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the-24-7-lawlu-library · 2 months

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Poll Vote Fluff

Sorry everyone for being late. Was fighting a mean headache. I hope you all had a great weekend and wish you a wonderful week <3

A Legend about True Love by Katia_Anyway (G)

The Prince of the Kingdom, Luffy, has spent his whole life locked up in the Castle, his Grandfather the King insisting that the world outside was too dangerous. But the Prince is curious and adventurous, he wants to go explore, even if that means having to sneak out alone. But once outside, he gets lost, and needs the help of a very beautiful Witch named Trafalgar Law.

No Stranger to Crazy by Purplehairedwonder (G)

The Straw Hats arrive on an island to discover not only that the Hearts are already there, but there is also a winter festival happening. Law doesn’t have the best memories with winter islands or festivals, so Luffy is determined to make some good ones with him.

You can calm me down by Sakuya_Serenity_Kira (G)

After Luffy has beaten Kaido devastatingly, his fighting spirit is unbroken. He wants, he needs more. In this intoxication, he loses control of his new abilities. Can someone stop him? But who? And how? After all, Luffy is now. . . a god.

A Sinner's Pledge by bimarian (T)

This one little incident this morning just reminded him of the promise that he wanted to make and of the letter that he said he would have to eventually write. The Surgeon takes a moment to glance between his sleeping fiancé and the papers on his lap before he finally writes a greeting on the scented paper. ‘Hey, Ace-ya.’ In which Luffy wakes up from a nightmare—and Law finally writes a letter to make one little promise to Ace.

Midnight by Chenziee (T)

Luffy really wanted to celebrate the end of the year with his friends and family but with his arm injured, strict orders of no partying, and his roommate on his heels, it got really damn hard to sneak out.

Are You Bananas by Plume8now (G)

Usopp gives Luffy an idea, and now, Luffy can't get it off his mind. Of course, he won't wait until tomorrow to do it. And nothing can stop Monkey D. Luffy.

The Mysterious Case of the Hiccups. by ClementineJuicebox, SailorHeichou (G)

-hic- The first hiccup that started it all.

Show me what love is all about by aloas (T)

If Law didn’t know how useless Luffy is when it comes to making plans, he would be complimenting Luffy’s mastermind for always knowing just the right way or the right time to catch Law unguarded. But Law knows that is not the case. So, he curses at the universe. Or fate. Or whatever deity out there that is constantly plotting for Luffy to find Law. (Or the one where Law learns a thing or two about love.)

Answer the Question by Heart_Core (T)

Law’s birthday celebration hadn’t gone the way Luffy expected too, but he was grateful nonetheless.

Our Hearts, Made Whole in Each Other by Purplehairedwonder (G)

Luffy cupped Law’s cheek with his hand, softly grazing his thumb over a yellowing bruise. “Torao is so pretty,” he said quietly, a note of awe in his voice. Law flushed. “Torao’s heart is beating so fast.” “Yeah,” Law agreed, swallowing. “It is.” Luffy’s, despite a few flutters, was beating steadily in Law’s chest. Law, on the other hand, felt pinned to the spot, one hand holding Kikoku and the other in Luffy’s grip. “You should stay.” Law blinked. “What?” “You should stay,” Luffy repeated. “On the Sunny. With me." Written for 10 Days of LawLu 2023 Day 10: Confessions.

Always See the Daylight by Purplehairedwonder (G)

“Why did you want to see my room?” Law asked, both curious and a bit apprehensive at what the response might be. “Because it’s yours!” Luffy said immediately, sitting up quickly. Luffy looked as though the answer had been obvious. For Law, however, that explained exactly nothing. “What—” Luffy looked around, his expression softening in a way that made Law fidgety. “It’s very Torao,” he decided. Written for LawLu Week 2022. Day 5 Prompt: Captain's quarters

Coming Home (To Breathe Again, To Start Again) by Purplehairedwonder (G)

Law had a… complicated relationship with the concept of home. But here on the beach of Wano with Luffy looking at him with such fondness that Law wanted to squirm, he thought that maybe home could be another person.

