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najia-cooks · 1 year ago

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[ID: Seven yoghurt balls on a plate drizzled with olive oil. The one in the center is plain; the others are covered in mint, toasted sesame seeds, ground sumac, za'tar, crushed red chili pepper, and nigella seeds. End ID]

لبنة نباتية / Labna nabatia (Vegan labna)

Labna (with diacritics: "لَبْنَة"; in Levantine pronunciation sometimes "لَبَنَة" "labanay") is a Levantine cow's, sheep's, or goat's milk yoghurt that has been strained to remove the whey and leave the curd, giving it a taste and texture in between those of a thick, tart sour cream and a soft cheese. The removal of whey, in addition to increasing the yoghurt's tanginess and pungency, makes it easier to preserve: it will keep in burlap or cheesecloth for some time without refrigeration, and may be preserved for even longer by rolling it into balls and submerging the balls in olive oil. Labna stored in this way is called "لبنة كُرَات" ("labna kurāt") or "لبنة طابات" ("labna ṭābāt"), "labna balls." Labna may be spread on a plate, topped with olive oil and herbs, and eaten as a dip for breakfast or an appetizer; or spread on kmaj bread alongside herbs, olives, and dates to make sandwiches.

The word "labna" comes from the Arabic root ل ب ن (l b n), which derives from a Proto-West-Semitic term meaning "white," and produces words relating to milk, yoghurt, nursing, and chewing. The related term "لَبَن" ("laban"; also transliterated "leban") refers to milk in Standard Arabic, but in Levantine Arabic is more likely to refer to yoghurt; a speaker may specify "لَبَن رَائِب‎" (laban rā'ib), "curdled milk," to avoid confusion.

Labna is a much-beloved food in Palestine, with some people asserting that no Palestinian home is without a jar. Making labna tabat is, for many, a necessary preparation for the winter season. However, by the mid-2010s, the continuation of Israel's blockade of the Gaza strip, as well as Israeli military violence, had severely weakened Gaza's dairy industry to the point where almost no labna was being produced. Most of the 11 dairy processors active in Gaza in 2017 (down from 15 in 2016) only produced white cheese—though Mustafa Eid's company Khalij had recently expanded production to other forms of dairy that could be made locally with limited equipment, such as labna, yoghurt, and buttermilk.

Dairy farmers and processors pushed for this kind of innovation and self-sufficiency against deep economic disadvantage. With large swathes of Gaza's arable land rendered unusable by Israeli border policing and land mines, about 90% of farmers were forced by scarce pasture land and low fodder production to feed their herds with increasingly expensive fodder imported from Israel—dairy farmers surveyed in 2017 spent an estimated 87% of their income on fodder, which had doubled in price since 2007. Cattle were thus fed with low quantities of, or low-quality, fodder, resulting in lower milk production and lower-quality milk.

Most dairy processors were also unable to access or afford the equipment necessary to maintain, upgrade, or diversify their factories. Since 2007, Israel has tightly restricted entry into Gaza of items which they consider to have a "dual use": i.e., a potential civilian and military function. This includes medical equipment, construction materials, and agricultural equipment and machinery, and impacts everything from laboratory equipment to ensure safe food supplies to packaging and labelling equipment. Of the dairy products that Gazan farmers and processors do manage to produce, Israel's control over their export can cause huge financial losses—as when Israel prohibited the export of Palestinian dairy and meat to East Jerusalem without warning in March of 2020, costing estimated annual losses of 300 million USD.

In addition to this kind of economic manipulation, direct military violence threatens Gaza's dairy industry. Mamoun Dalloul says that his factory was accused of holding rockets and subsequently bombed in 2008, 2010, 2012, and again in 2014, resulting in repeated moves and the loss of the capability to produce yellow cheese. The Israeli military partially or totally destroyed 10 dairy processing factories, and killed almost 2,000 cows, during its 2014 invasion of Gaza, resulting in an estimated 43 million USD of damage to the dairy sector alone. Damage to cow-breeding farms in 2014 reduced the number of dairy cows to 2,600, just over half their previous number. Damage to, or destruction of, wells, water reservoirs, water tanks, and the Gaza Power Plant's fuel tank exacerbated pre-existing problems with producing cattle feed and with the transportation, processing, and refrigeration of dairy products, leading to spoiled milk that had to be disposed of. Repeated offensives made dairy processors reluctant to re-invest in equipment that could be destroyed at any time.

