#Meat Extract Market

[ms-demeanor]

wait, are the health claims from bone broth bogus? (genuine/good faith question). i’ve always heard that it’s high in collagen, which supposedly is good for you and better if you get it ‘naturally’ like from bone broth. is that another thing that’s not actually true, or wildly exaggerated?

Bone broth has been eaten for centuries in various cultures because it is easy to digest and believed to have healing properties. Chicken broth is highly valued by some as a remedy for the flu. In more recent years it has been promoted to help symptoms from psychiatric and neurodevelopmental disorders including autism and attention-deficit hyperactivity. [7] Claims that it detoxifies the liver, improves digestion, reverses wrinkles, builds bones, and relieves join pain have led some marketing analysts to predict that the bone broth market will approach $3 billion by 2024. [8] In reality, bone broth contains only small amounts of minerals naturally found in bone including calcium, magnesium, potassium, iron, phosphorus, sodium, and copper. The amount of protein, obtained from the gelatin, varies from 5-10 grams per cup. There is some concern that bone broth contains toxic metals like lead. One small study found that bone broth made from chicken bones contained three times the lead as chicken broth made with the meat only. [7] However the amount of lead in the bone broth per serving was still less than half the amount permitted by the Environmental Protection Agency in drinking water. A different study found that bone broth, both homemade and commercially produced, contained low levels (<5% RDA) of calcium and magnesium as well as heavy metals like lead and cadmium. [9] The study noted that various factors can affect the amount of protein and minerals extracted in bone broth: the amount of acidity, cooking time, cooking temperature, and type of animal bone used. Therefore it is likely that the nutritional value of bone broths will vary widely.

(Source: https://nutritionsource.hsph.harvard.edu/collagen/)

Your body makes collagen; eating collagen will put the things that make collagen into your body to make collagen with, but so will eating things that go into making collagen (amino acids, basically).

There's not good evidence that eating a ton of collagen or supplementing collagen improves your body's collagen production, and studies on collagen supplementation tend to be done by companies that make collagen supplements or produce expensive bone broth.

Basically if you're eating the 9 essential amino acids by consuming complete proteins (which can be done on any kind of diet, vegan or vegetarian or including meat - this is NOT one of those things your body relies on animal products to produce) your body is going to make collagen and it's going to have the amino acids handy to make collagen; consuming more collagen may mean that your body has more of those collagen-forming amino acids on hand, but it doesn't mean that your body is going to be any more efficient at producing collagen (and your body is going to become less efficient at producing collagen as you age).

But yeah bone broth health claims are primarily bogus. If you want more collagen in your diet for whatever reason, it's probably about as effective to eat jello as it is to eat bone broth but also more collagen in your diet likely isn't doing anything special.

[room-surprise]

hi! i was wondering if in dunmeshi, before falin was eaten by the dragon and before present events, laios and his party were earning money for k*lling monsters in the dungeon? i don't understand if someone was paying them, how they were making money and how it worked

I want to write a proper, thorough reply to this with citations to specific references and mentions in the story, but uh, a tree fell on my house so I've been a bit too busy to do that lmao.

BUT, to give an incomplete answer:

Yes, adventurers get paid for work they do inside of the dungeon, or, they just harvest monsters/plants/treasure that they find. The dungeons are a kind of boom town, similar to a gold or silver rush, which means that the entire local economy is based on people trying to extract wealth from the dungeon, since it's dangerous but easy work, anyone can try to do it with very little resources, and the potential for profit is huge.

Someone with almost no money could, potentially, go into the dungeon and walk away with enough money to start a business, or buy a house or a boat. If they don't die. If they're lucky. Desperate people cling to the hope that they will be one of the lucky ones who become insanely wealthy.

Based on things Kui's told us in the manga and the extra materials, we know:

You pay a fee or a toll to be allowed to go into the dungeon. Access is controlled by the local government. Some people avoid this, like Senshi and the orcs since they just live in the dungeon and avoid leaving.

Many people die, give up, or fail to accomplish anything useful in the dungeon. These people probably generate a good, steady income for the island, since they pay fees but don't have to be rewarded. The lure of trying to strike it rich keeps huge hoards of people flowing in steadily. Most money in boom towns is generated by all the people who are trying and failing to get rich buying things from local people (food, supplies, lodging).

When a dungeon first appears, it is full of easy to harvest gold and treasure. "Gold peeling" is how Laios and Falin started out, and it's literally going into the dungeon and peeling gold off of the walls and statues, and taking any easy to transport treasure with you.

Various tasks need to be done in the dungeon to keep it safe, clean and accessible, and all of these result in a person either being paid by the lord of the island, or the person who they have saved. Killing dangerous monsters, finding people who have died and taking their corpses to the resurrection office, reporting changes to the dungeon, discovering new paths, etc.

When gold and treasure that is easy to find starts to run out, people turn primarily to harvesting monsters. They are probably paid a bounty for every monster they can prove they killed (bring back some body part that a monster only has one of, like a tail), and then they can also sell anything else they harvested from the monster in the market (meat, the rest of the hide, horns, teeth, claws.)

You want the dungeon to stay safe with a well-managed monster population to prevent something like Utaya from happening.

But if you kill too many monsters, now that the treasure is gone, there won't be any profit reason for people to go into the dungeon anymore, and your economy will collapse.

So you need to manage the dungeon and keep the monster population high, but not too high. This is what the Shadow Lord was complaining about. He thinks that if they evacuate the dungeon the expensive monsters they are currently harvesting may stop manifesting/spawning/being born, and all that will be left to harvest is mushrooms and slimes, which are not worth a lot of money.

Laios' group had an assignment from the island lord to try and find the giant doors on the 6th floor that nobody had been able to get past. That was what they were trying to do when they ran into the red dragon and Falin got eaten!

Despite everything, at that time Laios' party was the number one team on the island, capable of going the deepest into the dungeon.

Kabru's team is also considered pretty good, despite how often we see them dying - this should tell you how bad many of the teams that go in are! Most of them don't accomplish much or anything... Just like a boom town, where most miners go into debt trying to find gold, and only a few strike it rich.

This is what Rin is talking about in her first appearance, when she scolds Kabru for being too modest around other adventurers. She wants those other people to know that they are not going into the dungeon for profit and that they're not like the rest of them, dream-chasing fools hoping to make a payday.

She's offended anyone would mistake them for people like that, meanwhile Kabru would rather keep their motivations obscure and not advertise that they're in the dungeon on a moral crusade, not a financial one.

It should also be noted that the dungeon has a lot of criminal activity going on inside of it, because it's not well monitored and it's easy to conceal your activities. There's also a population of people who can "no longer live on the surface" for various reasons, such as being wanted criminals, exiles hiding to avoid vigilante justice, people too poor to leave because they wasted all their money trying to get rich and now they can't afford to live on the surface, or leave the island.

Essentially there is a population of homeless people living in the dungeon, eating anything they can scavenge, begging and stealing to stay alive. This could even be part of the taboo on eating monsters in the dungeon - that's something poor and desperate people do, and doing it is seen as a sign of how low Laios' party has fallen.

This is also why Kabru is so worried about the Touden party: their financials are a mess, but they keep going into the dungeon. Why? People think they are good, but maybe they're secretly criminals? Are they on the run from the law? Kabru has no idea, since "they just really love monsters and this is fun" is not a motivation ANYONE ELSE ON EARTH HAS.

The Toudens can't even say "we're monster researchers trying to write a book on monsters." They're just hobbyists, they just like them a lot. Kui tells us that Laios was encouraged to become a monster researcher but the studying was too intense for him.

It would be like finding out someone who works in a coal mine that kills 80% of the miners doesn't actually care about being paid, they just loooove coal and want to be around coal all the time.

[ghoulsbounty]

From a Previous Life (Pt 2)

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Preg!Reader

Summary: You find comfort in your routine with the Ghoul, but an evening of bonding turns into harsh realizations.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, pregnancy, non-detailed talk about experimentations, angst, grief, more flirting (less squinting),

Word Count: 3.5K

A/N: The second part to what was a one-shot but the responses were so overwhelmingly lovely about it that I just had to write more! I have more ideas for these two because they break my heart, so part 3 will be happening next week :) I'd love to know what you think 💌

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

A routine had solidified between you both, born out of necessity in this unforgiving landscape. Each day, you travelled further through the barren wasteland, seeking refuge in abandoned structures come evening. As the sun dipped below the horizon, you gathered around the crude fire, its flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the worn walls of whatever shelter you'd found. It was a skill your companion had imparted through countless arduous nights, a beacon of warmth and security in the darkness.

With the day's journey behind you, you would compare your spoils. Tins of pork and beans, salvaged copper, and screws—valuable commodities in the market of survival. Occasionally, luck would smile upon you, offering a giant mole rat to add to the evening stew. It wasn't gourmet by any means, but a welcomed reprieve from the Ghoul's ever-present jerky stowed away in his saddlebag like a grim reminder of the world you now inhabited.

Few words had been exchanged between you. You'd come to understand that the Ghoul valued silence, speaking only when necessary, and expected the same from his companion. He had provided a brief summary of the world's changes over the past two centuries, yet remained guarded when pressed for further details about his own involvement. Despite your efforts, he remained as enigmatic as when he first found you.

Despite the grim reality surrounding you, you found comfort in the routine. Far removed from the life you once knew before the war, you still managed to extract a glimmer of joy from the simple act of preparing the evening meal. With meagre resources at your disposal—a small iron pot, a battered ladle, and two cracked but serviceable dishes—you endeavoured to create sustenance that mimicked the warmth of a homecooked meal, even in these bleak times.

The Ghoul stood as your protector, his watchful presence having undoubtedly spared you from peril on numerous occasions during your brief time together. Cooking was a way to prove your  significance in your partnership, no matter how seemingly insignificant it may appear.

The heavy thud of boots and clink of spurs against wood jolted you from your thoughts, the ladle in your hand halting its rhythmic stirring of the broth as you cast a wary glance towards the doorway. It wasn't the first time he had left you alone, deeming it safer to venture into the bustling towns without the added complication of a young woman in tow. He had armed you with a revolver and a combat knife, imparting what little training he could in their use, but you couldn't shake the feeling that his trust in your abilities extended only as far as your loyalty not to run in his absence.

"Well, that smell's delicious," drawled the Ghoul, his figure framed in the doorway, hat tipped low over his scarred features. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and you couldn't help but return it, the warmth of his presence a rare comfort after just an hour alone.

"Did you get them?"

"You doubted me?" He teased, stepping towards you and offering out a small cloth bag. You accepted it eagerly, peeking inside at the plump, juicy tomatoes nestled within.

You wasted no time in incorporating the fresh produce into your cooking, the aroma of the simmering fruit mingling with the savoury scent of the meat in the broth. Seated together by the fire, the weathered dining chairs offering a semblance of normalcy, you couldn't help but inquire about his expedition.

"Did everything go alright?" you asked, eyeing him cautiously as he slumped back in his chair, a groan escaping his cracked lips as he stretched out.

"Hunky dory," he sighed, his voice tinged with sarcasm, head back and fingers entwined over his stomach. You could tell he was lying, noticing the slight clench of his jaw and his reluctance to meet your gaze. 

It was a tell that you had picked up on in your short time together, one that betrayed his otherwise stoic resolve. For some reason, the Ghoul had taken to concealing parts of the truth from you. Maybe he thought you were too weak, too naïve, or perhaps he simply didn't want to subject himself to further questioning. Regardless, it had begun to grate on your nerves. While you appreciated his protection, you couldn't afford to remain in the dark about so much in this dangerous world.

"I'm coming with you next time," you declared, your gaze unwavering as you stirred the pot, the clinks of metal against metal punctuating your determination. "Two guns are better than one."

A playful glint danced in his eyes as he countered, "Not when you're the one holding it." Yet, the lightness in his tone ebbed away, leaving a hard undercurrent. "Already told you no."

There was a flicker of frustration that passed across your features, but you held his gaze firmly, refusing to back down. "And I've already told you not to underestimate me," you retorted, the fire of conviction burning in your words.

His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees, bringing his face closer to yours. A furrow creased his brow, his gaze intense as he pointed a finger towards your growing belly.

"And you underestimate everyone else," he admonished, his voice edged with concern. "You think those vultures would take one look at you, at that cargo you're carryin', and let you walk on by? It's every man for himself out here, sweetheart, and the wasteland makes a man do terrible things. You're a commodity, and it's best you not forget it."

His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of the truth settling upon you like a leaden cloak. Despite your defiance, his words struck a chord of fear within you, a reminder of the harsh realities of the world beyond the safety of the little sanctuary you have cultivated together.

The ladle slipped from your grasp, forgotten, as your trembling hands instinctively hugged your pregnant belly. Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill over, as the weight of his words settled heavily upon your shoulders. A commodity. That's what you and your unborn child had been reduced to in this unforgiving world, one that felt alien and hostile, yet one you were forced to confront day in and day out.

Anger simmered within you, a fierce blaze fuelled by resentment towards those who had stripped you of your former life, of the safety and belonging you had once taken for granted. And though you knew it was irrational, a pang of ungratefulness gnawed at your conscience, directed towards your reluctant protector for the loss of the freedom you so desperately yearned for.

In that moment, amidst the swirling emotions and the harsh reality of your circumstances, you felt an overwhelming sense of isolation, as if you were adrift in a sea of uncertainty with no safe harbour in sight. Perhaps even the promised haven would prove to be a deception, like the vault you had been a prisoner in for so many years. Yet, for the sake of your child, you couldn't afford to surrender to despair. Hope would become your anchor, however fragile.

With a firm resolve, you brushed away the tears before they could show your vulnerability, steeling yourself against the torrent of emotions threatening to engulf you. Turning your attention back to the bubbling broth, you scooped two large servings into the worn bowls, the aroma of simmering spices mingling with the heaviness in the air.

Handing one bowl to your companion, you found him slumped back in his chair, his weathered face illuminated by the flickering glow of the fire. His fingers traced the jagged contours of scars etched deep into his weathered face. A palpable aura of silent desperation hung around him like a shroud, casting a shadow over the dimly lit room.

Tucking into your meals in silence, the rhythmic clinking of spoons against bowls filled the room, a familiar melody that spoke volumes without the need for words. Each bite was a small reprieve from the harsh reality that surrounded you, a momentary escape from the relentless cruelty that had become all too familiar.

His voice, barely a whisper, cut through the quietude of the room, laden with a heavy weight of remorse. "I've upset you," he confessed, the words hanging in the air.

You looked up from your meal, meeting his gaze with a mixture of exhaustion and resignation. Despite the turmoil within you, there was a flicker of understanding in your eyes as you acknowledged his veiled apology. 

"It's not just you," you replied, your voice tinged with weariness. 'I just feel so useless. I can't protect myself or my baby, can't help you without being a burden. I feel like I have no control.'

He nodded, his expression grave as he processed your raw admission of vulnerability and contemplated what to do next. Setting both bowls aside, he reached into a sack he had brought back from the town, his movements deliberate and methodical. From within the depths of the bag, he withdrew a familiar metal gadget, its sleek design reminiscent of the cuffs you had seen the scientists wear during your captivity.

Your breath caught in your throat as memories of your ordeal flooded back, the sensation of cold surgical equipment against your skin sending shivers down your spine. They had treated you like nothing more than a lab rat, subjecting you to experiments and tests that had left scars, both physical and emotional, that may never fully heal.

As he held the device in his hands, his gaze softened, a silent acknowledgment of the pain and trauma you had endured. "I know what this represents," he murmured, his voice heavy with remorse and a tinge of anger. "But it can give you the control you've been denied for so long."

His words hung in the air, laden with the weight of possibility and hope. And as he extended the cuff towards you, offering you a chance to reclaim a measure of agency in a world that had sought to strip it away, you knew that this was more than just a piece of technology—it was a gift, a symbol of resilience. With trembling hands, you reached out to accept it, a silent vow echoing in the depths of your soul: never again would you allow yourself to be reduced to nothing more than a pawn in someone else's game.

As the cuff clicked shut around your wrist, its surprisingly light weight belied the bulk of its appearance. You found yourself staring down at the blank screen, uncertainty knotting your stomach as you grappled with the unfamiliarity of the device. The Ghoul, ever the steady presence beside you, reached over and deftly twisted a knob at the side of the device.

In an instant, the screen came alive with vibrant green text, welcoming you to Vault Tec. An animated image of the grinning mascot of the vaults, a sight you had come to loathe, greeted you with a cheery thumbs-up. You couldn't help but sneer at the sight, the irony not lost on you as the Ghoul swiftly navigated through the interface, replacing the obnoxious Vault Boy with a menu that offered a dizzying array of options.

"It'll take some understanding, but you'll get it in time," the Ghoul reassured you, his voice a steady anchor amidst the chaos of information overload. "The important part is the Geiger counter—it'll keep you out of trouble you didn't even know was there."

Your attention was drawn to the right of the device where a dosimeter's needle bobbed with the steady wave of radiation through the air. Another twist of the knob and on the screen appeared a walking depiction of Vault Boy, displayed percentages accompanying each limb. Below him, a nearly empty bar filled only with a small green block indicated the radiation count of the user. After weeks spent on the unforgiving surface, it came as no surprise that you had been touched by the poison that tainted it.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the hum of the device on your wrist. Looking up, you met the Ghoul's gaze, gratitude shining in your eyes.

Those words didn't do justice to the gift that he'd given you — it was a lifeline, a tool that held the power to protect not only yourself but also your unborn child. It wasn't a weapon meant for moments of attack, as the revolver he demanded you carry on your hip was, but it was equally essential in its own right. The significance of being able to monitor and mitigate the dangers that lurked in the new world was not lost on you. It wasn't just about surviving anymore; it was about thriving, about carving out a future for your child in a world that had become a battleground for survival. One day, the Ghoul would not be there to protect either of you.

"It must have cost so much," you continued, a note of wonder in your voice, and he simply shrugged in response.

"Always something to be bartered in the wasteland," he replied nonchalantly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he cleared his throat. "Don't go crying again, now. You'll give me a bad name."

You chuckled softly. Wiping at your wet eyes with the back of your hand, you couldn't help but shake your head in amusement. "It's the hormones, I swear," you joked, a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

He seemed amused by your explanation, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he gave you a knowing look. Instead of arguing, he simply winked at you, and you felt a flutter in your belly—you brushed it off as a small, subtle reminder of the life growing within you.

"Got any more of that stew?" he asked, his tone light and teasing as he reached for his bowl, a twinkle of mischief dancing in his blue eyes.

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension of the moment dissipating like smoke in the wind. "Of course," you replied, ladling some more stew into his bowl. "I'm glad you like it."

"Oh, it's been many years since I've had a homecooked meal," he told you, his tone tinged with nostalgia as he tucked into his food with relish.

You smiled warmly at his words, a sense of pride swelling within you despite the simplicity of the meal you had managed to put together. It may not have been a lavish feast, but the fact that you could provide him with a taste of home filled you with a quiet sense of satisfaction.

"Maybe we could get some vegetables next time. Carrots maybe," you suggested, a hint of excitement in your voice.

He hummed approvingly through his mouthful, nodding in agreement. "Saw some fine-lookin' turnips on my way out of town too. Reckon you can do anything with those?"

Your eyes lit up with inspiration. "Turnip and carrot mash. We could get some milk from a Brahmin, make it nice and creamy."

He licked his lips, a spark of anticipation igniting in his eyes as he set down his empty bowl. "Well now, that's just given me something to look forward to."

The two of you talked well into the night, the crackling of the fire providing a comforting backdrop to your conversation. You noticed a shift in the Ghoul's demeanour as the topic veered towards plans for future meals and the road ahead, his tense posture easing as time went on.

Determined to keep his attention and the mood still light, you regaled him with tales of your life before, weaving together anecdotes from your childhood and high school years with a touch of self-deprecating humour. He listened with genuine interest, his deep laughter ringing out like a balm to soothe the ache of your weary soul.

You found yourself deliberately steering the conversation away from his own past, choosing to focus instead on the light hearted memories of your own. You spoke of your best friend Patti, with whom you had been inseparable, recounting the antics and adventures that had filled your days. You mentioned how close you had become, so much so that you had even moved into houses next door to each other and planned out each meticulous part of your lives..

However, you made a conscious decision not to mention your husband, feeling a pang of uncertainty as to why. Perhaps it was a desire to keep Glenn and your companion separate in your mind, two distinct chapters of your life that you were reluctant to intertwine for some unbeknownst reason. Or maybe it was a subconscious attempt to shield yourself from the painful memories that lingered just beneath the surface. 

Regardless of the reason, you found solace in the simplicity of the moment, in the shared laughter and camaraderie that felt like a bond forging between you both. This was the most that the Ghoul had spoken to you in the weeks since you'd started traveling with him, and you relished the comfort that it brought you. Despite the superficial nature of the conversation, there was a sense of intimacy in the shared laughter and you felt giddy at the prospect of you both becoming more than strangers to each other.

When a yawn escaped you, the Ghoul smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he nodded towards the makeshift beds you had prepared earlier that afternoon. Two tattered twin mattresses salvaged from the wreckage of a long-forgotten room, a decent width apart and covered with old, vermin-chewed sheets. It wasn't glamorous by any means, but it was a far cry better than some of the makeshift sleeping arrangements you had been resigned to during your journey through the wasteland.

"Go get. That's enough jaw flappin' for one night," he teased, a playful glint in his eye. Despite his jest, there was affection in his smile, a silent reassurance that you were safe and perhaps even cared for in his company.

With a chuckle, you nodded in agreement, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling over you like a heavy blanket. Rising from your seat by the fire, you made your way towards the makeshift beds, the promise of a few hours of rest beckoning you like a siren's call.

The unwelcome pest of a thought nagged at you, persistent until you found yourself unable to ignore it any longer. With a determined resolve, you moved back towards the Ghoul, your steps fuelled by a sense of urgency you couldn't quite explain. Ignoring the look of alarm that flickered across his face, you leaned over awkwardly as he sat in his chair, and wrapped your arms around him in a brief but heartfelt embrace.

For a fleeting moment, the world seemed to stand still as you felt the surprising warmth of his strong arms around you, the comforting weight of your pregnant belly nestled between you serving as a tangible reminder of the life growing within you. You wanted to thank him, to tell him that this simple gesture meant more to you than words could express—that it was the most human you had felt since thawing from that cryo-chamber all those weeks ago.

But before you could find the words, your thoughts were shattered by the rapid clicking of the dosimeter. Startled, you pulled back, confusion clouding your features as you looked down at the device on your wrist, its needle flitting erratically with each click.

As you glanced between the dosimeter and the Ghoul, a sense of realization began to dawn on you. His eyes remained downcast, his expression unreadable, but the sudden silence of the dosimeter spoke volumes.

In that moment, the pieces began to click into place, like a puzzle slowly revealing its hidden picture. You knew that everything on the surface was a danger, that radiation flooded every inch of land and contaminated everything it touched. Every mouthful of food you took, every swig of water, every wash of your body—each was a necessary risk in the struggle for survival.

