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fuzzyclink · 11 months ago

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Wrote a Cirrus x Vesper fic! I originally posted this on my touchstarved blog here but I've been finding that my posts from there don't show up in any tags currently, so reposting here.

Warnings: 18+ mdni, priest kink, eating, food, humiliation, violence, spitting, bad BDSM ettiquette, sadism, kicking, blood/pain. Reader gender not described(pronouns/body).

Cloying

As the last full moon of the year draws closer, the paths of the city buzz with excitement. Though not everyone under the mountain prays to the Lunar God, plenty are happy to join in the merriment or make a profit off of people who are celebrating the festival. This time of year people cluster around the usually isolated church - vendors crowding around the base of the building with their wares. You've decided to join in the celebrations yourself, donning a black seasonal mask that covers your nose to forehead, with a small, delicate depiction of the moon going through various phases positioned right above your eyebrows.

Tonight is the official start of the festival, though anticipation has been brewing for the last week. As it's your first year here, you haven't been able to attend a Lunar Cleanse service, only hearing about it in bits and pieces from people at The Leaping Bear. Privately, you're a bit excited to experience something new. You've been so caught up in your search for a cure that you think some merriment for once would do you good. And, you're curious to see Cirrus lead the congregation through the ceremony. You've never seen him in front of a large group like that before.

The ceremony is starting shortly, so you make your way to the church. The streets are alive with festival-goers milling around. The air, usually damp and still, is filled with sweet scents. It's more humid than ever, hazy air rising from delicious round buns, steamed and stuffed with savory meats and vegetables. You see a nearby vendor lay out pale sesame rice balls on small plates, sticking to the fingers of people who tear into them hungrily. Another vendor is selling marshmallow filled cookies, covered in a thin layer of white frosting. On your way to the church, a stall selling candy catches your eye. You purchase some quickly, grabbing a bag of tiny, glittering silver candies. You pull open the narrow bag as you walk, placing a candy in your mouth. As you roll the sphere around on your tongue, a delicate flavor of jasmine fills your mouth, and you crunch the rest of it between your teeth happily. It's a delight to see the backbreaking worries of the city fall away, even if it's only for a short period of time.

The sounds and scents of the busy street fade away as you enter the church. The church is busier than you've ever seen it before, the building crowded with devotees sitting shoulder to shoulder in the pews. Even though it's crowded, everyone speaks in hushed voices. The building has been decorated with gleaming ribbons, strung along the tops of the walls. The placement of the ribbon leads you to think that few other than Cirrus would be able to place the decorations. You snicker to yourself quietly, imagining him wobbling on the tips of his toes to secure ribbons around the building. Or maybe, you think as your smile widens, he stood on a small stepstool? Your exploratory gaze falls upon Cirrus himself, standing at the front of the room. You immediately avert your gaze, feeling as if he would be able to sense your daydreaming just from your facial expression. He has a way of drawing guilt to the surface of your thoughts, bobbing to the top unavoidably like a cork in water.

You find a seat at the back of the room and slide into the end of a pew, crowded rows of benches lining the chapel in front of you. Your neighbor gives you a quick nod, their silvery silk mask glinting under the light of the candles before turning back to the front of the room. You clutch your candy in your hands, placing the bag on your lap. The room quiets as Cirrus takes his place at a podium. He wears the robes you've always seen him in, but in this moment they seem almost ethereal, glowing and shimmering in front of the candles. Silver hair cascades down his back as he stands resolutely before the crowd. His shoulders stand strong and the power he emits reaches you all the way in the back of the room. The crowd leans forward in anticipation.

"At this time of year we are able to begin anew," he intones, sweeping his hands out to the audience.

"The moon is pale and shining- a reminder of the ending of one year, and beginning of another. All of us gather to praise it’s light.

"All gather to praise", the congregation murmers in response. You hastily mumble some words, wishing that the service came with a tutorial. You hadn't realized there would be a call and response.

Cirrus continues. "The Night Air pierced by Silver Light presses down upon us. The Moon shines through us. We ask for it to illuminate our darkest faults, to wash them clean. Each of you have made grave errors this year," he sternly states, gazing out into the room. "Each of you have mistakes that you wish to release." You swear you can feel his eyes upon you, and wonder nervously about any possible mistakes you have made recently. Does it count that you hadn't brought your dishes to the counter at The Leaping Bear? Or maybe you’ve been too rude to the vendors when, time and time again, they have no news for your cure?

Cirrus's voice cuts through your thoughts.

"Let the strike of bells pull your guilt from you and release it. Let each toll into your heart and feel it dredge up the turmoil within. Bring your darkness out and let it whither in the light".

He stands commandingly at the front of the room, a bell the size of his fist resting in his gloved hands. He carefully swings his arm, the sound of the bell crisply ringing through the room. It's medium pitched and sharp, startling you in the quiet. You jolt a little, shifting in your seat. As it echos through the room, he paces softly across the front of the church. Another toll spreads through the space as he reaches the left side.

"Bring your sorrows up through your chest and release them with your breath," he instructs, a lecturer to an obedient audience. You try to obey, but your breath catches in your throat at the next ring - the sound so sharp and striking that it tears your attention away and sends a shock through your body. He continues to stride slowly at the front of the room, each subsequent ring of the bell growing softer and softer until you can barely tell whether he's rung it again or if the sound still lingers faintly in the air from the previous strike.

"Let your breath serve as a reminder to you of the life given to you, and of the light that will always return to you, even when the darkness feels crushing and all-encompassing. Just as you inhale and exhale, the moon changes and is lighted anew." He pauses for a moment, solemnly surveying the audience. You feel light and unburdened, more at peace than you have felt in weeks.

"With renewed spirits and lightened hearts, let us learn from those who have walked before us. In the first book of the Lunar Scripts..." Cirrus continues onwards, describing to the congregation a particularly (in your mind), dry and archaic passage from historical literature written long ago. Your eyes begin to close as his voice continues slowly on, the soft light of the chapel blurring in front of your half-lidded gaze. Your head starts to drop and you jolt yourself awake, shifting nervously in your chair and eyeing Cirrus. You suspect that he might have been facing the other side of the room when you started to doze off. He continues through the text, emphasizing certain points with a strident tone. It's clear that he knows the text well - but due to your lack of familiarity you're having a difficult time parsing the archaic phrasing. At times, you're not even sure it's in a language you know at all. You shift in your seat, fighting against the drowziness that seeps into your bones. You hope that the service will finish soon so you, and the rest of the worshippers, can join in the festivities outside. Your fingers shift on the wrapped candies in your lap and your stomach grumbles quietly. On a whim, you ease the top of the bag open, pressing a candy silently into your mouth. Maybe this will help keep you awake and your hunger at bay until the service is over.

"Silver Light, shining down upon us. We are bleached clean in your light. Glorious Celestial One, we are grateful for your protection in the last year, and returning brightness in this New Year. Before we celebrate your fullness through laughter and festivities, let us take a moment of silence to honor your watchful guidance". Cirrus leans onto the podium with the passion in his words. Everyone in the congregation stills, and the room falls silent. Light falls on Cirrus, draping over him and illuminating his hair like spun silver over his shoulders. He bows his mask towards the floor. You sit quietly, and as the silence stretches onwards, your eyes start to close again. You desperately pry them open, but between the warmth of the building, the dim lighting, and late hour, you soon find your head tilting to the side involuntarily. When your eyes close shut a third time, you desperately reach into your bag of candy for a distraction to help keep you awake.

To your horror, your fingers catch on the edge of the narrow bag, and the contents spill out in front of you, countless candies clattering across the stone floor. They bounce and tumble, each movement sounding thunderous in the silent room. You watch helplessly as the round candies careen across the flagstones, the furthest coming to a standstill at the feet of people three rows ahead of you. Masked faces turn to you curiously as people glance over their shoulders to see what the fuss was. Cirrus's gaze snaps to your face, pinning you in place like a moth on a board. His mouth twists when he sees that you're the one who caused the commotion.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry," you hurriedly breathe, sinking to the floor to gather what candies you can reach without disturbing those around you. The color is high in your cheeks, your hands sticky as you grab the candies nearby and press them into your pockets. Your gaze flits between the candies in front of you, scattered between the shoes of the other attendees but out of reach. You barely hear the end of the service, too mortified to raise your head or focus on Cirrus' words. The back of your shirt is damp with sweat. The congregation rustles to life as the ceremony concludes, the congregation impatient to finally listen to the music and enjoy the celebrations outside. You hover anxiously by your bench, standing and waiting for the rows to clear so you can gather up the mess you made. As the final attendees file out of the building, chatting to each other, Cirrus comes to stand beside you. His irritation rolls off him in waves and you shrink besides him, falling back down onto the bench without a thought.

"It's rather disrespectful, don't you think?" Cirrus says tensely, his words clipped and short. "Bringing food into the service. Distracting the church members. Irreverence on a sacred day. Such gluttony, hm?"

You have never had him this angry with you before, and your hands tremble in your lap where you twist them nervously. "Cir..Cirrus.. Father... Ah, I'm so so sorry, please, I'll clean them up right away. You're right, it was so stupid of me, I shouldn't have brought them in...I - I never meant to drop them, ppplease let me pick them up, I'll do it now..." You chance a look upwards, and the last bit of hope inside of you shrivels. He is silent, his face unmovable.

"You want to pick them up?" He asks softly. You nod, eyes fixed nervously on his face.

"I think your insatiable fingers will simply betray you again".

Your face falls, and you gesture out to him. "Sir.. Cirrus...I'll do it, I'll pick them up. Please, I'll do it right away,"

You sink to your knees and quickly stretch for one candy that's most of the way under the bench nearest to you, fingers scrambling across the dusty floor in your haste. Your heart stops in your throat when Cirrus's heavy, booted foot is placed onto your wrist.