Israeli industry profits by making Gazan self-sufficiency untenable. Israeli goods entering Palestine are not subject to import taxes, and Israeli dairy companies are not dealing with the contaminated water, limited electricity, high costs of feed, out-of-date and expensive-to-repair equipment, and scarce land (some companies, such as Tnuva, purchase milk from farms on illegal settlements in the West Bank) with which Gazan producers must contend. The result is that the local market in Gaza is flooded with imports that are cheaper, more diverse, and of higher quality than anything that local producers can offer. Many consumers believe that Israeli products are safer to eat.

Nevertheless, Gazans continue building and rebuilding. Despite significant decreases in ice cream factories' production after the imposition of Israel's blockade in 2007, Abu Mohammad noted in 2015 that locally produced ice cream was cheaper and more varied than Israeli imports. In 2017, the amount of dairy sold in 74 shops in Gaza that was sourced locally, rather than from Israel, had increased from 10% to 60%. Ayadi Tayyiba, the region's first factory with an all-woman staff, opened in 2022; it produced cheese, yoghurt, and labna with sheep's milk from affiliated farms. However, demand for sheep's milk products has decreased in Gaza due to its higher production costs, leading the factory to supplement its supply with purchased cow's milk.

The current Israeli genocidal offensive on Gaza has caused damage of the same kind as—though to a greater extent than—previous shellings and invasions. Lack of ability to sell milk that had already been produced to factories, as well as lack of access to electricity, caused an estimated 35,000 liters of milk to spoil daily in October of 2023.

Support Palestinian resistance by calling Elbit System’s (Israel’s primary weapons manufacturer) landlord, donating to Palestine Legal's activist defense fund, and donating to Palestine Action’s bail fund.

Equipment:

A blender

A kettle or pot, to boil water

A cheesecloth or tea towel

Ingredients:

1 cup (130g) cashews (soaked, if your blender is not high-speed)

3/4 cup filtered or distilled water, boiled

1-3 vegetarian probiotic capsules (containing at least 10 billion cultures total)

A few pinches sea salt

More water, to boil

Arabic-language recipes for vegan labna use bulghur, almonds, or cashews as their base. This recipe uses cashew to achieve a smooth, creamy, non-crumbly texture, and a mild taste like that of cow's milk labna. You might try replacing half the cashews with blanched almonds for a flavor more similar to that of sheep's or goat's cheese.

Make sure your probiotic capsules contain no prebiotics, as they can interfere with the culture. The probiotic may be multi-strain, but should contain some of: Lactobacillus casei, Lactobacillus rhamnosus, Bifidobacterium bifidus, Lactobacillus acidophilus. The number of capsules you need will depend on how many cultures each capsule is guaranteed to contain.

Instead of probiotic capsules, you can use a speciality starter culture pack intended for use in culturing vegan dairy, many of which are available online. Note that starter cultures may be packaged with small amounts of powdered milk for the bacteria to feed on, and may not be truly vegan.

If you want a mustier, goat-ier taste to your labna, try replacing the water with rejuvelac made with wheat berries.

You can also start a culture by using any other product with active cultures, such as a spoonful of vegan cultured yoghurt. If you have a lot of cultured yoghurt, you can just skip to straining that directly (step 5) to make your labna—though you won't be able to control how tangy the labna is that way.

Instructions:

This recipe works by blending together cashews and water into a smooth, creamy spread, then culturing it into yoghurt, and then straining it (the way yoghurt is strained to make labna). It's possible that you could skip the straining step by adding more cashews, or less water, to the yoghurt to obtain a thicker texture, but I have not tested the recipe this way.