But naively, you hadn't stopped to consider the threat that the Ghoul posed—not beyond the immediate danger of him putting a gun to your head or the possibility of him selling you to the highest bidder.

As the suffocating realization settled over you, you felt the overwhelming sense of isolation creep back in, wrapping around you like a vice. Your protector was also your potential killer, and he had wanted to ensure you had a Pip-Boy—to keep you out of trouble you didn't even know existed.

He had given you the knowledge, the control, to make your own findings and decisions, all for the sake of your unborn child. And yet, despite his intentions, you couldn't help but feel a hint of betrayal. You almost wished you could have remained blissfully ignorant about this particular aspect of life on the surface. It was as if you had lost a friend you hadn't really ever had.

"You keep that thing on," he said with a hint of sadness, pointing to your wrist. The only acknowledgement of what just happened. You nodded silently, your hand instinctively running over the cool metal of the Pip-Boy before you turned away.

"Goodnight," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you retreated to your bed. With each step, the weight of the truth bore down on you, a heavy burden you would carry with you as you drifted into a troubled sleep, haunted by the knowledge that even in this new world, friendship was a luxury you could ill afford.

Taglist: @cheshirecat484

[coneheads-deserved-a-noble-prize]

I AM SO TIRED OF PEOPLE ASSOCIATING ALASTOR WITH ONLY JAMBALAYA SO HERE ARE OTHER CREOLE DISHES YOU HEATHENS

Fanfiction and Comic creators, this is for you especially.

Crawfish Étouffée

This beautiful dish was invented in Breaux Bridge Louisiana, where our favourite radio star is from! Although it's invention is attributed the Herbet Hotel in the 1950s -after Alastors death- it is a classic.

Crawfish Étouffée has a sauce typically made from a blonde roux with that classic cajun seasoning. It contains the Holy Trinity of cajun cooking too: bell peppers, onions and celery. The main meat of this dish is crawfish tails and it is usually served with carbs like cornbread, cajun rice or vegetables such as green beans and potato salad.

It is chock full of flavour, and a filling inexpensive dish for low income families - which I believe Alastor is from.

Some alternatives to the crawfish are chicken and shrimp.

-----

The difference between Étouffée and Gumbo.

These two often get mixed up, and I understand, they're both classic Bayou dishes. Here's how to differentiate them.

Texture: Both dishes use shrimp, chicken, or crawfish tail broth. BUT Jumbo has a thicker consistency, it's made from a dark roux and it tends to use more liquid to remain stew-like.

Flavour: Gumbo and Étouffée both use Cajun seasoning, but due to Étouffées blonde roux, it has a lighter, sweeter taste than the darker, fullness of flavour in Gumbo.

Meat: Gumbo uses a variety of meats at the same time (often shrimp and sausage are key components), as mentioned in the alternatives above, Étouffée typically does not.

-----

2. Red Beans and Rice

We're on a roll guys! This is another dish from Louisiana! Although, it is specifically associated with New Orleans, where Alastor hosted his radio show. It has a fascinating history, partly due to it's African and French/Spanish routes - But it was also a struggle meal during the Great Depression. It was originally a Creole, not Cajun dish.

(Note: Red Beans and Kidney Beans are different legumes)

This dish also contains the Holy Trinity, as well as bay leaves, oregano, cayenne pepper, garlic powder and more. Its protein comes from Andouille sausages, but like Gumbo, a variety of meats are used. If you want Alastor to be traditional about it, he should make it on a Monday incorporating the left over ham bones from Sunday dinner. It is also complimented with long grain white rice and green beans, amongst many other things.

Considering Alastor witnessed the Stock Market Crash of 1929 -which led to the Great Depression - There is no way he hasn't come across this dish before.

3. Creole Bread Pudding

The queen of Creole Dessert has arrived. Can you guess where she's from? DING-DING-DING! That's right! New Orleans Louisiana baby! Recipes of this treat have been recorded since 1885, so it suffices to say she's a classic.

Like most bread puddings, it is made by combining stale bread (preferably French), beaten eggs and milk. However, this variation often has an incredible amount of vanilla extract. What it will be complimented with varies from person to person. Some examples are: Whipped meringue and whisky, raisins and apple, or walnuts and butter.

Although not as popular in the modern day, I like to imagine this is something Mimzy, Rosie and Alastor might share together on a day out.

-----

There you go! I hope you enjoyed this - but more importantly I hope this helps people create a more diverse version of those cosy Alastor cooking scenes that I love.

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week - January 15, 2024

🎊 - As we embark on another journey around the sun, I am thrilled to bring you the first newsletter of the year, packed with inspiring, informative, and sometimes downright amusing stories.

1. Marijuana meets criteria for reclassification as lower-risk drug

Marijuana has a lower potential for abuse than other drugs that are subjected to the same restrictions, with scientific support for its use as a medical treatment, researchers from the US Food and Drug Administration say in documents supporting its reclassification as a Schedule III substance.

2. South Korea passes law banning dog meat trade

The slaughter and sale of dogs for their meat is to become illegal in South Korea after MPs backed a new law. The legislation, set to come into force by 2027, aims to end the centuries-old practice of humans eating dog meat.

3. After 20 years in a tiny cage, these 'broken bears' are finally feeling the grass beneath their paws

These bears, termed "broken bears" due to physical and psychological trauma from years of abuse, are treated at the Tam Dao rescue center with individually tailored diets, physiotherapy, and medical care. The bear bile trade, which involves extracting bile for traditional Asian medicine, has been illegal in Vietnam since 2005, but a black market still exists.

4. France just got its first openly gay prime minister.

Gabriel Attal is France’s youngest-ever prime minister at age 34 and the first who is openly gay.

5. Australian ‘builders without borders’ repairing war-torn homes and schools in Ukraine

Manfred Hin, a 66-year-old builder from Townsville, Australia, spent most of 2023 volunteering in Ukraine to rebuild homes and schools damaged by Russian attacks. Having contributed to over 50 house and a dozen school renovations, he worked with Ukrainian charity Brave to Rebuild, mentoring young volunteers and sourcing three tonnes of donated tools.

Inspired by Hin's story, Tasmanian carpenter Hamish Stirling also joined the efforts, learning Ukrainian, traveling to Europe, and volunteering for three months to help rebuild homes.

6. The age-standardized death rate from cancer has declined by 15% since 1990

The age-standardized death rate from cancer declined by 15%

Cancer kills mostly older people – as the death rate by age shows, of those who are 70 years and older, 1% die from cancer every year. For people who are younger than 50, the cancer death rate is more than 40-times lower (more detail here).

7. Germany Reached 55% Renewable Energy in 2023

In 2023, 55 percent of Germany’s power came from renewables — an increase of 6.6 percent, according to energy regulator Bundesnetzagentur, reported Reuters. Europe’s biggest national economy has a goal of 80 percent green energy by 2030.

---

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[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #39 – Inglorious Empire: What the British Did To India by Shashi Tharoor

I honestly forget who first recommended this book to me – quite possible I just googled ‘good indian history books’ and found it that way? - but it’s been on my TBR list for functionally forever at this point. Which meant I went into it essentially blind, with no memory of what if any details I’d been given with the recommendation. Which meant I had a moderately disappointing reading experience just because I was hoping for a narrative history and not an explicit polemical/persuasive text. Still, taken on its own merits as one of those, it’s really quite a good one.

The book is an adaptation and expansion of a performance the author gave at an Oxford debate (arguing against the notion that the British Empire was a good thing) which was recorded and went viral enough to make it a commercially viable prospect. The origin story shines through in the form – aside from an introduction and conclusion, each chapter is a clear and specific argument against some specific justification offered for the British conquest and colonization of India, full to bursting with statistics and quotations buttressing every point.

I would very much like to say that most of it is devoted to stuff the average reader will know anyway (if illustrated with clear and affecting examples), but, going by the apparent public response to the original debate and some polling cited in the conclusion, apparently not! The YouGov polls about the English public’s knowledge and opinion of the Empire are bleak enough that yeah this probably is a direly needed work of public education, if mostly for people who will not at any point read it.

Still, the fact that the British Raj was explicitly and institutionally racist and reserved functionally all positions of real power and authority for white men shouldn’t be much of a surprise, nor the fact that the ‘rule of law’ was basically a sick joke as far as crimes across the colour line went, nor the fact that the extraction of wealth from India to make fortunes in Britain was the explicit goal of policy, nor the fact that resistance (especially resistance successful enough to spook the authorities) was responded to with utter and excessive brutality. All that is basically the meat of what having been a colony means.

That said, I was taken a bit aback by the sheer rapaciousness of early Company government – it’s one thing to hear about oppressive taxation, another to get quoted the census figures of how they were so extreme that enough peasants fleeing their land and homes to look for greener pastures to show up as overall population decline in the areas under HEIC control. Similarly, my understanding of how India was turned into a captive market for British goods was much more subtle and indirect than the outright smashing of looms and legal prohibition of any attempts to compete with British industries that were actually used.

Whereas I did know about the deadly famines that kept occurring throughout the Raj, but the sheer cartoonish malevolence of colonial authorities when faced with them always manages to shock me a bit. ‘Nature’s solution to overpopulation’ was a really horrifyingly opinion at the time.

The audience of the debate performance the book’s based on definitely shines through in the choice of sources – wherever possible, Tharoor quotes from or cites western (Anglo-American, generally) sources for his eye-witness accounts and always takes care to introduce and ground them in terms of western governments or academia. The quotes themselves are all helpful illustrations, though there’s probably slightly more than are really strictly necessary – I’m pretty sure by wordcount at least a chapter of the book was actually written by Will Durant.

I’m not sure if it’s because of the original format or just how Tharoor writes, but the book also just has a great love of adjectives. Seemingly every source referenced is ‘historic’ or ‘path-breaking’ unless it is merely ‘compendious’ or outright ‘invidious’. Not a bad thing, but once I noticed it I was totally unable to stop doing so.

The book is straightforward polemic and Tharoor makes no bones about his position, so I take his verging-on-idyllic descriptions of pre-colonial Indian governance (especially regarding land tenure and caste) and the probability that India would have unified into a modern nation state without colonialism a dose pour of salt. There’s a few other inaccuracies I noticed (referring to the East India Company’s theft of Chinese tea plans as the ‘birth of agricultural espionage), for example), but it was all in the realm of little asides or colourful anecdotes rather than anything load-bearing.

It is rather funny that the book repeatedly draws comparisons with French colonies to argue that India was worst off, on the grounds that Paris at least made gestures towards integrating Indochina or Algeria and their peoples into France (however inadequate and hypocritical those efforts were), whereas in India the maintenance of total domination and the clear policy that India and Indians were things to be exploited for the benefit of England never changed. Funny, because from the book of Vietnamese history I read a few months ago the perspective of nationalists in Indochina was quite the reverse, seeing the English as at least somewhat honest brokers who were willing to grant some level of (limited and inadequate) self-government, compared to the French. Grass is always greener, I guess.

Though that does get at Tharoor’s argument as to why the British were worse not just in degree but in kind to the Mughals and any other empire-builders from outside South Asia who had come before them. The Mughals became Indian, both in the simple material sense that all their taxes didn’t end up back in Samarkand and Indian merchants were intentionally ruined for the benefit of traditional central asia trade routes, and in the more cultural sense that the ruling class set down roots and intermarried with their subjects rather than establishing a cloistered ruling class. Instead, the Raj was more akin to Tamerlane’s sack of Delhi, extended across 200 years. (One gets the sense Tharoor thinks a permanent settler population moving into stolen palaces would have been preferable to the rotation of soldiers and officials arriving from the metropole for long enough to get rich before heading back to build mansions in the Home Counties.)

Also, speaking of Vietnamese history, I only have a sample size of two but it’s interesting how in both cases a class of liberal (in the western sense) intellectuals and bourgeois emerged who tried to take the colonial propaganda at its word and enter some sustainable partnership with the imperial power – and in both cases got at best ignored and at worst imprisoned, tortured and executed for their trouble.

Anyways, interesting read, if one that makes me want something more specific and rigorous about basically any specific section of it (though, not to jump up and yell ‘Canada Mentioned!’ but every time Trudeau was used as an example of a colonial power’s leader handling the apologizing and acknowledging stuff gracefully and well I had to really try not to laugh).

[cellarspider]

4/30 Meeting the Prometheus crew. Hmm.

(Previous) | (Index) | (Next)

⛬

We return to the movie that I want to fold, spindle, and mutilate, Prometheus.

Time to actually meet the human crew.

Hooboy. I am feeling David’s dead-eyed look here. Content warning for jumpscare Charlize Theron, brief mention of vomit, depiction of smoking, and whatever the hell is going on with these people.

First off, there is Vickers (Charlize Theron). Her reveal implies that she has escaped containment, and is probably scuttling around in the vents somewhere. No, in fact, she is doing pushups. She asks David if anyone’s died with all the concern of an inconvenienced accountant,  because she is a Cold Corpo Queen who is going to be an asshole to everyone throughout the movie.

This includes David, who, again, may be meeting his makers for the first time here.

On the other hand, this has more dignity to it than the rest of the crew. They’re currently stumbling around and horfing up their two-year-old lunches, a grand tradition in the Alien franchise.

Charming.

Indeed, this is basically a recitation of a scene from Alien and Aliens: Everyone wakes up and feels like crap, except for a machine-like character and, in Aliens, a Black military dude, Sergeant Apone (Al Matthews), who wakes up and immediately chomps down on a cigar.

On an unrelated note, meet Captain Janek (Idris Elba). He’s smoking a cigarillo and setting up a Christmas tree on the ship’s pool table, while a nameless white guy appears to have ragdolled in the corner. Vickers disapproves.

We meet the last two crew members who are going to have enough of a presence in the plot to get names: Millburn (Rafe Spall) and Fifield (Sean Harris). Millburn is an awkward glasses-wearing dork of a biologist. So far, so realistic.

Fifield appears to be attempting to channel Sheamus the wrestler during a heel-y season. He isn’t here to make friends, he’s here to get paid. He’s here to win.

He’s a fucking geologist.

Sure, there’s a lot of geologists who work for extractive industries that probably are just there for the paycheck, but I don’t know how one of them ends up being selected for a mission of POTENTIAL FIRST CONTACT WITH AN ALIEN CULTURE.

This was absolutely baffling in the theater. What in the hell was this scene? This character? It felt so out of place. Little did I know that this was, in fact, setting expectations for the rest of the movie.

The human characters are not treated in the same way David is. We are not often invited to consider them as beings with inner lives, they are stock characters that you may or may not have previous affection for. And because we functionally meet David first, their presence is jarring.

Because these aren’t just stock characters from just any genre, they’re stock characters from a horror movie. Several different kinds of horror movie, with one bonus character trait if they're lucky. Elizabeth Shaw is the final girl (plus religious background), Charlie Holloway is the jock boyfriend (plus allegedly scientist), Millburn is the nervous, glasses-wearing nerd. Fifield the geologist is, bafflingly, the mercenary who’s Just There For The Money (plus rocks), Vickers is the heartless corpo, and Idris Elba is the calm and unflustered military guy. The rest of the characters, regardless of their role, are therefore consigned to being nameless dead meat.

This didn’t have to be the case. A different vibe could’ve been chosen. The marketing tied this movie to Alien. You’re introduced to everyone in that movie through the lens of their average, unremarkable jobs (in spaaaaace!), and you understand how the situation they find themselves in is completely, terrifyingly overwhelming. 

These are scientists and highly skilled professionals (in spaaaaace!). We have successful horror films out there, where scientists are placed beyond their limits. This used to be a whole thing in the 50s, where Serious Men of Science were sometimes the first and last line of defense against extremely rubbery aliens. Was it mostly goofy? Absolutely. But not always!

(First, the goofy: Night of the Blood Beast (1958), best known in latter days as MST3K’s Season 7 premiere (1995). The trailer features the amazing voiceover “The first satellite creature to impregnate man with its chromosomes!”, as heavy breathing plays in the background. “It’s true,” says a square-jawed white guy, “I can feel it inside!”.)

(Second, the straight: The Thing from Another World, precursor to John Carpenter’s The Thing. While just a standard monster movie, it features one of the first and honestly ridiculous full-body fire stunts on film. They repeatedly doused stuntmen in buckets of flaming kerosine.)

These have slowly died off in Hollywood, but there’s still some that pop up every so often: Contagion (2011) being the one that first comes to mind. Sunshine (2007) and Annihilation (2018) are another two that take a similar, slow tactic, all three of them containing horror elements in their premise and execution.

(major content warning on this first one for pandemic themes. Like, all of them.)

(cw for brief body horror, old self harm scars)

This was what I’d expected from the premise of the first five minutes: a well-prepared team, traveling to confront something with existential implications for humanity, taking the job seriously. The movie disabused me of that quickly, but it didn’t provide me anything as compelling in return.

If I had to guess what other movie Prometheus was trying to be like, The Thing (1982) is a strong candidate. It features a cast of dysfunctional people who are similarly broad in their characterization, and pits them against a source of alien body horror with existential implications for all of humanity. Unfortunately for Prometheus, it can’t live up to The Thing either. However, what it did manage to do was drive me COMPLETELY insane, starting in the next segment.

⛬

(Previous) | (Index) | (Next)

[digitalnewberry]

Tricks of the trade card

John M. Wing Foundation printing ephemera collection

Trade cards—perhaps best described as a mash-up of a business card and advertisement—were popular throughout the 18th, 19th, and early 20th centuries. The Newberry holds about two dozen collections of such cards, including specimens from England, Belgium, France, and America.... Trade cards also offer a window onto pre-Mad-Men-era marketing strategies (or lack thereof). The choice of text and imagery could be a bit random—questionable, even. For example, the Leipig Company used a passage from Hamlet in an advertisement for their Meat Extract; in retrospect, it seems a rather dubious decision to associate a food product with a scene describing poison. Another trade card advertising cough syrup shows children preparing the medicine by heating two kittens in a skillet. With its strange mix of Victorian sentimentality and (hopefully) dark humor, the card nevertheless endorses two universal truths: cats are like medicine and children should generally be supervised in the kitchen...

Advertising trade cards, 1860-1905

Read the full post by Jill Gage, the Newberry's Custodian of the John M. Wing Foundation on the History of Printing and Bibliographer for British Literature and History

Browse uncataloged 😶 trade cards at Newberry Digital Collections

Help to catalog 😀 trade cards at Postcard Tag, our crowdsourcing project

[chickensarentcheap]

In a Heartbeat- Chapter 7

Fandom: Extraction

PAIRING: TYLER RAKE AND ESME DRUMMOND (ESTABLISHED OFC. YOU DO NOT NEED TO READ THE OTHER STORIES TO UNDERSTAND THIS ONE)

SUMMARY:  Dhaka nearly ended everything before it even began.  In it’s aftermath and with Tyler’s life teetering on the threshold between life and death, Esme is about to realize just how strong she can be.  And that love happens when it happens. There’s no rules. No rhyme or reason. No timeline.  

WARNINGS: profanity, very brief mentions of spousal abuse and rape

TAGGING: @tragiclyhip @youflickedtooharddamnit @secretaryunpaid @thebejeweledwatercat @munstysmind

@asirensrage @residentdormouse @kmc1989 @karimac @arrthurpendragon

@fanficanatic-tw @ocappreciationtag @occommunity @ninjasawakenedmystar

@alisbackalleybbq

My tag list Is OPEN. Please just ask if you'd like to be added :)

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48691714/chapters/141050257

***

Esme lingers on the threshold between the living room and kitchen; perched on the edge of the dining table, a mug of hot chocolate clutched in both hands. Nursing her drink as she watches him sleep; sprawled out on the couch, a lightly snoring Lucy curled up at his feet and two newly acquired chickens snoozing between him and the back of the sofa: his battered, still healing body and his traumatized, haunted mind at rest. Feet peeking out from the bottom of the plaid blanket covering him and the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over his head; those large, strong hands -with their various scars and calluses- folded together and resting on his chest. Worn out from the day and desperately needing a late afternoon nap; pushing himself past the point of exhaustion in his first full day out of the hospital. Attempting to make up for lost time; stubbornly refusing to cut the day short, or even to take short breaks to rest and catch his breath.

She already knows him so well; fully aware of his reluctance to accept his limitations and the worry he harbours that he’s somehow ‘letting her down’. Afraid -despite the months of devotion she’d already shown by remaining by his side in the hospital, that her continued care of her would soon become taxing; burdened by the task of helping nurse him back to health both physically AND mentally. Despising the mere notion of appearing weak in front of her; he’d turned down all suggestions to sit and rest; ignoring the reminders that they had lots of time left together. There was no rush; there were many more hours -days, weeks, months, YEARS- ahead to enjoy the fresh and get ‘out and about’.

The first hour they’d spent wandering the outdoor market; picking out produce and eggs, various baked goods and freshly cut meats. Afterwards, they indulged in a filling lunch at one of the smaller restaurants. Tucked into a booth at the back of the quaint establishment; engaging in small talk interspersed with sexual innuendos and flirtatious comments while sipping lattes and cappuccinos, and sampling various Austrian foods and desserts. Ending the day by finding a home furnishing store and ordering the first items to personalize their house; a bigger fridge, a stove, a mixer for her baking and new pots and pans. Everything she’d need to make cakes, cookies, pies and other desserts. A brand new -and much more comfortable- bed, dressers, a desk and bookshelf.

They’d only returned to the cabin once a list was made of the other ‘wants and needs’; workout equipment, new laptops, a larger TV. Paint for the both master bath and the much smaller, main washroom, cupboards and countertops for the kitchen. While unsure of how long the Gmunden would be home, they’re determined to make their surroundings as cheerful and livable as possible; planning on keeping the place a ‘getaway’ when it was time to move on to something bigger. Whether it be in Australia or one of the half dozen European cities that had made a ‘shortlist’. Prague, Paris, Zurich, Amsterdam, Copenhagen.

She shivers; a chill setting in as the nearby fire begins to die. Setting her mug on the cluttered dining table, she moves towards the fireplace; adding a handful of dry wood and then using the poker to stoke it ‘alive’. She holds her hands out towards the flames, warming both front and back and rubbing vigorously at her upper arms. And when she hears a dull thud and glances over her shoulder; Lucy’s ears immediately perking up, dark eyes widening, head raising out of curiosity. Tyler’s bad leg -brace and all- now hanging over the side of the couch, foot on the floor as he continues to sleep.

Esme pads towards him; carefully picking up his leg and placing it back on the couch. Peeling the throw away from his body, she stretches it out; tucking it tightly around his sides, under both legs and over his feet. And when she attempts to step away, he grabs ahold of her wrist and pulls her closer; fingers gliding over the top of her hand before pushing their way through hers.

His eyes remain closed. Voice -heavy with sleep- resonating deep in his chest. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

“What’re you doing?”

“Babying you.”

Tyler scowls.

“I was making sure you were comfortable. Your bad leg was hanging off the couch; if I left it like that, you’d wake up in a world of hurt. Not to mention your big ass feet were poking out of the blanket. Don’t want you catching a cold.”

“My feet aren’t that big.”

“Your feet are massive, okay. You can house a family of four in each of your shoes.”

