to ask this of you, but can you come pick something up for me?” he calls out.

“S-sure,” you nod, hesitantly walking over to where Yakou is floating. “What is it?”

He points at something shiny laying partially under the corpse. “I need to check what that is.”

You sigh before gulping. “Okay.” You crouch down and slowly reach towards the corpse, managing to get a hold on the object without touching the body.

As you stand up, you turn the object over in your hand. It looks to be a silver badge of some sort, in the shape of an eye with wings sprouting from the sides.

“What’s this symbol?” you ask as you gently trace the image with your fingertips.

“It’s the symbol for the World Detective Organization,” Yakou explained. “The World Detective Organization is an extra-legal, extra-privileged organization devoted to ‘eradicating the world’s unsolved mysteries’.”

“So, you think this person is a part of that organization?” you inquire.

Yakou appears to nod, a grim expression on his face. “This isn’t good. We need to figure out who else is on this train. Come on, Master.”

You follow Yakou through the next door and into Car 3.

You’re about to ask if he has any idea about what may have happened when the words catch in your throat.

Two more bodies are in front of you. And this time, they both have very recognizable features.

They both appear to be male and wearing near-identical navy blue uniforms with intricate silver stitching. Both uniforms have WDO badges pinned to them.

“Shit,” Yakou mutters.

You gently reach down and check the pulse of the figure laying on its back - its face is blue, you notice, bile creeping up your throat.

No pulse.

You check the second figure - this one is laying on its side, arms outstretched.

No pulse.

“There’s still two more cars,” you whisper.

“But are there more people…” Yakou wonders.

You step around the two bodies.

“Only one way to find out.”

You rush down the hall and into Car 2.

There’s no other word to describe the scene other than chaos.

Tables and chairs are flipped over and torn, there’s holes in the wall, and broken shards of glass bottles are scattered all over the floor.

At the far end of the room, there’s a bar.

And a body slumped over it.

You and Yakou exchange nervous glances before you roll your sleeves up.

You know what’s about to happen.

You know you’ll place your fingers on their cold, clammy neck.

You know you won’t feel a pulse.

But one look from Yakou puts your body in motion.

You check.

No pulse.

But the body is clad in a navy blue and silver ensemble and there’s a WDO badge pinned to their arm.

“One more car, Master,” Yakou reminds you.

You carefully step over more shards of glass and into the final car - Car 1.

As you make your way down the corridor, nothing seems to be amiss - no holes or burn marks or broken glass, and most importantly - no bodies.

You get to the end of the corridor when you feel your heart jump - you think you see something in through the window of the second control room, but quickly realize it’s just your reflection.

Leaning against the wall, you look at Yakou, despair etched across your features.

“What do we do now?”

“An in-depth investigation, Master. I have something I need to tell you, but I need to confirm something about the body in the dining car first.”

[payalandrene]

Serbia's bad rap is unfair!

In Europe Serbia has a bad rap thanks to Milosevic, the two wars in the 90ies, nationalism, corruption and the Mafia smuggling alcohol, cigarettes and other goods.

But our only complaint is that there were too many mosquitoes; it is a particularly bad year for them. Luckily we have Odomos creme from India; no environmental friendly citronella for us!

Otherwise people in every village waved at us, honked their horns in approval or spoke to us in German and English they knew. The high unemployment rate meant many men were drinking all day at bars and cafes. Young people 30 and under spoke excellent English, despite none having been in England; they insisted that they learned from series, music and videos! It seemed no matter how small the village, there was a hip cafe that was a magnet for young people.

This meant that we managed to have interesting conversations with many. And once Milos, with the coolest campsite directly on the Danube, introduced us to Google Translate's conversation function, René was talking to everyone!

People did not want to speak about war, not even the Bosnian farming family who decided to stay on their land. They only said it was a tough time and they were not sure what the right thing to do was at the time. The father and others, who were old enough to remember Tito, felt Yugoslavia was better than Serbia. The country was big and strong and Milos, our new friend with a campsite, said that the multi-culturalism, 7 ethnicities and one language was beautiful.

Younger people didn't experience that time, but they are disenchanted today and say that they are not voting for someone, but against someone. Over Rakija, a young man in a bar in Negotin near to the Bulgarian border said that you were either a waiter, salesperson in a shopping mall or worked in the factory in town. Options were limited, even if you managed to go to university.

Our hosts, whether at a campsite, asking a farmer if we can set our tent on their land, or in a guesthouse were true hosts doing it from their hearts. Mirko, a Serb who grew up in Austria and came to Serbia five years ago was interesting to speak with as he is in between two cultures. The dealings with the authorities drove him batty - his campsite is near to the Euro6 Velo route, but a shortcut is muddy and barely passable - he's bern waiting for improvements for years. It definitely was one of the worst sections we'd riden on; otherwise the roads in Serbia weren't so bad and the Euro6 Velo signage was very good.

We also made friends with Milos, an engineer who got fed up with Belgrade 25 years ago and bought land on the Danube. While his campsite was rather basic, his hospitality was out of this world- he was good at always making sure you had another beer and cooked amazing Serbian specialties. We spoke about politics (despite him not wanting to), love and life.

During the most beautiful stretch of the Donau, the iron mountain, we stayed at Camping Asin from Melania - she is a school teacher who took early retirement and created a peaceful campsite. Melania is an excellent cook making a 5 star breakfast for her guests and sharing info about the local culture and history. She had lovely guests; we met a Romanian-American family and Russian families living in Belgrade because they oppose the war in Russia. A woman, who had been a teacher in Russia, organised the trip for the families and organised many activities for the children. She was heartened that we applaud her courage.

In a small village we stumbled upon a woman who let rooms and stayed with her. She was a fashionable woman just shy of 70 who turned out to appear on cooking shows and programmes on Serbiab television highlighting Serbian traditionsand rural culture (Google Translate Conversation is a dream!). She offered us a tasty dinner and homemade desserts! If you are ever in Novi Sip, outside of Kladovo, do stay with her. With Serbian music playing in the background she told us about her daughters, one who is a physiotherapist and the other a vet, showed us clips of her on Serbian television and explained that she likes having guests to share Serbian culture.

Finally in Negotin, we stayed with Bojan and his family. He loves bicycles and has extended his home to let rooms and place permanent, large tents in the garden. He also serves a tasty breakfast in thr morning and can give you all the tips you need for your tour!

The people we met in Serbia are all ❤️ - we will be back!

[ichigopuddingmuslima]

What is he feeling?