1. If your blender is not high-speed, you will need to soak your cashews to soften them. Soak in filtered or distilled water for 2-4 hours at room temperature, or overnight in the fridge. Rinse them off with just-boiled water.

2. Boil several cups of water and use the just-boiled water to rinse your blender, tamper, measuring cups, the bowl you will ferment your yoghurt in, and a wooden spoon or rubber spatula to stir. Your bowl and stirring implement should be in a non-reactive material such as wood, clay, glass, or silicone.

3. Make the yoghurt. Blend cashews with 3/4 cup just-boiled water for a couple of minutes until very smooth. Transfer to your bowl and allow to cool to about skin temperature (it should feel slightly warm if dabbed on the inside of your wrist). If the mixture is too hot, it may kill the bacteria.

4. Culture the yoghurt. Open the probiotic capsules and stir the powder into the cashew paste. Cover the bowl with a cheesecloth or tea towel. Ferment for 24 hours: on the countertop in summer, or in an oven with the light on in winter.

Taste the yoghurt with a clean implement (avoid double-dipping!). Continue fermenting for another 12-24 hours, depending on how tangy you want your labna to be. A skin forming on top of the yoghurt is no problem and can be mixed back in. Discard any yoghurt that grows mold of any kind.

5. Strain the yoghurt to make labna. Place a mesh strainer in a bowl, making sure there's enough room beneath the strainer for liquid to collect at the bottom of the bowl; line the strainer with cheesecloth or a tea towel, and scoop the cultured yoghurt in. Sprinkle salt over top of the yoghurt. Fold the towel or cheesecloth back over the yoghurt, and add a small weight, such as a ceramic plate or a can of beans, on top.

You can also tie the cheesecloth into a bag around a wooden spoon and place the wooden spoon across the rim of a pitcher or other tall container to collect the whey. The draining may occur less quickly without the weight, though.

Strain in the refrigerator for 24-48 hours, depending on the desired texture. I ended up draining about 2 Tbsp of whey.

6. If not making labna balls: Put in an airtight jar, and add just enough olive oil to cover the surface of the labna. Store in the fridge for up to two months.

7. To form balls (optional): Oil your hands to form the labna into small balls and place them on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. They may still be quite soft.

Optionally sprinkle with, or roll in, dried mint, za'tar, sesame seeds, nigella seeds (القزحة), ground sumac, or crushed red chili pepper, as desired.

Optionally, for firmer balls, lightly cover with another layer of parchment paper and then a kitchen towel, and leave in the refrigerator to dry for about a day.

Place labna balls in a clean glass jar and add olive oil to cover. Retrieve labna from the jar with a clean implement. They will last in the fridge for about a year.

#fermented #cashews #cheeses #Levantine #Palestinian #gluten free #cooking

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safetyvalve1 · 2 months ago

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#Pressure Safety Valves #Switching safety valve #Safety Valve #Safety Valve China #Pressure Safety Valve #Pressure Safety Valve Manufacturer #Pressure Safety Valve Supplier #B2B #Business services And Consultants #Industrial Machinery And Supplies #Logistics And Transportation #Industrial Supplies #Construction

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juniper-simblr · 5 months ago

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The Harris Sawmill

The Harris Sawmill, a prominent structure at the edge of town, stands as a testament to the community's industrious spirit. It’s one of the primary sources of employment in the small town, providing essential materials and craftsmanship that support both local needs and exports. Through many generations, the Harris family has owned this sawmill, and as of today, Michael Harris continues this tradition.

The heart of the operation is the expansive sawmill floor, filled with the hum of machinery and the rhythmic sound of saws cutting through timber. Here, logs are transformed into beams, planks, and various wood products.

Adjacent to the main floor is a workshop where workers build and assemble various wooden structures. This area is stocked with tools and workbenches, creating a space where creativity and craftsmanship converge. From custom furniture to intricate carvings, the workshop showcases the town’s skilled artisans.