“Maybe your feet are just abnormally small. Like the rest of you.”

“You know, you’re lucky you’re cute. Especially when you're sleepy. You’re extra pouty when you’re sleepy.”

“I do NOT pout.”

“You most certainly do.”

He presses the heel of his palm into one eye, followed by the other, then squints up at her. “Everything alright? You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Did something happen? You have a dream where I got hurt or something? Not one of those Dhaka dreams, was it? Gaspar getting a hold of me and taking me to Asif and…”

“No. Thank god. I don’t want to go through that again. Even if it isn’t real. There was no dream. I guess you’re just beginning to rub off on me. I’m starting to worry all the time now.”

“There’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m fine. Everything’s good.” Leaning over the couch, she presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “Everything’s very good, actually.”

“Yeah…” As a slow grin spreads across his face, he reaches up to loop wayward strands of hair behind her ears. “...it is.”

“Try and get a little more sleep, alright? You overdid it, today. And I don’t want you to be paying the price tomorrow.”

“Something tells me that’s inevitable.”

“You need to know your limitations. And be okay with them. Slow and steady wins the race, right? I don’t want you pushing it and getting hurt. Pace yourself, babe. That’s the only way you’ll get back to a hundred percent.”

“I was never there to begin with.”

“Well, with all the repairing and fine-tuning they did in Dubai, you’ll probably end up being in even better shape than before. But that’s a long way away. And that’s perfectly fine. You know that, right? That you don’t have to rush things.”

“I just want to be who you need me to be. Who you deserve. I just want to make you happy.”

“You know what makes me happy? You taking care of yourself. And letting me help along the way. THAT’S what makes me happy.”

A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Not just me in general?”

“I think that goes without saying. Now…” Pulling the throw up to his chin, she tucks it around his body and then combs her fingers through his hair. Lips warm and soft as they meet his brow. “...you get a little more sleep and I’ll figure something out for dinner.”

“Will it be edible?”

Smirking, she flicks the tip of his nose with her thumb and forefinger. “Fuck you, Tyler.”

Chuckling, he grabs hold of her sweatshirt and pulls her downwards. An arm circling her waist when she loses her balance; giving a small shriek of surprise and then giggling when she lands on top of him. He settles one palm in the middle of her spine and cradles the back of her with the other; fingers pushing through her hair and softly massaging her scalp.

Neither speak again. And she finds herself quickly and easily relaxed by the warmth radiating off his body, the sound of his heart beating within his chest, and the familiar smell that clings to his skin and clothes. She feels content and secure. Adored. Protected. And she basks in the moment. Enjoying the contact; remaining where she is until his breathing slows and softens and his arms fall limp at his sides.

*****

She takes Lucy for her nighttime walk while dinner finishes; soup simmering on the hot plate, a salad waiting in the fridge, garlic loaves keeping warm in the toaster oven. Bundled up in boots and parka, knit beanie and mittens, she trudges through the snow and down to the dock; enjoying the cold, crisp air and the blanket of stars that shimmer within a black velvet sky. She feels free for the first time in a LONG time; able to breathe without the fear of either the past or present breathing down her neck. At last content in her own skin and comfortable and relaxed in her surroundings. Finally able to shed the last of her baggage; the mountains of bad decisions, the trauma left behind from time with an unstable and horrifically abusive man, a child and teenagehood spent walking on eggshells. She had devoted years to driving herself to the brink of both mental and physical exhaustion; weary and worn trying to win the love and respect of the woman who’d given birth to her, but had hated her from the moment she took her first breath.

It seems easier to deal with now. The memories of cruel words and vicious hands, the agony of the wounds inflicted both internally and externally. She has a safe place to fall; someone she trusts with both life and heart. Who wants nothing more than to make her happy and keep her safe, secure, and protected.

Someone who will stop at nothing to make those things a reality.

For once in her life, love doesn’t hurt. It’s patience and it’s sacrifice. It’s caring more about your partner than you do about yourself. It’s feeling happy whenever they’re in the same room as you; enjoying the sound of their voice and laugh, their touch and the taste of their kiss. Never able to get enough of them; the conversations and the feel of their hand in yours. And the way your body not only easily melts into theirs, but is also capable of eagerly and hungrily responding.

They’re halfway back to the cabin when she sees the lights flicker on; followed by the TV and Tyler’s form passing by the living room window as he limps his way into the kitchen. This is her life now. Her home. It’s modest and simple, yet she doesn’t find herself craving more. It’s the most content and comfortable she’s been in a long time; finally ‘seen’ and understood by someone who doesn’t judge her based on her past or things she’d done to make money and survive. Who somehow doesn’t see the mountain of flaws and imperfections that she does. Carving out an existence together; optimistic about both the healing process and their future together.

She’s a foot from the door when her phone vibrates in her jacket pocket. Using her teeth to yank off her mittens, she fishes the cell from its hiding spot; frowning when she sees the name and number plastered across the screen.

It’s become far more than a once-daily experience. Over two dozen texts and voicemails left; ranging from sugary sweet requests for her to call back to annoyed sighs and questions of her whereabouts and her well-being, Culminating in the ranting and raving of a narcissist; attempts at gaslighting, vile name-calling, and threats to ‘track her down and beat her ass’ and ‘drag her back to where she belongs’. And she’s finally had enough; unwillingly to disrupt or sacrifice the peace, comfort, and happiness she’s finally submerged in.

“Hello?”

“So you ARE alive.”

“Is that disappointment in your voice?”

“Don’t start. I didn’t call for THIS.”

“What did you call for, mother? What HAVE you been calling for? Non-stop.”

“You’re my baby. My little girl. My only daughter. Have you ever thought that…”

Esme rolls her eyes. Instead of opening the door, she heads for the battered and weathered loveseat that resides on the porch; sighing heavily as she drops heavily onto it. Lucy dutifully follows behind; lying across her feet, head cocked to the side as she curiously watches her. “Have you been drinking?”

“No, I haven’t been drinking! Why would you…?”

“The only time you ever say anything remotely nice to me is when you’ve got a few in you. How much have you had? If you’re at this level of ass-kissing, it has to be at least a bottle of rye. Or two.”

“Like I told you, I haven’t been drinking. I…”

“You didn’t call to hear my bullshit, and I didn’t answer to hear yours.”

“Okay, so I may have had a couple of glasses of wine with dinner. But…”

“And likely half a dozen for dessert.”

“What is your problem? I call to check up on you and see how you’re doing and this is the treatment I get? For caring about my child? It’s been months since we’ve spoken. Since you’ve even attempted to touch base. I’ve left you all kinds of voicemails and text messages and.…”

“What is your sudden interest in my life? What do you suddenly care about how I’m doing and what I’m doing? If I wanted you to know, I would have talked to you a long time ago. I called you from Dubai. I let you know that I was alive and well, didn’t I?”

“That was almost ten months ago! Almost a full year. Despite what you think, I DO care about you, Esme. I DO love you.”

She gives a derisive snort.

“You were the one that pushed me away. Severed ties. When you decided to up and leave the Marine Corps and abandon your family. You just packed everything up and moved to New York City and…”

“My then-husband put me in the ICU. I left to get away from him. To start a life without him. I…”

“You could have worked things out. Instead of filing for divorce. You could have tried harder. Despite all of his issues and all of his anger, he’s a good man. And he WAS good to you. At times. You just choose to ignore that. If you were just honest with yourself…”

“Being honest with myself would have been knowing to leave YEARS ago. Not waiting until he nearly killed me.”

Her mother scoffs. “It wasn’t THAT bad. But you have always been a tad dramatic. Quite infamous when it comes to exaggeration. Now, I know things got a little…testy…at times, but…”

“A little testy? He used to beat the shit out of me, mom. If he didn’t like the food I made, he’d throw it on the floor, force me down on all fours, and make me eat it. Like I was a fucking animal. ‘Testy’ doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface.”

“I know Mark has his faults. I know he wasn’t perfect, but…”

“He used to rape me. When I’d say ‘no’. I was property to him. Something he owned. He said it was my ‘wifely duty’ to put out for him. And it was his duty to punish me when I didn’t. So yeah, he had his faults, alright.”

“You’re not exactly an easy person to live with, Esme. You’re not some angel yourself.”

“I don’t claim to be perfect. In way, shape, or form. But didn’t deserve any of the things he did to me. You have some hell of a nerve sticking up for him, you know that? Choosing him and his bullshit over your own daughter? But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve always been lower than dirt to you.”

“You always have to be the victim, don’t you.”

“I WAS the victim. I was Mark’s, I was yours. But here I am, mom. Thriving. Making a life for myself. Being happy. All those you and Mark tried to kill inside of me? They’re still here. And you’ll never get close enough to hurt me ever again.”

“And just where ARE you making this wonderful, imaginary life for yourself? Where are you…?”

“It’s not imaginary. It’s very much real. And you know, it might not be all sunshine and roses. But it is wonderful. In a lot of ways.”

“Are you with him?”

“I am.”

“So it wasn’t just a passing thing. Like we’d all hoped. When you’d called to say that you’d met someone and were running away with them…”

“I didn’t run away. I didn’t have anything to run away from. I started over. Made a life for myself.”

“You had a life here. A mother, a stepfather, brothers, nieces, nephews…”

“I haven’t bothered with any of you…REALLY bothered with you…in years. I haven’t lived in Colorado in a long time.”

“When you abandoned your husband and your marriage and…”

“I saved myself. You can pretend that Mark is some sort of golden boy; that he’s God's gift to women and has never done anything wrong in his entire life. You can ignore all the evidence that’s been gathered against him; the police and hospital reports, the pictures of all the bumps and bruises and scratches and broken bones. You burying in the sand or up his ass doesn't change the fact that he’s a massive piece of shit.”

“You’re not exactly perfect yourself, Esme. I’ve lived with you. I know what kind of challenge you can be. You’re stubborn and high-strung and confrontational and…”

“And I didn’t deserve a damn thing that man did to me. Look, if you called just annoy the hell out of me, congratulations. You were successful. I’m going to hang up now. Because I don’t have the time or the tolerance for your bullshit. Goodbye, mother. Don’t…”

“Where are you?”

“Somewhere you won’t find me.”

“Are you back in the States?”

“No.”

“Well, I know you didn’t go back to Prague. Kyle showed up at your place a couple of weeks ago; the landlord told him that someone had come for your things and handled what was left on your lease. Paid off the final eight months. In cash.”

“Now you have Kyle doing your dirty work for you? When you say jump, does he ask ‘how high?’? You really will stop at nothing to weasel your way into my life. Stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“You’re my daughter. My child. My…”

“No, mother. I’m a grown adult. Who is minding her own business and building a life for herself. Don’t start pretending to start giving a shit about me. It’s a little too late for that.”

“Am I at least allowed to know where you are?”

“I’m safe. That’s all that matters.”

“With him.”

“He has a name. I know you have this unhinged, bizarre hate towards him, but…”

“He took you away from me. From your family. He’s keeping you god knows where…”

“I’m here willingly. I’m here because I want to be. No one is keeping me under lock and key. Or holding a gun to my head. Why can’t that be enough for you? Knowing that I’m okay. That I’m safe and secure and protected. That I’m happy. Why…?”

“You barely know him. You…”

“Tyler, mom. His name is Tyler. Can’t you show him just that little bit of respect? He saved me. In every way a person CAN be saved. And we’re happy here. With each other. We’re making a life together. And I don’t want you or anyone else ruining that for us.”

“Where exactly is here? Australia? Did you go back there with him?”

“No. Not yet. We’ll get there, though. Eventually. Right now we’re just taking things easy. Lying low. Concentrating on each other. Getting to know one another.”

“And you can’t tell me where all of this is happening?”

“We’re in Europe.”

“Europe is a big place, Esme.”

“‘We’re in Austria.”

“Where in Austria?”

“Bergenz.” The lie rolls easily off her tongue. “A little place right near Lake Constance. It’s nice and quiet. Nothing fancy.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this. Throwing your life away for some man. You barely know him; you went away on a business trip and ended up someone’s whore. You…”

“I love him. And he loves me. He…”

“You’re in love with what he can give you. How rich IS he?”

“What the hell kind of question is that? I’m not some gold digger, mother. I never have. But for your information, he’s just a regular guy. Strictly blue collar. He’s not a rich man by any stretch of the imagination. At least not when it comes to money, anyway.”

“What kind of blue-collar job puts someone in the hospital for months on end?”

“I already told you. He does private security. A job went south. He got hurt. Badly.”

“And you just somewhat randomly happened to meet him? While doing your own job? You do realize how suspicious that sounds, don’t you?”

“It’s what happened. We ended up in each other’s paths. It’s as simple as that.”

“The whole thing reeks, Esme. Your entire story. How you met him, what he does for a living, what happened to him in some shit hole, third world country. You must realize how lame this all sounds, don’t you? How pathetic? I know you’re hiding something.”

“I told you the basics. You don’t need to know anything else. What goes on between Tyler and me? That’s our business. Not yours. So you’ll just have to learn to accept it; the fact I met someone and I’m not coming home.”

“The hell I do.”

“Look, let’s just end things here, okay? You know I’m alive. You know I’m safe. That’s all that matters.”

“It’s only a matter of time. Before things go bad. It’s how things in your life are. It’s how YOU are.”

“Goodbye, mom.”

“Don’t think you can come crawling back here when he tosses you to the curb. When he finally grows tired of your bullshit and lashes out. Just like Mark did. Don’t you…”

“I said goodbye, mom.”

Ending the call before anything else can be said, she sits with her eyes closed as she attempts to regain her composure. She feels light-headed and nauseous; her chest is impossibly tight, her hands tremble violently as they tightly clutch the phone. And she doesn’t move until Lucy gives a pitiful whine and rests her head on her thigh.

“Everything’s okay,” she assures the dog. Managing a smile, she scratches under Lucy’s chin, strokes her ears and ruffles the fur at the nape of her neck. “I’m fine, sweet girl” Leaning down to place a kiss on the dog’s nose, she laughs when her face is bathed in kisses in response. “Best therapist ever,” she declares and stands. “Now let’s go and get some dinner”

*****

Tyler stands at the counter; briefly glancing over his shoulder when he hears the door open. Greeting her with a smile before returning to the task at hand; removing plates, cups, and cutlery from cupboards and drawers, stirring the pot of soup that simmers on the hot plate.

“I was starting to get worried. Thought maybe a coyote got you. Or that you decided to run away from home.”

“Was that wishful thinking on your part?” she teases, as she toes off her boots and yanks the knit beaning from her head. Smoothing a palm over her hair, then shoving the garment into one of the pockets on her coat. “Were you hoping I disappeared? Or that I ended up some tasty snack for the wildlife?”

“Yeah…right…” He uses a pair of metal tongs to scoop salad onto the empty plates “I can’t believe you’d even ask me that.”

“I have bad news for you, buddy…” Shrugging out of her coat, she places it over his as it hangs on a hook next to the door. “...you can’t get rid of me that easy.”

“Maybe I don’t want to get rid of you at all. Have you ever considered that?”

“Have you ever considered you’re a glutton for punishment? What’s the saying?” Wanders into the living room, she shoves her feet into a pair of Ugg slippers before joining him in the kitchen. “Be careful what you wish for?”

“If spending the next forty, fifty years with you is the worst that could happen to me, I’ll consider myself extremely lucky.”

“Jesus…” Desperately needing that closeness, connection and security that only he can provide, she steps behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his back. “...maybe your brain injury IS worse than they thought.”

“This is probably the most coherent I’ve been thinking in years.” He gives her the time she needs; alternating between sipping a mug of coffee and repeatedly cleaning the same spot on the counter as she clings to him. Not moving or speaking until she pats her hands against his stomach, squeezes his hips, and steps back. Gulping down his drink before turning to face her. “Everything alright?”

“I finally got up the nerve to answer the phone. I wish I could say I’m pleasantly surprised about how things went…”

“That good, huh?”

“Not nearly as bad as I thought it would be, but still pretty goddamn awful.”

“I’m sorry. I never should have got on you about talking to her. I just thought the sooner you did, the sooner she’d just leave you the fuck alone.”

“It’s not your fault she’s a total cunt. And you were right; I did need to get my head out of my ass and deal with her. She would have just kept calling and leaving voice messages until I finally had a mental breakdown. Which…who knows…could be her end game.”

“What did she want?” Handing her a bowl of salad and a fork, he leans against the counter and digs into his own. “Just checking up on ya? Making sure I’m not holding you hostage? Putting drugs in your food? Forcing you to comply and stay in my…what did she call it…den of iniquity?”

“She’s a crazy bitch. She wanted to know when I was coming home. Colorado hasn’t been home in over a decade. I don’t know why the hell she thought I’d head there. Want to hear the most fucked up part? A total mommy dearest moment? She sent my brother Kyle to Prague. To my apartment. I guess she thought I was bullshitting about where I was. That I was merely locking myself in the house and ignoring everyone.”

“Must have been a hell of a shock when he found your place was empty.”

“Just a bit. I told her we were in Austria; just lying low, taking it easy and recuperating. I didn’t say EXACTLY where, though. The last thing we need is her sending a search party to Gmunden.”

“Isn’t the biggest place. They could probably just ask in town and then track us down.”

“It wouldn’t be too difficult. I mean, a six-foot-three Australian with a bad limp and a resting asshole face doesn’t exactly blend into the crowd.”

“You’re going to have to tell her eventually. The WHOLE truth. Because it WILL get out. Somehow. And not hearing it from you will cause a whole world of trouble.”

“It’s not an easy thing to tell people, you know? Would you want to hear it? That your kid was caught up in black ops? That she was selling people out to mercenaries? That she was making money lying about who she was and using and deceiving people?”

“It would be hard to hear. But, they’re still my kid and…”

“My mother is NOT like us. She doesn’t think the way we do. And she’s hardly a parent. At least she was never one to me.”

“Are you embarrassed? Of the truth?”

“What would I be embarrassed of? And please don’t say you, because that is the furthest thing from the truth.”

“I kill people for money. Or I used to, anyway.”

“We are not getting into that conversation. You know where I stand; how I feel about what you do…what you DID. And you’re not going to change my mind But for the record? No. I’m not embarrassed of you. I have no reason to be. I didn’t do anything wrong: I knew exactly who you were and what you did and I went into things willingly. And I STAY in them willingly. I’m not trying to hide you, Tyler.”

“I never said…”

“I’m trying to protect you. And I know what you’re going to say; you’re a big boy and can take care of yourself and you don’t need little old me doing it for you.”

“You are just putting all kinds of words in my mouth tonight.”

“And I don’t mean PHYSICALLY protect you. I mean, look at me. I’m all of five feet tall and a hundred pounds soaking wet. I wouldn’t do much damage even if I tried.”

“I don’t know, it’s the little ones you usually need to watch out for. They’re cagey fuckers.”

“I’m talking about protecting you…US…from them. I know what my family is like. Especially my mother. She’s already on the warpath; talking all kinds of bullshit and trying to make you sound like some horrible, controlling and abusive person. She finds out the truth? She will make things worse.”

“I don’t give a fuck what she thinks about me. You should know that by now.”

“But I care. It hurts, alright? Hearing her talking about you like that. Because I know who you are. I know what you’ve been through and how you almost didn’t make it out the other side. And because I love you. Who wants to hear mean shit about the person they love?”

“I just think you need to take it with a grain of salt. I don’t want you getting worked up over it. I’m not the only one that’s been through it. In the past ten months. You shouldn't have to go through THIS, too.”

“If I tell her everything, she will make it her mission to tear us apart. She will do whatever she can to come between us. And I know you think I’m brave and strong and…”

“You are. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

“...maybe I am. Most of the time. But I’m tired. I don’t have it in me to fight right now. I am so tired, Tyler. Is it really so wrong that I can’t do it right now? That I just want a fucking break?”

“No.” Plucking the bowl out of her hand, he sets it on the counter, then gathers her into his arms. Hands continuously running up and down her back as her arms circle his waist and her head rests against him. “It’s not wrong at all.”

“I just want it to be US. At least for a little while.”

“As long as you need it to be, okay? No rush.”

“I just can’t do it. I can’t deal with her. Not right now.”

“You don’t have to. She calls back, I’ll answer. You don’t need to worry about her. I’ll take care of things.”

She looks up at him, tears spilling down her cheeks. “What did I do wrong?”

“What do you mean? What…?”

“To make her hate me like she does. What did I do? To deserve it?”

“You didn’t do a goddamn thing. The way she is? It’s not about you. It’s about her. She’s a bitter, nasty old woman. She’s dead inside. She doesn’t give a fuck about anyone but herself.”

“But she’s only like that with me. She’s never loved me. She never even wanted me. Why? What did I ever do? If she’d just told me, I could have fixed things. I could have been better. I could have…”

“Esme…” Cradling her face in his palms, his thumbs swipe at the tears that glisten on her cheeks. “...it’s not about you. It never has been. You didn’t do anything wrong. And you didn’t deserve it. You still don’t.”

“I’m tired. I am so tired.”

“I know.” He presses a kiss to her brow, then gathers her even tighter into his chest. “It’s time to rest now, okay? You’ve fought enough. You don’t need to do it anymore. I’ve got just enough in me to do it for both of us.”

“I just want it to be us. No one else. Just us.”

“It will be,” he assures her, feeling her body tremble against his as she openly sobs. “There’s nothing for you to worry about. She can’t hurt you anymore. No one can.”

****

“When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

They lay on the couch; caught up in a mess of naked limbs and tangled blankets. Basking in both the aftermath of their lovemaking and the warmth from the nearby fire.

His knuckles slide along the small of her back. “Where did that come from?”

“I know, totally random.” Esme laughs against the side of his neck. “Not the most romantic of pillow talk, huh?”

“And you say I’m terrible at it.”

“You talk about food and football and how long it’s going to take you to be ready to go again. Whispering sweet nothings is definitely NOT your forte.”

“Sweet nothings? Who are you trying to kid? You’re not into the shit. You like the absolute filth that comes out of my mouth. Don’t even try to deny it.”

“The filthier the better.” Spresses a series of kisses along his jaw, stopping at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t want you to change, though. I kinda like you the way you are. You’re perfect. At least for me, anyway.”

“Are you sure you’re not the one with the brain injury?”

“You’ll never see yourself the way I see you. I’ve relegated myself to that fact.” Rolling onto her stomach, she places her head on his chest. “I think talking to the wicked witch of the midwest brought some things up. About my childhood. And where I ended up compared to where I’d hoped I’d be.”

“Where DID you hope you’d be?”

“Not here, that’s for sure.”

“So but ass naked with a mercenary wasn’t high on your list of dream scenarios, I take it?”

“No. But that certainly turned out extremely well, didn’t it? Of all the things I have no complaints about, you’re at the top of the list. Well, I could do without your snoring and how you leave your dirty clothes in front of the hamper instead of putting them inside…”

“I’m working on it. I’ve lived alone for a long time. I haven’t had to worry about that kind of shit in a while.”

“As far as cohabiting goes, I’ve lived with A LOT worse. And you’re hot, so you tend to get away with a lot more than other mere mortals.”