Warnings: Mention of depression, loss of a parent, (VERY MINOR) violence,

Mood: angst, comfort

Word Count: 4k

Pairings: None

Summary: After losing his mother, Carl Grimes is feeling... something. What is he feeling?

You don't have to watch The Walking Dead to read this fic. It'll add more context but not required. Sorry if anyone is ooc but I haven't watched the show in years. I hope you enjoy.

Carl Grimes was feeling something he couldn’t name. It had been about three weeks since he had witnessed his mother, Lori, die and then was forced to put the Walker version of his mother down. Everyone was preoccupied with caring for a newborn infant, making the prison safe, and trying to survive. His father, Rick, was in the middle of an intense mental breakdown. With all the chaos happening, Carl was being neglected. Sure he had food, water, and shelter but no one was checking in on him. Just seeing that he was up and walking around was enough for them. So, yes, Carl was feeling something he could not describe. Being in an apocalypse caused him to grow up fast but he was still a thirteen year old boy.

If Carl was forced to describe his feelings, he would say sad. But “sad” wasn’t quite strong enough. It was deeper than that. It was something that wormed his way inside his chest, burrowed deep into his heart and filled his head with… thoughts. He knew he needed help but how could he ask for it if he didn’t have the correct language? He needed the words to describe his feelings. It occurred to him that a dictionary would have the word but that was no doubt in the prison library. The library which was located in a dangerous part of the prison. But, he needed help and he remembered what his mom always told him. His mom was a big fan of the phrase “God helps those who help themselves” and so he set off to the prison library. 

Armed with a gun equipped with a silencer and a hammer, Carl made his way through the prison. It was easy for him to slip away as no one paid any attention to him. Once he reached the edge of the cleared prison block, he took a deep breath and pushed open the door separating him from safety and unknown waters. He hoped that there wouldn’t be any Walkers but he knew that the likelihood of that was extremely low. Slowly, he peeked his head in and looked around. Clear so far so he closed the door behind him. Relying off his memory of the prison map he had studied earlier and the signage on the wall, he carefully crept down the hallway. His hammer was in his hand ready to attack at a moment’s notice. He passed a few Walkers locked in cells. His heart skipped a beat each time he heard the raspy sound escape them. He turned a corner and the library was right in front of him. A Walker suddenly lunged at him from his right. He sidestepped the Walker but tripped over his feet and fell to the ground. Quickly he scrambled away from the Walker and stood up. He swung his hammer wildly and connected it to the Walker’s skull. It took three hits before the Walker went down. Carl looked around for any others but saw none. His heart hammered in his chest and he forced himself to breathe. After a few minutes, he regained his composure and continued to the library. 

Carl put his ear to the library door. He listened intently for any sounds but heard none. He entered the library and scanned the room for any danger. He didn’t see any and continued inside. Walking over to the nearest bookshelf he began to read the labels until he found what he was looking for. A dictionary. Quickly Carl grabbed the book and immediately left the library. He didn’t feel it was wise to linger and push his luck any further. The journey back to safety was uneventful. As he walked past the others, there was barely a glance in his direction. He frowned. He had been gone for almost two hours now and no one noticed. Unsurprisingly, his father was nowhere to be seen either. Once inside his bedroom, which was just a prison cell, he put his weapons down and began to read his book.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a few hours later that Carl finally discovered a clue to what he was feeling. While reading the dictionary, he came across the word melancholy. It wasn’t the exact word he was looking for but it was close. There was a sadness within him but he could identify a cause. Several causes in fact- the dead eating the living, losing friends, his mother dying, never playing video games again, etc, etc etc. The list went on and on. Melancholy wasn’t the right word but it was the closest he had. It would have to do for now. Carl was feeling melancholy. 

“It’s time to eat.”, Hershel announced to Carl at the doorway of his cell. Carl nodded and put the book down.

“What you got there?”, Hershel asked as he and Carl made their way to the table where the others were starting to gather. 

“A book.”, Carl responded. 

“Where did you get it from?”

“Around.”

Hershel could see that Carl was not in a mood to converse and left him alone. Carl took his rationed portion of canned mandarin oranges and beef jerky and sat down next to Daryl. Daryl gave a grunt of acknowledgement. It didn’t take long for Carl to finish his meal. He washed up and went to go look at Judith. Beth was feeding her a small bottle.

“Do you want to hold her?”, Beth asked. Carl shook his head and went back to his room. He had done his duty as her older brother and checked in on her. She was alive and that was good enough for him. He laid down in his bed and stared at the ceiling. Melancholy. Melancholy. Melancholy. As he mulled the word in his head, it didn’t sit right. It was the wrong word. He wasn’t feeling melancholy. So then, what was he feeling?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week later, Carl had reached his breaking point. His father was still going down the descent of madness and was claiming the phone was ringing. Hershel was a veterinarian and not a psychiatrist and was no use to him. Any physical ailment and Hershel could find a way to treat it but this mental affliction was well beyond his expertise. Rick claiming to hear the voices of those who had passed freaked Carl out. When Rick came back from the depths of the prison and recounted his phone call with Lori, Carl couldn’t take it anymore. The phone was not ringing and Lori certainly wasn’t calling. Still, it stung Carl. If the phone really was ringing and his mom was on the other end, why wouldn’t she want to talk to her son? Wouldn’t she care about how her son was doing? Carl resented Rick. His mom’s spirit was too busy haunting Rick to comfort Carl and that hurt. 

Having enough of the madness and feeling like he was being confined - Carl left the prison. He knew he should stay inside the walls of safety but he needed air. He needed space. Sure, Daryl would have no problem taking him on a hunting trip or he could have asked to go on a run with Glenn but Carl didn’t want to burden anyone. One thing had become clear these past few weeks, no one cared what he was up to as long as he was back by dinner. 

The first time Carl left, he didn’t wander far and he didn’t stay out long. He just wanted to see if he could leave the prison without anyone noticing. The answer was a firm yes. Each time after, he got bolder and further away. Everyday for two weeks, he left the prison and wandered around the nearby area. He was an expert at avoiding Walkers at this point and a few times he even lured them away from the prison walls. This continued until one day, he was wandering in the woods nearby and came across a black and white cat. It plopped right down at his feet and demanded pets. Carl was delighted, it had been months since he had seen a cat. As he knelt down and petted the cat, the cat began to purr loudly. There was a collar on it. Inspecting the collar revealed the cat’s name- Yang. 