As of year 2, the employees of the sawmill are:

Markus Estrada: Foreman. As the foreman, Markus oversees the day-to-day operations on the floor. He ensures that the work is done safely and efficiently, balancing the demands of Michael with the needs of the workers. His leadership is respected, providing a buffer between the workers and Michael’s stringent expectations.

Bill Kwon: Welder. Bill handles all the metalwork, ensuring that the machinery is well-maintained and that any custom metal fittings or repairs are expertly executed. His precision and skill are vital to the smooth running of the sawmill.

Nasir Bahij. Crane Operator. Nasir skillfully operates the crane, moving large logs and heavy materials with ease. His role is critical in maintaining the flow of raw materials into the sawmill and finished products out to customers.

Max Ford. Cladding Installer. Max specializes in cladding, applying finishes and protective layers to wood products. Her attention to detail ensures that the sawmill’s output meets the highest standards of durability and aesthetics.

Damian Murphy. Drill Press Operator. Damian operates the drill press, creating precise holes and cuts needed for various wood products. His meticulous nature and technical expertise contribute significantly to the quality of the mill’s craftsmanship.

At the front of the sawmill is a small hardware store managed by Michael Harris. The store is well-stocked with tools, building materials, and supplies needed for both professional projects and DIY endeavors.

#sims2 #ts2 #bleakfort

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somepsychopomp · 3 months ago

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Vampire Gojo/Getou/Nanami AU!

I got a commission to write a saucy AU featuring Vampire!stsg & Vampire Hunter!Nanami. This was a ton of fun to write and a much needed breather between the bigger fics I'm actively writing right now. Thank you for the commission, anon! ♥️

Word Count: 2,300

TW: blood

Link to read this fic on Ao3

(BTW my commissions are still open. See the details here!)

+++

Nanami couldn’t say he ever envisioned himself hunting vampires for a living, especially after trying to give it up, but he kept trying to tell himself it was somehow superior to wasting his life at an office job.

Yes, sleeping at odd hours of the day and working from sunset to sunrise most nights, embodying a cruel parody of his prey’s nocturnal lifestyle, was better than toiling away at a perpetual stream of emails and phone calls. Yes, nearly having his throat ripped out on a near-daily basis was preferable to having an overbearing boss that loved to ask Nanami to work overtime while he himself left early every Friday. No, he did not regret his change in careers, even if the pay was laughably low considering he could die on the job at any time.

Until now.

The higher-ups sent him to clean out a vampire nest that had established itself in an abandoned warehouse outside of Tokyo. It was the perfect location, isolated but still bearing easy access to human populations. The vampires he found were rather weak, bearing deadly fangs and preternatural strength but no additional abilities. They were more like mindless animals than the people they once were, but he’d learned not to pity the things he was sent to exterminate. Nanami made quick work of the nest once he arrived, killing the few dozen vampires in just one night. It would’ve gone by quicker, but the old warehouse was full of discarded industrial machinery, making up a labyrinth of steel.

By the end of the job, he’d run through nearly his entire supply of wooden stakes, blunting all but one in his messy, bloody endeavors. The scent of rot and gore hung in the air, though to be fair, it did already smell like that when he arrived. Nanami twirled his last stake in his hand as he did a final sweep of the warehouse. The holes in the ceiling let in the very faintest trace of gray light, hinting that dawn was soon to come. But until then, it was still too dark to see. Nanami had to navigate by his narrow flashlight beam and his own eyes, long accustomed to scanning for movement in the shadows.

He was on the far side of the warehouse, as far from the only known exit as he could be, when he shivered. His only warning was the way the hair on the back of his neck rose as if lightning was about to strike.

Then it was as if something did hit him, his flashlight shattering in his hand and plunging him into darkness. Nanami raised his stake without hesitation, keeping his other arm up to guard his throat.

“Who’s there?” he called, hoping to lure the straggler to him. How annoying, that the surviving vampire had some kind of additional power. Nanami waited, but nothing burst from the shadows. However, he could tell he was being watched. He shouted, “Come out! I know you’re there!”