“Yeah, you’re not hard to look at either. Which is why I don’t get on your case about squeezing the toothpaste tube in the middle. Or how you leave half-empty mugs of tea all over the goddamn place. That’s something I don’t get, actually.”

“What’s that?”

“How you always leave some behind when you make yourself a drink. But if I do it for you, you drink the whole thing. What’s up with that?”

“Because when you make it, it’s perfect. It tastes just right. Way better than when I do it myself.”

“I think that’s all in your head. How different could it be? It’s boiled water and a tea bag. A bit of milk.”

“I can’t explain it, alright. It’s just the way it is. It’s just so much better.”

“You know what I think? I think you’re spoiled. Or you like to be, anyway. All that independent woman stuff? That whole ‘I don’t need any man’ thing? I think deep down it’s all an act. That you like being taken care of. Probably because no one has ever done it.”

“Is that so wrong?” Raising her head from his chest, she smiles as he pushes a hand through her hair. Fingers slipping through the long, dark tresses; calloused tips brushing against the nape of her neck before travelling down the length of her spine. “If I DO like it?”

“Nothing wrong with it at all. I just wish I was better at it. Not really my strength, you know? Taking care of other people.”

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

“I think you give me too much. That, and my past kind of speaks for itself.”

“You’re not exactly the guy you were back then.”

“Maybe not. But I’m not even the guy I was when I met you. At least not physically. I can’t take care of you and protect you the way I could nine months ago.”

“Nine months ago, you were clinically dead. I think you’re allowed to be a little rusty. Besides, if you had to? If there was some kind of threat? If I was in danger? You’d find a way to protect me. Nothing would stop you. Not even a bad shoulder or a bum leg. It’s one thing I never worry about when I’m with you. If I’m safe or not.”

“I may not have all the right words, and I may not know how to handle things sometimes, but there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Esme. To make you happy. Keep you safe. Even with my fucked up head. And body.”

“You’ve come a long way. In less than a year. And you’re not broken, Tyler. Mentally or physically. A little banged up and dented and tarnished, maybe. But not broken.”

“You have this uncanny ability of always seeing the best in people. Whether anything good exists in them or not.”

“A lot of good exists inside of you. I’ve never doubted that. I’ve always seen it. It was in your eyes; I saw it the second Nik introduced us. You had this kindness in them. This humanity. This sadness. You were carrying around all this baggage and all this pain, but it was still there. You weren’t like anyone I’d ever met on the job. In many ways.”

“Admit it, you were just thankful you didn’t end up having to be pretend married to some ugly, miserable old fuck,”

“Well, you certainly aren’t ugly. Or old.”

Tyler smirks. “You smart ass.”

“Before I met you, I’d never felt protected. Safe. I didn’t even realize I wanted…or needed… to feel those things.”

“I’m just sorry that everyone in your life has been such a fucking disappointment. Especially that dick head ex-husband of yours.”

“Falling for his bullshit was one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made. The only thing bigger? Staying with him. I always told myself I’d never be that type of woman; someone who would just roll over and take the abuse and hold onto this faint hope that I could change him. Talk about being a judgy bitch, huh? I never understood why women stuck around. How could they be so weak and pathetic? Why would they just sit back and ‘take it’? And then it happened to me and I realized it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t as simple as just walking away.”

“There’s nothing weak or pathetic about you. I learned that quickly. IN Dhaka. Never mind everything you put up with afterwards.”

“The saddest part of it all is that I started to believe every word that came out of his mouth. That he was the best I could do. I was lucky to have someone like him; he kept a roof over my head, food on the table, and clothes on my back. Even if I didn’t deserve those things. He always called it tough love; the beatings and the verbal abuse helped ‘toughen me up’. I was too sensitive. Too soft. Especially for someone who’d been in the Corps. He used to say I must have ‘slept my way’ through the system.”

“You know, the more you talk about him, the more homicidal I become.”

“As much as I appreciate you wanting to defend my honour and rip him from limb to limb, it’s not why I bring him up. I don’t do it to piss you off; I do it so you’ll know more about me. We didn’t get much time for that kind of thing, you know? We were only in Dhaka for five days and then you were unconscious for half a year after that. We didn’t get much of a chance, did we? To learn about one another.”

“Yeah, we have been sort of thrown to the wolves, haven’t we? Not that I’m complaining. It hasn’t been that bad.”

“Hasn’t been that bad, huh?” She laughs, and tugs playfully at one of his ears. “I know you’re just speaking for yourself when you say that. Because I swear, living with you sometimes…”

Grinning he brings a hand down on her ass in a playful slap, then lightly pinches the supple skin. “Why are you mean to me all the time? Why do you tease me so much?”

“Because it’s fun. And it’s not being mean, I promise, everything I say? I say out of love. And pure animalistic lust.”

“That’s my favourite kind.” His free hand gently gathers up her hair. Moving it away from her face and off her shoulder; palm smoothing down it as it lays on her back. The smile quickly fading, his eyes darkening. “You know it wasn’t your fault, yeah? All the things he said. The things he did. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

“I’m starting to realize that. It’s taking a lot longer than I thought; coming to terms with just how awful he was and what I allowed him to get away with. I thought it would be easier; I’d just be able to put it behind me as soon as I got away from him.”

“You need to stop blaming yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was never about you, Esme. It was always about him.”

“When I finally left, I told myself I’d stay single forever. It just wasn’t worth putting myself out there; having to explain my past and defend the choices I made. And forget about trusting someone; every person I’d ever had any faith in turned out to be nothing but a fucking disappointment. How do you get close to someone after going through all that? How do you ever feel comfortable with anyone again? Let them even get remotely close?”

“Something must have went wrong, huh?” He chides, and tugs on a strand of her hair. ‘Cause here we are.”

“Before you, the only thing I ever knew…or thought I knew…about love was that it hurt. It was painful; physically AND mentally. Everyone I’d loved…who had claimed to love ME...destroyed me.”

“No. They didn’t. Because if you did, we wouldn’t be here right now. Talking about this. You wouldn’t have even looked at me twice, let alone given me a chance. They didn’t destroy you, Esme. They tried. But it didn’t work.”

“Everything changed when you came along. I changed. All those things Mark said to me? About how no one would ever want me? That I was too difficult to love and didn’t deserve to be? It took you less than a week to prove him wrong.”

“Don’t make me out to be some kind of prize, okay? I’ve got my own issues. Maybe not nearly as bad as his, but…”

“You never hid them from me, though. And you never used them to hurt me. You made me feel beautiful. You looked at me like I was the most incredible woman on earth. And that was only four days into things.”

“To me you were, You ARE.”

“You’re not the monster you think you are, Tyler. You’re a good man who has been through some bad shit. Who’s had to do some questionable things out of self-perseverance. And yeah, maybe you have made some bad decisions. But believe me, even with all your baggage? The drinking and the pain meds? You are nowhere near being like Mark.”

“I’m trying. I don’t want to be a mess forever. You deserve better than that.”

“For what it’s worth, you’re not as messy as you were. I think nearly dying had something to do with that; hard to be an alcoholic and a junkie when you’re in a coma for seven months.”

“I think rehab would have been slightly less painful. Than taking a bullet to the throat.”

“How quickly you forget the seven others they pulled from you.”

“Trust me, my body reminds me every day. The only thing I really hate? About how it went down? The fact that you had to see all of that. That you had to see me completely fucked up.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know how bad things would go. And yeah, it’s going to stay with me. For quite a while. But I’ll deal. I’ll just take it one day at a time.”

“You know you don’t have to do that alone, yeah? Deal with it?”

Smiling, she presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “I know.”

Gathering up the edges of one of the blankets, she pulls it further up their naked bodies; tucking it under her chin as she once more lays her head upon his shoulder. Her breath is warm and sweet against the side of his neck as his fingers continuously glide up and down her spine; her own tracing the tattoo on his right rib cage and repeatedly combing through his longer strands of hair. He enjoys the closeness in a way he never had before; failing to remember the last time anyone had made him feel that relaxed and comfortable. This beautiful, impossibly tiny woman somehow his refuge. The one person that makes HIM feel safe and secure.

“You never did answer my question.”

He turns his face into hers, lips meeting her brow. “I forgot what it was.”

“When you were a little boy, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

“You mean other than as far away from my old man as possible?”

“What kind of things did you dream about? What did you hope to be doing as an adult?”

“I had a couple of things that were pretty far-fetched. Although when I was little, nothing seemed impossible.”

“What were they?”

“I wanted to be a professional surfer. Or a pro football player.”

“Honestly, I’m not surprised with either of those choices. You wanted to play for the Western Bulldogs, didn’t you.”

“Guilty as charged. They’ve always been my favourite. Which is weird, considering I was born and raised in the East. Once I got a bit older, I started thinking more realistically about things. Decided I wanted to be a firefighter. Or a cop.”

“Really?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I just can’t see you as a cop. I don’t know why. Definitely a firefighter, though. You’d look so hot in turn-out gear.”

“I didn’t think that kind of thing would turn you on. Not with your brother being one..”

“My brother is…I don’t know…my brother. Totally not in the same league as you. How come you never went in that direction? You would have passed all the training; you were athletic, you had the size, the strength. What made you choose the military?”

“My graduating year, they had one of those ‘career days’. You know where people from all different lines of work come and peddle what they do and try to drum up interest. There was a recruiter from the army there and I’m sure you know what they’re like; fatigues, boots all polished, overly cheerful and optimistic.”

“I was offered that job once. When I first joined the Corps. I was told it was a better choice for me; it suited my personality better.”

“What did you tell them? To go fuck themselves?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“I bet you were underestimated right from the day you were born.”

“I’ve always been a study in contraction. People expect meek and mild. I know you did.”

“I did. And man, did I ever find out the hard way. You didn’t waste your time telling me to get fucked.”

“And not in the fun, sexy way, either.”

“Nope. That came a few days later.”

She laughs against the side of his neck, then places a line of kisses along his jaw. “And when it did, it was very fun and very, very, VERY sexy.”

“I have no complaints.”

“So…” Lifting her head from its resting place, she uses two fingertips to clear strands of hair from his brow. “...this recruiter…”

“You’re nothing if not persistent.”

“I like to know things. About you. And I want to know ALL of them. All the things.”

“This guy knew how to sell things. He made it sound so awesome. I’d get to play with guns, learn how to drive a tank, jump out of airplanes. They’d even pay for it if I wanted to further my education; become an engineer or an instructor or just make my way up the food chain and be an officer.”

“Would you have wanted to be one? An officer?”

“I don’t think so. Being out there breaking a sweat and getting my hands dirty was always my thing. The idea of wearing a uniform, sitting behind a desk and getting old and fat doesn’t do it for me, you know? But you know what really sold it? I’d get to see the world. Travel to different places. On their dime.”

“Yeah, even in the States they try hard to sell that side of things.”

“I hadn’t even turned eighteen yet. I was desperate to escape; I wanted to be as far away from my dad as possible and being in the army made the most sense. But I was young and dumb; I never stopped to think that ‘seeing the world’ really meant going into war-torn places; displacing people even more, killing them, even.”

“That’s not ALL you did. You helped more people than you hurt. That’s something I’m sure of.”

“Isn’t helping what hurts them most of the time?”

“It’s easy to see it that way, I guess. Sometimes the road to helping others isn’t a pretty one. And war is ugly; you and I have seen that firsthand. But isn’t it sometimes beautiful, too? When the means lead to an incredible end? When you see just how much you’ve helped someone? How better their life becomes simply because you showed up in it?”

“I don’t know how you do it. See things…people…the way you do.”

“I learned a long time ago that if I didn’t find the good in everything and everyone, I wasn’t going to survive. Not mentally, anyway. I was there too; in the Middle East. And we may not have had the same job and the same responsibilities, but I saw just how awful things were. I heard the horror stories.”

“You of all people didn’t deserve to be there. Going through all that.”

“But I chose it. The poor people that lived there didn’t. And you know what? it’s so much easier to remember the bad stuff. One horrible thing can wipe out a hundred good things.”

“Every so often, that psychology degree of yours comes out to play.”

“It’s less what I learned in school and more I learned OUT of it. Not to mention PTSD is a monster. Sometimes it makes it pretty hard to see the good in anything.”

“Is there you start psychoanalyzing me? Do you charge by the hour or…?”

“It’s just the truth, unfortunately. And you DO have PTSD.”

“I’m not the only one in this room…this bed…that does.”

“Maybe…” (trails a nail along the length of his jaw, over the scar that mars the bottom of his chin). “...but you’re the only one officially diagnosed, so…”

He doesn’t push it; knowing she’s not in the right ‘headspace’ to confront her demons. That choosing to focus on his healing and his battles effectively -for now- silences and numbs her own.

“What about you?” His hand moves through her hair; dark, silky tresses slipping easily through his fingers, palm coming to rest in the middle of her back.

“What about me?”

“What were you like? When you were a little girl? Not that you ever grew… physically…past twelve.” Grinning, he places a kiss on her brow when she laughs. “What did a young Esme dream about? What did she want to be?”

“God, so many different things. I always had these lofty, little girl dreams; wild and crazy things that would never come true. Like marrying a Crown Prince or becoming a famous actress and winning a record number of Oscars. I even used to practice my acceptance speeches in the bathroom mirror. Or I’d write the next great American novel; it would top the charts around the world and I’d win a Pulitzer. I even once thought I’d invent a cure for cancer and win a Nobel.”

“I’m sure a couple of those weren’t too far out of reach. You could find a cure for cancer. Or write a novel. You’re still young.”

“The craziest thing I ever wanted to be? A fighter pilot. A female Maverick from Top Gun.”

“Now that I CAN’T see.”

“Once I realized I needed to concentrate on something a tad more realistic, I switched to teaching and nursing. I would have loved to have gotten into pediatrics. Or taught kindergarten kids. Catch them when they’re still so innocent and curious and so in love with the world and everyone in it.”

“You’d be amazing at both of those. I can see why kids would love you.”

“Why? Because I’m just as small as they are?”

“Well, THAT. But just the way you are. WHO you are. You see the good in the world. Everything you’ve been through…the things you’ve seen and heard and even DONE…you still find beauty in everything. Not to mention you have the patience of a saint, Look how long you’ve stuck around. Put up with my shit.”

“You’re not as difficult as you think you are.”

“But I AM difficult.”

“You have your moments.” She kisses him; signing into his mouth when he tangles his fingers in her hair and pulls her tighter against him.

“You know, you could still do one of those things. Teach or be a nurse. You’ve got a lot of years ahead of you still.”

“I’m going to have to figure out something. I can’t sit on my ass for the rest of my life.”

“It’s not like there’s a rush. We’re not exactly poor. We’re not going to run out of money anytime soon. And if you wanted to go back and work for Nik…”

“No. HELL NO. That ship has long sailed. You’re not the only one that’s retired. You know what I really want to do right now? Until it’s no longer financially possible or we drive each other crazy? Whichever comes first?”

“What’s that?”

“Just…live. With you. And without having to worry about what comes next. “ She once more settles her head on his chest; a hand on his shoulder, thumb continuously brushing against the Roman numeral tattoo that decorates the skin. “Do you want to know what I REALLY wanted to? When I was growing up? Something I still think about from time to time?”

“Of course I want to know.”

“I wanted to own a bookstore.”

“You know for some reason, that makes total sense with you.”

“I kept a journal for the longest time. Completely dedicated to the dream. I’d write down all my ideas, and even sketch things out. I had it all planned out. It would have snow-white walls, but I’d fill the place with tons of colourful furniture and decor and have neighbourhood kids submit artwork I’d frame and hang. And I have dedicated spaces for people to hang out; chess tables, comfy chairs to settle down and read a book in, a courtyard out back if they wanted fresh air. I’d even have drinks and treats. Coffee, tea, and juices, muffins and cookies and sandwiches.”

“Sounds like a pretty awesome place.”

“I’d have a dedicated kids' space; everything in primary colours, a little play area and craft station, a small party room where they could celebrate their birthday. There’d be fish tanks; a couple for turtles, even. And some cages for birds and a few hamsters. And there’d be a bookstore cat.”

“You had all this planned out?”

Esme nods enthusiastically. “I even had the name picked. Do you want to hear it?”

“You should know by now that you don’t need to ask if I want to hear things.”

“I wanted to call it Turn the Page.”

(smiling, he uses two fingers to loop strands of hair behind her ears) “That’s perfect. And you sometimes still think about it? Owning a place like that?”

“Sometimes. We all hold on to some little dream, don’t we? Something from our childhood that can’t seem to let go of?”

“I mean, it’s not like it’s impossible. If it’s something you really want to do…”

“It’s just a little something I like to think about from time to time. That dream of mine got me through some pretty rough shit growing up. I always could escape to it; when my mom was being extra horrible.”

“Would you WANT to do it? Is it something that would make you happy? Having your bookstore?”

“Right now, I have all I need to make me happy. All I want to concentrate on? Is you. Us.”

Pecking his ips, then moves onto her side; her back pressed against the rear cushions of the sofa, face nestled in the crook of his neck, Their eyes closed as his fingers continuously graze up and down her spine and they listen to the crackling of the fire and winter storm raging outside; the howling of the wind and the rattling of the windows and the patter of ice against the glass.

She yawns noisily, then rubs her cheek against him) “I love you, you know.”

“I know. And I love you. More than you’ll ever know.” He drops a kiss on the top of her head. “You make me want to be a better man.”

S raises her head to look at him, tears sparkling in her eyes. “What?”

“You do. I want to be better for you. I want to be the kind of man YOU want. That you can be proud of.”

“I DO want you. And I AM proud of you.”

“But I want it to stay that way. I don’t want to go back to who I was. I want to be better. Do better. Be what you need. And deserve. Hey….” (gives an awkward chuckle when the tears escape, quickly using his fingertips to swipe them off her cheeks) “...don’t do that. Don’t cry. I hate when you cry.”

“I think that’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me. It’s the best compliment I’ve EVER gotten.”

“It’s all true. It’s the way you make me feel. Not just wanting to BE better, but knowing I can get there.”

She kisses him; long and sweet and sweet; nuzzling her nose against his cheek and his ears and whispering words of adoring and affection that no one has ever bestowed upon him. And she once more tucks herself into his side; tighter than before, wanting, needing, and enjoying the protection only he can provide. Finding herself quickly lulled to sleep by his steady, rhythmic breathing, the stroking of her hair, and the warmth of his skin against hers.

[taevbears]

Magic Shop - 10

As the only non-magical being in a shop full of mages and familiars, Seokjin is starting to feel left out.

⤑ pairing: OT7 x witch!reader, Seokjin focused ⤑ genre: magic au, romance, angst, hurt/comfort, found family, domestic/slice of life, action/adventure ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 11.1k ⤑ warnings: smut (penetrative), implied smut, verbal sexual harassment, mentions of attempted sexual assault, oppression of mages, implied shady business dealings, probable inaccuracies with 92 liners, mentions of violence ⤑ note: welcome back to pt. 2 of the series! it's finally fall, and it feels good to be writing for this story again, especially with spooky season around the corner. each member will have 2 chapters dedicated to them, making this part twice as long as pt. 1 lol. happy reading, and i'd love to hear your thoughts about this chapter!

Chapters: Series ML | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Dear Mother and Father,

Seokjin pauses as he stares at the line he just wrote. It looks too formal, even with his own eyes.

I’m sure the news about Blackstone Castle has already reached our village by now. You both must be very worried about me. But I’m writing to let you know that your youngest son is alive and well.

More than well, he thinks, as he looks at the morning crowd before him.

The kitchen is busy like it usually is at this time. Hoseok is roasting coffee beans over a magical fire, extracting sweet and nutty aromas that fill the room. Yoongi is standing next to him, frying eggs and bacon into a pan. The sizzle and pop of smoky meat against oil makes Seokjin’s mouth salivate in hunger. Namjoon and Jungkook are checking inventory together, making a list of what things they need to pick up on their next trip to the market.

“What’s wrong, hyung? You’re making a face,” Jungkook points out.

The mage is frowning down at the list and rubs his neck like he’s stressed. But he shakes his head and tells Jungkook, “I’m just wondering if we need this much saffron? What are we even using it for?”

“Yes! I need it!” Hoseok answers, poking his head up to look Namjoon in the eye. “It’s for my potions! Don’t forget it!”

“It’s so expensive,” Namjoon blanches. Seokjin can’t help but notice that he looks a bit stressed again as he continues reading down the list.

“Taehyung, don’t you dare!” you shriek, grabbing everyone’s attention as you back away from the raven familiar. “Your hands are still wet!”

A deep, evil chuckle rumbles from his chest as he slowly advances toward you. He holds up his hands, water dripping from washing dishes over the sink. “Darling, I just want a hug.”

“No!” you yell, ducking away when he tries to grab you.

Neither Yoongi nor Hoseok is phased as the two of you run past them. They simply step aside, using magic to levitate utensils and ingredients upward so that you don’t knock them over.

You run straight to Jungkook, who’d do anything for you in a heartbeat. The toad familiar has you in his arms for a few seconds, seeing you plead for his help like a damsel in distress. That gets him to puff up his chest, bravely putting himself between you and Taehyung.

Little do you know, an enemy is nearby. Namjoon, who likes to tease you as well, tosses the list aside and grabs a hold of you. “I got her, Taehyung!”

“Traitor! I’ll make you pay!” you vow, even though his dimpled smile easily melts your heart. Seokjin blinks at the discarded list on the ground.

“Don’t fight,” Hoseok warns as he finishes making his coffee. He pours the dark liquid into several mugs. “It’s too early in the morning to be threatening each other.”

Yoongi looks over at you all, checking to see if you’re okay. Jungkook yells and jumps back when Taehyung tries to wipe his wet hands on the front of his shirt. Distracted, the toad hybrid doesn’t see the raven hybrid shift and fly over his head until he lands back on his feet as a human right in front of you. And, like the menace he is, wipes his hands on both you and Namjoon.

“Taehyung, why can’t you use a towel to wipe your hands?” you complain as he cackles in laughter. Seokjin stands up from the table and picks up the list for inventory.

“You know how when a cat brushes up against you, it’s like saying ‘you’re mine’?” he asks you, throwing a wink when you catch on. Followed by Hoseok’s loud teasing as Yoongi suddenly avoids eye contact with you and states that breakfast is ready.

A typical, noisy morning at the shop.

Becoming a warden has its challenges. You have to be up at the crack of dawn. The food they serve us tastes bland. Routine shifts are mundane and unchanging. They have daily reminders from the Devoted about how mages are cruel and evil, and how the wardens are heroes by keeping them locked away. Some of the wardens let that get in their heads, and they end up not being very nice people. Then, you go to bed by curfew and do the same thing all over again. It’s quite the thrilling life.

Seokjin scoffs.

In hindsight, his duties as a warden all sound like bullshit. The lies that the Devoted feed about mages and magic are far from the truth.

“That’s hardly fair.”

“Maybe you should’ve gone with a different color.”

“I bet he’ll look good no matter what color we pick.”

The three mages of the shop – you, Namjoon, and Hoseok – are baffled and scratching your heads. In an act of revenge for the chaos this morning, the three of you decided to team up and change Taehyung’s hair.