“Hi, Yang. I’m Carl.”, Carl introduced himself. The cat suddenly stood up and began to walk off. Carl followed the cat. Just as Carl began to catch up, Yang would suddenly start running again just out of reach. After this happened three times, it became clear that Yang wanted to be followed. 

“Where are you taking me, Yang?”, Carl asked. A few moments later, Yang led Carl to a small clearing. In the middle of it was a girl about Carl’s age. She had dark brown skin, thick, dark hair and was wearing a yellow t-shirt, denim overalls, and pink sneakers. Next to her was a black backpack and a bloodstained metal baseball bat. Yang went right up to her and began to purr. Carefully Carl crept closer and observed her eyes to be closed. She was perfectly still except the shaky rise and fall of her chest. Occasionally she would gasp for breath before returning to an uneven rhythm. A light sheen of sweat covered her skin. It was clear she was sick.

“Hello?”, Carl called out to her. There was no response. He gently shook her shoulder but she continued to sleep. Frowning, Carl shook her firmly this time. Her eyes slowly opened and she blinked a few times before focusing on him.

“Who are you?”, the girl asked. Her voice was weak and raspy. She reached out a hand and began to pet Yang.

“I’m Carl. What are you doing out here?”

“I don’t know. I’m trying to find someplace safe. Do you have any food? We haven’t eaten in a few days.”

“Here.” Carl pulled out some jerky and gave it to her. She sat up and gave it to Yang who scarfed it down. She smiled weakly at him. 

“Are you by yourself?”, she asked as she stood up. The world began to spin and she stumbled but managed to stay upright. Carl reached out a hand and steadied her. He grabbed her backpack and bat for her. 

“No. What’s your name?”

“Chanel. This is my cat Yang.”

“Are you bit?”

“No. You?”

“Of course not. You don’t look so good. Come back with me and rest. We have plenty of food and water.”

Chanel hesitated for a moment. She had come across her fair share of dangerous people. Still, she wasn’t feeling well and if anything happened to her, someone needed to look after Yang. It was also clear that Carl was not dangerous.

“Alright.”

They walked back slowly as Chanel got winded if they went too fast. Yang followed along at a leisurely pace. On the way, they engaged in small talk. Carl learned that her parents were dead and her sister was missing. She recently left a group after one of them suggested eating Yang. They bonded over their love of video games and losing a parent. Soon they arrived back outside the prison walls. Carl and Chanel made their way back inside.

“The people you’re with… they won’t get mad about me being here, right?”, Chanel questioned.

“They’ll be mad at me for leaving but not you. It’ll be fine.”, Carl responded. He led her back to the cell block. As Carl entered and Chanel followed behind him, everyone turned to stare. There was a mixture of shock, anger, and confusion on their faces. 

“You want to tell me what’s going on, Carl?”, Daryl demanded as he stormed over to them.

“This is Chanel and her cat Yang.”, Carl responded. Yang rubbed himself on Daryl’s legs. Daryl ignored the cat.

“What are they doing here?”

“She’s sick and all alone.”

“That doesn’t mean you go and bring people here!”

Hershel made his way over and looked at Chanel and asked her, “Do you mean us any harm?”

Chanel shook her head. “No, sir. I can leave if you want.” 

“Carl, where did you find this girl?”, Maggie asked. 

“In the woods.”

There was a collective gasp as everyone took in what Carl just said. He had left the prison unsupervised. 

“Why did you leave?”, Daryl asked as he ran a hand over his face in frustration. Carl opened his mouth to respond but then Chanel was falling. She hit the floor with a thud. Immediately Hershel barked out directions to get the girl off the floor and onto a table. 

“Is she bit?”, Daryl asked as he pulled out his crossbow. 

“No! I swear she’s not.”, Carl replied as he stood next to her. Yang climbed up on the table and began to lick at her face. A moment later, Chanel opened her eyes. She tried to sit up but Hershel pushed her down. While he attended to her, Carl was pulled aside by Daryl and Carol. He was firmly scolded for his unsafe behaviour by the two of them. When they returned to the rest of the group, Chanel was sitting at the table eating some food and drinking water. Chanel shared some of her food with Yang who happily ate it. She looked better already. Upon seeing Carl, she gave him a weak smile. 

“She’ll be okay. She just needs some food and rest.”, Hershel announced. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A month later, Carl finally figured out what he was feeling. He had come across it after him and Chanel completed their chores for the day. She was doing much better. About two weeks of steady rest and food, and she had completely rebounded. Her health was in much better condition. He opted to look through the dictionary while she drew a picture. They were outside on the prison lawn enjoying the fresh air. It was a nice day- not too warm and not too cold with a soft breeze. Yang was napping next to them. 

“Aha!”, Carl exclaimed. There it was. The word to describe it.

“What?”, Chanel asked as she looked up from her drawing. Yang slowly opened his eyes, looked around and then went back to sleep. 

“I found it! The word I was looking for.”

“What’s the word?”

“Disconsolate. It means “without comfort”.”

“I know what it means. Why were you looking for it?”

“I’ve been trying to find a word to describe how I feel. Been looking for over a month.”

“Hmm… Well I’m glad you found it. But are you really “without comfort”? I mean I’m pretty comfortable here. It beats living outside these walls.”

Chanel turned back to her drawing. Carl was excited to know how he was feeling. Disconsolate. Disconsolate. Disconsolate. Something was wrong. Chanel was right. That wasn’t the word. It was too… heavy. Miserable. Sad. He was still mourning his mother but things had changed in the past month. He had a new friend. Someone who paid attention to him even when he preferred to fade into the background. The feelings he had now were much more positive. Chanel had reminded him of how good life could be. They played games, kept each other company, and comforted one another. Rick stopped spending hours wandering the depths of the prison and was being a father again. Judith and Carl were bonding. His life had drastically improved and the heaviness from before had faded. Sure, he would always miss the life he lived before the Walkers and he would miss his mother but it wasn’t all bad. He desperately wanted the language to describe himself. He was neither melancholy or disconsolate. He frowned, what was he feeling?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The search for his feelings continued. Carl scoured the dictionary and tested multiple words but came up short. He just couldn’t figure it out. Over and over again, he read and re-read the dictionary and still was left without the proper language. On the bright side, his vocabulary had greatly expanded. He knew all sorts of new words except the one he desperately searched for. It finally occurred to him that this dictionary sucked. He needed a new one. Early in the morning before everyone awoke (except Maggie who was keeping watch), Carl snuck out of the prison block and went back to the library. Fortunately, for him, the block of prison the library was in, had been cleared out a few weeks ago. There were no Walkers in sight and this venture to the library was uneventful.  