-Mod Raiya

#lawlu #lulaw #monkey d luffy #trafalgar law #law x luffy #fluff #royalty au #marriage proposal #Fantasy au #winter festival #post wano #first kiss #canon divergence #nightmares #getting together #new year's eve #Modern au

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abysmal-eve · 6 months

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"GIVE ME BACK MY SON!"

Mishima family angst because I felt like it. This is from my own canon-divergent version of the story, it's up to you to interpret how this went down, because I honestly have no clue either, haha. I stayed up late to finish this, I hope it turned out good enough...

#tekken #kazuya mishima #heihachi mishima #au #alternate universe #canon divergence #fanart #my art #eve's art

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bioswear · 10 months

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U/nairo8 translated the hexcodes of the remaining episodes of the anime and im losing my shit 👀👀👀

#BRANCH DIVERGENCE. SINGULARITIES. AHHHHHHH #nier #nier: automata #I’m having completely normal feelings :)#does mutation to Group B refer to the Reincarnation monster that Adam/Eve turned into??? 🤔🤔🤔 bc that was new #and it was unlocked through EXTREME despair #AND is the observation of religion a reference to the creation of Cult of the Watchers bc really…#I don’t think the Robo religion was talking about Christianity. who else do we know who died and became as a god (Furiae through the SoD)

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hellcheerficdatabase · 9 months

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New Year’s 1990

Author: @a-strange-inkling

Rating/Warning: Mature

Chapter Count: 4/4 (Part 5 of Old Haunts Universe series)

Description:

Nancy is short enough that he can see right over her head. He spies Chrissy sitting between Vickie and Robin on the end of the bed. He smirks slowly when she perks up, his dark eyes locking with hers fast.

“Hey, sweetheart.” he coos lowly, tilting his head slightly to the left.

He watches her falter in her resolve, pursing her lips tightly.

“Chrissy, stop it, don’t make eye contact!” Nancy scolds her over her shoulder. “Robin, quick, the blanket.”

Robin grabs the throw blanket on the end of the bed and wraps it over Chrissy’s head, making her squeak in surprise.

Eddie pouts deeply at his main seduction tactic being thwarted. His gaze shifts back down to Nancy who has just now become enemy number one of the evening.

He glowers darkly. “Oh ho, I’ll get you for this,” he tells her petulantly, raising a high finger. “Just you wait, there will be consequences!”

“I’ll take my chances.” she deadpans, looking down at her nails as if bored.

“You just started a war, Wheeler.” he says. “You can’t stop nature!”

“Watch me.” she says as she swings the door shut in his face.

Tags: Alternate Universe- canon divergence, everyone lives/nobody dies, post-vecna, fluff, established relationship, domestic fluff, new years eve, they're codependent AF, cute friendships, smut, alternating POV, multiple chapters, part of a series, status: completed

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pandora2023 · 8 months

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The Space Between You and Me

Summary: The story takes place after Laena's funeral from Rhaenys' point of view. The loss of her daughter and then the sudden death of Laenor make the distance between her and Corlys grow when he decides to go to war.

The sun was still rising as it did every day and just as it would after I am no longer here, the waves hit the rocks and mold them into surreal shapes, the wind rushes moving the leaves of the trees, carrying seeds to a new home, and I am still breathing but nothing is the same anymore. The sun doesn't warm the same, the figures on the rocks now haunt me and the wind is cold as snow.

The same mornings were even worse, the light filtering through the windows into the bed, the fine sheets covering my body and the same empty space beside me, the source of the winter in which my soul was immersed. It had been there, its scent was unique, a mark I would not mistake even if I were submerged in the middle of a garden in spring.

This castle was huge, there was no lack of rooms, if we didn't want to see each other it was easy to trace routes that would never cross, but even after the battle we had had he kept coming to sleep next to me, turning his back to us, avoiding glances, friction and words, but even that small act confirmed to both of us that this battle would come to an end, that we were both silently trying to fight against what separated us, after all, we had done that for over 20 years and even if the wind blew hard our boat always touched the harbor.