Into a vibrant blue.

The raven familiar smirks at his reflection on the mirror and looks at you three. “Don’t I look good like this, though?”

In seconds, the three of you huddle together for a new game plan. Hoseok is the first to point out, “I don’t think this is going to work, guys. He’s too handsome.”

Namjoon nods his head in agreement. “Yeah, he’s like Jin-hyung.”

“Me?” Seokjin asks, somehow finding himself included in the huddle.

“I could turn your hair baby pink and you’ll still be the most handsome person in the world,” you tell him, quite serious in light of the gravity of your situation. You don’t seem to notice the redness in Seokjin’s ears from your compliment.

The three of you – talented and skilled with magic – are deemed as threats, even if you’d never use your magic for evil. Hoseok is a potion master who brews concoctions in coffees and teas that add a bit of hope in each cup. Namjoon, who studies the history of the arcane arts and runes, uses that knowledge to write and collect interesting trinkets to decorate the shop. And you, the spell caster, who could incantate charms and hexes effortlessly, only use your abilities to protect the shop, help the people you care about, and occasionally turn one of their hairs into a color of the rainbow.

The Devoted has warned that mages like you bewitch mortals to do your will, host bloody sacrifices, shed the lives of innocents, and commit cardinal sins with demons in exchange for power.

These days, however, the three of you use magic to prank each other or one of the familiars.

“Guess you’ll have to come up with something else.” Taehyung shrugs, suddenly next to you in the circle, catching you all off guard.

I’ve managed to survive the mage rebellion with just a scratch. You raised a pro after all. An apprentice got a hold of a summoning book. He convinced others to form a mutiny, and it backfired badly. He became a monster, burdening all the pains and sorrows that he and the others have carried. That night was the scariest night of my life. I still have nightmares about it.

Seokjin stares at his reflection in the mirror. It’s been several months since the night you all fled from Blackstone Castle together, but the ugly scar on his torso is a fresh reminder of what had happened.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper every time you see it. “I should’ve gotten to you sooner.”

“You saved me just in time,” Seokjin assures you, trying not to shiver when he feels your fingers carefully trace the textured skin. It’s not as bad as before, but it’s still there. It’s still visible.

As the day comes to an end, you always check on each of them. The vibrant blue fades from Taehyung’s hair and you apologize. He says he’ll forgive you if you kiss him, and he’s reluctant to let you go when you do. All day, Yoongi seems avoidant, trying not to brush up against you, probably because of what Taehyung said that morning. But you assure him that you don’t mind, wrapping your arms around him yourself as he seems to ease into your touch. You check with the others too, though you’re always adamant to check on Seokjin.

And Seokjin knows why. Even if you never tell him.

You’re frowning, fixated on the scar. No amount of healing magic that you know could make it go away completely.

He glances at you and then back at the mirror. “I suppose this makes me a little less handsome, doesn’t it?”

“Of course not.”

Since the castle is no longer standing, I’ve moved into a nearby town. I spend my days happily now. No rules or duties to be obliged to. No pressure to conform to beliefs I don’t agree with. I’m only human. I’m lacking in a lot of ways that my housemates aren’t, but I found a family here, and it just keeps growing.

“Ow, ow, ow,” you cry mournfully, sticking out your aching tongue, and set a cup of hot tea on the coffee table. “I think I burned myself.”

Jimin turns to you with a sympathetic smile, but there’s a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Want me to kiss it better?”

He bursts into laughter when he receives his answer through a playful smack.

Your neighbor across the street comes more often these days, welcomed into the shop like another member of the coven. Except, when he’s around, the magic is hidden. No spellcasting, no shifting between forms, no sudden changes of hair colors.

To Jimin, you’re probably all just ordinary people who live together and work together in an inconspicuous, unassuming shop. And perhaps, the only strangest thing is your relationship with each of them.

Seokjin has to admit, even if he knows that relationships for mages differ from what is traditional by the Devoted, it takes time to get used to. He’s only gone as far as kissing you, but some of the others, including Jimin, have gone much further with you.

It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it. He just hasn’t found the right time to bring it up to you. Or the right place.

Seokjin eyes the way Jimin casually has his arm around the back of the couch behind you. He doesn’t seem put off when Hoseok comes to sit on your other side, holding his own cup of hot tea in his hands, practically making heart-eyes at you when you turn to talk to him. Or that any of the other residents are lingering in the parlor nearby, with Yoongi and Jungkook sitting on the small bench in front of the piano and playing a random melody, Taehyung taking a seat next to Jimin as he plays a board game with Namjoon, or Seokjin still trying to write a letter to his parents.

In fact, Jimin takes the whole polyamorous aspect of his relationship with you better than most people who’ve been raised by the Devoted teachings would.

Seokjin looks around the room and smiles softly to himself. With the eight of you all together, a full house just hanging out, it feels complete. He can tell that the other residents feel that way too with how at ease they are with Jimin around, despite him not knowing the truths about what you guys really are.

As the only other human in a room full of mages and familiars, Seokjin wonders if Jimin feels that sense of belonging too. And how he’ll react once he knows the truth.

There’s also this girl I met since I left home. She’s smart, brave, beautiful, and diligent. I think you guys would like her a lot. I feel like I fall in love with her more each day.

“What are you writing?”

Seokjin jumps and hunches over his paper, nearly spilling ink all over. Just as he’s started writing about you, you appear beside him. “A letter.”

“Oh? You have a secret lover I should be worried about?” you tease, placing your hand on your hip for emphasis.

“Well, you know,” he plays along. “Worldwide handsome, and all.”

“Of course. How could I forget?” Affectionately, you run your fingers through his bangs, exposing his forehead. His hair has been growing longer. At the castle, they routinely had to keep it short and clean. But now, after several months of no haircut, he may have to make use of the kitchen scissors and the bathroom mirror. “How did I get so lucky to have someone as handsome as you, Seokjin?”

“I’m the lucky one,” he replies, grinning at the shy smile you give him. “I’m actually trying to write to my parents. Let them know that I’m alive and doing well. With the way word spreads around, I’m sure they know about … you know.”

“Yeah,” you trail off with a small grimace. The fall of Blackstone Castle has also brought in many hunters into the nearby towns. It’s a constant worry for all of you that they might stumble into the shop one day, even if it’s located in the quieter side of town.

Seokjin tries to change the topic. “I’d love to introduce you to them. My family, I mean.”

“Would they like me?”

“Of course they will. They’ll probably ask when I’ll—” He cuts himself off.

“Ask you what?”

“They’ll probably ask when I’ll marry you.”

“Oh.”

Marriage is a sacred commitment to the Devoted. For mages, however, such a union simply doesn’t exist. They have their partners; they have their coven. But when magic is deemed evil, and those who wield it are treated as vermin, love in any form would be shunned and discouraged.

Seokjin sees the guilt flicker in your eyes. The way you nervously chew on your bottom lip, trying to carefully place your next words.

Truth is, Seokjin could walk out anytime he wanted. From you, from the shop. He’s not a warden anymore. He doesn’t have any ties or duties keeping him with you. He could find another partner, someone he could legally marry, and start a normal family. It’s safer if he would. But it’s foolish if he did. 

“You know that stuff doesn’t matter to me, right?” he asks you seriously. “You're my partner. The others are our family. I wouldn’t change it any other way.”

“If you ever change your mind…”

“I won’t. I promise.” He’s so certain, he holds his pinky toward you. Perhaps it’s a bit silly and childish, but it gives you the assurance you need. “I love you. I’ll always choose you. Nothing will ever change that.”

You smile softly and wrap your pinky around his finger. You return the sentiment in whispered words as he brings your hand closer to his and kisses your knuckles.

She’s everything to me. I wish you could meet her one day and see it for yourself.

Mornings are Seokjin’s favorite time of the day.

Usually.

He’s not a big fan of a neighbor’s rooster and its insistent crowing at 3:00AM. On the dot. Every single morning. He’s even less of a fan when, only a couple hours later, just as dawn is beginning to break, Seokjin hears it again at 5:00AM. Screaming at the top of its lungs over a slither of sunlight in the sky. And by 7:00AM, when it cries out the third time, it takes every fiber in Seokjin’s being not to stomp over, grab the rooster, and toss it in the air out of spite.

He also dislikes having to actually leave the safe and warm sanctuary of his bed. Where he’s cozy and comfortable beneath his thick blanket, and the mattress and pillows feel like he’s on a cloud. Where his favorite, long pajamas feel soft against his skin. But with a long list of tasks ahead of him, he reluctantly and mournfully pushes away the covers, shivers as the cold morning air sucks away the warmth, and begins to dress up for the day.

Otherwise, it wouldn’t be long until he hears the small creak of someone entering his bedroom. The breathy chuckles that escape his lips as he tries to hold back his giggles. Followed by the unmistakable whisper of, “Jin.”

“No, Hoseok, you can’t.”

And Hoseok would burst into loud laughter, hitting the lump that’s Seokjin beneath his covers, and ask, “Oh, hyung! How did you know it was me?”

Despite how he actually wakes up that day, mornings are relatively peaceful. Most of the residents are still asleep, and sometimes, he can hear Namjoon or Jungkook still snoring from their rooms. Candles automatically light up down the hallway of mixed doors, guiding him down the stairs and to the kitchen.

And that’s where you are, bright and early.

Or rather, these days, as Yoongi had quietly confided in him, because you haven’t been sleeping well. Nightmares, the black cat had explained.

“Hey, morning,” Seokjin greets you as you rummage around the kitchen, pulling out jars and pans as if it’ll inspire you to cook.

“Morning, Jin. What do you want for breakfast?” When you turn to him, he can see the tiredness in your face. Your eyes are a bit red, your posture more sluggish.

“I can do it,” he assures you, taking a pan from your hand before you drop it. You let him and instead, use your free hand to cover a big yawn. Even when you’re on the brink of passing out, Seokjin finds you cute. “Did you sleep last night?”

“Barely.”

“Because of that damn rooster?”

“Yeah,” you lie. Seokjin knows you don’t want to talk about the nightmares you’ve been having. Not even to Yoongi or Hoseok. 

But Seokjin sees the way you look at him. The relief that crosses your face when you see him, the guilt that follows after when your eyes trail to where his scar is. There’s an apology in your tongue, but before it could escape your lips, he jokes, “Maybe we should have that rooster for breakfast.”

“I don’t think our neighbor would like that,” you point out with a small smile. 

He returns your smile as he decides to make eggs and bread. But his smile fades when he notices that there’s less ingredients in stock than usual, even though Namjoon and Jungkook had just gone to the market yesterday. Did they not get enough?

“Our finances are low,” Namjoon reveals when Seokjin asks him about the lack of ingredients later that afternoon. As mages, it’s easier to get by, and the shop has always been more of a home than a business. But coin is still needed to buy fresh ingredients, to maintain amenities, and to keep the shop running.

Namjoon looks stressed. The human world and its standards are still new concepts to you and Hoseok, and Seokjin can tell that Namjoon doesn’t want either of you to worry. He’ll buy fewer eggs if he can get Hoseok his saffron. He’ll get cheaper quality meat, even if Jungkook complains that he can’t fork it. He’ll pick tangerines and strawberries himself if that’ll make Yoongi and Taehyung happy. He’ll pass up on a book or rune that he wants so he can get you something nice instead.

Seokjin glances over at you. You’re finally asleep, resting on the couch with Hoseok. One of his arms is protectively around your waist as he rubs soothing circles down your back and shoulders. Taehyung comes to put a blanket over you, and he’s careful not to wake you as he gently pats your head.

Clearly, you have a lot of things on your mind lately. 

“Hyung will do it,” Seokjin assures him, even if he doesn’t really know how. He’s only human. But he’ll find a way.

Seokjin knows you’re home when Yoongi, who’s been napping all afternoon, suddenly springs to life and meows impatiently at the door. It’s as if he’s saved up all his energy just to be the first to greet you hello when you step in.

Followed by the pattering of feet as Taehyung exclaims, “You’re home!”

And by the time Seokjin gets to you, you’re sandwiched between the two youngest and carrying Yoongi in your arms.

“Guys, let her breathe,” Namjoon lightly scolds Taehyung and Jungkook. As if the others aren’t also coming to the door to welcome you home like a bunch of puppies.

Seokjin manages to slip by your side as you take off your shoes. “How’s my favorite mage? Did you have fun with Jimin?”

“I had a good time. It was busy at the town square,” you inform him, standing on your toes to kiss his cheek. His mouth twitches back a shy smile and a blush. “Jimin said a lot of guilds are open for new members at this time. So, there are a lot of recruiters trying to get people to sign up.”

“Ah, that’s what happened to me!” Jungkook pipes up, nostalgia of his former days as an adventurer flashing through his mind. “In my town, there’s a big bulletin board that people put fliers on when they need help. I used it to pick up odd jobs here and there, like taking care of a rat infestation or delivering a package to someone in another town. And one day, I saw a poster for a guild fair. I went, did some research by talking to people, and ended up joining one.”

“You could probably join one of the ones here, too,” Yoongi says after jumping out of your arms and shifting to his human form. His black hair is a bit messy from sleeping all afternoon.

“I want to so badly! But sometimes, missions could take days to complete, and I don’t know if I can hold this form for that long without changing.” 

Jungkook sighs. For a recently-turned familiar, he’s making great progress controlling his transformations. But it wouldn’t do his party any good if he were to turn back into a toad mid-battle.

“Maybe once we turn you human again, you can,” Namjoon suggests, patting his head with sympathy, as if it’ll be easy. As if there isn’t a powerful, Wicked ex-girlfriend trying to hunt Jungkook down.

Jungkook pouts but nods his head. “The guilds are nice, and New Haven is the perfect town for them. It’s a good way to earn coins, make new friends, go on adventures, strengthen your skills, and get useful information.”

“Coins?” Seokjin repeats. He doesn’t hear a single word after.

“Yeah. If you’re good, a lot of guilds give you big bonuses after a mission.”

“Coins,” Seokjin echoes, suddenly turning away from you, lost in thought.

You stare after him, mildly concerned. “Jin?”

It is, perhaps, a mere coincidence that Seokjin finds himself at the town square the very next day.

Colorful tents are lined up around the plaza. Recruiters are shouting in the streets and handing out fliers to whoever passes by their booths. Some members are putting on a show, displaying trophies of their latest hunts, dueling against each other with shiny new swords and shiny new armor, and waving their flags around as they boldly claim their guild is the best. Even people from out of town are gathered to check out the festivities. Every brave, adventure-seeking soul is hoping to find their place in one of the many guilds here.

“Hey, you’re strong and handsome,” the fourth recruiter of the day stops him. “Want to join our guild?”

“What do you guys do? And do you make a lot of coins?” Seokjin asks, a bit curious.

“Oh, of course! We do lots of stuff! We explore caves and old ruins to look for hidden treasures, slay large beasts that trouble the local folks, visit ports to trade goods with foreign investors, hunt mages— Hey, where are you going?”

Seokjin immediately loses interest and walks away. He sighs, wondering if there’s even a guild out there that doesn’t list mages as monsters.

“Let’s just go one more round,” Seokjin mutters to himself. If he doesn’t find anything good, he can always think of something else.

He tries to stop by each one, listening to their criteria and what they’re looking for in a new member, and asking what they do and how much they make. But the moment they mention hunting down mages, he quickly moves to the next table. He almost wants to just ask that one question – whether or not they hunt mages – but he isn’t sure how to bring it up without warranting suspicions.

“Hey there, handsome. Are you interested in joining our guild?” a female recruiter asks. She’s thin and pretty, and when she smiles, her front teeth poke out a bit like a bunny. She has the kind of smile that reminds him of Jungkook. “We still have a few spots open if you are.”

Seokjin tries not to sound jaded as he smiles back at her. “What do you do?”

“The typical stuff most guilds do,” she begins to explain, but is suddenly interrupted by a commotion near the booth.

“Have you gone mad?!” a man shouts, seeming to be talking to another recruiter. “Mages will kill us if we let them! What is this nonsense about allowing the likes of them into the Freelancers?”

“Are mages not human as well?” a young, charismatic man replies, seeming to stand firm with his stance. “They have unique abilities that could take us further in our adventures than we could ever imagine. Think about it! If someone in our party is injured, we could rely on magic instead of using up precious medical supplies. They could clear obstacles in forests and tunnels to complete the mission faster. We could defeat savage beasts more easily and efficiently with their aid!”

“Lies! That goes against everything the Devoted teaches” a woman accuses as the crowd around them murmur.

“Who is that?” Seokjin asks as people continue to argue with the man. But he and a couple others flanking his side have a rebuttal for each statement. It only riles the crowd up even more.

“His name is Tariq,” the female recruiter answers with a laugh. “You must be out of town. He’s infamous around New Haven.”

“I can see that,” he replies as he watches the debate. He’s half-surprised no one has accused him of being a mage-sympathizer yet.

“Tariq can be intense, but he’s the greatest strategist and fighter in New Haven,” she explains as if she’s read his mind. “His values don’t always align with the Devoted, but even the town leaders can’t deny how much they rely on him to protect the town. He’s cultivated his own following within the guilds too. Lots of people support and admire him, no matter how crazy his ideas can be.”

Just then, another man breaks through the crowd and grabs a hold of Tariq’s arm. “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize on behalf of the Freelancers, but this debate is now over. Tariq will take some time to reflect on the concerns brought up today.”

“And that’s Adnan, his older brother,” she continues, nodding to the new guy that has pulled Tariq aside to scold him. “He’s the leader of the Freelancers, but the two of them couldn’t be any more different.”

“What are the Freelancers?” Seokjin asks, finally looking away from the two now that the crowd has begun to die down.

“That’s us,” she replies with a nervous laugh. “We’re a bit controversial, as you can see, but we firmly believe that anyone – even magic or not – will find a place in our guild.”

Seokjin nods his head and considers what she’s told him. He only has one question left. “Where do I sign up?”

In their glory days, the Freelancers were a powerful and ruthless mercenary group.

They were unlawful. A guild that got their start from handling odd jobs that couldn’t go through legal and official channels, and taking up difficult quests that other guilds didn’t find worth the effort to do themselves. Eventually, they became notorious for engaging in shady, cutthroat contracts such as back-door dealings and accepting secret fundings from nobility without honor or integrity.

With enough coin, there was no job that the Freelancers refused to take.

Recently, under the leadership of Adnan and Tariq’s great-grandfather, the Freelancers have more peaceful, quasi-honorable practices. His goal was to eradicate the guild’s notoriety and build a new legacy. In the eyes of the public, the Freelancers have now become the biggest and most reliable organization for quests and missions.

It’s a reputation that their father has upheld as well, accepting most people who were willing to join: men and women, nonbinary, wealthy nobles and poor peasants, skilled warriors with years of practice and those just looking to gain experience. However, as his reign comes to an end, the guild looks to his two sons for guidance.

Adnan, the oldest, plans to retain the current honorable methods that his family has instilled and follow the footsteps of their legacy. Accepting those willing to join their noble cause, offering new opportunities to their members to make extra coin, and taking righteous paths as instructed by the Devoted to thwart out evil from the town.

But Tariq, the younger and more charismatic brother, is ambitious and wants the guild to take on a more profitable, but shadier nature. It doesn’t matter to him if those who join are mages, demons, or monsters either, as long they’re on his side. Just as they did in their glory days before his great-grandfather.

Discourse between the two brothers and their sizable followings have been brewing within the guild. It’s a tension that’s been there long before Seokjin joins.

And it won’t be long until a clash of interest threatens the entirety of the Freelancers.

“Hyung, you joined a guild?” Jungkook exclaims, hopping after with excitement. “I’m so jealous! Which one is it?”

“They’re called the Freelancers,” Seokjin answers, showing the flier he received with the date and location of his first official meeting with them. “They’re the biggest guild in New Haven.”

Hoseok whistles. “That’s impressive! Congrats, Jin!”

“Hopefully this brings in more coins for us, too,” Seokjin adds as he looks at Namjoon. The recruiter told him they tend to get more quests than other guilds, especially with how famous the two brothers are. More quests mean more opportunity for coins.

Namjoon frowns a little. “Hyung, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” Seokjin assures him. “I want to be more useful to you guys and the shop. I think this is the best way I can do it.”

After all, Seokjin isn’t gifted with magic. He doesn’t have any affinity to the Veil or its mysterious realm. Seokjin is only human. But he’s a human who knows how to fight and take care of himself in battle.

“Wouldn’t that mean you won’t be home?” Yoongi asks him. A silence follows as the rest of you wait for his answer.

“Maybe from time to time. They’ll have me do local missions first before they send me off somewhere far,” Seokjin explains, sensing the uneasiness of that idea. “I’ll let you guys know when they do before I take the quest.”

“What about the shop?” Namjoon questions.

“I can do tasks for the guild in the morning, and help at the shop at night,” Seokjin decides, already putting that in consideration when he went to the fair. “That’s usually when the tavern is the busiest.”

“Wouldn’t you be tired?” Taehyung wonders out loud.

“I’ll do my best for both. Don’t worry.” Seokjin knows he’ll have a team to carry out missions with at the guild, and a family to rely on when he returns home. He turns to you, noting your silence. Gently, he takes your hand in his and presses, “Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s on your mind?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” you tell him, frowning as your gaze lingers down to his torso. To where his scar is. “What if something happens to you while you’re away? What if I can protect you?”

“I’ll be careful,” he assures you, pulling you into a hug. He understands your feelings. Truly, he does. But Seokjin has always been a dutiful and honorable man. And helping relieve some of the financial burdens from Namjoon is the least he could do. “Once my mission is over, you’ll be the first I run back to. Promise.”

Before he became a warden, Seokjin was a promising recruit. He’s self-disciplined, admirably hard-working, and spent extra time honing his skills to push himself a little further than his peers. While new recruits rested from their rigorous training, he’d be up a few hours earlier to practice with his word, to study how to disarm enemies, and to strengthen his mental fortitude.

It’s an attitude and passion that he’s carried as a new recruit to the Freelancers.

“Are you sure this is your first time joining a guild?” his mentor, Junghwan, asks him. He’s also fairly new to the guild, joining only six months prior to Seokjin. He’s been tasked to take him and the other new recruits on their first mission.

Bandits were blocking the main road into town and were scamming weary travelers of their coin.

Seokjin was able to coerce them off the road and to return the stolen coins. But when the bandits later came to ambush their group, his parrying skills in battle sent them away for good.

“It’s pretty fun,” Seokjin admits with a bashful smile. He feels good about his first small victory. And feels even better when the clerk at their guild pays him his reward.

Coins clatter on the counter as Seokjin dumps out his earnings for the week. “It’s not much now, but imagine how much more I can make if I take up more missions.”

“Wow, hyung…” Namjoon trails off, staring at the small pile. It’s enough to bring home the entire list of what everyone wanted, expensive saffron and all. “This would really help us out a lot.”

Seokjin smiles. “I think I could be really good at this.”