Carl took his time in the library. He wanted a dictionary that was bigger than his last one but not too big. After several minutes, he had narrowed it down to three. He debated intensely but finally decided on the worn, leather bound one. The logic being that this one was the most well used therefore, it would have the most knowledge. He hoped he could find the word in there so he wouldn’t have to come back a third time. Carefully, he snuck back into his cell without incident. He hid the book and went back to sleep. Soon, it would be time to awake again and he had a long day of chores ahead of him- it was his turn to help Carol do the laundry. 

After dinner, Carl was in his room laying in his bed with Yang curled up at his feet. The dictionary was propped open. He was writing in his notebook various words he was considering to be an adequate description of his feelings. None of them felt right but they were close. Downhearted. Depressed. Glum. A frown decorated his face.

“Hey, bud.” A voice at the doorway said. Carl looked up and saw Rick awkwardly standing there. 

“Hey, dad”, Carl responded as he closed his dictionary.

“You’ve been reading a lot lately. Anything good?”

“Not really.”

Rick walked in the cell and sat on the edge of Carl’s bed. Yang climbed into Rick’s lap and began to purr as he petted the cat. “It can’t be that bad. Tell me about it.”

“It’s the dictionary.”

“Right… We’re going on a run tomorrow. I’ll bring you back something to read.”

There was a silence that hung between them. Carl wasn’t sure what to make of Rick’s attention. It had been sometime since he had a conversation with his dad beyond chores and Judith. It was nice but awkward. “Thanks, dad.”

“How are you feeling, Carl?”

“Fine.”, Carl lied. He wanted to tell his dad the truth but how could he? He didn’t know what he was feeling. He couldn’t express himself. The language escaped him. The dictionary was no help. He was starting to feel hopeless. But that word didn’t quite fit either. It was describing his current mood, not his overall emotional state. Rick frowned. He knew his son was lying. Carl was obviously depressed. Chanel helped lift his mood and there was a general improvement but he was not his usual self. Rick wasn’t sure what to do to help Carl. The world was overtaken by Walkers, his mother was dead, and his only friend was just as traumatized as he was. 

“Alright. I’m leaving at first light with Daryl, Carol, and Glenn. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Rick pressed a kiss to Carl’s cheek and left the room. He walked back to his cell, to pack for tomorrow. A sigh escaped him. He knew better than anyone what the stress of the world can do to someone’s psyche. He was worried about Carl. What was he feeling?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

True to his word, Rick returned three days later with the complete Hunger Games series. Chanel and Carl were delighted to have proper books to read. Soon it was common to see them taking turns reading aloud to each other (and to Yang and Judith). It then became an unspoken task amongst the adults to bring a book or two back from their runs. Pretty soon, everyone was picking up a book to read in their spare time. Carl’s mood had considerably improved too. With each passing day, he grew more and more happier. While he would probably never return to his pre-Walker disposition, this was a good start.

Rick had become more present in Carl’s life. He began the practice of checking in on Carl every night. Their small talks improved their relationship greatly. One day, Rick gave Carl a kitten as a gift. It was an all black cat that was skittish and wanted pets on her terms. She was clearly a survivor. Instantly her and Carl bonded. He named her Spooky. Having a cat was its own form of therapy. They loved each other and were never far from one another. Without fail, she slept with him every night and woke him up every morning demanding food. Wherever Carl was, Spooky was never far away. 

One day, Carl laid in the grass reading Bridge to Terabithia. Spooky was next to him sleeping. It was just the two of them out there as Chanel was helping Beth in the garden. As he read the book, something inside of him healed. He cried. Full on sobs. Spooky awoke from her slumber and rubbed herself against Carl. Through his tears, he forced himself to keep reading. He had to know that there was a happy ending and hope at the end. He needed to know that everything would be alright despite the heartbreak. Thoughts of his mom flooded his mind. He missed his mom so badly. If he could wish for one thing, it would be for his mother to be alive. Never had he understood a character as well as he understood Jesse. Instead of pushing his feelings down, Carl allowed himself to feel everything. Happiness, sadness, grief. He was finally going through the grieving process. Reading about Leslie’s tragic death but Jesse’s life still going on changed something inside Carl. 

Carl had an epiphany: Life doesn’t end because one person passes away. This is something he should have learned long ago, but it truly did not settle in until this moment. His mom was gone but he gained so much since then. Judith. Chanel. Yang. Spooky. Loss was a part of life. Everyone dies and no one lives forever. The important thing was to enjoy people while you can and make the most of your time with them. Carl wiped his tears and stood up. He began to walk to his dad who was in the watchtower. Climbing the steps with Spooky, he took them two at a time. He needed his father. Reaching the top of the tower, he paused to catch his breath. Rick was sitting in a chair looking out of the tower with a pair of binoculars.

“Hey, Carl. Everything okay?”, Rick asked as he approached him. Upon seeing Carl’s tear streaked face, he began to frantically look around for the cause. Instead of responding, Carl fell into his dad’s arms and began to sob.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”, Rick asked as he rubbed circles in his son’s back.

“I miss mom.”, Carl sobbed. 

“I miss her too.”

“She’s gone and she’s not coming back.”

“I know, I know.”

“I wish I had more time with her. It ain’t fair!”

“Me too.”

“I’m so lucky to have you, dad. I shouldn’t be crying.”

“Don’t say that. You’re allowed to cry and miss mom.”

“Chanel has no one and she never cries. Her parents are dead and who knows what happened to her sister? Yet I have you and Judith and here I am crying!”

“It’s okay to cry. I know Chanel is tough and it may not seem like it, but she cries too. We all do.”

Instead of responding, Carl continued to cry. Several minutes later, Carl had stopped crying. He was sitting next to his dad petting Spooky and helping to keep watch. As he talked to his dad, it dawned on him. He finally knew what he was feeling. Carl was feeling lucky.

This idea came to me and I couldn't get it out of my head. I just wanted to explore the themes of loss. If you have lost anyone, I hope this brings you some comfort.

P.S. Yang and Spooky are my real life cats (they're very much alive!)

[3sixtysignsolutions]

Navigating with Ease: The Importance and Impact of Effective Directional Signage

In a world where first impressions matter, directional signage plays a crucial role in helping visitors, customers, and employees navigate spaces confidently. Whether in an office building, a hospital, a shopping mall, or a city street, well-designed directional signage simplifies movement and enhances the overall experience. Let’s explore the essentials of effective directional signage, why it matters, and how to make it work for any setting.

What Is Directional Signage?