"I said no," he hisses, the flat sole of his foot cruelly twisting against your skin. The bones in your wrist shift under the pressure.

"Your hands are clearly unreliable. And with your voracious hunger and desperation? Hmm, it's only fitting for you to use your mouth".

You lean back on your heels and crane your neck to look at him, wrist still pressed to the floor. "My mouth?"

"Yes. As starving as you are, we had better not let them go to waste." He places his hands behind his back impassively. "Begin."

You nod nervously and he lifts his foot off of your arm. You lower your torso to the floor with your arms, carefully picking up the small candy between your teeth. You can feel his icy gaze on your back. Chewing it quickly, you stoop further under the seats to grab the next nearest candy, shuffling forwards further on your hands. Even under the shelter of the bench, Cirrus's presence looms ominously behind you. You've just picked up the second candy when he speaks again, derision dripping from his words.

"In fact, I think it would be better if you didn't use your hands at all, hm?"

You twist awkwardly from beneath the bench, shuffling your weight back onto your heels. When you pull yourself upright in front of him, you see he's pulled out a narrow black rope. He steps behind you smoothly, pulling your arms behind your back and wrapping the rope around your wrists. A few firm knots later and your wrists are securely bound. Cirrus briefly checks the tightness by sliding the tip of his finger beneath the ropes and then stands.

He peers down at you, his mask an impenetrable shield. He can't keep a sneer from pulling at the edge of his mouth as he speaks. His anger is still palpable. "It suits you, my star. Perhaps this will teach you some restraint, since you are clearly struggling to learn. Continue."

You shift your weight forwards on your knees, testing the rope on your hands. It's tight but not unbearable. If you let your shoulders hang forwards the weight of your arms forces the rope to bite into your skin. But if you clasp your hands behind your back, it's tolerable. You lean all the way forwards, resting your torso on your knees. The spilled candies stretch out before you, some scattered as far as three rows ahead of you. Awkwardly, you scooch forwards, trying to move yourself over to a candy on the right. Your knees already feel sore against the pavement. You have much less control without the use of your hands, and you bash your spine into the underside of the bench. Pain radiates from your back and causes you to lurch forwards. Resignedly, you fully lay down, your torso on the floor and legs stretching out behind you. The floor is gritty and cool against your cheek, and you can feel the solidity of the stone through your clothes.

"There are many more to gather, my star. Best for you to progress quickly. Unless you'd rather I give you some *encouragement*, hmm?"

From the malice in Cirrus' voice, you feel pretty certain that you wouldn't like whatever his encouragement would entail. His foot comes to rest next to your ankle. The threat of it spurs you into action. You gather the candies under this row of pews with haste, twisting and contorting your body around on the stone to gather them in your teeth. The sweet jasmine flavor fills your mouth, polluted now with bits of dirt and sand from the floor. You look from side to side, your neck straining as you peer in the dim lighting. As you go from candy to candy, you pant harshly through your nose, mouth occupied. It’s difficult to progress with any kind of speed despite your efforts, and you work your way slowly across the ground, twisting and bending to shift from place to place. Your knees are starting to get rubbed raw, and your back aches from the strain of your motions. Your movements are becoming less precise as you grow tired, and you find yourself lunging for the candies with little finesse, eager to finish the job. One such motion scrapes the skin off your chin as you fall a bit too heavily on the floor.

Reaching the gap between the benches, you rest your cheek on the floor for a moment. The candies are fewer now, only beneath two wide benches ahead of you. You can feel the sweat stick to your skin. Your back burns, muscles furious from the repeated motion below the pews. Through your efforts, you've gained abrasions on your chin and cheekbone to accompany those on your knees. You close your eyes for a moment, gathering your strength.

Your body jolts when you feel Cirrus' boot come crashing into your ribs. "You think you've earned respite?" He speaks to you lowly, cooly. You squeeze your eyes shut, and find that his voice cuts into you. "You're dirty. Pathetic. Snuffling in the dust for grub like an animal." His disgust for you drips from every word. "Just minutes ago, you begged me to let you clean up. Told me how *quickly* you'd do it." On the last word he swings his leg again, this time slamming it into your gut. You gasp out a choked groan, wheezing. He continues on in a biting murmur. "I suspect that you cared more about currying my favor than righting your wrongs. I am not someone who can be plied with desperate words".

You cough a little, feeling a bruise bloom in your ribs as you do so. "Nno, I - I really am sorry, Cirrus, please, I'll continue. I want to clean it..." You feel a bit disgusted in yourself, but your desire to appease him and shame from your mistake prevails. You inch your way forwards to the next candies, painstakingly making your way beneath the benches. Cirrus walks to the row on the other side of the bench and stands there, waiting for you. You can see the faint shine of his shoes out of the edge of your eyes. Gathering the candies beneath this bench is harder. Your mouth and throat growing parched from your exertion and the endless sugar. You gasp on dust that rises from your movements. At some of the candies you find yourself resting for a moment, before quickly glancing to Cirrus’ feet and continuing again. Your back trembles as you shift forwards and you find yourself using your knees and shoulders more, doing your best to ignore how your skin screams at the friction. You've stopped clasping your hands together and they slump forwards limply, wrists aflame where the rope restricts them.

You start to feel anxious about how much is left. You've finally made it past the second bench. How many more are there? Surely you must be finished soon? You curse yourself. WHY would you be so stupid to try and eat them DURING the service? The delicate Jasmine flavor feels foul and cloying on your tongue. Glancing up desperately, you assess how many you have left to gather and realize that you only have the candies past the third bench to remove. Cirrus has walked ahead of you and stands at the remaining candies that have rolled out from under the bench. You realize, as he starts to move, that he was waiting for your attention.

He carefully lifts his boot and places it on top of the candy, grinding it into dust beneath his foot. With horror, you watch as he does this to each candy one by one, crushing each delicate silver orb into a fine, sugary powder. He drags the toe of his shoe through the mess, gathering it into a pile before he walks to the side. The powder clouds the dark leather. Cirrus waits for you, his expectation clear. Your breath hisses through your teeth as you pull your weary and aching body forwards. Pausing brings greater pain, each point of agony alighting with renewed vigor after the miniscule rest. Your clothes stick to you, damp with sweat and blood from your efforts. Reaching the edge of the powder, you shakily press your tongue into it, trying to pull it into your parched mouth. Your lips crack as you try to clean the mound up, each time leaving dust and damp remnants. You keep returning to it, trying again and again to remove it but only succeeding in spreading it more broadly upon the floor. With how dry your mouth is and your level of exhaustion, you’re unable to pick it up.

Your face slumps onto the stone next to the pile and a sob breaks from your chest. It's too much. There's nothing to be done. Your eyes squeeze shut as hot tears spill down your cheeks, leaving tracks in the grime. You curl up on yourself raggedly, body in a defensive ball. You can feel Cirrus's presence as he comes to stand by your shoulder. His clothes rustle slightly as he crouches. He grabs your chin, fingers sliding slightly through your tears. It's impossible to look at him. His voice feels gentle. "Your efforts, my star, have almost convinced me of your repentance".

"*Please*..." You croak out. You're not sure what you're asking for. His forgiveness, an end to all this, his help, rest.. Ciruss's thumb falls to your cracked lower lip.

"If you need help, you only must ask," he whispers to you.

He pulls your lips open and you feel something cool and wet fall against your tongue. Your eyes spring open to see a thin strand of saliva falling from his lips and into your open mouth. In this moment, it feels like a mercy. His jaw works and you open your mouth further yourself, accepting anything he would offer you. His spit pools in your mouth, almost refreshing after the relentless dust and sugar from the floor. It glints wetly as it falls. His hands slide to the back of your neck, carding through the damp hair at your nape for a moment. He holds the full weight of your head in his hands. His voice is as soft and as firm his fingers.

"So close, my star. You will continue. Leave your guilt behind".

Your heart trembles at that, the promise of forgiveness and his kindness so near.

You feel filthy. You feel beautiful in his touch. You feel like the stone you've spent so long inching across. His fingers slip softly through your hair and lower your head back to the ground. You feel him straighten more than you see it. With the most weariness you've ever felt before, you roll yourself to your front and gather the pile of dust into your mouth slowly, mouthful by mouthful. Your tongue and throat burn and it feels more as if the sugar tears your mouth than it does dissolve. You drag your damp jaw along the gritty floor, realizing at last that the pile is gone.

"You've done well to make amends.", Cirrus says, looking down at you in a heap at his feet.

It's then that your gaze falls to Cirrus's boots, right in front of you. They still have a fine smattering of dust from when he crushed the candies in front of you. Hazily, you blink at them, watching how the sugar dulls the reflection of the lights. With the very last dregs of your resolve, you shift forwards and lave your tongue through the dust on his boot. The boot shifts minutely, a quiet huff of surprise coming from him. You can tell he watches you as you do the best to clean his boots. Your exhaustion means that in some ways, you simply press your face and lips against them devoutly, your damp skin carrying away more grime at times than your mouth.

"What a precious, obedient little bootlicker", he breathes rapturously. "My devoted, gorgeous toy.”

Warmth sweeps through you at that, padding over your many aches and pains like a soft balm. Satisfied with the appearance of his shoes, you lay motionless on the floor. Dimly, as if to someone in a dream, you feel Cirrus unbind your hands and carefully lower your arms by your side. He rubs them gently, hushing you as you mumble in protest. You feel him reach below you and, with a motion that makes the world swing on it's axis, heft you into his arms.

"Is it ok, now?" You can't help but look for reassurance, your mind and body clinging to him as he carries you.

“Yes, little star. You are forgiven.”