He hasn’t been in the guild for very long, but it’s everything he had hoped to have when he was a warden. That feeling of brotherhood among the members, from the throes of battle to the clinking mugs of cold ale. The small victories that lead to praise and coins. An outlet to constantly improve himself, make himself stronger, faster, and a better protector for you and the others.

“Joon, we’re out of eggs again,” you inform him, coming out of the kitchen to where they are. You’re about to ask if he can run to the market and get some more when you notice the shiny coins on the counter.

Seokjin smiles warmly at you. “I’ll buy you as many eggs as you want, beautiful.”

It isn’t long until Seokjin takes up more missions: investigate a caravan that was ambushed and report back with the news, explore a nearby cave and eradicate the giant spiders dwelling inside, find a specific blue flower that grows on the hillside of the woods and bring it to the requester. He climbs higher in ranks within the guild, already surpassing the initiates that joined when he had. Members of the Freelancers begin to take notice as well.

“What’s your name, son?” Adnan asks him at the guild’s mess hall, eyeing the young man before him.

“It’s Seokjin, sir.”

“Seokjin, huh.” He repeats his name and gives him an approving pat on the shoulder. “Keep up the good work, Seokjin.”

He feels his chest swell with pride. Receiving acknowledgement from the leader of the guild, especially one as big as the Freelancers, feels like a big deal.

“Hey, new guy, come sit with us!” a female member named Heeyeon calls out to him. Around them, other tables are discussing strategies, refueling on food and drinks, and sharing stories about their latest missions. Seokjin rarely stays at the guild’s base long enough to eat, usually running back to the shop as soon as a mission is complete. But he sees his mentor, Junghwan, sitting next to her, as well as the female recruiter that had signed him up. “I don’t know if you met everyone yet, but this is Byulyi, Sunwoo, Junghwan, and Jaehwan.”

Byulyi smiles when she recognizes him. “Hi Seokjin! Long time, no see. How do you like the Freelancers?”

“With the way he’s going, he’ll probably outrank his mentor in a month,” Sunwoo teases, elbowing Junghwan on the ribs. The two of them, Junghwan had mentioned, have come from the same hometown before they settled in New Haven.

“I’d believe that,” Jaehwan agrees, pointing out how he saw Adnan talking to him. He raises a glass to Seokjin with a bright smile. “I hope we can do missions together. It’s better when you’re with a team than by yourself.”

Seokjin returns the smile with a shy one of his own. “I think I’d like that.”

Jaehwan isn’t wrong. Turns out, picking up missions as a group is easier than doing them alone. There’s safety in numbers, and the variety of skills within the group work seamlessly on and off the field. Plus, it’s more fun with other people. A lot more fun.

Especially in a group as charming, good-looking, and funny as they are.

Team Kim Seokjin, as they have started to call themselves. Because after Seokjin joined their party, they’ve yet to fail a mission they’ve taken on.

By the time Seokjin arrives at the base in the morning, Byulyi already has a few quests lined up for them. She has a knack of finding ones that have a big payout, and once all members of their party arrive at the guild, they decide which ones they want to tackle for the day.

Sometimes, they’re easy tasks like reconnaissance, finding specific ingredients in the woods, or helping elderly townsfolk with hard labor. Other times, they’re more difficult like detaining a pick-pocketer from the marketplace, fighting off a dangerous wild cat from entering New Haven, or protecting goods from bandits while it’s being delivered to the next town.

Junghwan and Jaehwan instantly click with Seokjin. Between witty one-liners and endless puns, the three become fast friends. Seokjin can’t remember the last time he’s laughed so hard while on a job. Even Heeyeon, who is a little shy at first, warms up to him and shows her sillier side.

By the end of the day, it’s Sunwoo who turns in the mission reports to the pretty clerk he has a crush on. All of them work hard, deserving of the rewards they collect, and they divide the earnings of the day evenly between the six of them.

“Man, what a day.” Junghwan sighs, massaging his shoulder after another successful mission.

“I’m starving,” Byulyi states as she rubs her stomach. “Should we get something to eat before we head to the base?”

“That sounds good to me,” Jaehwan agrees, turning to face Seokjin. “Are you coming with us, Seokjin?”

“I can’t,” Seokjin replies with an apologetic smile. It’s getting late and you might need help at the shop. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“You always have somewhere to go,” Junghwan pouts, a bit disappointed that his new friend could never hang out after completing a mission. Most people in their guild like to celebrate their small victories by grabbing a drink and eating dinner together.

It isn’t like Seokjin doesn’t want to. He’s sure it’ll be fun, and he knows he’d have a great time with them.

But he has a promise to keep.

With a quick exchange of goodbyes and no hard feelings of missing out on another dinner with the group, Seokjin runs back to the shop. His legs are burning from being on his feet all day. He’s dirty and sweaty from the various tasks he’s been assigned for the day. But as the sun begins to dip below the horizon, coloring the sky in twilight, he nears the shop and sees you.

Occasionally, you’d be there to greet him in front of the shop. Sometimes, with a cup of tea and a book as one of the familiars sit on your lap or shoulder. Sometimes, you’re talking to Jimin as he waters the flowers sitting outside his shop. Or sometimes, like today, it’s just you.

The golden glow basks upon your skin as you sit on the porch steps, and all Seokjin can think about is how beautiful you look. No matter how difficult the mission is or how exhausted he feels, he remembers that he’s doing it for you.

When you notice him, a bright smile lights up on your face. “Jin! You’re back!”

And Seokjin feels himself falling in love with you all over again, laughing as he gathers you in his arms after a long day. “I’m home.”

Word about Team Seokjin and their success rate is spread around the Freelancers, and in no time, they become one of the most promising groups in the guild. Every mission they take on, they’ve completed and earned high praise from those they helped. Some clients even come back and specifically request them for another job.

Inevitably, this attracts the attention of Adnan and Tariq. Separately, the brothers have approached the group with special jobs. 

Adnan’s requests seem to fall in line with the Devoted’s charity work. Manpower to help at fundraising events, collecting donations of supplies and coins around town, finding a missing child from the town’s orphanage. Things that would normally make him feel good, if it weren’t for the magical hearsay they spew out at every event.

It's the opposite of the “no questions asked” missions that Tariq gives them. Delivering inconspicuous scrolls to certain individuals, dropping off packages at the back of bars and alleyway businesses, bringing in traitors who’ve gone rogue for Tariq’s men to deal with. No one in Team Seokjin wants bad blood in their hands, but with the reputation that Tariq has, it’s certain that he’s bound to have many enemies as well.

If they’re lucky, they can leave for a mission before either brother gives them one. They become increasingly more difficult and take up more time in his day, but all of them prefer choosing their adventures than to be stuck doing one of the brother’s favors.

And as always, after his missions, Seokjin goes straight home.

He’s dead on his feet as he changes clothes and throws on an apron, cooking at the busy tavern for the rest of the night. Yoongi has been helping him a lot too, taking over the kitchen when Seokjin isn’t there, and making sure that he isn’t burning anything or falling asleep when he is. Namjoon tries to talk him out of helping at the shop, worried that he’s pushing himself too hard, but Seokjin refuses to listen. Even Taehyung tries to block his path to the tavern and send him to bed instead.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Seokjin says as soon as he gets to the door. 

It’s another one of those days. A mission retrieving an old woman’s cat had Team Seokjin running around the entire town all day. After several close calls of getting his handsome face and long arms scratched, climbing up trees and rooftops, and losing sight of the little menace, the cat eventually went back on its own. The old lady gave them each an extra coin to show her appreciation.

There are a handful of customers in the shop: a small group of women that have been frequenting the parlor room to see the two youngest sing and play music, a couple guys that seem to be catching up and sharing drinks by the bar, and a few groups eating supper at the tables.

Jimin is there too, as he always is these days, clearly flirting with you while you’re trying to work. Your bashful smile at Jimin changes to one of delight when you finally see Seokjin. “You’re home! Welcome back!”

“Sorry, I got held up,” he explains when he gets to you, kissing your cheek.

“It’s okay. We got things covered,” you assure him, pulling up a chair in front of Jimin. “Just rest up. I’ll get you something to drink.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He sinks into the chair with a sigh of relief. “Thank you. You’re an angel. I love you.”

Seokjin completely misses the surprised look you give him at his last words. Ones that nearly have you bumping into another table before you head to Hoseok’s bar. But Jimin catches it, looking between you and Seokjin with intrigue.

“How are things at the Freelancers?” Jimin starts, propping his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his knuckles.

“They’re good. It keeps me busy,” Seokjin tells him, still leaning back on his chair and keeping his eyes closed. He could fall asleep like this if he wanted to. “It makes good coin, too. If I can save up enough, maybe I can take us on a trip to my hometown.”

“Your hometown?”

“Yeah, it’s a small fishing village.” He opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, thinking about the letter he tried to write to his parents. Seokjin left home to become a warden, since that was what was expected of him. Despite how terrified he was of mages at the time, he worked hard on his training, only to feel miserable and out of place within the brotherhood. His friends are now people he once thought were the enemies, and he’s fallen in love with a girl he swore would turn him into a toad one day. “I’ve always wanted to take her there. Show her the pier where all the boats dock and the sea lions sunbathe, take them all to the beach and see the ocean, go fishing, maybe introduce her to my parents.”

Sometimes, he misses the salty breeze, the sound of waves crashing against each other, the gentle rocking of the boat on water, and the thrill of getting something caught in his line and pulling the fishing rod to see what it is. Sometimes, he misses the taste of his mother’s home-cooking, spending time with his father, and getting in trouble with his older brother. Sometimes, he misses home.

“That sounds nice,” Jimin replies, snapping Seokjin out of his thoughts. He sits up, almost forgetting that the florist was sitting across from him.

Honestly, he doesn’t know Jimin that well. He’s good company, sure. You clearly love him, just as much as you love the others. Hoseok and Taehyung seem to believe that he’ll be a significant person to all of you. And Jimin seems like a decent guy. He treats you well, he’s friendly with the rest of them. Just like Seokjin, he’s just trying to find his place in the dynamic between you and the others in the shop.

Because Jimin, like him, is only human.

Perhaps that’s why Seokjin offers, “You want to come with us?”

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “Me?”

“Yeah, why not? It’ll be fun to go together,” Seokjin replies with a tiny shrug. He knows you’ll be happy to have Jimin come along too.

Jimin is a bit quiet. Then, softly, and perhaps still a bit perplexed, he asks, “You really want me to?”

Before Seokjin could answer, you finally return with a couple cold beers: one for him and one for Jimin. “Sorry for the wait. Hoseok and I were talking, and Yoongi needs my help in the back. I’ll catch up with you guys later, yeah?”

“Sure, love.” Jimin reaches over to squeeze your arm reassuringly. He promises to say goodbye to you before he heads back to his shop.

“Thanks, angel,” Seokjin says with a gentle smile. One that becomes fonder as you brush his hair back and place a quick kiss on his temple.

Though, the action doesn’t go unnoticed. One table over is a group of three men on their fourth round of ale that night. As you pass by, one of them shouts, “Hey, lady, where’s my kiss?”

Mocking laughter follows as the man puckers his lips when you turn to them, confused and taken aback. And in a brief moment, you have that same, terrified look.

Suddenly, Seokjin is back to that night. At Blackstone Castle. Heading to his quarters after another unsuccessful Harrowing, catching three of his fellow wardens cornering you in a dimly-lit hall. The tremble in your voice when they interrogate you with invasive questions, how they disable you from fighting back, tugging on the clothes they’ve ripped.

Without thinking, Seokjin stands up. His hand automatically grips the hilt of his sword. All he sees is red.

At the same time, Jimin is on his feet too. For a second, Seokjin thinks Jimin is trying to hold him back, but his eyes are glaring right at the men cat-calling you. He’s holding the edge of the table so hard, his knuckles are beginning to whiten.

Before either of them could make a move, Hoseok steps away from the bar and quietly urges you to go to the back. That he’ll handle things at the front. He gives a pointed glance at both Seokjin and Jimin, wordlessly telling them to sit back down before they make things worse.

“Shit,” Jimin curses softly, letting go of the table and sliding back down on his seat. He rubs his face, a bit distressed. “Not again.”

Seokjin follows and frowns. “Has this happened before?”

“Just once, as far as I’m aware of,” Jimin reveals with an annoyed sigh, still angry about what happened. “Some asshole tried to touch her while she was cleaning a table. Jungkook saw and punched him, but it got messy. Namjoon ended up throwing that guy out.”

His frown deepens. “They didn’t tell me about this.”

“You were on a quest. What could you have done?”

“I’m going to take the day off tomorrow,” Seokjin informs you. He watches from the doorway as you apply a night cream on your face.

“As much as I’d love that, you don’t need to do that for me, Jin,” you tell him. “I know the guild is important to you.”

“You’re more important.”

You turn to face him. “Jin.”

“I miss you.” He means it. The mornings when the two of you would wake up and make breakfast together has almost become a distant memory.

The way you look at him then has his heart yearning. “I miss you, too.”

And it isn’t long before he closes the distance between you two, lips on yours in a kiss he can’t recall who started, wanting to make up for the time he lost.

Heeyeon eyes the bite-sized bruises on his neck. “There’s a meeting today.”

“I’m aware,” Seokjin replies, pretending that he doesn’t notice what she’s looking at.

It isn’t going too well. Especially with the way Jaehwan and Sunwoo are wagging their eyebrows at him.

“All the guild members have to attend,” Heeyeon continues. She doesn’t look away.

“Yes, I know.” Seokjin’s ears begin to turn red from the attention.

He doesn’t know what’s worse. That the two of you got a little carried away with just kissing, or that nothing explicit happened between you two yet. Maybe you could tell that he was tired or nervous, or maybe he was still trying to be a gentleman when you didn’t want him to be. But as he lies on your bed with you in his arms, the almost hanging over his head of what could’ve occurred that night, he realizes that there’s something he needs to tell you before he isn’t able to resist you anymore. 

Junghwan suddenly sits next to him with a shit-eating grin on his face. “So, Seokjin, my best friend. I see you enjoyed your day off yesterday.”

Jaehwan and Sunwoo snort in laughter. Even Byulyi tries to hide her smile before she tries to get them quiet down. Other people in the guild are beginning to look their way.

Seokjin couldn’t ask for better timing as Adnan stands before the entire guild. They received an important mission from the capital. 

“Our target is located around here,” he informs, pointing at a spot on the map. “We will need as many volunteers for this daunting task. My brother, Tariq, and I will also be accompanying you on this mission.”

Hearing that it will take multiple days to travel, investigate, and complete the mission has Seokjin wanting to pass it up.

Then, he hears the reward amount.

A collection of gasps and excited chatter fills the room. It’s the biggest bounty any of them have seen for one mission.

Junghwan clasps Seokjin’s shoulder and shakes it with excitement. “Did you hear that? We have to go!”

“I can’t.”

Team Seokjin all look at him with surprise. “Why not?”

“It’s… complicated,” he henges, not really sure how to explain the situation. 

After what Jimin told him, he doesn’t feel comfortable leaving you alone that long. He knows the others at the shop will take care of you, of course. And he knows that his earnings for this mission will be enough to take you all to his hometown like he had planned. But it’s still his job to protect you, even if he isn’t a warden anymore.

“Is your wife pregnant or something?” Sunwoo asks, then yelps in pain when Byulyi elbows him.

Seokjin runs his hand through his hair. He doesn’t catch what Sunwoo calls you as he answers, “It’s not that. I just… I have to talk to her about it.”

Jaehwan comments, “I’m sure you’ll find a way to convince your wife.”

Five pairs of eyes linger to the fading markings on his neck.

“I don’t think it’s up to me, Seokjin,” you tell him, hugging his arm as you sit on the front steps of the shop. Dusk colors the sky with pretty hues of orange and purple, but as the sun sinks beautifully beyond the horizon, you feel Seokjin’s eyes on you.

“I don’t have to go,” he reminds you quietly. He told you that plenty of people seemed interested in taking up the quest.

“But do you want to go?”

It’s obvious that Seokjin has found his place with the Freelancers. Despite how tired he is by the end of the day, he enjoys going on quests with his new friends, conquering daunting tasks, and reaping their rewards.

A starry-eyed Jungkook and a curious Taehyung eagerly listen when Seokjin recounts his adventures for the day. You catch him handing a lot of his earnings to Namjoon, telling him that it’s for the next trip to the market, for a night out when the shop is closed, to keep in their savings. You hear him tell Hoseok and Yoongi that he’ll buy them whatever they want too, whether it’s a new coat that Hoseok has been eyeing or some better-quality meat from the butcher Yoongi likes.

If his mission is successful, he might even take time off for a bit. Give himself a break to enjoy what he’s been missing and what he’s earned. It’d be foolish of him to refuse.

“I’ll be worried about you,” he continues with a woeful sigh. “You’ll be stuck with a bunch of 8/10s.”

“I think I’ll survive. What’s the worst that Jungkook can do?” you half-joke, but then you pause when you actually think about the possibilities. “Actually, never mind. I think we both should be very worried.”

He laughs and kisses the top of your head. “I’ll miss you.”

“Not as much as I’ll miss you.” These days, you feel like that’s all you do. You miss him. Seokjin hasn’t been around as much since he joined the guild.

“I’ll make it up when I come back.”

“Or,” you begin, suddenly sitting up and looking him in the eye, “you can make it up to me now.”

“Can I admit something?” Seokjin begins, pressing his back against the lilac-colored sofa in his room. Red burns his ears and heats his face as your clothes slip off your body and fall on the ground. He feels like his entire body is on fire as you tilt your head, stripped of everything but your panties, and wait for him to continue. “I, uh… I don’t… I told you I was in a monastery before I became a warden, right?”

“Yes. You got kicked out,” you respond, stepping out of your clothes.

“For telling bad jokes,” he henges, seeming torn between looking away and staring at your body. You’re so gorgeous, it’s making him insane. “Anyway, funny thing that the monastery teaches—”

“Jin.”

“—lust to humans is a cardinal sin, and only the Wicked indulges in such—”

“We can just kiss like last time. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Seokjin peeks at your face, glances down at your chest, and then covers his entire face with his hands, muffling a groan. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but,” he takes your hand in his, “I know that for mages and even some humans, this isn’t a big deal. But it is to me. I just want you to understand that.”

“It’s fine, Jin. I understand. Let me just—” You start to pull away, but Seokjin keeps a firm hold on your hand, refusing to let it go.

“I don’t think you do, angel,” he says, tugging you closer to him again. “What I’m trying to say is that I love you. Truly. I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone but you.”

He sees his confession sink in on you. “Jin…”

“According to the Devoted, I’m damning my soul for you, you know. The least you could say is that you love me back.”

“I love you,” you giggle, and he isn’t sure who kisses who first, but suddenly, you’re on his lap. Your hands cup his jaw, tilting his head back as you lean down to kiss him, and his hand tentatively squeezes your breast. You sigh when you pull away from his lips and start to kiss his neck, revisiting some of the hickeys you left last time. “I like when you touch me.”

“Yeah?” He practically moans. He likes when you touch him too.

His clothes are off, and you seem just as fascinated with his body as he is with yours. You practically squeal and giggle when he suddenly picks you up with his strong arms and carries you to his bed. The whites of his bedding truly make you look like an angel as you lie on top of it.

Seokjin leans over you, kissing you deeply. When he pulls back, your eyes are still closed with content. Breathless, you murmur, “I like when you kiss me, too.”

He takes this as a cue to kiss you more. Touch you more. Your body is so soft and warm. His heart races with assurance that you’re enjoying this as much as he is. That you’re letting him know how to please you.

He takes you slowly, filling you entirely. He intends to take his time with you for the first time, but the way you whine and grasp his forearm has him desperate for more. The kisses become sloppier. His own grunts and moans against your skin, against your lips, only encourage you to help him chase that climax.

But a stubborn part of Seokjin wants to take care of you first.

A loud gasp is caught from your throat and your hips jerk slightly when you feel his thumb against your clit. Experimental touches as he continues to thrust into you. “Oh, fuck, Jin, I—”

He doesn’t need you to tell him that you liked that.

You come undone for him, and Seokjin is so in awe and so in love as the waves of pleasure leave you quivering and clenching around him. There’s a light sheen of sweat on your skin, but it makes you glow. He smiles a little as he gives you a moment to catch your breath before he hooks your leg around his waist again.

You meet his gaze, a bit surprised when you feel him still hard inside you. Seokjin chuckles and leans over to kiss you again.

He makes you cum two more times before he allows himself to finish.

It’s a little before 6:00AM when he hears it.

The loud crowing of the neighbor’s damn rooster.

A groan escapes Seokjin’s lips as he tries to sink further into the blanket, pulling the covers over his head. There’s a weight on him that’s preventing him from moving, and it isn’t until you’re both under the covers when he realizes it’s you.

Your brows are furrowed, waking up a little when you feel him stirring, but your eyes are still closed. Your lips are parted slightly as your breaths are still slow and even. And you’re cutely tucked against him, bare skin touching his and hair messy from sleep.

It’s probably the first time in a while that you’ve slept through the night.

And Seokjin suddenly has another reason to like the morning. Especially if it means waking up to you.

“You know,” Seokjin begins when you wake up, still in bed and under the covers with him. “According to all the Devoted sisters in the monastery, I should’ve been struck by lightning by now.”

“That so?” you ask, voice still full of sleep.

“Yep. Lightning first, then the end of civilization as we know it.”

“It could still happen,” you reply with a smirk.

“Are you insinuating that we test that?” he questions with a mischievous smile of his own. “Naughty girl.”

Your giggles are muffled with a kiss as Seokjin rolls on top of you.

“Ah, good you haven’t left yet!” Hoseok exclaims when you and Seokjin come down the stairs sometime later. In his hand is a beaded bracelet. “Taehyung and I wanted to give this to you. It’s another good luck charm. He worked really hard finding the prettiest beads so I can make this.”

Taehyung puffs out his chest with pride and nods his head. 

Seokjin smiles as he puts it on. It reminds him of the one Hoseok gave him at Blackstone Castle when they were still weary of each other. 

Things have changed a lot since then.

“Hyung, I’ve done some research on what beasts are in the areas you’re traveling to,” Namjoon says, carrying some notes in his hands. The dark circles beneath his eyes indicate that he’s been up all night putting it together for him. “I made a list of each of their weaknesses too in case you engage in battle with them.”

Jungkook’s eyes are a bit shiny as he hugs Seokjin. “I wish I could go with you, but since I can’t, you have to stay safe so you can tell me all about your quest.”

“What do you feel like eating, hyung? I’ll cook today,” Yoongi offers, already holding a pan and a cup of coffee in his hands.

Seokjin blinks, trying not to tear up.

Unlike the others in the shop, Seokjin is just human. He doesn’t have any special abilities or arcane knowledge that the mages and familiars have. Yet, he’s still very much loved by every person at the shop.

There’s a knock at the door, and Seokjin goes to open it, knowing that there’s only one person in town that comes by when the shop is closed.

Jimin smiles at him. “Everyone in town is talking about the mission the Freelancers are taking. Are you going with them? I thought to stop by and wish you luck if you are.”