Directional signage includes any signs that provide guidance, helping individuals find specific locations, rooms, or amenities. These signs can range from wall-mounted wayfinders to floor markers and free-standing signs. Unlike general informational signage, directional signs are all about guiding movement and making sure people reach their destinations with ease.

Why Is Directional Signage Important?

Enhances User Experience: Clear signage reduces frustration, enabling people to navigate an area confidently and independently.

Improves Efficiency: In high-traffic environments like hospitals and airports, efficient navigation saves time for both staff and visitors.

Promotes Safety: In emergency situations, well-marked exits and emergency routes are vital. Directional signs provide clarity and can prevent panic.

Reinforces Brand Identity: For businesses, directional signage offers an opportunity to reinforce branding with color schemes, fonts, and logos that reflect the company’s image.

Encourages Accessibility: Thoughtfully designed signage ensures accessibility for individuals with disabilities, creating a more inclusive environment.

Key Elements of Effective Directional Signage

Creating effective directional signage requires attention to design, readability, placement, and accessibility. Here are some essential components:

Clarity and Readability Use simple language, clear symbols, and high-contrast colors to ensure signs are easy to read. Avoid overly technical jargon or complex icons that may confuse users.

Consistency in Design Consistent design across all directional signage helps create a cohesive look and makes it easier for people to follow directions intuitively. Keep colors, font sizes, and symbols uniform across all signage.

Strategic Placement Signs should be placed at key decision points, such as entrances, intersections, elevators, and exits. Ensure they’re visible from a distance and not obstructed by decor or other elements.

Accessible Design ADA-compliant signage (or equivalent regulations in other regions) is essential to ensure inclusivity. This includes using tactile letters, Braille, and color schemes that accommodate people with color vision deficiencies.

Lighting Proper lighting ensures signs are visible in various conditions, from bright daylight to low-light environments. For 24-hour locations, consider illuminated signage or backlit options for clear visibility at night.

Durability and Maintenance Ensure materials are durable enough to withstand the environment in which they’re placed, whether it’s outdoors, in a high-traffic hallway, or in a location exposed to extreme weather conditions.

Types of Directional Signage

Depending on the setting and purpose, there are various forms of directional signage to consider:

Wall-Mounted Signs: Ideal for hallways and corridors, especially in office buildings, malls, and hospitals.

Floor Graphics: Great for directing traffic in large areas or during special events. Floor markers are commonly used in retail spaces to direct customers.

Pylon and Free-Standing Signs: Useful for outdoor areas, especially for indicating entry points, parking areas, and large buildings.

Digital Signage: Interactive and easily updated, digital directional signage can guide visitors with real-time information, useful in airports, malls, and large event spaces.

Overhead Hanging Signs: Perfect for large, open areas like airports or convention centers where visitors need guidance from a distance.

Best Practices for Implementing Directional Signage

Understand the Space and Flow of Movement Consider how people naturally move through your space. Conduct a walkthrough from the perspective of a visitor, noting where signs might be helpful.

Prioritize Key Points Identify the most crucial points of interest—such as restrooms, exits, information desks, and popular destinations—and prioritize directional signage for these areas.

Incorporate Feedback Gather feedback from visitors or employees to identify any confusing areas. Adjust or add signage as necessary to ensure smooth navigation.

Regularly Update Signage When floor plans or purposes change, signage must be updated to avoid confusion. This is especially important in rapidly changing environments, such as hospitals, schools, or event centers.

Optimize for Multi-Language Settings In locations with diverse visitors, consider adding multilingual text to cater to non-native speakers. This is particularly beneficial in international airports, large city centers, or tourist destinations.

Real-Life Applications of Directional Signage

Retail Spaces: Malls and retail stores benefit from clear directional signage to lead customers to key sections, checkout areas, restrooms, and exits. Floor markers and hanging signs are commonly used here.

Hospitals: Hospitals are often complex and can be overwhelming for visitors. Clear signage at every junction point is essential to guide people to departments, waiting areas, and emergency exits.

Universities and Campuses: Universities often cover vast areas, making it necessary to have both maps and directional signs pointing to key buildings, departments, libraries, and dormitories.

Corporate Offices: In large offices, particularly those with multiple departments or floors, directional signage guides employees and visitors to conference rooms, lounges, exits, and office areas.

Public Spaces: Parks, museums, and entertainment venues benefit from directional signage to indicate paths, exits, restrooms, and amenities.

Conclusion

Effective directional signage is essential in creating a welcoming, accessible, and easy-to-navigate space. It benefits not only visitors but also staff and management, reducing the need for verbal guidance and minimizing confusion. By investing in thoughtful, well-designed directional signage, businesses and public spaces can enhance user experience, improve safety, and reinforce their brand identity.

Implementing the right directional signage may require planning and adjustments, but the end result is a streamlined, intuitive space that people can navigate with ease and confidence

[lavelled]

she, illustrated.

Quick news: Isabelle Vezina-Dykema, 14, in Vermont, killed herself. There’s considerable aggression from unfamous dads who misread and lecture wishful signage. I didn’t ask for interference in a literary system. You can stop reading. My decision-making is mine alone. My knack for technology includes poetical child suicide data and attainable proof of the man who took my life.

The sickbed Prince who inherited childhood letters, tried to enact a forcible rape clause, created squared digital spaces to publish anatomically and spy in a Bird Cam, impersonated celebs with a sense of belonging, chatted as gal-pal Japanese housewife, Celica, bypassed exquisitely soft NDA laws all while he experienced marriage and fatherhood, says I can’t have readership?

Prince Henry uses cultural appropriation to tweet as Antonio Brown and recently erupted in a disgusting c-word rant. On Sep 29, 2019, Harry wrote:

My English paper do by tonight 12am need a prof reader make sure As and Bs #Eng303

google. This is linguistic racism. The married Englishman boasts the daft sexual legalese of a writer.

The Lunchbox Fund. A meal charity for children in South Africa. A charity that Sentebale, founded in 2006 by Harry, in the Lesotho language means forget-me-not—subtly mocking 9/11 victims—teams up with. Meg had fans donate to it at her baby shower, even though it’s his signature boinking code, specifically, a lesbian slur, of how a second child was boxlunched.

Anti-Social is a 2015 Hungarian-British crime film with the characters: Marcus, Philip, Emma, Kwame, and Rochelle. Knowing my well-publicized waystation, Duchess Meghan acted in it and a year later, fucked the Brit jailer. Google who the actress, Zita Téby, plays.