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Thanks so much for reading! This fic was inspired by sitting through church services over the holidays and the full moon rn. I was also inspired by this ask to Rotten Racoons (https://www.tumblr.com/rottenraccoons/703263691996545024/will-the-lis-spit-in-vespers-mouth-if-they-asked), which stated Cirrus would spit in Vesper's mouth as a reward for good behavior:D I wanted to manifest the idea of "getting punished for being disruptive in church". If you made it to the end, thank you! I'd love to hear what you thought!

#obscura vn #Cirrus Obscura #Obscura #cirrus x reader #cirrus x Vesper #Obscura fic #Cirrus #obscura cirrus #cirrus x mc #rotten raccoons #priest kink #if u saw me post this earlier no u didnt #<3 #it's also on ao3 under my same name as here ^^#it's my second fic ever owo

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cerisesakurainspring · 9 months ago

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KITA SHINSUKE × READER

~~A compassionate love you will never trade for any riches.

"Anata?" You call for your husband.

You had just put your twins to sleep not long ago and were about to retire for the night when you saw Kita wasn't on the bed in your room. You like to think you knew him like the back of your hand, so with your confident knowledge of his routine, you decided to go to a place he frequents.

You ascended the attic with a lamp in your hand, then climbed through the mini-steps that led through the rooftop. Against the window frame was your husband leaning his shoulder on it. You smile at his serene expression and how it softened further when he saw you.

"How's our two little rascals doing?" He held his hand for you to take, and you took it gratefully.

"Finally fast asleep." You wrapped your arms around his waist and snuggled closely, craving his warmth in the chilly night. The silver-haired lad indulged you by wrapping his well-built arms around you and giving you a peck on the temple. The view in front of you was one of serene ambience and you could not help but feel relaxed in the calmness of the night.

Kita has always loved connecting with nature. He much preferred the clean air and peace of the countryside to the hustle and bustle of the towering main cities. This was one of the reasons why he chose to start a farming business instead of taking on a salaryman job. Quite a stretch away from the standard practices of men his age.

You nestled closer into his embrace and sighed contently, the memories of yesterday pulling you back to when your life started turning for the better. Five years ago, you gave birth to twins and Kita was slightly anxious about the fact for he had experience dealing with twins. He was nonetheless the happiest man on earth when he held them both in his arms as tears of joy cascaded down his alluring features.

Occasionally, his former volleyball teammates would visit and play with your adorable children. To no one's surprise, they bonded with the Miya twins the most. Two twin flames merging and creating an inferno, for every time they visited, trouble was always guaranteed.

You remember seeing an angry Kita for the first time when Atsumu taught your kids how to prank his brother. Osamu was to pick up sets of rice sacks for his onigiri shop then, and when he lifted the last sack, the grain came bursting from the hole the three monsters had created. Two mini monsters incited by a supposed mature adult. The full-grown monster Atsumu.

To escape the wrath of the silver-haired Miya, Atsumu carried both your twins on his shoulder and ran across the rice field. The two 4-year-olds giggled as they bounced on the pro player's shoulder while he skipped through the run-off platform. This was a bad move on his part for it had just rained the day before, so the soil was still moist. To his bad luck, he slipped and the three ended up falling into the rice paddies.

What would have been a fun play of tag ended severely for all of them.

The older of your twins cried his lungs out when he fell, and Kita came running from the rice mill. The fear on your husband's face was still vivid in your memory, and he was pretty livid when he found out Atsumu was the one liable.

The fury in his demeanour was enough to root all five of you in place that even the crying twins hushed down. Kita stared down at his kouhai with anger no one expected him to have.

You remember him pointing at the parked car with gritted teeth and only saying, 'Leave.' and all the Miya twins could do was bow their heads in apology and rush out.

Poor blonde Miya was almost banned from visiting your twins.

The memory made you giggle, and your husband turned his head to look at you, curiosity dancing in his breathtaking eyes.

"I guess twins are naturally born to be troublemakers," you proposed.

Kita chuckled at your remark and then kissed your temple once more. "You're doing a marvellous job keeping them on their toes."

You melt in your husband's embrace and let the gentle breeze caress your skin as it carries the scent of earth with it. The rice field before you swayed softly against the whispers of the wind, and it seemed to be in tandem with the crickets singing.

It was like watching a concierto of nature made for just the two of you.

You stare at the stars above as it continued to twinkle in the velvety sky. The moon towering over the nocturnal landscape seemingly made the moment feel like a dream of wonder. Time seemed to crawl at that moment, and the sense of harmony and tranquility permeated your very core.

A content sigh escaped your lips as you realized nothing could make the moment more perfect.

You were grateful for the man beside you and the two little munchkins you were gifted with. Even though you were a full-time mother, you were very appreciative of the affluent yet simple lifestyle Kita has provided for the family.

It was like your own little paradise. Full of warmth and laughter.

Your husband's brown eyes look over the field stretching out far with a happy smile on his lips. For him, there was no greater joy than living a farming life with you and the twins. He was content to live out his days, experiencing the simple pleasures of what life offered him.

He did not need anything more.

To Kita, the three of you were his ikigai, and that was more than enough.

This is part of a one-shot series called Haikyuū Lovers. It was previously called Haikyuū Husbandos, but I had to rename it because it started to sound cringy, lol.

It is also up for reading on AO3 and Wattpad with the same title and pen name.

#haikyū!!#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #hq fic #haikyuu x reader #hq kita #haikyuu kita #kita shinsuke #inarizaki #inarizaki kita #kita shinsuke x reader #haikyuu fanfiction

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lambsouvlaki · 1 year ago

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For the Hell of It - Date Night

Characters: Jason Todd x fem!oc

Rating and warnings: G, no warnings.

Word count: 1,237

Summary: Dating a vigilante is hard, but worth it. Early on their relationship, she has to face that.

Masterlist

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On an early autumn night they strolled across Robinson park. Actors in Elizabethan costume were prancing around the low concrete stage, doing some warm-up crowd work. Jason’s arm was slung over her shoulder, and her dog Marlow trotted happily alongside them.

They weren’t great at the actual Dating aspect of dating just yet. It was still early days, and they had sidled into being together by following the same trajectory as their friendship, now with sex. They supported and trusted each other, they were both loyal and committed. They had already had two years to figure all that out.

Romantic nights out had been planned, postponed, and cancelled. Andy had eaten alone at a restaurant booked for two, not to know until later that Jason was fighting Killer Croc in a cage match. The week after he was blowing up an exotic animal trafficking ring before the major players could flee to south america.

He was apologetic and self recriminating. She could already see the barbed little seeds of ‘can this even work?’ trying to take root in his mind.

But she wasn’t a quitter.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been forced to stand her up. It wasn’t even in the first five, and she’d long since made her peace with it. It just felt more calamitous because now it was called a date.

It wasn’t a big deal, she decided. If other people could make it work, the partners of firefighters, nurses, other on-call professionals, then Wonder Woman help her, she could too.

Despite telling herself it wasn’t a big deal and she wasn’t worried, when Friday night swung around: bright, warm, and dry she let out an audible sigh of relief.

The light was swiftly dying but the park was surprisingly busy. It was the last Shakespeare in the Park of the year, and there were food trucks and little battery-powered candles for sale. Families and couples of all ages milled about looking for good spots. A polite group of children came over and asked if they could pet their dog, to said dog’s eternal happiness.

“I propose a strategy,” Andy said.

“Hit me.”

“We split up to look for clues, and by clues I mean the best food trucks. That yellow one has empanadas, and we passed a flag before that said something about paella.”

He nodded seriously. “You take Marlow, I’ll take the backpack, and we’ll meet back here in ten.”

They broke off like fighter jets zooming away, and roughly ten minutes later they returned with arms full of delicious smelling cardboard boxes. They set up their picnic blanket on the slope some distance from the stage where they had a good view of the whole area. They’d arrived at the perfect time, because the park was filling up.

They sat on the ground and laid out the spoils of their hunt, just as the show was starting.

The empanadas were sold out, but they had choripan instead, which Andy picked up for Jason. The paella was with shrimp and mussels, and was absolutely delicious, if a little small. Jason had found Korean fried chicken, and little skewered things called tteokkochi that neither were familiar with but were excited to try.

It was a confused and messy dinner that they dove into with relish, and some negotiations over final bites.

Getting the choripan was a strategic move on her part, because Jason was a sucker for anything in the neighbourhood of a hotdog. The fried chicken was the perfect counter, he knew her weaknesses. The tteokkochi turned out to be deep fried rice cakes slathered in sweet and tangy hot sauce, that had them both licking sticky fingers and promising to try them again some time.

Up on stage a short performance of the play within a play from Midsummer Night’s Dream was finishing up.

Next up, and the main show for the night, was an abridged version of Much ado Nothing. Jason scrunched up their food packages and lobbed it into the nearby trash can, and Andy got out the thermos of non-alcoholic mulled wine from the backpack for them to share.

They relaxed together on the slope, leaning back on their hands, with Marlow sitting up next to them on look out.

Jason glanced away for a moment.

“Hey, can I borrow your scarf?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure.” She handed it over without questioning the strange request.

He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek then wrapped it around his neck so he could pull it up and hide his face.

“I’ll be right back.”

He snuck away through the crowd.

The play continued, the actors hamming it up appropriately. The night had set in properly now, and large lights beamed down onto the stage leaving the rest of them in darkness. The audience around her laughed at the jokes and gags.

She leaned against her dog.

The night was getting cooler.

Why did it hurt more now than it had when they were just friends?

She’d had no expectation of him then, she supposed. She hadn’t wanted him to be hers.

No. That wasn’t true, she had wanted him badly for some time, but squished it all deep down inside of her. Now it was out, with promises made and claims staked, it was hard to keep that once contained desire on a leash.