The tide had not yet subsided when a new storm came in. The sun had barely gone down and taken with it all the light, a dark shadow fell upon us once more.

"My Lord, my Lady" the guard's pale face already announced grim news "Sir Laenor..."

Seguir leyendo

#corlys velaryon #eve best #my fic #rhaenys x corlys #house of the dragon #ao3 writer #rhaenys velaryon #alternative universe #canon divergence #laenor velaryon #rhaenys targaryen

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creatediana · 4 months

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"Just One of Those Things" - lyrics to a jazz standard by American songwriter Cole Porter (1891–1964), famously performed by artists such as Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, Blossom Dearie, et cetera.

#influences #i think of cole porter as one of the best jazz poets. sorry but his lyrics are so perfectly metrical it drives me CRAZY #i purposefully broke up every line where it became catalectic bc emphasizing those breaks is. so fun #cole porter #jazz #song lyrics #poetry #twentieth century #and since this is queued for new year's eve... i hope you're all out there having your just-one-of-those-things tonight #have fun go crazy get wild it's just one of those things #fun fact this is my first time putting straight-up song lyrics in my influences tag but it's kinda long overdue #but im going to be very select when i do post song lyrics on this blog. they cant just be song lyrics i like #but song lyrics i enjoy in the same way i enjoy poetry #this may be (and is) a very unpopular opinion but i do not think songwriting has very much in common w writing poetry #by necessity that is. and that is bc ive never been able to write songs #for some of us they can be very very very different skills #the modern arts of music and poetry are very diverged from each other in terms of what it takes to write a good song or a good poem #they are NOT as overlapped as some ppl try to make it seem sometimes #it's not like drawing versus painting anymore it's more like drawing versus sculpting #ps my favorite version of this song is blossom dearie's

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ask-the-king-baby · 8 months

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In a small, locked, wooden room, buried deep underground, a dried-up corpse sits, motionless. Its eyes are empty sockets. Its skin is grey and withered.

Before it sits a variety of objects. A key, a bomb, a still-beating heart, a tarot card, and a small ladder, all marked with prices in cents. In one corner of the room sits a machine with a large sign, reading "DONATION", above a three-digit counter and a coin slot. The number is somewhere in the three hundreds.

In the other corner sits a similar machine, but different. It bears a scuffed, but sleek dark blue appearance, and some kind of digital monitor, which appears to be powered off. It, too, has a coin slot.

The room sits quiet. Nothing moves, save for a couple tiny flies.

Then, suddenly, a scuffle can be heard a couple rooms away. Grunts and impacts. The growls of strange beasts. Continued footsteps. The noise draws closer and closer, and pauses outside the room. A faint jingling is audible, and then the door is unlocked.

A girl with long, black hair enters. She seems mostly unremarkable, aside from a large-ish red fly circling around her, following at a distance. She looks at the assortment of items on the ground and rolls her eyes. She looks disappointed. Reluctantly, she takes the key, dropping some pennies on the ground in its place. They seem to vanish. Before she leaves, she drops two more into the machine marked "DONATION". She briefly looks at the blue machine, but dismisses it.

After briefly locking eyes with the corpse sitting at the head of the room, she takes her leave.

The continued sounds of combat can be heard in the distance for a while, but eventually, they fade away to nothing. The room is quiet once more.

Quiet, that is, until the corpse suddenly lurches forward. Shuddering and trembling, it rises to its feet, hunched forward, before abruptly leaning back into a full-body stretch.

???: "Mreh… Took her long enough."

The corpse speaks, to no one in particular. It walks across the room, and leans down to the floor, feeling around for something. Then, it lifts up a floorboard, revealing a lever, which it pulls. Holes suddenly appear in the floor, and the left-over items disappear into them. New holes appear in the ceiling, and a new assortment of odds and ends deposit from them. Four in total. However, there appears to be an empty spot, and one of the holes in the ceiling refuses to disappear. The corpse examines the hole.