He expected a shriek or a low hiss. Not a coherent human voice.

“Hey, Nanami.”

His stomach coiled into a tight knot. That playful tone… he’d heard it only once before, back when he was a young student and a novice hunter. But he could never forget it; that voice belonged to one of the two beings in their profession that spelled certain death.

A light turned on in front of him, almost making him step back. No, it wasn’t a light. It was the glowing blue eyes of the strongest vampire lord in the entire world, Gojou Satoru.

He appeared in front of Nanami out of thin air, just out of reach and hovering a few inches over the ground as if to add to his already staggering height. Gojou was canted forward, hands behind his back in a strangely childish pose.

The only reason he’d ever let a hunter live was to play with and kill them another day. Nanami thought about the tedious office job and long life he willingly gave up just to wind up here, about to be bled dry like an animal for slaughter.

Those blinding, sapphire eyes looked past Nanami’s stake and bore right into him, as easily as a fang would sever an artery.

He refused to give up his steady composure even in the face of the greatest vampire.

Gojou smiled, flashing his sharpened canines. “Aw, do you really think you’re going to hurt us?”

Nanami’s blood ran cold. “Us?”

To his credit, he didn’t flinch or cry out in alarm as two arms wrapped around his waist and a broad chest pressed against his back. A purring voice in his ear asked, “Oh, mister vampire hunter, please show us mercy.”

Getou Suguru, the second strongest vampire. And Gojou’s beloved.

It was a trap, Nanami realized too late. The vampires he slayed before were just underlings, meant to die and deplete his supplies until he was all but defenseless. But why plan anything at all?

Alone or together, Gojou and Getou would be strong enough to kill him without lifting a finger. Getou was said to have an army of demons at his disposal, in addition to whatever poor humans he turned into thralls. And Gojou… he could kill with the barest effort.

“You should know…” Nanami said, keeping his voice even as much as possible, “...my guild’s higher-ups refuse to divulge their most valuable knowledge to those below them; I don’t know anything about their future plans. And another hunter will eventually rise up to take my place. You will gain no advantage in my death tonight.”

“Death?” Gojou asked, tilting his head to the side. He suddenly appeared right in front of Nanami, taking hold of his stake and crushing it to splinters, “Who ever said anything about death?”

Then they wanted to turn him. What a useless idea, they should know that most vampire hunters regularly consumed a potion that would conflict with the influence of vampirism and cause one’s demise rather than transformation. It was a rather unpleasant drink, one of its main ingredients being a copious quantity of onions, but Nanami believed death was preferable to eternal servitude.

The voice behind him asked, “You think we’d bother to establish a nest here, and watch you slaughter our kin, only to kill you now?”

So they were watching.

Nanami finally did flinch as he felt lips ghosting over the side of his neck. He tried to free himself, but the arms around his waist held fast. And one of his hands was now trapped in Gojou’s clutches.

“Silly Na-na-mi,” Gojou said, drawing out his name. The corners of his eyes creased as his smile widened, “What do you think we want to do to you, hm?”

“With you, would be more accurate.” Getou said.

Too close, Nanami thought. They were both far too close. Not just because they were his greatest enemies -arguably humanity’s greatest enemies- but because their hands on his body felt hauntingly intimate.

He’d had an occasional fling, most of them when he was younger, but Nanami hadn’t been intimate with another person in years. He never wanted to endanger potential partners, but also never felt the urge or any kind of spark. Nothing like the burning handprints he felt on his waist and now his chest. Gojou pressed his palm flat against Nanami’s chest and hummed in curiosity

“I can feel how fast your heart is beating, are you that excited to see us?”

Getou added, “We’ve seen how hard you work. We see the way you care for your juniors. But when was the last time anyone has ever taken care of you, Nanami?”

A creeping fog was starting to enter his mind, making it hard to think. It was vampiric compulsion, that much he knew. But he surprised even himself when he said, “I dislike off-topic questions.”

For a stifling moment, no one spoke.