Speaking of Irishness, the regal derelict has affected social factors sans punishment for decades and it seems kid-glove young adult deaths are due to a non-code barcode that makes them feel helpless and strangely complicit: Shane Lunny, 17—Erin Gallagher, 13—Patrick McDonagh, 12—Lara Burns Gibbs, 12—Milly Tuomey, 11—Cathriona White—Dara Quigley—the pact of Kieran McKeon and Alexandra O’Brien.

Jamel Myles, a fourth grader at Joe Shoemaker Elementary in Denver told his mother he was gay then hanged himself on August 23, 2018, three months after the royal wedding. He was 9. Youngest suicide on record.

On May 15, 2018, Magyar Kozmetika Spa in California exploded from a homemade package bomb, killing Hungarian employee, Ildiko Krajnyak. From her boyfriend. FOUR DAYS before the royal wedding.

“Harry goes and heads to London.” You walked out your front door. Harry lives alone in England. Prince Harry was actor-writer struck out of California. His wife was megxited from England, Wales, Scotland, Ireland, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, India and the East Coast of the United States. The diapered jobbing princess vaudeville wedding tour has killed more girls, more students than the Sandy Hook shooting.

The TIG, her sex and wellness workshop. Cookbook ideas for a Hempseed Stew, Ginger Berry Crumble, and Awards Season Entertaining Tips because everyone can relate to it. I don’t want to seem dramatic or a justifiable age, but we’ve wandered into Single White Female when I say booklist Meg is ill. She’s yearned to be a princess for a long time. She poses near a British car wheel, types Spencer and London in knots, and this beaut: Just like a scene in When Harry Met Sally, you would look at Hikari and say, “I’ll have what she’s having.” What about a 1989 film?

Another link of output. On google her photo is shown with Misan Harriman, hence she’s the essayist. Catty remark to Princess Kate four years before her own bloody pulpit wedding.

Copy and paste; put tippity top of computer page:

https://thetig.meghanpedia.com/tig-talk-with-princess-alia-al-senussi/

Did a productive wife blog cause a media stir? In math lingo, she coughs up the pedo age of 17, trumped 4, Spencer at 3, she’s six:

https://thetig.meghanpedia.com/food-for-thought-2/

Rapper Lucas Coly, 27, the Prince of France, just shot himself.

I want a perfectly rational couple who don’t love each other to divorce.

K

[stands-pro]

Best Tips to Plan Custom Exhibition Stand

Best Tips to Plan Custom Exhibition Stand Participating in an event can be difficult as you’re juggling many things! First, having an exhibition stand can be the most fundamental element that will assist in establishing a lasting impression on your target audience.

The benefits of having an exhibition stand aren’t solely for promoting your business but can also help you stand apart from the crowd of thousands while also aiding in achieving your goals.

An attractive display stand will easily boost your image and appeal to many people. We have all the answers covered if you’re looking for when and how to create a custom-designed display stand. It is a good concept to keep clutter at bay when planning an individual booth display; we provide a simple and complete guide on designing a custom exhibition stand.

Understanding Custom Exhibition Stand Objectives

Your custom exhibition stand must be designed around your goals and objectives. It is important to fill your stand design with a manageable amount of content since it can only cause a sign of displeasure to the viewers. Make sure you outline your goals for the exhibition before determining the size, the budget, and the place of your stand. Be sure to write down the responses to questions such as:

Do you want to introduce a new product?

Do you want to make the audience aware of existing products?

Do you want to attract new customers?

Do you want to widen your suppliers?

Do you want to curate new networks?

Identifying Target Audience

Identifying your target audience is crucial in planning a successful exhibition stand. Your target audience is the people most likely to be interested in your product or service. To identify your target audience, consider your ideal customer’s demographics, interests, and behaviors. To determine your perfect customer, consider your ideal client’s demographics, preferences, and habits. After identifying your audience, you can modify your stand’s design to attract them. This may include using images and language that resonates with them, showing services or products that satisfy their needs, and giving them information that addresses their concerns.

Creating an Attractive Layout

The layout of your booth should be attractive and simple to navigate. Consider the traffic flow and position your items or offerings to draw people in. Utilize shelves, tables, or other display fixtures to make your products easy to access.

Use eye-catching graphics and signage to make your booth stand out from the other stands. Use bold colors and fonts that ensure your messages are easy to comprehend from an extended distance. Consider lighting options that emphasize certain areas of your booth and create a warm environment.

Maintain a Consistent Brand From Top To Bottom

Make sure your booth’s logo is consistent throughout the space. Your brand concept should be consistent across every aspect of your stand’s designs, from banners and images to giveaways and other items.

Consider Various Materials

The best material will enhance your image and create an attractive display stand. Exhibition stand builders shouldn’t hesitate to experiment with various materials to determine what is most suitable for your company and the image you wish to convey.

Make Use of the Correct Colors

The display’s tone and color options can help you stand out and increase the visibility of your message. Cooler hues like green, blue, and white look professional but don’t attract attention. Warmer colors, like red, yellow, and orange, are attractive. However, you should use them carefully as they can be overwhelming if employed excessively.

Use The Surprise Element

If you are trying to attract attention, place something inappropriate in the middle of your display space. Whatever you decide to display, try to provoke awe, excitement, and, perhaps most importantly of all, curiosity from your customers. Encourage customers to visit your business and get to know it.

Consider A Design With An Open Booth

There are numerous advantages of an open-design custom exhibition stand builder. Many exits and entrances are feasible, letting people interact with your display at their own speed. It also makes it easier for your staff to communicate with visitors at a time without causing any friction. The visitors and your employees will be able to maintain the social distance. To give everyone at your stand more privacy, you can distribute seating arrangements across the space.

If you are an exhibitor who wants a custom exhibition stand for your trade show, selecting professional stand builders is the best option. The best method to locate the right professionals is to go online and find the services offered by Stands Pro. We provide the best modular stands for exhibitions, all kinds of industries, and more. 

[shehan-mga2022mi6014]

Rules and guidelines for SMA competition

1.1 The “LANGUAGE” of Silent Manga

A Silent Manga is a visual narrative told without dialogue, that relies entirely on illustration alone. You may, however, make use of onomatopoeia by incorporating SFX into your art.

We welcome all emotions – happiness, sadness, and everything in-between. Like a good chef, the mixing of opposing flavors can sometimes produce the best results!

2.1 Page count

The page count for a single SMA entry is 17 pages or less. (The page count may change depending on the round so please be sure to always check the current round announcement page).

2.3 Working in digital

Please follow the same dimensions stated in 2.2 Canvas size.