“Yeah, I’ll be heading to the meeting spot soon,” Seokjin answers as he lets him in. Everyone is still at the breakfast table, and it’s loud and lively like it usually is. As Jimin looks on, there’s a hint of loneliness and yearning on his face. Like he’s still very much an outsider to you all. “Hey, could you do me a favor?”

“Hm? Oh, sure. What is it?”

From one mortal to another, he has a simple request. “Take care of my family, okay?”

Saying goodbye to you all is more difficult than he thought it would be. He knew it’d be hard. After escaping Blackstone Castle together, you and the others haven’t really been separated at all.

Team Seokjin are all gathered at the meeting spot. There are quite a few other teams that have volunteered as well. All of them are chatting and saying goodbye to loved ones, and the two brothers seem to be in the middle of an argument as they discuss their initial plans at their debrief.

Seokjin leans his back against the tree trunk, sitting down. He’s just waiting for the debrief to be over so that they can be given further instructions, but it seems to be taking a while.

He rummages through his pack, triple-checking that he has everything he needs while he’s still in town. He has the essentials: medical supplies, food rations, a canister for water, a hunting knife, clothes and toiletries. Hoseok snuck some of his potions and antidotes in his pack as well, disguising them as medicine. A small smile forms on his lips when he finds a small alpaca doll in his bag as well. He isn’t sure who put it in there, but he’s certain it’s been enchanted to watch over him.

Then, he finds the letter that he started writing to his parents. He never finished it, and never got to send it. He starts to miss you when he sees that the last thing he wrote was about how you’re everything to him.

With time on his hand, he decides to finish it.

Dear Mom and Dad,

When you last saw your son, he was sent to Blackstone Castle. He was a mortal among mages, suspicious of them and their magic. He believed the word of the Devoted and saw them as his enemies.

That man died when Blackstone Castle fell.

The man I am now is still your son, still very much alive and well as he is handsome. He is lacking and vulnerable in many ways, but he does his best to keep pushing forward. For himself, for his new-found family. He is still the son you raised so well, but a lot of things have changed since he left home.

I hope to tell you guys all about it in person soon.

Your son, Kim Seokjin

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reviews are greatly appreciated!

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[voraciousvore]

Candy and the Beanstalk

I wanted to write something light and silly and fluffy, since I've been writing so many dreadfully dark stories lately, so I put my OCs Candy Caramello and Martin Maneater into a classic beanstalk story. No actual vore in this one, just cute g/t fluff and some mild sfw romance. Enjoy (I hope)! :3

Word Count: 3.9k

They came from the sky, draped in remnants of clouds. Nobody knew how, or whence, or what they were, other than the fact that they vaguely resembled beans—beans with an exotic iridescent sheen, pulsing with a rainbow parade of luminescence. Upon their initial discovery, in a fallow dirt field, they drew considerable attention and curiosity. As obvious magical objects, they fetched a high price among buyers eager to discover their secrets. 

Unfortunately, these buyers were soon disappointed to find that their fortunes had been wasted. Not a single person could get the beans to grow, nor could they extract any magical properties. The kaleidoscope of lights that displayed on their smooth surfaces gradually faded to a dull, lackluster brownish green, just like any other bean, with only the occasional spark of light to betray their original appearance. The mysterious beans from the sky soon faded into obscurity as people lost interest, deemed nothing more than a hoax or scam. 

Out in the countryside, far away from the hustle and bustle of major townships, lived a humble peasant girl by the name of Candy Caramello. She was a very sweet and pretty girl, blessed with lovely blue eyes and long blonde hair, but she was also as dumb as a box of rocks. She lived with her parents on the family farm and worked as a milkmaid, with big milkers of her own to match. Regrettably, she wasn’t good for much else beyond the simplest tasks, especially with how clumsy and accident-prone she tended to be, so her parents didn’t have high hopes for her. She spent her days daydreaming about boys as she milked the cows and fed the animals. 

One day, one of the older cows stopped producing milk. Candy brought this unfortunate news up to her mother. “Mom, the cow’s broken. Her udder’s all shriveled up.” 

“Well, the cow’s of no use to us anymore. Take it to the market to sell it for its meat and hide,” her mother ordered. 

“Really? Me?” Candy replied with surprise, twirling strands of her lustrous golden hair around her fingers. She usually wasn’t assigned much responsibility. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? She’s bound it muck it up,” her father whispered. Mrs. Caramello shushed him and sent her daughter on her way. 

“She’s got to learn eventually,” her mom sighed, once she was out of earshot. “We can’t treat her like a baby forever.” 

Candy skipped along the dirt path to town, excited for a new adventure as she led the cow by a rope. Her blue eyes sparkled with joy as she beheld the scenery: undulating fields of grain, majestic old oak trees, fresh green grass, fluffy white clouds glowing with sunshine. She walked over a stone bridge and watched fish dart around in the sparkling waters of the river below. The cow impatiently pulled on the rope to hurry her along. 

She entered the market, and was immediately distracted by all the new sights and sounds and people. Stalls lined the streets bursting with fruits and vegetables, colorful textiles, hand-crafted goods, and a wide array of exotic baubles and trinkets. Candy forgot about selling the cow as she browsed goods that she had no money to buy. 

“Hey, you! Wench!” a gravelly voice called from the entrance to a dark, deserted alley off to the side. 

“Hmmm?” Candy turned her head and walked toward the sketchy area, oblivious to the potential danger. 

“Is that cow for sale? How much?” the voice rasped. A shadowy figure, cloaked in midnight blue garments, crept out of the shade from the brick walls that hemmed in both sides of the narrow passage. He was a lean, tall man with a sickly mien. 

“Ummm… what’s your best offer?” Candy inquired. She had no idea how much she was supposed to sell the cow for. 

“I have something that might interest you…” A gnarled hand emerged from the folds of the cloak, holding a small drawstring bag full of small lumps. “Magic beans!” He opened the bag and pulled out a bean to show her. To Candy’s amazement, the bean flickered with light. 

“Magic?” Candy’s eyes gleamed. “What do they do?” 

The mysterious individual hesitated, as if not anticipating the question. “Uh… they’ll make you rich! Fabulously rich!” Candy looked at the stranger blankly. Money was fine and dandy, but not what her heart truly desired. Sensing her apathy, he changed tactics. “Or… they’ll help you find true love!” 

Candy, being the hopeless romantic that she was, lit up. “Really? All that for a cow? Why? How?” 

“Erm, don’t worry about that. Just, uh… follow your heart and look to the heavens and you’ll have your answer!” 

Candy agreed to the deal, and traded the cow for the beans. As she left, the stranger muttered under his breath, too quiet to hear, “What a fool… those beans are useless…” 

On her way home, Candy pawed through the bag and examined the beans. None of them had that special spark or sheen that she witnessed earlier, but she wasn’t deterred. She believed in the magic with all her heart. She couldn’t wait to plant them and see what would happen. Would they bloom with fantastic buds, opening to reveal a handsome prince? She nearly squealed with joy at the thought. She entered her cottage home just as the sun was beginning to set, bathing the landscape in orange twilight. 

“Mom, Dad, look what I got for the cow!” Candy proclaimed, holding up the sack of beans triumphantly in her hand. 

“What’s that? Gold coins?” Mr. Caramello asked. 

“No, even better! I got beans! Magic beans!” Candy poured the beans into her hand so they could see. Her parents stared dumbly at the dull pile. 

“Please… tell me you’re joking,” her mother uttered in disbelief. Candy gave a slight shake of her head, clueless. “Candy, you clod! You traded an entire cow for a handful of beans?” 

She snatched all the beans out of Candy’s hand and threw them out the window. “Empty-headed simpleton! You got scammed! You wasted a perfectly good cow!” 

“I told you this would happen,” her father muttered. Mrs. Caramello elbowed him hard in the side, making him grunt. Candy hung her head, dejected. She wanted to shrivel into the floorboards and disappear. She tried her hardest to please her folks, but somehow she always messed everything up. Her best was never good enough for them. She fought back tears. 

“Ugh, just get out of my sight,” her mother said with a disgusted wave of her hand. Candy turned around with a despondent slouch and obeyed, dragging her feet out the door.   

“Don’t you think you’re being too hard on her, dear?” Mr. Caramello murmured, once Candy was out of earshot. “She can’t help it that she’s so stupid.” 

“I’m just sick of her being such an airhead! She needs to get her head out of the clouds and grow up!” Mrs. Caramello spat back with frustration. 

Outside, Candy walked over to the beans scattered in the soil and plopped down on her knees. Sniffling, she scooped the beans up into her hands with some crumbs of dirt and gazed down at them sadly. They didn’t glow, stubbornly insisting on remaining a bland monochrome green. She poked her fingers in the dirt and scooped out a hole, then planted the beans and tucked them in with a pat of her hands. She kept her hands in place, sitting in the dirt as the sun sank below the horizon, quenching its fire into the earth. Her remaining energy died with the light. 

With a laborious sigh, Candy went back inside the house, avoiding her parents and laying down in her bed to sleep. A trickle of melancholy dribbled into her core as she huddled on her side and stared at the wall. She was desperate to please; at the end of the day, she just wanted to be loved and held. She wanted a caring man, big and warm, to wrap his arms around her and tell her that she wasn’t useless. She wanted to feel precious and special, beloved and cherished, rather than being such a worthless disappointment. Candy shivered, pulling the bedsheets up to her chin, and fell asleep. 

Little did she know that the beans, hidden beneath layers of earth, were radiating multicolored flashes. They had awakened from their long-dormant state with a burst of fire. Candy’s sweet touch had brought them to life. Like Arthur pulling Excalibur from the stone, Candy had something special that the magical beans patiently sought.  

While she slept, a fresh green sprout emerged from the ground and reached for the sky, twisting and looping in a rapid ascension. Tendrils swirled in spirals and springs around each other as they lengthened and expanded in scale. Leaves grew from tender buds into magnificent foliage large enough to lay on like a mattress. The stalk thickened and swelled, transforming from a thin vine to a pillar to a massive verdant structure, broader and taller than the biggest redwood trees. 

Candy woke up early, as was her habit, to let out the chickens and milk the cows. When she walked out the door into a dark shadow, she turned around to behold the gigantic beanstalk towering above her, above the house and surrounding countryside, impossibly tall, so high up that she couldn’t even see the top as it disappeared into the cloud layer. She stood there and gaped in astonishment, not believing her eyes. She wondered if she was still dreaming as she slowly stepped up to the plant and placed her palm on its glorious green surface. It was real. The magic was real. 

She craned her head back to gaze up into the sky. The words of the bean seller popped into her head. Follow your heart and look to the heavens. When she initially heard those words, she thought he meant to pray for divine intervention, or have faith or strength of spirit. Now, however, the words took on a whole new meaning. Clearly, she was supposed to literally ascend to the sky, via the magical bridge created expressly for her. 

The task before her was daunting, but Candy was firm with resolve. She dreamed, in her most honeyed fantasies, of finding true love. The ceaseless desire burned in her so strongly that she feared she would turn to ash if it were not satiated. She didn’t know what could possibly be in the sky that would aid her in her quest, but she was determined to find out. She took a deep breath to steady herself before beginning her journey. She gripped a coiled vine in her hand and started to climb. 

At first, scaling the beanstalk was fun, reminiscent of a joyful childhood climbing trees. As the time stretched on, though, Candy’s optimism waned and her muscles began to ache. The labor became arduous. As the atmosphere thinned with the great height, the air chilled and the wind bit through her light clothes. The verdurous shoots of the beanstalk were soft and feathery in some parts, hard and sharp in others, digging into the skin on her hands. Whenever she grew weary, she rested on one of the many giant leaves. She didn’t want to stay in one place for too long, though, since she still had a long way to climb. 

Candy considered giving up, but at some point she realized it would be just as hard to return to the ground far below. The distance was dizzying; Candy was just grateful she wasn’t afraid of heights. The beanstalk occasionally swayed in the breeze, making her cling with a death grip to the leafy vines until the stalk steadied again. When she needed a distraction, she admired the view. She could see for miles around. The farmland below, from such a grand height, looked flat, since none of the objects below could compare to the colossal twisting tower. 

Candy entered the cloud layer, where the air was moist and frigid. The initial wisps of cloud thickened into heavy white puffs that produced dark shade. Candy was tempted to curl up when the cold ice particles surrounded her, and her hands met crusts of ice on the foliage, but she forced herself to continue. Finally, she emerged from the cloud layer, back into the brilliant sunshine. 

Her eyes just about boggled out of her head when she surveyed the cloudscape around her. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t an entire alternate world up in the clouds. There were trees, and flowers, and a garden, and even a charming cottage close by. Candy cautiously tested the surface of the clouds and was surprised to find them pleasantly firm beneath her feet, like solid earth. She hopped off the beanstalk, stretched her weary arms, and headed towards the nearby cottage. 

She immediately discerned that something was amiss as she grasped the true nature of her surroundings. The grass was tall, easily as tall as she was, and the flowers towered over her head. The trees stretched up into infinity, their branches and leaves fading into the blinding mist higher up. Candy gawked over a fallen acorn as big around as a barrel of ale as she walked past it. The cottage at first glance appeared close, since it was such an immense building, but was actually quite far away.  

Candy faltered as she recognized just how shockingly huge everything was, especially the house. Who could possibly be large enough to inhabit such a vast structure? Fear flooded her heart, yet her curiosity and desire ultimately won out. She believed in the magic of the beans, even more so as she beheld such impossible, remarkable sights. She felt, in her heart, she was destined to come here—as the bean seller had promised her, to find love. 

She cautiously approached the cottage, marveling at the inconceivable scale of it all. Up close, the house was so large that she couldn’t take it all in at once. She stumbled over some pits in the ground, failing to notice that the ridges taken as a whole formed a giant bootprint. She reached the door, which stretched hundreds of feet above her head, and gazed up at it in wonder. There was no way she’d be able to open it on her own, but she was small enough to crawl underneath it, through the gap between the door and the floor. She slipped inside, her heart racing. 

The inside of the domicile would be rather average-looking, if not for the size. Candy found herself on a huge, scratchy welcome mat that nearly matched the square footage of her cow barn back home. She stepped over the threshold and onto a boundless stone floor. As she walked forward, with her diminutive shoes clicking on the stone, a tremendous masculine voice boomed from somewhere inside the house. 

“FE!” 

Candy stopped dead in her tracks at the enormous voice. The loud sound was followed up by a substantial thud, then another, and another, which Candy recognized as the rhythm of giant footsteps. 

“FI!” 

The steps rapidly approached, nearly knocking Candy over with how much they vibrated the floor. Her heart jumped into her throat. Logically, she knew she ought to run, but she was petrified in place. 

“FO!” 

The source of the disruption made his appearance, rounding a doorframe into the room. He was a giant man, hundreds of feet tall, with stormy gray eyes, short dark hair, and a sturdy build. He thundered toward little Candy, who was too stunned to move. 

“FUM!” 

His boot slammed down next to her. At her height, she wasn’t even tall enough to reach his ankle. He kneeled down, looming over her. 

“I smell the blood of an Englishman!”  

Candy gasped as a gigantic hand, with fingers thicker and longer than her entire body, overshadowed her. She finally snapped out of her paralytic state and turned to run, but she had no chance of escape as the fingers closed around her in a fist. She watched the floor drop away below as she was lifted up to the giant’s face so he could get a better look at her. 

“Er... Englishwoman,” the giant corrected himself, once he was able to see her closer. Candy gazed up at his huge face, into his soft gray eyes. He had a prominent nose, full lips, and a forest of stubble around his mouth and chin. Other than his size, he didn’t look menacing or evil. As a matter of fact, Candy found him to be strikingly handsome. Perhaps even the most handsome man she had ever seen—the kind she fantasized about all day while she milked the cows, when she imagined her perfect man. 

“Hmmm, I’m in the mood for a sandwich,” the giant rumbled to himself, standing up with the tiny woman in his fist. Candy wasn’t really listening to what he was saying. She was spellbound. She felt her face warm up with him so close, so huge, all around her. His fingers wrapped around her body as warmly as she pictured the arms of her fictional lover last night. Was this the man she was supposed to meet? Her true love? Sure, he was enormous, and not quite what she had expected, but true love conquers all, right? 

The giant, oblivious to her thoughts, got out some slices of bread, meat, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and condiments, and started prepping his sandwich. Humans weren’t common up in the sky, and he hadn’t eaten one in a long time, so he was looking forward to a rare treat. He thought it odd that she wasn’t struggling in his fist or pleading for her life, as humans normally did when he threatened to eat them. Maybe she was too frightened. She was shaking a bit, after all. 

Candy rested her elbows on his finger and held her chin in her hands with a dreamy gaze. “What’s your name?” she asked. 

The giant was confused by the question, and her placid demeanor, but dutifully replied, “Martin. Martin Maneater.” He paused midway through spreading sauce on his bread. “What about you?” Why am I asking this girl her name, when I’m just going to eat her anyway? To be polite? 

She giggled, her face flushing at the attention. “Oh, I’m Candy. Candy Caramello! It’s lovely to meet you!” Martin blinked, increasingly baffled as he looked down at her. She wasn’t afraid of him at all. In fact, she had a rapturous look that was enthusiastic enough to make him blush. A woman had never looked at him quite like that before. And gosh, she was pretty cute too… just his type: blonde, blue-eyed, busty, and completely adorable. 

“Um…” Martin suddenly found himself tongue-tied. What was wrong with him? He was supposed to eat her, not fawn over her! And yet… and yet… his heart was singing in his chest with a thrumming rapid enough to make him lightheaded. He abandoned his sandwich and sat down in a chair at the dining room table, loosening his grip on the little lady since she apparently wasn’t going to bolt. 

With his mind drawing a blank, he asked the first question that popped into his head. “How did you get here, Candy?”  

“Oh! I planted some magic beans and climbed a giant beanstalk! It was amazing!!” Candy chirped as she twisted a strand of golden hair around her finger. She caressed Martin’s giant finger with her other hand, reveling in how warm and soft his skin felt on hers. Martin blushed again at the physical contact. He liked it more than he cared to admit. 

“Ah, the beans… that makes sense…” Martin muttered. “They only grow for special people, you know…” 

“Is that so?” Candy said in a seductive tone, batting her eyes at him. Martin’s heart jumped as she twirled playfully in his loose fingers. 

“Y-yeah… they only grow for a human of exceptional stock, one that is… especially tasty.” The giant raised a brow, curious to see how the woman would take this information. 

She didn’t skip a beat. “Awww, so you think I’m tasty?” Candy flirted with a wink. The literal meaning of his words seemed to be lost on her. Martin couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“I’m sure you are,” he teased back, running his tongue over his lips.  

Candy’s eyes lingered on his lips longer than he felt comfortable, as he felt himself drooling over her scent. “The bean seller told me I could find true love with the magic of the beans!” she blurted out. Martin raised his eyebrows with surprise.  

“Oh! Uh… hmmm… that’s interesting…” Martin stammered. What was he supposed to say to that? 

“Can I kiss you?!” Candy’s abrupt intensity was shocking. 

Martin reddened. “K-kiss me?” 

“That’s how you find out if someone is your true love! You have to kiss them!” Candy insisted. “That’s how it works in the fairy tales!” 

Martin’s tongue tripped over his words as he became increasingly flustered. He was about to deny her assertion, tell her love didn’t work that way, but… her little face and body, resting in his hand, made his chest swell. He wanted to kiss her, badly. He was lonely, living in the clouds all by himself. He wanted a woman to love, to call his own, and here she was, literally sitting in the palm of his hand, begging for his affection. How could he possibly refuse? 

“O-okay. Sure. Yeah.” His heart pounded in his chest as he raised her up to his lips. He was tempted to scoop her up into his mouth, being the man-eating giant that he was, but he politely refrained and puckered his lips gently. He pressed his plush lips to her tiny body, feeling every soft curve she had to offer. She kissed him back, her touch light and soft. He could feel her excited heartbeat pulsing in her chest. He pinned her down in his palm with rising ardor as he leaned into the sensual kiss. He could even taste her incredible caramel sweetness as his tongue touched her body. She was divine. His entire body burned with a sudden fiery passion that radiated from her touch on his lips all the way down to his toes. 

He could hardly tear himself away when he finished kissing her. He craved more. She lay flat on her back in his palm, hot and slightly soggy, her cheeks red as a rose and her eyes glistening with stars. She looked like a tiny angel. 

“I-I think you’re the one, Martin,” she uttered breathlessly. “That was amazing.” 

“Mmmmm, I agree,” Martin purred, caressing her body tenderly with his finger. He couldn’t believe his luck. He leaned down for another kiss, this one short and sweet but no less passionate. “Who knew a human woman could make me feel this way...” 

Martin cupped her in his hands and took her into his living room. He reclined on the couch and relaxed, holding the tiny woman against his chest. As he drifted off for a nap, he hoped in his heart that this whole encounter wasn’t all just a dream, and the tiny woman in his hands was, in fact, real. Before he closed his eyes, he looked down at her, snuggled up in the curve of his palm on his chest, rocking slightly with every beat of his heart. She was so trusting, already fast asleep in his hand after a long and exhausting day of climbing. 

Maybe true love was real after all. 

Writing Masterpost

[altschmerzes]

LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK: ALL THE ENERGY OF NOT TRYING TO STAND BETWEEN YOUR FATHER AND THE GRAVE

STOP TRYING TO GET HIM ON ONE OF THOSE MINDFULNESS APPS

IF HE WANTED TO TAKE YOUR SUGGESTIONS HE WOULD HAVE TAKEN THEM ALREADY

IT’S TOO LATE FOR THE BENEFITS OF BRAIN PLASTICITY

“LET YOUR FATHER DIE” ENERGY DRINK HAS ALL THE PEACEFUL RESIGNATION OF TÉA LEONI STANDING WITH HER FATHER ON THE BEACH AT THE END OF DEEP IMPACT

MUCH LIKE JODIE FOSTER DISCOVERS AT THE END OF CONTACT, YOUR DAD IS A HOLOGRAM CREATED BY ALIENS TO CREATE THE ILLUSION OF FAMILIARITY

TIRED OF TASTING YOUR DAD’S MEAT AT FEASTS TO CHECK FOR POISON? WITH “LET YOUR FATHER DIE” ENERGY DRINK, YOU DON’T HAVE TO!

“LET YOUR FATHER DIE” ENERGY DRINK IS NOT MEANT TO BE TAKEN LITERALLY

YOURS MIGHT BE FINE

(HE ISN’T)

(YOU KNOW HE ISN’T)

(YOU’VE ALWAYS KNOWN HE ISN’T)

BUT HE MIGHT BE

IT HAPPENS

WE HEARD ABOUT IT ONE TIME

IN SWEDEN

STOP DRINKING FROM YOUR FATHER’S CUP TO MAKE SURE IT’S SAFE FOR HIM TO DRINK

LET HIM FIGURE IT OUT

ALL THE SMOOTH, REGULATED ENERGY THAT COMES FROM NOT TRYING TO OLIVIA POPE YOUR FATHER’S WHOLE THING

HE PROBABLY SOLVED HIS OWN PROBLEMS BEFORE YOU WERE BORN SO WHY NOT TAKE A NAP

WITH “LET YOUR DAD DIE” ENERGY DRINK YOU’LL FINALLY HAVE THE ENERGY YOU NEED TO FALL ASLEEP INSTEAD OF WAITING TO PASS OUT

LET YOUR FATHER DIE ENERGY DRINK, AVAILABLE NOW!