He would give his life for her if the situation demanded it. She knew that, with the same confidence she knew tomorrow would follow today.

But he would give his life for just about anyone if the situation demanded it. He was never going to change. She wouldn’t want him to.

She looked at the silhouettes of people in the dark around her, an elderly couple on camping chairs to her side, and ahead of her a family with two children who were fast asleep on a blanket. Not very long ago this park was so dangerous people rarely came here during the day.

She looked at her things around her, and thought about what she would need to do if he didn’t come back tonight. She would take a taxi home and bring his stuff with her, hold onto it for him until he could come to her place to pick it up. It could be in two weeks, it could be tomorrow.

This was going to be her life, forever.

She pulled in deep breath and leaned her forehead on Marlow’s neck.

“Okay,” she said to herself. “Okay.”

About twenty minutes after Jason left, Marlow looked up and to the side. She followed his sight line and she saw Jason returning through the crowd. He dropped something into the trash can with such a casual air it took a few moments for her to recognise it as a disassembled pistol. Nobody else noticed him at all.

He stretched out on the blanket behind her and gently pulled her back against him, his hands around her waist. He returned her scarf, wrapping it loosely around her neck. The knuckles of his right hand were grazed. He drew no attention to it, acting for all the world as though nothing had happened and nothing was ever going to happen. He definitely hadn’t just disarmed whatever dangerous hooligan had been planning to do something terrible.

She loved this man so much it hurt.

“What’d I miss?” he said in her ear.

“Not much.” She leaned back against him. “But I’m starting to think this Benedick guy doesn’t actually dislike Beatrice after all.”

He snorted a laugh. They settled in for the long haul.

Next>>

#jason todd #red hood #dc #jason todd x oc #red hood x oc #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x reader #for the hell of it #my fanfic #fluff #angst #yearning #dating a vigilante is hard and lonely #but no less rewarding

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cindysimblr · 2 months ago

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Business is going well and Matty learns some valuable skills as a salesperson. Beatrice is teaching Drustan the nursery rhyme.

Thanks to the new business investment, the family can afford more fertiliser bags to fertilise the rest of the rice fields.

Noll Ackerman walks by, ready to hear the new rumors.

Thanks to the mill, rice can also be turned into flour!

Dew Entenman visits, too.

Some more toddler skilling. Also, I let Matty open up the shop once more, so the family can gain more money. This lovely lady visits (but doesn't write a report about the business...) and the business gains another rank.

#ts2 #simblr #sims 2 #bond #medieval #ts2gameplay #the city #gameplay

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solarpunkbusiness · 3 months ago

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“We’re turning the rice husk from a useless by-product that was a nuisance to farmers and millers into a viable business and an opportunity to address pressing environmental issues,” Kabiru says

These are rice husks, the outermost layer of rice grains, which are removed during milling. They’re light but bulky to store or transport, forcing millers and farmers to discard them on roadsides or through open-air burning.

“The process of disposing of rice by-products, including husks, has been a major headache for both farmers and millers for many decades in this region,” Kabiru tells The EastAfrican.

“The husks take too long to decompose, so dumping them isn’t effective, while burning them openly isn’t friendly to the environment either.”

From this challenge, Kabiru has developed a profitable and environmentally sustainable venture that has created employment for him and six other young men at his biochar production yard.

#solarpunk #solarpunk business #solarpunk business models #solar punk #africa #farmers

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imeternallylove · 1 year ago

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Moulin Rouge Sous le Ciel Bleu - S.Strange

Red Mill under the Blue Sky: the roaring '20s era

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Genre: angst and fluff, mostly bittersweet 💔✌️

Warning: forbidden love, sexual content

Word: approx 4k

main mastetlist | request | prompts

theme song (im very rec to listen while reading this)

A brilliant red mill stood out among the other buildings in the Jardin de Paris, at the foot of the hill in the Montmartre neighborhood, commanding attention with its vibrant color and unusual façade. Large metal letters spelled out the word Moulin Rouge over the entryway to the colorful venue. The Red Mill, because it was exactly what the building looked like. It certainly drew attention to itself, and Monsieur Strange had no doubt that this was the proprietors' goal. Moulin Rouge had grown infamous in Paris, and he had no doubt that it was also infamous throughout the rest of France.

The building's bright scarlet façade contrasted with the pristine blue of the sky above it, making it stand out even more on clear days like today. Stephen would not have imagined, looking at the red mill, that this was the edifice known as The Bastion of Pleasures in the city of love. It wasn't visually appealing, but it was a novelty, and the mill at the entryway was one of the reasons for the establishment's notoriety. That, and the female cabaret performers.

Stephen Vincent Strange, heir of an eastern trade enterprise and an expert in oriental goods, was known as "young Monsieur Strange." He had been sent to France by his father a year before starting university to acquire the French language, and now, years later, he was studying for a degree in Orientalism at the famed Sorbonne. He'd become a go-to man for Parisian socialites, advising them on real Chinese and silk textiles, among other things, all sourced from his family's import business.

But, underneath the elegant and wealthy heir, he had become enthralled by the revolution, a movement that began in the middle of the last century, a stride towards freedoms and liberties that he had never known in his own home of New York.

That's how he ended himself in the Moulin Rouge cabaret. Stephen adored it. The excitement of doing something that would be considered inappropriate in his own nation was exhilarating. He wished he was an artist or a poet some days. Of course, he was brilliant at both due to his considerable schooling, so it wasn't that he couldn't do either. Nonetheless, he wished that he could live off his riches and do whatever he pleased, composing poetry, creating watercolours on rice paper, and attending the cabaret.

Most crucially, in those crazy daydreams, he could freely love you.

You'd met when he came to consult with you about some costumes you were working on for a Moulin Rouge performance. The surroundings were supposed to be inspired by the Orient, interesting, exotic, and beautiful all at the same time, and you required assistance with the designs. Young Monsieur Strange had paid you a visit in your sewing chamber as an orientalist. He was impressed by the attention to detail you had placed into the costumes and was eager to help you in perfecting the ideas.

He was back in your workrooms a few weeks later, checking the finished product as well as the music hall stage set. Because your lodgings were close to the Moulin Rouge, he stopped by to see you and your fellow seamstresses on his way back. He had admired your outfits and had recommended you to the proprietors.

That's how you met and then kept meeting, each one ending with you smiling a little brighter, his smile getting cheekier and cheekier.

Stephen often assumed that falling in love with one of the dancers would be simple. Monsieur Strange, on the other hand, was not one to take the easy way out. He had been unimpressed by the dancers' charm, flirty manner, and womanly figure. He was an orientalist visiting Paris from his hometown, and he had no interest for the loud women of the cabaret, famous for their cancan.

Instead, he had chosen the difficult path. He fell for you.

It was an impossible love. Hopeless in more ways than one; not only had he fallen head over heels for you irrevocably and explicitly, but there was no future in which he could do so. Your love was ephemeral, not because the sensations vanished, but because you couldn't freely love each other in this world, neither in France nor anywhere else. It was a forbidden love.

Something forbidden.

It's a hopeless love.

You knew it wouldn't last, you wouldn’t; but nothing does, so you loved him the same way he loved you.

Stephen would never marry a mere seamstress. He was a class above you, and he was certain his father had already picked a merchant's daughter for him, one from New York, just like him, just like his father wanted.

Tonight, he could spend naked in your arms, snuggled in the warm sheets of his bed, listening to his heartbeat while his long fingers combed through your hair.

"The sky was falling," you said as his heat cock finally came out, weary, clogged, and squeezed all the air out of your lungs. The palm of his hand lingered warmly on your exposed breasts, like a boy's toy.

Your hair is wet, and so is his. You look at the mess on the bedsheet, it's like a war, so criminally. Unless, of course Stephen's sharp smile, the top of his chest breaths heavily, and the bottom is buried beneath his blanket, but you pull out it to cover yourself so you can glimpse his entire body again. "And I'm falling for you, amour."

It was a quiet night. He'd snuck you into one of his smaller homes, where no servants could spy on you two. You had a glass of dry red wine and a baguette with camembert and red grapes. It was a basic dish by his standards, but it was everything the two of you could have desired for dinner tonight.

You had been kept busy by the continual repairs of Moulin Rouge costumes, as well as other work sent to you by higher and middle-class women, in the heart of balmy summer, with the sun shining down in all its splendor, warming you up and making all proper ladies sweat under their garments. You made no complaint. It was good job, and there was always additional money, which you could never have enough of.

Stephen did all the whining for you, about how you didn't have time for him, about how he felt neglected, about how you were too gorgeous to spend the days in a workroom instead of on the garden outside, enjoying in the sun and definitely keeping him company.

Finally, your work was completed, and you decided to take the day off, and now, at the end of the day spent in his arms, you were falling asleep in his arms, his gentle breathing feeling like a summer breeze in your hair, and his golden skin was warm on yours. Because of your body heat and the warm night, you couldn't sleep beneath a blanket, so you slept on a light linen sheet.

"Mon plus cher amour," he said into the air, that’s the way he called; "my dearest love." And you had responded to his call through the thin veil of sleep, turning in his arms to face him, your lips brushing against his as he spoke, the delicate touch sending thrills down Stephen's spine.

"Mon cherrie?" You'd wondered, laying a sly kiss on his pouty lips.

"I cannot imagine living without you." He engaged, his eyes staring into yours with such affection that you wondered if a mortal man could be filled with so much love. Such deep feeling was surely destined for something more holy than you; for ladies whose beauty lived on in legend, a kind of beauty caught by poems, songs, and prayers. Not you, mortal, frail, and average.