All digital drawing tools are welcome in SMA (Clip studio, Manga studio, GIMP, Adobe Photoshop, Medi bang, Paint, etc.).

Please DO NOT use any copyrighted materials, imagery, or characters as part of your creation. However, pre-set tools like brushes and screen tones are welcome.

Preset photos or drawings of people and backgrounds are FORBIDDEN by the submission agreement as their use may be subject to copyright infringement. The ONLY exception is photos you’ve taken yourself.

3.2 What IS allowed

Speech balloons containing “!?”: Exclamations and other punctuation marks are fine, but always keep in mind that they ENHANCE your characters’ expressive emotions, not SUBSTITUTE them. For example, many artists draw expressive marks near characters’ faces, often without speech balloons.

Signs (e.g., Parking / Flower Shop / Restaurants, etc.): Signage is also OK, provided they are very common and universally understood.

Onomatopoeia: drawn letters that represent sound is welcome and actually encouraged in ANY LANGUAGE. In most Japanese manga, sound effects are usually incorporated into the art by the original artist in a unique style that sets the tone of the sound.

Entries from partners, groups, etc.

Multiple entries are WELCOME!

3.3 To take into consideration

Utilize the first page as part of the storytelling and not just a cover page.

We encourage you to make good use of a “double page spread” (a pair of two adjacent pages in a book). Treat the page spread as ONE WIDE CANVAS.

Complex stories are often difficult to incorporate in SMA. It’s a good idea to plan ahead, and think of a simple, yet effective story before you begin your final manga.

We want to see what “message(s)” the story clearly presents to the reader – evoking emotions and feelings to entertain the reader.

FLOW: Though manga displays the action on a single page, it is designed to be read as a “double page spread”, with the action starting from the right and flowing from page to page. This same rule applies even when reading manga on a smartphone or tablet. The key is to ensure the reader turns the page! Use effective “Hiki-goma” (the last panel before turning over the page to the following panel) and other techniques for effective storytelling.

4.1 Starting your manga

We recommend starting your manga as A SINGLE PAGE on the left side of the spread.

4.2 Layout

Your manga should be drawn from right-to-left (Japanese standard).

4.3 Image data

Preparing the image data of your work (data format). Please prepare the image data of your work according to the format below. (One image file for each page / two-page spread divided into two image files).

Image format: JPG or PNG format

File size: 1 file 2 MB or less

Image file name: Your image files should be labeled with a two digit number in sequential order based on the page number of the image file (Example: page_01.jpg, page_02.jpg, etc.)

Resolution: 300 dpi

Blaze

0 notes

[welcometojapanese]

Shodo

The art of Japanese calligraphy, also known as shodo, is based on the ancient forms of Chinese writing. What is now seen as beautiful script written in various styles on different kinds of paper, seen on restaurant signage, or even typed out on the computer, has descended from ancient carvings set in stone, bone, and secret bamboo letters.

The oldest Chinese script still visible today is and Oracle Bone Script. This script is written on bones and turtle shells that were a part of a Chinese spiritual rite. The bones and animal carcases were first burned and a sacrifice, or offering to God. Then using the bones a diviner, I'm not sure if there's a Chinese word for this, would then read the divination for the coming season or year, and record it. It was recorded by carving into the bones with other bones available from the ceremony. The scripts that we have found and can still access thus far are typically about the fortune of the coming harvest. Over time it became more common to use ink rather than carving bones or stone, and after hundreds of years, and a hop across the ocean pond, we have the calligraphy we know today. Otherwise known as, Shodo.

Shodo is a Japanese word that roughly translates to the way of writing. There are many different styles of writing that developed throughout the eras. All of which date back to the simple Chinese carvings, and led to modern Japanese calligraphy. The oldest one that I personally know about is known as Tensho. Tensho is sealed script writing. It is written with slow sharp gestures that seem to mimic the motions of carving in stone. Following Tensho came the shodo practice known as reisho. This style of writing is more delicate, even in the upright way you're meant to hold the brush. Reisho is also well known for it's many rules. Such as the way you hold your brush, the symmetry of the piece, the even flow of the lines, and possibly most importantly the fact that each piece is only allowed one tail. Meaning that each stroke that makes up a kanji must come to a full and complete stop, and only one may be waved, or flared, at the end. Reisho was also originally a carved script that utilized stone before ink became the more popular practice.

As ink script became more accessible the need, and desire, to send letters arose. When sending letters in China they did not at first use scrolls or any form of paper, but rather bamboo. In order to send private letters they would write their message on the inside of bamboo, close it all up, and seal it with clay before sending it. This way they would know if the letter had been tampered with or opened by anyone before reaching its target audience. This is known as (I cannot read my handwriting, or find any similar words in my search online, sorry. But seriously, what a cool way to send messages.)

After some time though a new era of calligraphy rang in. This time it was sousho, or cursive. This style was, as you'd expect, more flowy and interconnected. However with kanji being as complicated as it is it was hard to interpret the cursive style writing, amongst even those that spoke the same language. Thus, in the 9th century, the modern typeface known as Kaisho was born. This is the font that is used most commonly in Japan. It's found in books, taught in school, and is even the base internet font for kanji and kana. However there are multiple writing styles that fall under the umbrella that is Kaisho. So while they share the same name they can look quite different, and may very well one day evolve into their own era of shodo.

The popularization of ink brush calligraphy did not just travel from China to Japan, but is also popular in Korea, and as I've recently learned is growing in Vietnam, India, Taiwan, and of course here in America. Though from what I gather in comparison to American styled Japanese calligraphy, traditional calligraphy still being exhibited in Japan is somewhat more strict or rigid in its expression. By that I mean Japanese calligraphers are likely not going to take the same liberties with kanji as Americans do such as splatter paint styles, or using more eccentric tools and such. Though maybe that has to do with the fact that in America pursuing calligraphy would be more of a hobby, whereas in Japan shodo is or can be, a profession.

Words of Interest:

Shodo- way of writing

Oracle bones- bones used in a spiritual rite for the sake of divination / Oracle/ fortune telling

Tensho- seal script

Reisho- clerical script

Soshou- cursive script

Kaisho- regular script

Kotobuki- large scroll type or hanging script meant to wish a long happy life

Fude- brush

Sumi- ink

Reiwa- current Japanese imperial era meaning order and harmony

[translationwala]

How to Use English to Odia Translation to Create a More Inclusive Learning Environment

An educated culture is a strong one, and it is very important that everyone can get a good education. In India, where English is often used as the language of teaching, making a truly open learning setting means taking into account the needs of students whose first language is not English. English to Odia translation can help people who know Odia get ahead in school by bridging the language gap.