LET YOUR FATHER DIE ENERGY DRINK: STOP SCROLLING INSTAGRAM AT 3AM, HE DIDN’T LEAVE ANY MESSAGES FOR YOU THERE!

LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK: DRINK FROM YOUR OWN CUP AT LEAST

STOP TELLING YOUR DAD YOU LOVE HIM MORE THAN SALT. START ALLOWING YOUR AVARICIOUS SISTERS GONERIL AND REGAN TO DETHRONE HIM.

LEAR KNEW WHAT CORDELIA MEANT THE WHOLE TIME AND SO DOES YOURS

LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK: BECAUSE YOU DON’T WANT TO SING ALONE LIKE BIRDS ‘I TH’ CAGE, ASKING ONE ANOTHER BLESSING AND KNEELING DOWN, LIVING AND PRAYING AND LAUGHING AT BUTTERFLIES WITH HIM

LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK: BECAUSE YOUR BLOODLINE ENDS WITH YOU!!

LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK: BECAUSE YOUR DAD THINKS A HAPPY ENDING IS ONE WHERE YOU LIVE FOREVER IN A CABINET WITH HIM AND A BIRD AND THAT’S A BAD IDEA FOR YOU

LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK: THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO MAKE IT HAPPEN

LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK: AGAIN, NOT LITERALLY!

IT’S JUST GOING TO HAPPEN SOMEDAY AND YOU SHOULD HUSBAND YOUR STRENGTH

SORRY, FATHER YOUR STRENGTH

SORRY, MOTHER YOUR FATHER

THE BUGS HAVE BEEN FIXED AND LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK APOLOGIZES FOR ANY DISTRESS OUR MOST RECENT MESSAGES MAY HAVE CAUSED

LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK: WHEN WE SAY DAD WE MEAN THE CONCEPT

SORT OF

HOWEVER YOU HEAR IT

LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK IS FULL OF NATURALLY RESTORATIVE INGREDIENTS, LIKE SETTING HIS TEXTS TO “DO NOT DISTURB” AND GREEN TEA EXTRACT

LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK: ONE CAN IS THE EQUIVALENT OF THREE YEARS OF AL-ANON MEETINGS!

NONE OF THE JITTERS THAT COME FROM MANAGING THE DOCTOR’S APPOINTMENTS HE DOESN’T GO TO ANYWAY

UNSEE THAT EMAIL YOU ACCIDENTALLY SAW WHEN YOU WERE FIFTEEN: IT NEVER HAPPENED!

“LET YOUR DAD DIE” ENERGY DRINK HAS THE SAME EFFECTS ON COGNITIVE PERFORMANCE AS A CUP OF MEDIUM-ROAST LOW-ACID COFFEE OR NOT APOLOGIZING FOR SOMETHING HE SAID TO SOMEONE ELSE AFTER HE’S OUT OF EARSHOT AND CAN’T GET MAD AT YOU FOR APOLOGIZING FOR SOMETHING HE ISN’T SORRY HE SAID

DADS LOVE IT: LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK

*“LET YOUR DAD DIE” ENERGY DRINK HAS NOT STUDIED DAD RESPONSES TO LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK BECAUSE IT WOULDN’T CHANGE OUR MARKETING STRATEGIES OR OUR RECIPE ANYWAYS

PLUS WE’RE GOING TO HEAR WHAT HE SAID THROUGH OUR OLDER SISTER ANYWAYS

LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK: HE’S NOT ACTUALLY OKAY TO DRIVE

DRIVING IS ACTUALLY NEVER OKAY BUT ESPECIALLY THE WAY HE DOES IT

YOUR FATHER’S COMMITMENT TO DRIVING IS INFORMALLY REFERRED TO AROUND OUR OFFICES AS “THE REAL DEATH DRIVE” BY THE WAY

LYDD: HE KNOWS LOTS OF OTHER PEOPLE WHO HAVE GOTTEN THAT FELLOWSHIP

LYDD: YOUR FATHER KNOWS A LOT OF PEOPLE

YOUR FATHER HAS A LOT OF FRIENDS

YOUR FATHER HAS AN ENTIRE TEAM OF ALLIES, CRONIES, AND UNDERBUTLERS TO SOLVE HIS PROBLEMS FOR HIM

LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY A GENEROUS DONATION FROM THE MIKAELA PETERSON FOUNDATION

LET YOUR DAD DIE: IT’S FINE

IT’S FINE

IT’S WHAT HE DID TO HIS DAD

IT’S WHAT HE WOULD DO FOR YOU

WHO FIRED THAT SHOT AT HIS COUNTRY HOUSE DURING A WEEKEND SHOOTING PARTY? NOT YOUR PROBLEM ANYMORE, BOYO

THEY HAVE DETECTIVES FOR THAT

DETECTIVES ARE ON YOUR FATHER’S TAIL EVEN AS WE SPEAK

THE DETECTIVES TOLD US TO TELL YOU THEY SAID “DON’T CROWD ME”

LET SOMEONE ELSE PUT YOUR PARANOIA TO GOOD USE

LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK IS COMMITTED TO HELPING COLLEGE STUDENTS, CORPORATE EXECUTIVES, AND PROFESSIONAL ATHLETES ESTABLISH THE SENSE OF FREEDOM THAT CAN ONLY COME FROM ACCEPTING YOUR FATHER’S MORTALITY AND THE LIMITS OF YOUR OWN INTERVENTION

LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK IS CONTRAINDICATED WITH ALCOHOL….WINK

WE CANNOT RECOMMEND WINK THAT YOU MIX WINK LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK WINK WITH ALCOHOL WINK

BUT OF COURSE WE CAN’T TELL YOU WHAT TO DO

WE’RE NOT YOUR MOM OR ANYTHING

TIRED OF BEING “A LITTLE OVER-SENSITIVE”? TRY LYDD ENERGY DRINK!

TIRED OF “REMEMBERING THINGS”? TRY OUR NEW DRAGONFRUIT EDITION, “I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT”

ARE YOU SURE YOUR BROTHER WOULDN’T LIKE TO TRY BEING THE OVER-SENSITIVE ONE FOR A CHANGE? TRY LYDD ENERGY DRINK FOR LASTING EFFECTS!

FEEL AS WELL-RESTED AND ENERGIZED AS YOUR FATHER’S MOTHER DOES: SHE DOESN’T REMEMBER THAT EITHER

SHE’S NOT WORRIED ABOUT A GODDAMN THING WE HERE AT LYDD CAN TELL YOU THAT MUCH

SHE’S GOT A PLAN AND SHE HAS NEVER SECOND-GUESSED ANYTHING THAT YOUR FATHER HAS DONE  

HE’S WHAT MADE HER A MOTHER

YOU’RE JUST SOME PUNK KID

YOU’RE JUST SOME FUCKING NOBODY. WHO THE HELL ARE YOU? WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH MY SON’S GRAVE?

OUR ETHICALLY SOURCED PASSIONFRUIT FLAVOR INCLUDES GUARANINE, GINKGO, AND ZERO CHANCE OF TAKING A BULLET FOR YOUR FATHER

IT’S AN ACQUIRED TASTE

BUT YOU PROBABLY ALREADY HAVE IT

YOU’VE ALREADY INHERITED A LOT OF THINGS.

NO GODS, NO MASTERS, JUST A REFRESHING BURST OF FRESH CITRUS FLAVOR. LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK

LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK: YOU NEVER REALLY HAD A CHOICE, BUT WE WILL LET YOU CHOOSE BETWEEN ORANGINA, ACAI BURST, AND FRUTTA DI BOSCO IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL BETTER

BUT DON’T GET ANY BRIGHT IDEAS ABOUT TRYING TO DO IT YOURSELF. HE’LL SEE IT COMING. YOU’RE ONLY ALIVE AND IN THIS WORLD BECAUSE HE ANTICIPATED YOU. YOUR DAD’S DEATH BELONGS TO SOMEONE HIS OWN SIZE AND YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO MAKE WEIGHT

JUST LET HIM GO INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT WHENEVER THE TIME COMES

WE HEAR IT’S ACTUALLY PRETTY GENTLE

- “Let Your Dad Die Energy Drink” Daniel Lavery & Cecilia Corrigan

[violettduchess]

"Aere Perennius" 🌟

A/N: I have long admired @ana-thedaydreamer and her beautiful artwork. I am so excited to finally be able to share what we have been working on together! Ana, you are a talent beyond measure and I was overjoyed at the chance to collaborate with you, especially on something honoring our favorite vamp 💜Thank you for your hard work, your time, and your support.

"Aere Perennius" is Latin for, "More lasting than bronze"

Leonardo - Holiday Fluff

Word Count: 1221

---🌟---

There are many things to love about the holiday season, but one tradition that never fails to brighten my spirit like a string of fairy lights in the dark are the Christmas markets. The booths are a feast for the eyes, endless degrees of craftsmanship on display in the form of bright, homemade candles, intricate wooden toys and puzzles, beautiful stained glass decorations, knitted wonders of all shapes and sizes. The smell of mulled wine and hot chocolate mixes with the scent of candied almonds, roasted meat, and gingerbread. Even the crowds are a part of it, the voices calling for small children to stay close, the greetings called across people’s heads to one another, the couples cuddling close together, warm and snug under the twinkling lights.

This is where I am right now, tucked up against Leonardo’s side as I observe the crowds from a cozy corner of the market, right next to the stand that claims it has the best mulled wine in all of Paris (with a recipe straight from Germany, I note with a wry grin). One long arm is wrapped around my waist, holding me close. The other lifts his mug of wine to his lips as he people-watches with me. The woman who runs the stand watches us both, bright-eyed, offering to refill our mugs the moment they are empty. Starting right from the first empty mug, she was so insistent with her benevolent pouring, I decided to keep holding mine close as if there were still something inside but Leonardo….he has been taking her up on her offers, tossing coins whose number grows more and more generous with every refill. 

He’s nearly got a handful of them now when I realize I've been so lost in watching the bustle of the market that I haven’t been keeping track of how long we've been standing there. And how many refills he’s had. It’s too hard to see his face clearly in the shadowy corner we're standing in but there is a laxness to his body, a looseness in his stance that catches my attention. 

Perhaps it's time to get a move on.

“It’s getting late,” I say as I gently extract the empty mug from his hand and set it down on the wooden counter. 

He looks somewhat startled at having to say goodbye what feels to him like so soon but I tug on his arm, leading him away. “Thank you Madame, it was delicious!” he calls back towards the stand. The woman behind the counter looks as sad as he does, waving goodbye despondently, sad little Christmas dishrag in her hand. I steer him through the crowd, toward the end of the market. He is hailed by so many people who know and admire him: the watchmaker lifts a mug of beer in salutation, the music teacher calls his name with a vibrant “Yoo hoo!”, the bookstore owner nods respectfully. He is such a part of the fabric of this community, the brilliant golden thread that runs through it, brightening everything.

The lights and sounds and smells of the market give way to a dark winter sky littered with bright stars and the cool calm of night time. Arm in arm, we walk. His strides are slower than usual, his eyes bright, cheeks tinged pink with wine. We take a turn, strolling down one of the main streets with displays in the windows. When we reach the toy store, he suddenly stops.

“Cara mia….wait a moment…” He stands in front of the window where tiny lights illuminate the various toys: a shiny train set with a big black engine, the porcelain dolls with their curls and big round eyes, tin soldiers marching in a row. But what has his attention is the model hot air balloon hanging from a string, floating above the other toys. He raises one hand, pressing it against the cool glass. “Stupendo,” he sighs, almost longingly. I smile softly as I place a gloved hand on his lower back. It is well-documented how fascinated Leonardo Da Vinci has always been with the idea of man and flight. Notebooks full of his theoretical drawings of various contraptions and machines can be found in museums all over the world.

“It happens, you know. America, 1903. They invent a flying machine that becomes the basis for air travel.” My voice is as soft as the glow of the lights through the window, my eyes on his face as he stares at the toy balloon. 

He doesn’t answer. Instead he pulls his far-away gaze from the shop window and turns his full attention to me. 

A lock of hair falls across his forehead, his cheeks are still tinged pink. He looks young, boyish. Almost vulnerable. The mask of the cool, eternal vampire sloughed off with every sip and now all I see in the warm light is a man whose expression is filled to the brim with tenderness. He reaches out, his soft leather glove brushing the skin of my cheek.

“Who needs to dream of the sky,” he murmurs in a voice as soft as the silver starlight overhead, “when I can look at you and see the face of heaven?”

It seems the wine, the starlight, the remembrance of dreams has brought out the poet in the man I love. His words fill my heart, lifting it like heat does a hot air balloon. Now my cheeks are flushed and it has nothing to do with any drink. 

I drop my gaze, a sudden shyness overwhelming me until he catches my chin between his fingers, tilting my face back up. I thought the lights in the window or the stars in the sky were luminous. They pale in comparison to the radiance of his golden eyes.

“C’mere,” he whispers, his free arm pulling me toward him, holding my chin as he lowers his mouth to mine. I can taste the echoing flavors of the mulled wine, the cinnamon and nutmeg and cloves as well as the faintest whisper of smoke from his cigarillos. Here in his arms, there is only the present. His dreams in the past, the uncertainty of the future fade with every movement of his lips, every sigh, every touch. If I have learned anything from loving this man, it is the need to live in the right here, right now. Even this moment, an embrace under a dazzling winter sky on an empty Parisian street will end. And somewhere in the future, there will be airplanes. And rockets. And the eternal vampire will experience it all. 

Without me.

But I believe it is moments like this one, as I wrap my arms around his shoulders and return his kiss with all the love in the world, that will capture a hallowed place in his eternity and light his heart when shadows dare creep near.

The kiss comes to an end, yet he does not move away. Maybe he’s dizzy with wine and needs to be still for a moment. Maybe he does not want to lose the closeness we share. Either way, he doesn’t step back but instead presses his forehead against mine, eyes closed.

“I love you.”

I breathe out, a hand stroking the back of his neck. 

“I love you too, Leonardo. Always.”

-----

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @leotoru @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @neoqueen-sailorvirgo @myonlyjknight @kissmetwicekissmedeadly

[fatehbaz]

[I]n Latin America and the Caribbean, [a]lthough significant tracts of these forests have disappeared, their history goes well beyond the much discussed deforestation that gathered such momentum starting in the 1960s and 70s. [...] In [...] the lower Amazon River Basin, [...] [after European arrival] the extraction of natural resources for external markets got underway. These forest products, known as drogas do sertão, varied enormously: sarsaparilla, vanilla, cinnamon, manatee meat and oil, turtle shells, and feathers were among the most important. [...] [T]his trade [...] did have other environmental consequences, such as the sharp decline in turtle and manatee populations. [...]

[I]n 1750, the Caribbean coast of what is today Nicaragua also exported sarsaparilla and turtle shells in addition to mahogany. To the south, the alluvial mines of Colombia’s Pacific region became the principal source of New Granada’s gold exports during the eighteenth century, well anticipating the recent wave of mining prospecting and exploitation.

---

The extractive economy, which began timidly during the colonial period, burgeoned during the second half of the nineteenth century [...]. The industrial revolution generated demand for raw materials, some of which could be derived from rainforest plants. The rubber boom, which took place primarily in the Amazon but also extended through the forests of Central America, is the quintessential example. There were other important booms, though they tended to affect very specific regions, such as that created by the demand for tagua, or vegetable ivory - the seed of various palm trees that grow in the forests of the Pacific coast between Panama and Ecuador [the “Choco” forest ecoregion] - which was used to make buttons before the invention of plastic.

In the case of the Petén Basin of Guatemala, the tapping of chicle, once the principal ingredient in chewing gum, also illustrates how natural resource extraction restructured regions during the boom period and, following the development of industrial substitutes, dramatically declined.

In the forests of Central America’s Caribbean coast, as exemplified by the case of Belize, logging precious woods and dyewoods was of great importance. But even more significant during the first half of the twentieth century was the expansion of banana plantations in old-growth rainforests. [...]

---

Rubber tappers in the Amazon cleared trails through the forest to connect one or two hundred Hevea trees that produced white rubber, the finest on the market. Every day they collected the latex [...]. The case of black rubber, however, was quite different. This rubber was derived from the latex of the Castilla genus, which is found both in the Amazon and in the forests of the Pacific coast and Central America. But because this latex dries upon contact with the air, rubber gatherers cut down the trees to “bleed” them all at once. In short order, therefore, the population of black rubber trees declined dramatically [...]. [T]he price crash in 1913, caused by the development of rubber plantations in Asia, ended such initiatives [...]. In the wake of these colonos came the establishment of state institutions, such as municipal authorities, and national ones [...]. Starting roughly from the mid-twentieth century, the colonization of tropical forests has been associated with large-scale deforestation. [...] After the 1964 coup, the Brazilian military made the Amazon Basin strategic to their plans for national development [...]. The ideology of civilization’s triumph over an intractable nature and wild population has been instrumental in the conquest of rainforest frontiers.

---

All text by: Claudia Leal. “Rainforest Frontiers.” In: “New Environmental Histories of Latin America and the Caribbean.” Edited by Claudia Leal, Jose Augusto Padua, and John Soluri. RRC Perspectives no. 7, 51-57. 2013. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[mademoiselle-red]

mapo tofu is a beef dish

my favorite Chinese dish is mapo tofu, which originated in Sichuan, where my family is from. In America, this beloved dish lives in a special kind of purgatory, under the shadow of the western association of tofu with “vegetarian options”. I almost never see mapo tofu served as a meat dish here in America and i understand why:

1) most non-chinese meat eaters won’t order a tofu dish because tofu is associated with vegetarianism and most non-vegetarians would not have had much exposure to it beforehand

2) vegetarian options are limited in Chinese cuisine (outside Chinese Buddhist cuisine, which has unfortunately not made it to the west yet) since one key culinary philosophy of Chinese cuisine is that vegetable dishes should be cooked with meat (and meat-based oil) and meat dishes should be cooked with vegetables. So to appeal to the vegetarian market, Chinese restaurants in recent years have taken meat out of beloved sichuanese vegetable dishes like mapo tofu and Yuxiang Eggplant (another one of my faves)

3) and so mapo tofu, which is so delicious because the tofu is braised in sauce made of beef-extracted-oil and ground beef, imbuing the rich silky soft tofu with the “fragrance of meat”, ends up being a still tasty but much inferior dish when it’s just tofu braised in chili sauce.

So whenever I take a friend to a Chinese restaurant and show them mapotofu for the first time, I always tell them that the original is made with meat. Maybe one day there will be enough tofu-loving meat-eaters here in the US that Chinese restaurants will put the non-vegetarian option back on the menu

[mariacallous]

Crisco is a vegan cooking fat and an icon of the Ashkenazi-Jewish American Dream. 

For over a century, the strange, oily gloop has graced kosher restaurants, holiday cookbooks and hand-scribbled recipe cards in Jewish homes across the nation, becoming a (contested) symbol of Jewish American identity and culinary tradition . 

But how did Judaism get to Crisco as America is to apple pie? The answer lies at the intersection of early 20th-century consumerism and Jewish American culture. 

First, we need to take a look at the origins of Crisco itself. Debuted in 1911 as a product of Cincinnati’s Procter & Gamble Co., it started as a strange solution to a strange problem. Textile production skyrocketed during the Industrial Revolution, leaving America with a surplus of leftover cotton seeds. No one could figure out what to do with them — until chemists learned to extract the oil and combine it with hydrogen, which created a cheap alternative to animal-based fats like lard and tallow. Initially, Procter & Gamble intended to use the new substance to make candles. But they ended up selling it as a food product, instead. 

The public wasn’t totally sold on the idea. Aside from sneaky CEOs cutting costs by substituting it for pricier olive oil, cottonseed oil wasn’t typically used in the food business. It was primarily intended for soap, artificial dyes and explosives. There was even some debate over whether cottonseed oil is really a food (spoiler: it isn’t; Procter & Gamble would later switch to other vegetarian oils). 

Eventually it caught on with the help of some clever, if somewhat dishonest, marketing. But sales still weren’t remarkable among established Americans. Given the product’s versatile non-dairy, non-meat nature, Procter & Gamble’s PR team decided to give a hard sell to the nation’s newly minted community of Eastern European Jewish immigrants. One 1913 newspaper advertisement, printed in English and Yiddish and distributed throughout the United States, made the lofty claim that “The Hebrew Race has been waiting 4,000 years for Crisco.” 

4,000 years! 4,000 years spent wandering through deserts and across the globe, all for… non-dairy shortening? Shockingly, the ploy worked; American Jews went wild for Crisco — and haven’t looked back since. 

There are evident perks: It’s kosher, and pareve, too. That means that, when she has Crisco on hand, the good Jewish housewife doesn’t need to buy both schmaltz — for meat — and butter — for dairy — thus saving money and resources. And, a hundred or so years ago, Crisco was considered (or, at least, marketed as) a healthy alternative to traditional animal-based cooking fats. 

But more important was Crisco’s cultural significance. For new immigrants, the feeling of belonging was vital. There was a constant struggle between old and new, religion and nation, and tradition and assimilation. Here was a practical solution that didn’t require compromise. Kosher enough for the rabbi, stylish enough for the all-American woman and economical to boot, Crisco was a tasty, practical reminder that you could be both Jewish and American — and be so with class and tact. 

Procter & Gamble’s 1933 cookbook, “Crisco Recipes for the Jewish Housewife,” cemented the product’s popularity within the Jewish community. Each recipe was printed in both English and Yiddish. Offerings ranged from traditional favorites, like kugel, to American icons such as southern fried chicken and macaroni salad — all, of course, with a generous helping of Crisco. Despite the economic hardship of the Great Depression, sales continued to soar. Over the course of a century, Crisco grew from its resourceful beginnings to the heart of American Jewish cooking. 

In recent years, though, Crisco has amassed slews of controversy. For one thing, it’s been condemned for ruining the magic of traditional (i.e., schmaltzy) Jewish cooking with its sub-par flavor. Perhaps more shocking is the revelation that Crisco, marketed as an “all-vegetable shortening” doesn’t actually include any vegetables — at all. Even though it’s no longer made from cottonseed oil, Crisco’s modern key ingredients, soybean and palm oil, aren’t derived from vegetables, or even fruits, but from grains. They’re not particularly healthy or environmentally friendly, either. So, while definitely a little more edible, modern Crisco is not exactly a huge improvement on its cottonseed predecessor. 

Why do we continue to use Crisco? I think that, like with many Ashkenazi Jewish cultural rites, the answer can be most accurately summed up by Tevye in “Fiddler on the Roof”: TRADITION! So next time you bite into a Crisco-coated latke, or hamantaschen, or maybe even fried chicken, you too can follow in the footsteps of our foremothers and savor the unctuous, oily flavor of Jewish American history.