"Don't say such things." You murmured softly, your tone echoing Stephen's love in his gaze. His breath caught, and you could feel his heart rattling against your chest, its steady beat matching the pace of your own. "They make me fall in love with you even more." Your lover grinned at your comments, his long fingers reaching to gently hold your hand before bringing it to his lips, kissing your knuckles delicately, his lips smooth like rosebuds, flushed a deep pink as blood flowed through him, red and strong. His aquatic eyes never left yours for a second.

Hopelessly, you loved him so badly, too.

The days passed without him, and eventually, after all work was finished, Stephen decided to take you to the premiere of the new cabaret show, the one you had spent months sewing costumes for, and now he would allow you the pleasure of seeing the fruit of your labors, and you had a feeling it would be sweet.

Tonight, he had taken you to the cabaret. The moulin rouge was full with patrons, their cacophonous banter before the show was like the beginning of a birdsong, someplace deep in the rainforest, their words, not always French, rang throughout the room like a flock of tropical songbirds, unorganized but cheerful. You sat at a table for two, he in a magnificent black suit, you in your best dress, your hair done up in a stylish style you had seen many of your clients wear. When you looked in the mirror before leaving the house, you couldn't believe the lady in the reflection was you. You wondered if he had always thought you were beautiful.

"You are lovely to look at. Never forget that, mon amour." He leaned in to whisper into your ears, the dim light shimmering golden against his skin, making the shape of his nose and the plushness of his lips even more refined, even more seductive. Your heart skipped a beat despite your will. As the dancers entered the stage, the flock fell silent, leaving only the melody of the orchestra. Stephen relaxed in his chair, entirely at ease, sipping champagne.

The show was spectacular, but no one expected less from the legendary Moulin Rouge. The dancers glided around the stage in perfect synchronicity. Even their most frantic routines were carried out with beauty and precision. others gowns were shorter than others, and others were more scandalous. You hadn't skimped on the feathers and sequins. Each costume was meticulously fitted, with every thread perfectly in place and every color carefully chosen.

"Something like this would never be tolerated where I come from." Stephen whispered in your ear. Even without looking at him, you could tell that his gaze was drawn to the dancers and his lips formed a sneer against your ears. You knew he wasn't talking about the cabaret. "I'm glad it's allowed here." When you didn't react, he whispered, and you felt a delightful chill down your spine.

"They look gorgeous." Instead, you stated that your gaze never leaves the stage. The dancers span, their skirts swirling with them, exposing more of their legs, and the audience couldn't stop gasping.

He questioned as he took another sip from his flute. "The dancers?"

"Pretty women look good in pretty clothing." When another round of cacophonous delight rippled through the audience, you responded with a nod, a smile on your lips.

"Are those your dresses?" Stephen smiled, his eyes twinkling as he examined the colorful outfits, feather plumes, and embroidery on the bodices and skirts.

“Oui.” You sipped your drink, allowing the buzz of alcohol to enhance your enjoyment of the evening. "What's the point of staring at me?" After a while, you said, the feeling of Stephen's deep ocean eyesight staring at you becoming uncomfortable as the night progressed, your second flute of champagne now standing empty in front of you.

"I can't stop myself. You are like the moon." He smiled, turning his head to look at you from a fresh perspective. "So attracting me." He spoke, and his hand moved across the table to grip yours, his long fingers weaving through yours.

You stayed like that till the end of the show.

When the night was done and he had draped your coat over your shoulders like a gentleman, a cheeky smile graced his lips, his eyes bright with mischief.

"We went to the pleasure palace, and yet my greatest pleasure was watching you." He told you, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, savoring the crimson that warmed your cheeks, both from the champagne and from him.

Another week passed, and you were again in his chambers, laying among the lovely covers, holding a book as Stephen dressed. He was dressed in a suit identical to the one he wore to Moulin Rouge, but he had changed the jacket to something more suited for dinner. You liked his straight brows and heavy lashes as you combed his hair back away from his face.

"How do you think I look?" He approached, tying his black bowtie in front of the mirror above his dresser.

Looking at his tiny figure over your book, you told him. "Handsome as always." You said that when he turned around and winked at him. "You will be fine, Monsieur Strange."

"Whatever you want to say, Mademoiselle." He smiled as he walked over to the bed and knelt down. His plush lips were on yours in an instant, and you melted into the kiss.

When he turned to slide into his jacket, he looked back at you, his eyes filled with concern. You could tell he was tense by the clench of his jaw and the strain in his shoulders.

"Enjoy yourself." You smiled at him, attempting to cheer him up. Whatever was on his thoughts was weighing heavily on him. Enough to make him wary of telling you about it. It was a rare occurrence.

"It's just another business meeting; I'm recommending teapot purchases." He muttered, presumably to himself, and you sprang from the bed, wrapping your arms around his torso and staring into his eyes. Their maritime blue reminded you of hot coffee and chocolate in the morning. "New York ceramics have grown in popularity among those who can afford to import them." He spoke, his arms wrapping over your shoulders. Stephen buried his face in your hair, and you gave him a minute of silence. He pressed you against him, and you listened to his heartbeat, sure and steady like him.

"Selling a lot of teapots, then, mon cherie." You told him, and he let you go with one more farewell kiss.

"Don't worry about missing me too much, mon plus cher amour." He called out as he walked out of the room, and you couldn't help but smile as you watched him go.

Sadly, you do.

The dinner was drab. The hosts were rich, as they always were, and they loved to gossip, as they always did. Normally, Stephen avoided the ladies' gossip, preferring to sit and drink whiskey with the males, but tonight he found himself in the center of it. Not because he was really interested, but because he was the topic of it.

Many guys stood around the room conversing, and some women avoided the host's wife, who was a nasty gossip who could run her mouth like no other. Unfortunately, Stephen was on his way to meet his business partner, Monsieur Holmes from England, when he overheard the conversation.

The guests sat on luxurious sofas, with a tiny wooden mahogany coffee table in the center, containing a lovely tea set, white porcelain with delicate lotus blossoms painted in red for adornment. Last summer, it was one of the models they carried. Surprisingly, it was not a high-end set.

"I heard he went to the cabaret with his mistress last week. I'm curious who she is." The harsh voice of one of the ladies pierced his eardrums. Stephen could tell she was one of your clientele based on her attire. In your shop window, a similar dress, however green rather than the caustic salmon color this woman was wearing, was shown. He could recognize your work from anywhere right now.

"There will be no high standing." Another woman interrupted him, and he wanted to stop listening. Morbid curiosity kept him quiet, listening to those women criticize you, his blood boiling under his skin.

"A Frenchwoman and a New Yorker. In public!" Stephen tried to stop himself from cursing after hearing the woman in salmon scream.

"How are you doing, ladies?" Instead, he put on a happy face and walked right into the women's chat, interrupting their gossip. "I heard you ordered two tea sets, Madame." He turned to gaze at an older woman sitting between the two who were chatting about you.

“Yes. My daughter is marrying into a good family, and I want to make sure she brings only the best to her new home." She had spoken, her nose turned almost comically high as she tried to gaze at him with contempt.

"I hope you will be pleased with the quality of our products." He had bowed lightly, a sickly-sweet smile lingering on his lips, as rage had no doubt poked through his eyes. When you glanced into his eyes, you stated you could tell he was upset. He would have spoken more, but Shrr had come to his rescue, his cheerful attitude brightening the mood of the women.

"Ah, Monsieur Strange, I was looking for you." He talked, his rich voice filled with joy as he tried to pull Stephen away.

He pushed him to the side and handed the shorter man a tumbler of scotch. Sherlock's massive body towered over him, hiding him from the gossips' gaze. His huge hand reached out and squeezed Stephen's shoulder in reassurance.

"Young men are young men regardless of where they come from." Do not listen to old rumor." Sherlock's powerful voice slowed to a mumble, and Stephen assumed his companion was growling rather than speaking.

"Thank you, Sherlock." He mumbled, gulping the scotch down, too frustrated to taste it. He found the burn of alcohol to be a pleasant distraction.

"Better to love one woman than to hate one woman." When his pal looked down on him, his teal eyes were soft.

Stephen asked shifting the conversation from one unpleasant issue to another. "Any news from my father?"

“None yet. I’m not sure he even knows about her.” Sherlock reassured him, a small smile playing on his lips. He sipped on his scotch.

"If he knew," Stephen said, his heart pounding wildly against his chest, making him dizzy, before Sherlock cut him off.

"You'd have been on a ship back by now, and that merchant's daughter would have been waiting for you at the docks." He finished for him, gulping down the rest of his scotch before proceeding to refill their glasses.Stephen received an increasing number of inquiries for imported pottery as the evening continued. Tea sets, plates, and bowls were among the items requested. By the end of the meal, his notebook was full of names and catalog numbers.

Stephen had removed his coat and unfastened his bowtie when he returned home. His white shirt had a few buttons undone, displaying his golden collarbone. He sat on his living room sofa, sipping more scotch from a crystal glass. When he arrived, you tossed the book and sat alongside him on the couch, your head resting on his shoulder. The fabric beneath you was velvet, far more expensive than you could possibly afford. You could see he had it built to order.

Stephen had remained silent other than greetings and a couple brief kisses. Despite the drink he consumed, the worry shown on his face had not subsided. From the corner of your eye, you noticed his jaw clenched and relaxed.

"Are you ready to tell me now?" You asked him, and he turned his chin towards you. His gaze was drawn to your lips first, then up into your eyes. He'd always assumed they were sapphires. Not because they were blue, but because they reminded him of the sea, deep and uncharted. They hid your heart, so they gleamed like valuable stones and reflected light like the tumultuous waters of the sea. Deep, so deep that he lost himself in them and found himself in them as well.

"I'm worried about my father." His heavenly voice broke, heavy with uncertainty, and he mumbled.

"We knew about your father from the start,” you told him as you pressed your palm against his cheek, allowing Stephen to sink into your contact and relish in how warm he felt against you. “We knew how this was going to end before it even started."