Then Gojou threw his head back and laughed. Nanami felt the chest pressed against his back tremble with the effort to not join in.

“Satoru,” Getou said, almost admonishing but with a grinning lilt to his voice.

“Nanami!” Gojou said, his voice teetering toward a childish whine, “Does everything have to be work-related with you? What do you like to do for fun, huh?”

“I drink,” he said. Startled, he clapped his free hand over his mouth.

Gojou Satoru’s compulsion was that strong, even with all his training?

Nanami supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised.

Getou’s soft, mellow, sugary voice filled his head, “Is that so? We love to drink, too. Maybe you’d like to join us? You must be thirsty after such hard work.”

Against Nanami’s will, his shoulders started to relax as his hand fell away from his mouth. This was part of what made the two lords so dangerous; their hypnotic sway was beyond that of any other vampire. Gojou had his eyes that pulled the truth out of his victims and Getou’s gentle voice could sway anyone to do his bidding.

Being in both their presence for this long… Nanami had no idea what he might say or do. If he still had his stake, he would’ve contemplated using it on himself to escape whatever dreadful fate awaited him.

Gojou laughed softly, lowering himself until his feet touched the ground. Even then, he was still so tall that Nanami had to crane his head back to keep track of those long, sharp fangs. His head fell back against a shoulder, as if Getou was just waiting for it.

Gojou smirked and said, “Don’t be so worried, Nanami. Here, why don’t we just show you what we're planning.”

Nanami braced himself, fully prepared to lose his jugular and return from whence he came. But Gojou reached over his shoulder, pulling Getou closer. Though Getou kept one hand on Nanami’s waist and Gojou did the same, it might’ve been possible for him to break free and run. However far he got, he could at least die knowing he tried.

But how could he leave? How could he ever look away when Gojou cradled Getou’s pale face with more tenderness than had ever graced Nanami in his life?

He watched, starstruck, as the two vampire lords shared a kiss. Getou tilted his head back, those violet eyes fluttering shut. That intense blue light dimmed as even Gojou’s own eyes fluttered and closed into half-moons. Vampires did not need to breathe, but one of them let out the softest moan.

Nanami saw a flash of white and watched as Gojou’s fang sliced Getou’s lower lip open. A thick trail of blackened blood snaked its way down his chin. Vampires, being undead things, needed the blood and lifeforce of others to sustain themselves. Nanami always thought of it as a sad existence. But here and now, he couldn’t deny how enticing it all looked.

Another flash of white. Getou bit Gojou’s lip hard enough to draw blood.

It was the sway of their compulsion that compelled him to stay and watch, surely. And not the sound of Getou moaning as Gojou lapped up his blood and made a mess between their lips.

Nanami shuddered. He felt his whole body start to heat up despite the chill in the air. He suddenly wished he was free of his jacket and tie.

The two vampires parted. The sight of a thin trail of viscous blood connecting their lips made Nanami swallow. His throat was suddenly very dry. He was so parched, so thirsty.

A hand took his chin and forced him to look Getou Suguru in the eye. Those half-lidded violet irises and plump, parted lips took whatever embers of resistance he still held and blew them away.

“Come here, hunter.”

Nanami felt his whole body flood with an aching, hungry heat, his head going fuzzy as the vampire lord kissed him. He felt the glide of those fangs but no bite. He parted his lips as a faint gasp escaped him, Getou taking that as an invitation to slip his tongue past Nanami’s teeth and force him to taste vampire blood for the first time in his life.

It was cloying and heavy on his tongue. And so very sweet.

It felt like pure bliss. Nanami swayed where he stood, supported by both of the arms cradling him close. Seemingly from far away, he heard Gojou chuckle and say, “My turn.”

And he was met with another set of lips, and another taste of vampire blood. Despite how much it felt like he was burning up, Nanami also felt as though he were sinking into some dark lake. His thoughts and concerns drained out of him as he was unable to imagine the sight of the sky nor the bottom of the depths. He simply was, floating yet still somehow standing. Blissed out yet still hoping for more.