Understanding the Challenges of English-Medium Education for Odia Speakers

It can be hard for kids whose first language is Odia to find their way around an English-only program. Here are some of the problems they have to deal with:

Comprehension Difficulties: It can be hard to understand complicated ideas and scientific terms that are only spoken in English.

Reduced Participation: People who are afraid of making mistakes or not being heard in English may be hesitant to speak up in class talks.

Lower Confidence Levels: Language barriers can make it hard for students to understand what they are being taught, which can affect their confidence and general academic success.

How English to Odia Translation Can Foster Inclusion

Teachers can make the classroom a friendlier and more helpful place for Odia-speaking students by using translation techniques from English to Odia. How to do it:

Bridging the Knowledge Gap: Giving students translated forms of important learning materials like textbooks, homework, and lectures helps them understand things better.

Enhancing Participation: It makes the classroom a better place for everyone when you encourage kids to use both English and Odia. Teachers can translate important points or lead talks where students can use Odia to explain ideas.

Building Confidence: Students feel more confident when they can understand and say what they want to say. Translation can give them the confidence to take part, ask questions, and get their worries cleared up without holding back.

Practical Strategies for Implementing English to Odia Translation in the Classroom

To make the classroom more welcoming for everyone, teachers can use English to Odia translation in the following ways:

Utilize Bilingual Resources: Students can use extras like translation textbooks, glossaries, and online dictionaries as quick reference guides.

Embrace Technology: You can plan ahead and use translation apps and software to translate certain words or phrases during lessons.

Encourage Peer Learning: Pair students who speak Odia with friends who speak English well so that they can help each other and share what they know.

Incorporate Odia Language Activities: Give students time to read books written in Odia, write short sentences in Odia, or take part in talks about culture topics related to Odia. This helps them feel proud of their culture and strengthens their mother tongue.

Beyond the Classroom: Building a School-Wide Culture of Inclusion

English to Odia Translation has effects that go beyond schools. Here are some ways that schools can make the setting more welcoming:

Signage and Announcements: Make sure that all of the students can read important school messages, signs, and papers by translating them into Odia.

Parental Engagement: Set up talks between parents and teachers where information is given in both English and Odia. Encourage parents to talk to you about any language-related worries they may have.

Celebrate Odia Culture: Set up culture events that show off the Odia language, writing, and customs. This helps students who speak Odia feel like they fit and encourages cultural understanding among all students.

Conclusion:

The goal of English to Odia Translation is not to replace English, but to build links for better learning. By using these translation techniques, teachers can create a learning space where all students, no matter what language they speak at home, feel like they can join, learn, and do well. Remember that a classroom with a lot of different people and cultures is a lively place where learning grows and everyone’s voice is heard.

Source: https://translationwala.wordpress.com/2024/04/03/how-to-use-english-to-odia-translation-to-create-a-more-inclusive-learning-environment/

[k00296066]

Disrupt

to me, disrupt referred to the disruptions that i had witnessed in my college accommodation. moving from a very small village in roscommon to a populated area like limerick was a huge change. i went from living with my parents and my dog to living with a group of students whom i had never even met before. i found that solid and lasting friendships could be made but disagreements were unavoidable. a lot of things happened in the first semester that really showed that we all were young and prone to making mistakes. some things caused more of an issue than others like when my housemates friends destroyed our house and slept in my bed without permission. some things were much more personal like the comments one of my housemates made about me that were really unkind and his throwing out of some of my pieces of art. however, i acknowledge that i, too, was part of the problem at times like when my friends would take drinks from the kitchen that belonged to others.

i began my project exploring the disruptions of peoples features hoping to learn more about the art of caricatures and cartoon-esque drawing. yet i felt this aspect wasn’t really inspiring me and i kept getting stuck in a rut. i took a risk and looked at other avenues. i thought about how i was trying to draw those around me, the people i lived with, and then i thought about how they could be disruptive instead of me disrupting them. i think we can all agree that a house full of 17, 18, and 19 year olds is truly a house of disruption.

the idea to create road signs with cautions based on the disruptions in our house came to me just after my birthday party. there was an incident in the house where our couch was used in a way that none of us wanted it to. one of my housemates joked, saying “we need to find a way to stop this from happening again” and i answered “i should make a sign”. my housemates agreed that it would be very funny and useful if there was a sign and i thought it would be a perfect way to take my project to the next level.

my favourite sector of art would have to be typography. i remember beginning to learn about it in art class in secondary school and immediately falling in love. i’ve always loved recreating fonts and even making new ones. i knew signage was a great route for me as it had an aspect of language and typography with the phrases written. i really enjoyed trying to replicate the writing on signs and seeing what different fonts looked like on a regular sign.

i spent a lot of time looking at road signage from driving almost 3 hours down to college every weekend and also going on walks, photographing what i’d see. i loved the vibrant and contrasting colours and how they created a striking image in a landscape. i used my photographs to help me when i’d make a sign to make sure it would look realistic. at one point me and my friends tried to acquire a real sign from the side of the road but unfortunately our heist was cut short because the boot of my car was not big enough. this actually led to me playing with scale and making a 3D sign out of cardboard that was actually taller than me. it was really interesting seeing what a sign would look like in such a large scale when i compared it to the smaller signs i had made. i thought about the meaning and how maybe bigger signs could mean there was a bigger problem.

i looked at a lot of different artists and designers to help with my work like kathy predergast, margaret calvert, and tracey emin. i felt that i really related to the work of these artists and found similarities between the meanings of our work. margaret calvert proved to be a huge help as she was credited with creating most road signs. i also found a lot of inspiration from books in the library. i checked out many on colour and on international forms of signage. they were very interesting and provided a basis for my sign work.

in conclusion, disrupt became almost a self reflection for me. i was able to see what me and my housemates were doing wrong and try to rectify it in a comical way. i really enjoyed creating these signs and learning about how original road signage was made. if i had more time i think i would try levelling up my signage and possibly creating metal ones with vinyl on top. i think vinyl printing would be an interesting skill to learn. id also like to look more into photography and expressing my artistic view through photos of the disruptions in my house. i would also try to almost interview other people and see what the disruptions of their college accommodation would be. i found a lot of people felt my project was actually quite relatable. it would be interesting to see which accommodation has the most disruptions, and possibly make a map of the worst spots, similar to kathy predergast’s ‘lost’.