???: "…Hello? Anyone up there?"

A couple more moments pass. The corpse looks somewhat irritated. Then, rather abruptly, a small blue creature comes flying out, and instead of stopping on the ground, begins to fly about the room. The corpse chuckles and mutters under its breath.

???: "Hoo boy."

The blue creature finally comes to a rest, seated atop the "DONATIONS" machine. It appears similar to an infant, but with dark blue skin. Its body tapers off at the waist, with no legs to speak of; only a small, pointed, tail-like protrusion. It has no mouth. Its eyes appear to be cartoonishly X-ed out, as if it were deceased, and on its head, it wears a small, golden crown. The creature somehow speaks, projecting with great bravado and assuming a heroic pose.

KING BABY: "Fear not, loyal citizen! Your king has arrived!"

The corpse watches this with mild amusement before responding, in a somewhat insincere tone of voice.

???: "Well, hello, King Baby. What brings 'your highness' here today?"

King Baby chuckles.

KING BABY: "Why, you know why I am here! I am here to assist you, humble shopkeeper, to offer my services to your customers, to aid them through this labyrinth. Is that not why I am always here?"

The shopkeeper, smiling, makes a show of responding as if the King had pointed out something of great significance.

SHOPKEEPER: "Oh, of course. Excuse my ignorance, 'your majesty'."

King Baby seems to smile (despite his lack of mouth), his eyes arching upwards in satisfaction.

KING BABY: "Worry not, dear compatriot. I promise you, we will surely make a sale together on this fine day."

The shopkeeper regards King Baby with a smirk, before walking to the other end of the room to lean against the wall, stretching.

SHOPKEEPER: "Well, we've got some time to kill before the next customer. Make yourself comfortable. I need a hell of a stretch. Sitting still for that long really locks up the joints."

He scans the room as he stretches, only to falter for a second. It appears the blue machine in the corner has turned on, the screen now lit up.

SHOPKEEPER: "Huh?"

The shopkeeper approaches the strange machine. It displays some kind of command prompt console, with two short messages.

"CONNECTION ESTABLISHED." "AWAITING INPUT…"

The shopkeeper looks upon the machine in surprise.

SHOPKEEPER: "Huh. Well, I'll be damned. This thing finally works. Short Change will be pleased."

King Baby leans over from his perch on the other machine, trying to see the screen.

KING BABY: "Oh? What's going on over there?"

The shopkeeper chuckles.

SHOPKEEPER: "Oh, Short Change has been trying to get this machine running for a long time. Says it's some kind of fancy fortune machine he found on one of the deeper levels. Connects to somewhere else, and outputs questions and advice and stuff in response to what's around it."

King Baby looks on in awe.

KING BABY: "That sounds amazing! Can we talk to it? How?"

SHOPKEEPER: "Supposedly, this thing can just hear us. Maybe it can hear you right now."

King Baby's crossed-out eyes widen further.

KING BABY: "Woooow."

He excitedly waves at the machine.

KING BABY: "Hello, new machine friend! Do you have anything you wish to know of the mighty King Baby?"

King Baby and the Shopkeeper are now open for questions.

#YOUR FATE DIVERGES #the binding of isaac #tboi shopkeeepr #tboi king baby #tboi eve #ask blog

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solradguy · 1 year

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gamebanana link to said mod <-

I don't have Strive on pc so every now and then I forget about this mod and get excited when I rediscover it again

Me rushing to the grocery store because bananas are on sale:

#photopost #I don't have anything to do with this mod btw. Divergent evolution #There is one banana left in the kitchen that I've been saving and I think I'll have it tomorrow for crimmus eve

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imogenlefay · 5 months

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Chapters: 20/20 Fandom: Glee Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Sebastian Smythe Characters: Blaine Anderson, Sebastian Smythe Additional Tags: Christmas Compilation, The Great Seblaine Christmas Extravaganza, Fluff and Sweetness, Occasional hurt/comfort, probably, But mostly fluff Summary:

A collection of Christmas-themed oneshots about Seblaine.