He reached out to steady himself and unknowingly leaned against Gojou’s side.

Getou spoke, voice low and sweet, “Poor thing, must be awfully tired to fall so fast. Why don’t you take the rest of the night off and come home with us, Nanami?”

“Yes, come home with us. We’ll let you stay for as long as you like. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Nanami opened his eyes. When did they close? Did it even concern him anymore that he’d let his guard down so easily?

No, not really. At that moment, he couldn’t imagine a life without this taste on his tongue, this heat curling low in his belly. He never wanted this moment to end.

Only one word escaped his lips.

“Please.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #geto suguru #nanami kento #stsg #nanago #vampire shenanigans #writing #commission #tw blood #tw biting

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keyrey · 5 months ago

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Jujutsu Kaisen characters & Industrial revolution (AU) Pt.1 – Nanami Kento POV, the hopeless blacksmith. A multi part series.

I fear the time has come when my work has become rendered useless by the people, and I am unappreciated simply because I am 'less' than a machine. Yes, I may produce 'less,' but what I 'lost,' people used to gain in value and sentimentality. The Industrial Revolution, lasting around 80 years, significantly reduced the demand for hand-made goods and services such as tailoring, irrigation, and sword-making, which happens to be Nanami's specialty. (Check your history and economics textbooks, kids.) During this period, most blacksmiths were deemed ‘redundant,’ as replacing items when broken became more reasonable and cheaper than repairing them. Yet in the quiet, these sacred skills persisted, anticipating every moment, counting down its return to the world.

I fear the silence has enraptured me, drenching my soul to the thousandth degree.

My eyes darted around the room, taking in the sight of tools strewn around the mountain of unfinished projects. The decline of clients sapped my motivation and the acrid flames from the crucibles dusted my nostrils in a haze of ash. I walked towards the chair at the other side of the room that had served me well all these years, its wooden frame as worn as my spirit. Stuck in this monotony of life. I traced my fingers over the well-worn instruments, their familiarity a stark contrast to the world of chaos beyond these four walls that I’ve surrounded myself in. I wonder how long I can hold on.

The clang of metal on metal, the hiss of steam, and the heat of the forge used to be the heartbeat. Now, a deafening silence enraptured the place like a heavy cloak, broken only by the distant humming of automated machinery. As times change, I struggle with doubts, even within myself, questioning the longevity of my lifestyle. If I wish to retire, I must adapt to the times and conform to the ebb and flow of humanity.

I have found something to busy myself with, assisting the locals in their financial decisions, though my own, in turn, have been questionable. As I watched them, their careful budgeting and pragmatic choices struck me. Each decision they made, each penny saved and spent wisely, seemed to carry a weight of survival that I could only admire from afar. Farmers transition to tractors, coachmen to bus drivers, caterpillars to butterflies. Am I falling behind?

As I attempted to clear my weary head, I observed the jasmine I planted long ago had found the courage to bravely spread its vines, tangling itself in the depths of the rusty metal trellis perched against the bricked wall. Meanwhile, my osmanthus and chrysanthemum have taken their final drops of water, signaling the end of my tea supply. Even my possessions seem to be slipping away.

Laughs and giggles echo regularly from the speakeasy across the street, where actors, actresses, singers and dancers gather, filling the bar with a reservoir of talent. A reminder of how I used to live, on a hunt for fame and popularity. I had succeeded once, too. The crackling timbre of gravel against tires revealed a car, sleek and shiny, its engine purring like a contented predator. I expected it to pass by like all the others, yet its passengers bearing gold and medallions happened to be seeking a temporary escape. I don’t like to admit it, however, I used to be like that once.

I still remember when I received my first paycheck. I got cocky, lazy, unknowing of the repercussions that lied beyond the surface. Blinded by the allure of fame. How my father’s blacksmithing passion burned in the ashes right before my eyes, how he disappeared from the face of the earth, not remembering the name of his own son.