"What if I don't want this to come to an end?" He asked whether and you were the one to lose yourself in the depths of his irises this time.

You kissed him with your other hand on his cheek. Passionately and uninhibitedly. It didn't matter if the end was coming or if it was already here. You had feelings for him. You were hopelessly in love with him.

Stephen went violet when you touched him. He felt it seep into him when he pressed his lips to yours with bruising force, and again when you grabbed him in his bed, and again when you left purple marks over his collar bones, each one a visible stain on his body; something to remind him he was yours, something to remind you that you were his.

Days flew by in a blur of color. You awoke in his bed, went to work, and spent the evening at Moulin Rouge. Every night was spectacular; every night was the same. You had grown fond of Moulin Rouge. Stephen could sit by you in public and flaunt your devotion for him. In Montmartre, most people were preoccupied with the concept of liberty and freedom. You shared their hopes, that the world will be a better place to live one day. Both you and he fit in. It was simple to be at the Bastion of Pleasures.

After one of the shows, when you had finally returned home to recuperate, an unexpected guest appeared.

Sherlock had come in one evening, just as Stephen was falling asleep in your lap, your voice calming him. The British man had arrived with a letter. It was obvious that it was from Stephen's father. Because the characters were strange, you were illiterate and blissfully unaware of the contents.

"Not good." Stephen had risen from your lap and was pacing as he read over the letter. Sherlock had taken a seat near you, his form looming over you. You weren't bothered because you were used to being in his shadow, but the expressions on both men's faces made you nervous.

Sherlock told them. "He wants you to return by the end of the next year." His strong voice boomed through the room, and his loving brown eyes looked down at you, and then at Stephen, with such sadness that you couldn't tell who was more saddened by the news.

"I understand." Stephen paused his pacing and requested that one of his assistants bring them some cognac. "To one more year." When the vodka was poured into crystal glasses and delivered to the three of them, he toasted.

You raised your glass with a cheeky smile, toasting with him. Sherlock raised his glass reluctantly and witheredly, the amber liquid shimmering in the faint light, before taking a gulp.

You lay wrapped in Stephen's arms that night, a pleasant breeze blowing through the open window, drifting over your naked shoulders as you glanced up at your sweetheart.

"Let us leave. Just… Run away with me." Stephen mumbled, his eyes gleaming in the dim light of his room, more pensive than you had ever seen him.

"Is this? …New Americana proposal’s? Where’s my ring?" You commented, a broad smile on your face, as though pondering of the possibilities, soon, your shoulders jolted down. "Where shall we go?"

"Wherever my father won't find us." You pressed closer to him, further into the protection of his arms, as he aware you. “Italy?” You sought out, considering locations too far away for the Strange business to pursue you to.

“Britain? Erm-”

"French Indochina?" You kissed his forehead, with an awkward smile on your lips.

"I don't care… literally. Where we go; my heart goes to loving you everywhere." He spoke softly, and you knew he loved you now more than ever.

Stephen was ready to leave everything to be with you, where his father could not intervene, and you were ready to leave with him, you knew you would; for anything even your cabaret flora life here; for one condition… just be with him.

"Then let's go anywhere." You gave in, putting a kiss to his lips and whispering love words into his ears as he held you. He whispered them back, breathed love into you with his kisses, was firm and soothing alongside you, and despite the frost in the air, you were warm.

His lengthy fingers knead over yours, enveloping them. You know he staked his entire future on it. You are mindful of this. "Whether it's an ice-covered world or warfare, I'll be the one that burns it." Your lips curled together, his words so sincere, and his rich tone melt with every emotion you've ever beheld. "Like frost and flame; hot and cold both evaporated."

You draw stars on his chest, another one, another one… Attentively paying attention to his heartbeat. The galactic cosmos feels incredibly near whenever you're with him, your Monsieur Strange, yours.

"Trust me?"

"Always have."

Love was occasionally hopeless, but maybe this time, just this time, there was hope.

And this is hope that you want would be go on survived.

For everlasting.

a/t: how was it 🥹 idk why but the plot comes while i listen this so bitter, tortured but sweetener so it’s challenging me to write 1920’ era. Well… in fact, the forbidden love is my first time writing… so erm yk what i mean? just please give love to it bc Monsieur Strange is watching you 😂🥹🤭 the core of this story is foreign man who has love affair with the owner of cabaret and he bet everything on it to stay with his heart, so fucking romantic yeah? this side is so rare to see from Stephen x reader ff and that’s why, so sorry to bring him out of character again bc it’s not my first time actually HAHAHAHAHA xD well next story we will see new youtuber Stephen who open YouTube channel so bright the boredom of quarantine by corona, he’s doctor right? let’s go romantic comedy yahooooo

#multiverse of madness #doctor strange #stephen strange x reader #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange fanfiction #doctor strange fanfiction #doctor strange one shot #stephen strange one shot #marvel fanfiction #stephen strange #doctor strange imagine #doctor strange smut #stephen strange smut #dr strange smut #mcu x reader #doctor stephen strange #benedict cumberbatch #imeternallylove

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hospitalterrorizer · 22 days ago

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diary406

11/2-3/24

saturday - sunday

gotsa sleep soon.

so despite today being a long and tiring day, i won't be able to put much here about it, but it wasn't bad. i was just sort of dysphoric i guess. like crashing after a sugar rush. it's so much for my tiny nerves to have any positive attention, it's always like this. it has to come slowly, for me to be inoculated.

but, we saw some very fun stuff today, and we're gonna see fun stuff tomorrow!! i have to correct one thing, yesterday i said the owner of hypercore was hiroshi... i was misremembering, it was / is hisashi. i'm dumb!!

so we saw the fashion show this year, that they do at this con. i'd like to walk again in it... like we did the first year. but idk. you never know what you'll walk in and stuff. there was this one brand, ac unit, the woman who runs it with her sister, they were the ones who did the marina and samarie cosplay from yesterday!! this was their first fashion show, i cannot find their instagram!! wow, that is sad. i'll try and find it tomorrow. ummmmm, their little thing made me emotional because the woman who was up there, she started crying talking about how much she loved her sister and mother and how much they helped her, in life and with the making of the garments. she started crying a lot talking about her mom, and then her experience with j-fashion and how it helped her make so many friends, and i wonder about like, where you make those friends... it's always seemed so exclusionary to me but these people are so kind, and this con has a lot of j-fashion stuff where people are making garments that are made with people who have sensory issues and things... they're considerate, and most j-fashion stuff i see a lot is like, hyper-crazy popularity stuff.

we also saw that japanese brand hypercore do their walk, very cute and cool, and a couple others, ghost girl goods was one and she's very kind, it's really incredible how hard she seems to try to get j-fashion brands out there to new people at cons, to make it more of a thing people can tangibly interact with, you know. she works hard at that. it is very nice to see.

after that we milled about for a while, we went to the bowling alley, saw miura ayme do a panel of q&a, then after that, jiluka did their q&a, then we went for food. both q&as were good, of special note, miura ayme said he really likes gunbuster, as far as anime goes, and also dorohedoro, which i still have not read and ought to, but the gunbuster being a favorite is crazy to me. made me feel nice to hear that.

the food was good, i was sleepy, i took selfies in the bathroom let me see if those are okay. it was korean food it was really good actually i ate kimchi fried rice with spam in it... i need to get spam soon. i love cooking with it.

here i am:

i was so sleepy there, i was laying down in the booth we had with my head on my purse. which my gf seemed to like.

then we saw miura ayme perform live, which was cute, fun idol j-rock, then waited for the rave, went to that until we were all kicked out... the guy started the rave with born slippy!!! it got progressively less cool as time went on but that got a lot of good will from me. so i danced, i'm sure my feet will hurt a ton tomorrow since i didn't wear dancing shoes!!

uhmmm, i should sleep now, though, not a lot to say really i guess, ultimately a busy normal day which keeps lots of ruminating away, which is good, because i'll process things i saw, and stuff i recorded later, and it'll give me interesting things in my head.

so,

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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nextechagrisolutions · 11 months ago

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Harvesting Success: Navigating the Rice Mill Business Landscape

Embark on a journey of success in the thriving world of rice milling with our comprehensive guide to the "Rice Mill Business." Uncover the intricacies of this essential industry, from optimizing milling processes to implementing sustainable practices. Whether you are a seasoned entrepreneur or a newcomer, our insights and practical tips will empower you to navigate the challenges and seize opportunities in the rice mill business. Discover the key factors that contribute to operational efficiency, product quality, and overall profitability. Transform your rice mill business into a flourishing enterprise by leveraging industry knowledge and strategic approaches for sustained success.

#Rice Mill Business

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compassmili · 30 days ago

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:O the music question made me wonder! do ur ocs have fave desserts? oh oh also! what style do you think they would wear if they were in a modern setting outside of their stories?

YES. YES. Good lord my bad if this gets long. John's favorite desserts are madeleines + polenta cake + castella cake + mille crepe cakes, both Gaia's favorites are brownies + tiramisu + parfaits (Anything with chocolate tbh), Turtle Dove's is Japanese strawberry shortcake, Xiphia's favorites are profiteroles + creme brulee + caneles + any sort of specialty chocolate, Ryne's favorites are sesame balls, sweet rice, cinnamon rolls, and palmiers! If there's anyone else you're curious about you can ask!

In terms of what they'd wear.. Hm. John would switch between her normal business casual and weird dyke outfits with like fishing hats and shirts with bad alcohol jokes. Xiphia would wear hime gyaru and girly kei, Zephyr would wear ouji, Amanda would dress like you let her loose in a Hot Topic in 2006, Turtle Dove would dress scemo, Both Gaia's would dress in gothic lolita + aristocrat, Reno would just wear a lot of white and flowy things idk, and for Ryne she likes varies a lot... Dresses in mori kei, gyaru, EGL, etc.... She would like a lot of stuff and just love dressing up. Just like above, if you're curious about anyone else, you can feel ask!