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hotwaterandmilk · 1 year

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#divergence eve #kureha misaki #gifs: hotwaterandmilk #gif warning #00s anime #sci fi anime #anime fashion #anime aesthetic #anime girl #animecore #2000s anime #anime gif #anime gifs #old anime #old anime gifs #oldanimeedit #old anime aesthetic #oh my god this absolute trash pile series #a+ quality entertainment

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renee-writer · 5 months

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Christmas Prompts 23' Day 24 Christmas Eve

AO3

They all lay quiet in their beds. Their parents aren’t fooled by their pretending to be asleep. They know they are waiting to hear Father Christmas’ arrival.

So, they sit in the tree lit living room and wait. With so much to do, their minds should be hectic. But there is peace as they sit, sipping adult cocoa and waiting for the children to fall asleep for real.

Christmas Eve has it’s own peace, a peace that transcends the hectic stuffing of stockings, the assembling of doll houses and racetracks. This is the peace they enjoy.

Biscuits are baked with a plate for Father Christmas, all presents are bought. Tomorrow the children will awake early to see their gifts. There will be a trip to their grandparents, a goose roasted, gifts compared with their cousins.

But now, it is Christmas Eve and their parents just breath.

#my writing #outlander fanfic #Christmas Prompts 23'#day 24 #Christmas Eve #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #outlander fandom #modern au

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sheepwithspecs · 1 year

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Exponential

|| PLvsAA || Rated T || Series: Bell Tower AU ||

Ao3 Link

It was perfectly possible to fantasize about someone without ever wanting to act on those fantasies. Surely it was no different than daydreaming about a celebrity, or a handsome model in a magazine.

At the end of the day, the fact that she knew him personally meant nothing… right?

Her world is aflame, and the sight takes her breath away.

The creature stretches twenty, thirty feet high—towering over the thatched roofs, tall as the bell tower itself. Black armor shines with a lacquer finish, shimmering in the heat. Golden accents melt in thin rivulets down its torso, dripping form the gnarled talons as though drawn with a pointed brush. The ruby eye in the center of its chest weeps molten tears. It is Bezella’s envoy, her golem… her pet beast.

Some tales claim it to be the soul of the First Knight to stand up against the Great Witch’s wrath. Captured and tortured into insanity, it has become a wraith hellbent on vengeance against the very people it once protected. Others say that it is naught but a mindless apparition, a construct born of hate, deception, and all the vile things roaming just out of sight in the shadows. Something with no will of its own, beyond that of its evil mistress. It is rumored that to meet its heated gaze is to be frozen with terror, unable to escape. Death is rumored to live in those glowing embers.

Awestruck, she watches as the familiar skyline becomes a crumbling void of ash and anguish. The sulfur-laden breeze whips at her skirts, heat scorching her bare cheeks. Run, the wind seems to whisper. Its voice is the dry crackle of lit kindling. You are not immune to the flames. The skin crawls on her wrist, the echo of past flames licking a burning trail beneath her sleeve. Run, or it will be too late.

“Too late….” The words seem to snag on her parched lips. Barely audible over the crackling roar of burning wood, they are quickly swept up in the inferno. It is already too late for her; she is not afraid of this creature that stalks the burning streets, each thunderous step rumbling in the pit of her stomach. Quite the opposite, in fact: she finds herself enamored by the sight of something so majestic, so destructive.

The armored figure lifts an arm and, with a single, powerful sweep of its sword, sets another row of homes alight. The force of its blow is a scorching wind, nearly strong enough to send her flying. For one glorious moment her skirts are weightless, her veil fluttering behind her. She cannot help but gasp in sheer delight.