The door swung open, and a polished shoe touched the pavement with deliberate grace. Slowly, he emerged, straightening to his full height, his tailored suit catching the light just right. His eyes, hidden behind dark circular sunglasses, stood tall as if he owned the world—or was about to. His pearly white locks swayed with the gentle gusts of wind. His peculiar outfit left no room for misinterpretation, reminding me of a secret society member, those in the Edo period from way back when. Three consecutive knocks interrupted my pensive train of thought. Clearly, the man hadn’t seen the ‘closed’ sign on the door. I silently screw myself for only writing the text in Danish. “I am closed, go home, Gojo.”

I knew him, mostly as the piercing icy blue eyed man who had been loitering around the shop for three days in a row now. I half expected him to add to the collection of the ‘no swords, no shields’ signs that were attached on the notice post by hammer and nail. Ever since the mass blacksmith boycott, he found an opportunity to speak out against the ‘old school’ way of fighting, promoting ‘Jujutsu Sorcery’ as an alternative. I had considered it once, learning how to harness this ability to visualize cursed spirits that I was entrusted with, but I try to ignore them as best as possible due to bad experiences on the field in my younger years.

The Jujutsu corporate world holds far too much ambiguity as we were blind to laboring in pyramid schemes. Just stooges to a bigger picture. Much to my dismay, the green glasses I wear are not only for blacksmithing but also for avoiding eye contact with dehumanized figures of various colors, shapes and sizes. They also irritatingly slide down my nose bridge.

"Sir Nanami! I'd love to have your expertise back in the wondrous field of Jujutsu training. I've got- I mean, I have acquired three new recruits who would benefit from your mentoring."

Despite our history, his tone carried a forced formality. It was a sound that echoed from a child's mouth—squeaky and awkward—from behind the door.

"M-Mister Nanami?" The voice stuttered. I heard Gojo's quiet instructions to the kid, coaching him on what to do next. An eager student, I mused to myself. "Look at this!" His fists glowed with luminescent streaks of black and blue, untamed cursed energy. I couldn't deny it was the start of something unique. This pink haired, pure spirited boy that Gojo had brought in... he was unlike the others.

“Gojo, you don’t understand. I have a life here. Depleting or not, it’s my duty to remain.” I argued, coming up with every reason to deny his offer. Though he seemed to know that I have no sufficient meaning to stay here.

“Nanami, I-” Gojo interjected. Suddenly, a loud crash reverberated through the shop as Yuji’s cursed energy surged uncontrollably, knocking over a shelf of tools. My senses heightened immediately, recognizing the distinct energy signature. This was not just an accident. The outside air grew heavy with a palpable tension, as if the atmosphere itself was holding its breath. I glanced at Gojo, who was already on alert, his playful demeanor replaced by a serious intensity.

“What did you do, kid?” I asked Yuji, my voice calm but edged with urgency.

“I-I don’t know!” Yuji stammered, eyes wide with panic. “I think I might have accidentally triggered something…”

Before he could finish, the ground beneath us rumbled, and a low, menacing growl echoed from outside. A wave of cursed energy, darker and more malevolent than anything I had felt in years, washed over us.

“Get ready,” Gojo muttered, his eyes flickering with anticipation. “It’s here.”

Reflexes honed from years of experience kicked in. I grabbed my blunt sword, its blade wrapped in bandages. In a fluid motion, I positioned myself in front of Yuji and Gojo, my protectiveness kicking in instinctively. No matter the level of skill the two had, I will always put myself at the forefront.

"Sorcery never goes away from your body," I thought, the weight of the moment grounding me. "It's your prerogative to use it in times of need or hide it away. And for the first time in years, I have chosen the former."

The door shuddered under a heavy blow, and I braced myself. The silence before the storm had ended.

And this is merely the beginning.

👏End of Part one 👏 Goodness, that was a wild ride, I'm almost sad to be leaving y'all on a cliffhanger like this! Hope my second ever fan fiction was enjoyable.

Thank you to my beta readers: Panda and JuwelPK! Part two coming soon. Coming from the POV of Yuji Itadori.

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