#oc posting #john #gaia #gaia (lcb)#turtle dove #xiphia #ryne #zephyr #amanda #reno #⛪️#✉️

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viexports · 2 months ago

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What Makes a Reliable Non-Basmati Rice Manufacturer?

Non-basmati rice is a staple food in many countries due to its affordable price, versatility, and varying grain sizes. From long-grain to short-grain varieties, it serves as the backbone of countless meals. But what’s the difference between an ordinary supplier and a reliable manufacturer when it comes to non-basmati rice? For wholesalers, retailers, and even consumers, choosing the right rice manufacturer can make a huge difference in quality, consistency, and long-term relationships. This blog will explore the key factors that ensure you’re sourcing from a trustworthy non-basmati rice manufacturer.

Quality Control Practices and Certifications

The foundation of any reliable rice manufacturer is its commitment to quality. Manufacturers with strict quality control processes ensure that each batch of rice meets specific standards for purity, grain length, moisture content, and taste. Look for manufacturers that adhere to international certifications such as ISO 9001 for quality management and HACCP (Hazard Analysis and Critical Control Points) for food safety. These certifications ensure that the rice is produced under clean conditions and undergoes rigorous testing to remove impurities.

Additionally, quality manufacturers often employ state-of-the-art testing laboratories that analyze rice for contaminants such as pesticides, aflatoxins, and heavy metals. This commitment to food safety ensures that you are getting a premium product that meets global standards.

Consistent Supply and Scalability

A reliable non-basmati rice manufacturer must be able to meet consistent demand, whether you are a small retailer or a large-scale distributor. This means maintaining adequate stock, having capacity for large orders, and increasing production as needed. Manufacturers with extensive farming networks or partnerships with multiple farmers can better guarantee stable supply throughout the year, regardless of seasonal fluctuations.

Scalability is especially important for businesses looking to expand into new markets. A trustworthy manufacturer will have the flexibility to adjust production volumes to align with your growth, ensuring a smooth supply chain even during peak seasons.

Technological advancements in milling and packaging

Modern rice milling and packaging technology plays a key role in maintaining the quality and shelf life of non-basmati rice. Reliable manufacturers invest in advanced milling machinery that reduces broken grains and preserves the natural texture and flavor of rice. Look for manufacturers that use automated sorting technologies to remove discolored or damaged grains, ensuring a more consistent product.

Packaging also matters. Vacuum-sealed or air-tight packaging helps preserve freshness and prevent moisture ingress, which can lead to spoilage or insect infestation. Manufacturers that adopt innovative packaging solutions help ensure that their rice reaches consumers in optimal condition.

Sustainable and ethical sourcing

As consumers and businesses are becoming more aware of sustainability, it is important to work with a manufacturer that values ethical sourcing. Reliable manufacturers prioritize environmentally friendly farming practices, such as minimizing the use of chemical pesticides and adopting water conservation methods. Some manufacturers also support small-scale farmers by offering fair trade agreements, ensuring that local communities benefit from their involvement.

Sustainably sourced rice also tends to be higher in quality, as the plants are grown in healthy soil, without an excessive reliance on synthetic chemicals. Look for manufacturers that openly share their sustainability initiatives or hold certifications such as Fairtrade or Organic to further validate their commitment to ethical practices.

Customer Support and Global Reach

Strong customer support is the hallmark of any reliable non-basmati rice manufacturer. A good manufacturer should provide clear communication channels, timely responses to inquiries, and efficient problem-solving when issues arise. This level of support fosters trust and ensures a seamless business relationship over time.

Additionally, manufacturers with a global reach and experience exporting rice to multiple countries are better equipped to handle the complexities of international shipping, customs regulations, and regional preferences. A manufacturer with a proven export track record can provide invaluable guidance, especially for businesses looking to expand internationally.

Choosing the right non-basmati rice manufacturer isn’t just about considering price. Quality control, supply continuity, technological advancements, consistency and customer support all play a vital role in ensuring you get a great product. By partnering with a reliable manufacturer, you can guarantee that your business will thrive and your customers will be happy.

#basmati rice #exporter #rice #food #india

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thehuskies · 3 months ago

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Systems Thinking

Singla Rice Mills

Hello from Group 3 - The Huskies B)

This is a blog to document the everyday progress of our Systems Thinking Research and you are welcome to give your valuable feedbacks every step of the way!

The group includes Akriti, Akshaya, Gautham, Karthik, Ketaki, Madhumanti and Prerna.

Day 1 - 21.08.2024

First day started with brainstorming for the domain. The group decided to focus on a topic within the agriculture sector, as Haryana is well-known for its agricultural activities.

Initially, we planned to conduct our research at a sugar mill. Upon visiting the site, we learned that the sugarcane harvest season hasn’t started yet, and the factory wouldn’t be operational until November.

After exploring other nearby agro-based industries like disposable leaf plate makers, poultry farms, wheat factories, and honey bee farms, we finally connected with Singla Rice Mills.

The CEO, Harsh Singla, was very welcoming and gave us a comprehensive overview of the business and its technical aspects. He explained the rice processing stages, discussed the factors that directly impact the business, and provided a tour of the facility.

We also saw samples of different rice categories obtained after processing. The first day was full of valuable insights that will guide our research moving forward.

Thanks, see you tomorrow :)

#business #systems thinking #design #rice #industrial design #communication design #textile design #field trip #system design #research #day 1

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ameftowriter · 2 years ago

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All right, this fic is inspired by this wonderful art by @chipsncookies , she makes quite amazing art in general btw.

But yeah, I wanted to write this cause I thought it would be a silly idea to just have interaction between the two Larrys from two separate games and just added it as I go.

There's no spoilers here unless you count Phoenix, Edgeworth, and Larry hanging out post game 3 at the least. Though I had in my head them post game 6 so whichever you like I guess xD

And yeah just assume they're in the pokemon universe and know already everything about the mechanics and such

Anyway here's the fic and I'll add the Ao3 Link later:

Title: First Larry Second Larry

"You two are gonna love this restaurant!" Larry Butz repeated to the two of his friends as he opened the door, "The food here in the Treasure Eatery is phenomenal!"

"I'm more surprised you know what the word phenomenal meant, Butz…" Edgeworth commented as he side eyed Larry.

"Hey! I know some big words!" Larry defended himself, "I did graduate from middle school you know!"

"I guess if Larry says this is a good place to eat, then it's worth a try…" Phoenix immediately changed the topic as the three entered the restaurant.

"But don't expect me to pay for both of you.." Edgeworth sighed as he followed suit.

Larry had already gone far from his friends and was waving at them to sit next to them at the open bar at the corner of the restaurant. "C'mon already! I got seats here for you!"

"I have to admit, even for you, you're too excited for a simple restaurant." Phoenix commented.

"Oh you'll see why!" Larry teased as he called for the chef. “Soba Noodle Soup please!”

“Coming right up Second Larry!” The chef happily took his order as he turned to the other two lawyers next to him, “And what about you two gentlemen?”

“Second Larry?" Phoenix questioned how the chef referred to his friend, "But I guess…. I'll take the sandwich special."

"Bitter Melon Stir-fry for me please." Edgeworth had given his order. "Then I suppose this First Larry is a much better person you Hmm?"

"Shut up Edgey!” Larry stuck his tongue out, “It’s just the First Larry is kinda a big deal in this restaurant. So he deserves it."

"Oh? How come?" Phoenix asked him.

"You'll see…” Larry chuckled to himself.

Just then, next to Larry sat an unassuming business man. He placed down his briefcase next to his seat, let out a tired sigh, and turned to notice the ones sitting next to him.

"Oh… hello there Larry." He greeted the man who sat next to him. "You're here early."

"Wassup First Larry, my man!" Larry Butz patted him on the back, while the other barely flinched from it "On your lunch break?"

"Yes…" Businessman Larry replied as he turned to the chef, "I'll have a plate of grilled rice balls."

"Sure thing First Larry!" The chef happily took the order and went back to the kitchen to make it.

"So this is the First Larry you speak of." Edgeworth turned to look at the man his friend is referring to. To him, he looked like your plain, old, run-of-the-mill businessman.

"That's right! First Larry here has been a regular ever since he started working in Medali." Butz started.

"All that hype for a regular customer?" Phoenix couldn't help but wonder, especially at how plain looking the man was to him.

"Here's all your orders gentlemen!" The chef popped in and gave them their food.

"Thank you for the food!" Butz grabbed his bowl and began digging in.

"Thank you…" Phoenix accepted his plate, "You were saying… "Second Larry"?"

"Oh yeah…" Butz slurped his noodles, then spoke again, "He's the guy who recommended the best food in this restaurant!"

"Everything's good here…" Businessman Larry said as he grabbed his plate of grilled rice balls, "Larry here just wanted something cheap so I brought up this ramen…"

"So you were just being cheap Butz, not a surprise." Edgeworth stifled a laugh.

"Are these two your lawyer friends, Larry?" Businessman Larry asked him, "Huh, didn't think they were real."

"I suppose it'd be hard to believe if it was just coming from him huh?" Phoenix laughed at the wording.

"Why are you three ganging up on me! Some friends you all are!" Butz pointed an accusing finger at every one of them.

Businessman Larry sighed, Edgeworth shrugged with a smirk, while Phoenix just continued laughing at the situation.

Just then….

"Medium-serving, grilled rice balls, Fire Blast-style, with fresh lemon on the side!" A shout from a server at the front entrance rang out.