The sound alerts the fiend to her presence and it turns, fixing its sights on her. Flaming orbs in the otherwise inky darkness of its helmet, flickering with a preternatural glow. Her own eyes are hidden behind the golden helm on her brow, but she nevertheless sucks in a sharp breath as she is pinned beneath the force of that burning gaze.

The figure retraces its steps, the fiery folds of its burning cloak spreading on the wind. The first step nearly sets her teeth to chattering, windows in the nearby houses cracking and bursting with the force. It seems to both shrink and expand in the wavering heat, filling her gaze and yet growing smaller with each step. By the time it stands before her it is man-sized, though still tall enough that she must tilt her head to meet its eyes.

My love. Her mouth forms the words, hands lifting in supplication—a silent plea. The golden joints of her gauntlets catch the firelight, glowing like gemstones. Heedless of her own safety, she throws her arms around the burning mantle, pressing herself against the ebony armor in a passionate embrace… and burns.

The gauntlets should have protected her hands, but the armor sears her palms with hellish fury. It is the icy heat of burning water the moment before pain makes itself known, her nerves screaming a plea to retreat. She does not listen, does not care, clinging tightly despite the pain; self-preservation is somehow not as important as the desperate need to be wholly consumed.

Her lips press fervent kisses to the black helmet, smears of lipstick decorating the melting golden scrolls. Each kiss is like the nip of a candle snuffed between her fingers, a sharp caress that prevents her from lingering as long as she’d like. Strong arms crush her against the metal plating and she hisses, part pain and part pleasure.

“Please.” She scratches at its shoulders, the grating screech of metal on metal as she claws with feverish abandon. This burning demon is the only one who can fill the yawning void within her, set fire to her nerves so that even it hurts—even if she goes mad with the pain—it would at least be something beyond the numb emptiness that envelops her heart. “Please.” A rumbling growl is all the reply she can hope for, an unsettling sound that sets her heart aquiver… though not with fear.

Mindless and frantic, disregarding the pain in her fingers, she lifts the helmet from its head. Scorching lips find her own and she is filled with a very different sort of fire, molten heat pooling in her stomach. Hands fist roughly in her skirts, teeth dragging over her pulse through the thin fabric of her veil. She squirms in the iron grip, panting as she surrenders herself to this merciless creature.

Poor thing. She can no longer tell if the voice is on the wind, or within her own mind. If witches are indeed destined for the flames, then perhaps this is the most fitting end for you. Burning alive in the arms of a fiend. Her head falls back, a broken moan dying in her chest as teeth sink into her throat. A rush of crimson joins the molten gold pooling at her feet. Blood money, she thinks fuzzily, tangling her fingers in the flaming cloak.

Her skin blisters in the heat, yet her body grows cool as the demon drinks her lifeblood. She gazes absently at the heavens, the stars veiled in smoke. Was this what the saints felt in their ecstasies? Reclined in the arms of angelic messengers, witness to tableaus kept hidden from the mortal gaze? She closes her eyes, content to revel in the blissful scene. Two figures in her mind’s eye, clasped in a lover’s embrace, outlined by a curtain of flames.

The Great Witch and the Envoy, forever intertwined.

Eve woke with a gasp, sweat beading on her brow.

For a moment she lay frozen, unable to get her bearings in the unfamiliar darkness. Her eyes were still dazzled by phantom flames that, even now, seemed to dance in the folds of the curtains drawn across the far window. Her heart beat out of time, fists clenched in the bedsheets.

A familiar snore, half-muffled behind the closed bedroom door, cut through her fear like a knife. All at once she remembered exactly where she was: one of the private Labrelum suites, usually reserved for visiting employees from the overseas branches. The meeting with Project Labyrinthia’s chief financial backer had ran late and she found it much easier to crash here, rather than be sandwiched in a helicopter between Cantabella and— She winced as another snore, louder than the first, trailed off into a sleepy grunt.

There’s no reason for you to stay. Go home.

I’m not leaving.

Unless you rent a hotel room, you’ll be stuck on the sofa.

…I’m fine with that.