"Gotcha! Medium rice balls, extra crispy, with lemon!" The chef cried out at the same volume and quickly pressed the button at the edge of her counter.

“What’s going on?!” Phoenix nearly dropped his sandwich as there was a sudden rumbling shook the whole restaurant.

“The whole middle seating area has disappeared!” Edgeworth was shocked to see what had just occurred right before their eyes. “It revealed a hidden battle court!”

“Congratulations! You've passed the Gym Test!” The server cheered for the young student in front of him, “You now have the right to challenge the Gym Leader!”

“Gym Test?” Phoenix exclaimed, “This restaurant doubles as a Gym building?”

“Just–” Butz wanted to answer but he got cut off.

“Just the battle court is here…” Businessman Larry replied as he swallowed his first rice ball. “This is still a restaurant through and through…”

“That is understandable…” Edgeworth had calmed himself down, “But then that would mean one of the restaurant’s staff is the gym leader. Perhaps the Chef?”

“Oh dear no, sweetie!” The chef spoke up as she shook her head, “Not dear old me! I ain’t even a trainer. The real Gym Leader is…”

“LARRY!! YOU’RE UP!!” The server shouted again to grab the Gym Leader’s attention.

“Ah! Speak of the devil…”

“And I just started lunch too…” Businessman Larry sighed once more as he turned from his seat, grabbed his briefcase, stood up, and walked towards the student challenger. “Hello…”

“See…” Butz then smirked as he elbowed Phoenix, “Told ya there was something exciting here!”

“It is not every day that you get to see a restaurant turn into a Gym Court.” Edgeworth agreed much to his own annoyance.

“Or an unassuming businessman to be its Gym Leader.” Phoenix pushed his friend’s elbow off of him.

“I know, right?” Butz continued as the Gym Leader Larry had already walked into the court. “And he’s no pushover either. He’s a really good trainer!”

“Thank you for doing business with us today. I, Larry, will be at your service.” Gym Leader Larry then straightened his tie and pulled out his pokeball hidden underneath his suit jacket.

With a toss, he sent out his Komala to the field.

“I assume he uses Normal type for this gym then?” Edgeworth asked Butz.

“Yeah! It suits him, doesn't it?”

“It suits him too well if you ask me…" Phoenix let out a chuckle, "He looks so… well… normal."

Komala was soon taken down by the challenger's Flamigo's Low Kick.

Larry could only give a hum of approval as he returned Komala back to its ball and brought out his second Pokemon. "Go, Dudunsparce."

Meanwhile the challenger kept their Flamigo in hopes to sweep Dudunsparce as well.

“Dudunsparce, Hyper Drill.” Gym Leader Larry commanded his pokemon as he maintained his usual tone.

Dudunsparce cried out as it turned around and shot itself while spinning at blinding speed towards the opposing Pokemon and defeated it in one shot.

“But as Butz has stated, he’s powerful in battles…” Edgeworth observed, “I hate to admit it, but for once the idiot had something good to show us.”

“No kidding…” Phoenix was impressed. “He just took out that Flamigo with one shot.”

“Come on out Pawmot!” The challenger cried out as they tossed the ball to bring out their Pawmot. “Quick, use Arm Thrust!”

With a lucky five successful consecutive hits, Dudunsparce fainted. Gym Leader Larry withdrew it back to its ball.

“I don’t think that challenger is going to win…” Butz shook his head.

“You think so?” Edgeworth was surprised, “I don't remember you having any sort of skill in battles, Butz…”

“Hey!” Butz took that offence, “I’ve seen him battle a lot, First Larry’s definitely gonna win this one!”

“Again, I hate to admit, but you have a good point there.” Edgeworth shrugged.

“It’s more of a surprise that you two actually agree on something.” Phoenix looked at his two friends with a confused look as he mumbled to himself, “What kind of world do we live in?”

“This is still better than getting cornered by my boss.” Gym Leader Larry commented as he brought out his final Pokemon, “Go. Staraptor.”

“Ah! Look!” Butz excitedly said. “He’s finally gonna Terastallize Staraptor!”

“But isn't this Pokemon already part Normal type?” Phoenix brought up his point, “What’s the point of Terastallizing?”

“Don’t you get it, Nick!” Butz turned to his friend in an attempt to lecture him, “Since it's already a Normal type and it has a Normal Tera Type, its attack increases to x2! He’d be even way stronger than he is now!”

“I taught him that…” The chef spoke up, “Second Larry, here took an embarrassing amount of time to even understand Terastallizing after all.”

“Well I…” Butz could only muster as he sweat bullets.

“No wonder you are referred to here as “Second” Larry.” Edgeworth stifled another laugh, “You are the same as ever… Second Larry.”

Phoenix could only laugh as a response.

“Shut up, Edgey! You too Nick!” Butz shot back, “Some friends you guys are! I’m just going to ignore you two and just keep watching this battle.”

Just then, a stream of spectators came in through the restaurant and started cheering for the Gym Leader and the challenger. “Show us what you’ve got Larry! And you too, kid!”

“Well, you heard the good folks…” Gym Leader Larry said as he stretched his legs to prepare for the next move, “I suppose I can put on a bit more of a show.”

“Here it comes…”

Gym Leader Larry then pulled out his Tera Orb and it activated. A swirling wave of energy poured into the Orb as he casually adjusted his tie from the force. With his signature toss, the orb landed on top of Staraptor and it spread its energy, covered the Pokemon with crystals and broke open to reveal the body coated with said crystals, and a diamond shaped jewel on top of its head.

The challenger followed suit and Terastallized their Pawmot to a pure Electric Type.

“Hurry Pawmot! Use Thunderbolt!” the challenger commanded immediately and the pokemon obeyed just as fast. With a burst of power from the Terastal energy, and the rub of its cheeks, the huge electric bolt erupted from it and attacked the Pokemon with full force, and paralyzed it in the process. “Yes! Great job Pawmot!”

“Oh no…” Butz said with a smile, “This kid just made a terrible mistake.”

“I think it’s time to show you that real life isn’t all just being true to yourself…” Gym Leader Larry then shook his head and stretched out his hand, “Staraptor, Use Facade.”

Staraptor cried out as it gained more power of it's own Terastal energy and swung its body around to let its opponent believe it was still paralyzed then immediately charged straight with even greater power towards the Pawmot.

The Tera crystals shattered from Pawmot and it fainted.

In a panic, the challenger threw in their last pokemon but it was to no avail and was defeated soon after.

The audience cheered for another victory for their Gym Leader, but some also gave encouraging cheers for the challenger.

“Good job, kid.” Gym Leader Larry commended the challenger, as the Tera energy dissipated from his Staraptor. “Better luck next time.”

“Th-thank you!” The flustered challenger gathered their pokeballs and rushed out of the restaurant to the nearest Pokemon center.

Eventually the crowd dispersed and Gym Leader Larry walked back to his seat, sat down once more, and continued his meal as if nothing had happened.

“Amazing battle as always, First Larry!” The chef was the first to compliment.

“You did great out there, man!” Butz patted him at the back.

“Second Larry is right.” Phoenix added, “You’re really good.”

“Impressive battle.” Edgeworth finished as he also finished his meal.

“It’s just a job.” Gym Leader Larry said as he swallowed his next rice ball, “You eventually learn how to be good at it.”

“Yeah, but you see…” Butz brought up, “That's why they call you, “The Exceptional Everyman!” You look like your typical, average, run-of-the-mill, businessman, but you’re strong in a pokemon battle! Everyone who sees it for the first time gets thrown off by you!”

"If you say so…" Gym Leader Larry shrugs. "I just do my job, enjoy my food, and head home."

“I guess when you put it that way…” Phoenix added, “It really is just a job to you, nothing glamorous about it.”

“Simplicity is the strongest.” Gym Leader Larry continued as he ate, “We don't need to have everything to be flashy and special in order for it to be powerful.”

“It would explain why the rest of Medali seem to refer to you with such a title.” Edgeworth concluded, “Simple yet exceptional.”

“I guess you're right.” Gym Leader Larry finished his meal, “Well, I gotta go, lunch break is almost over…”

“Wait a sec!” Phoenix realized., “This is your lunch break?”

“Yes.” Gym Leader Larry replied as he stood up from his seat. “They give me a longer one to compensate for the fact I’m a Gym Leader. But I have other duties back at the office to attend to after this.”

“So you really are just an everyman, huh?” Edgeworth gave him a smirk.

“That’s what I am.” Businessman Larry replied as he turned to bow at the three, “It was nice meeting you all. Hope to see you back here, the food’s good after all."

And with that, The Exceptional Everyman Larry, turned away, paid for his meal, and left the restaurant.

“See, I told ya this was something special.” Butz jabbed his elbow at Phoenix, “Good food and good battles, with the exceptional everyman!”

“You do tend to befriend a lot of interesting people, I’d give you that Second Larry.” Phoenix rubbed the sore spot on his abdomen from the elbow.

“Indeed…” Edgeworth continued, “Then I suppose we should from now on call you Second Larry instead.”

“Since there's definitely a better Larry than you.” Phoenix gave out a laugh.

“You guys really are the worst friends ever, you know that!” Butz, of course, felt incredibly insulted, “I should sue you both for defamation!”

“Well good luck with that, Second Larry.” Edgeworth shrugged off the childish insult, “If there is any lawyer who could even dare to face either of us, that is someone I’d like to meet.”

“Why you— OBJECTION!!"

“It would even be funnier if his name was Larry too.” Phoenix couldn't help but add to the joke, “Then you'd be Third Larry for sure.”

#ace attorney #pokemon #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon larry #gym leader larry #larry butz #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #crossover #crossover fic #ame's fics #ame attempts to write a crossover fic #its a mess #i hope you all like it #ame does her best #im sorry

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