“Idiot,” she muttered, more to herself than to the obstinate man spending the night on cheap vinyl cushions. She wiped the sweat from her face with both hands, an unbidden sigh escaping her chapped lips. It was only a bad dream after all. Normally, it was an easy manner for her to avoid dreaming; she merely ensured that she was exhausted by the time she collapsed into her bed. For Eve, dreams meant coming face to face with memories that she would have rather kept hidden from sight.

But that dream had been different. That was no memory; that was… that was… what was that? Frowning, she plucked at the damp sheets as they stuck to her skin. The impromptu decision to stay in London had meant she’d been left with no choice but to sleep in her underwear. Ever the gentleman, Barnham had loaned her the use of his dress shirt. It was better than nothing, but she still missed the cool, crisp texture of her well-starched nightgown. Kicking off the sheet, she quickly unbuttoned the shirt and let it fall to her sides.

Bared and shivering in the night air, she let her thoughts wander the fragmented pieces of her lost dream. Of all the things to dream about, why the Envoy? That was about as ridiculous as dreaming of Bezella herself. The Great Witch’s pet demon was no portent of fiery doom: it was just another one of Zack’s multiple roles. Not having the same dramatic flair for long-winded soliloquies, he preferred instead to play silent roles outside the confines of the Witch’s Court.

The Envoy was one of his easiest roles to assume; the Labyrinthians were all but guaranteed to be terrified out of their wits by the mere mention of a sighting. All he needed to do was look menacing and swing his sword, maybe growl a few death threats if the crowd was feeling particularly courageous. The ink handled the rest, filling in the gaps. The people did not see a man in a suit of armor. They saw the personification of the Great Witch’s wrath.

At least, that’s what she assumed. She had no way of knowing what exactly the Labyrinthians saw, other than general details that had crept into the fabric of their culture: a suit of black armor, a flaming mantle, eyes that glowed like embers, a sword forged of hellfire. Eve trembled, a curious thrill raising the hair on her arms. The creature in her dream would have frightened any normal person. She knew that she ought to have been frightened. Instead, she had all but swooned in its burning embrace.

Are you really about to unpack this now? At 2:30 am?

Eve flipped onto her stomach, burying her face into the cool side of the understuffed pillow. Tomorrow was a Parade day, which meant that the two of them would need to be back in Labyrinthia well before noon in order to keep general suspicion low. High Inquisitor Darklaw could not been seen with bags under her eyes; and yet here she was, wide awake, practically vibrating with anxious energy.

“Ugh.” She groaned, pressing her face even deeper into the flimsy pillow. Outside, the vinyl cushions squeaked as Barnham turned over. An aching loneliness filled her at the sound. In the past, she wouldn’t have thought twice about waking him and asking that he sit with her until she could manage to drift off. On the nights when she was unable to sleep, it was always a comfort to know that he was next to her, stretched out atop the blankets and well within arm’s reach. But since Espella’s trial, a strange gulf had risen between them—one she had no clue how to breach.

It's all his fault, she grumbled to herself. It was the same excuse she’d made time and time again in the weeks following the trial. He had been the one to say—to promise—that they’d talk later. But ‘later’ had never arrived, and now she couldn’t bring up the incident in the broom closet without feeling awkward and out of place.

Admittedly, she hadn’t made it easy for him to get her alone. When they were in the Court office, she insisted he speak only when the subject was Labyrinthian business. In the throne room, she had ears for no one but the Shades. Any other time, she found that she could hardly bear the tense, uncomfortable silence. More often than not, she made excuse to leave within five minutes or less.

He seemed to be waiting for her to approach the subject; she, on the other hand, refused to be the first to speak. She couldn’t look at him without remembering the gentle way he’d spoken her given name, or how soft his lips had felt beneath her fingertips, and how frantic her poor heart had been, and how the bag had dropped from her shoulder, ruining—no, rescuing—no—

Ugh! She growled, kicking the mattress with her heels as loudly as she dared. Why can’t I get his stupid face out of my head?! Two months had passed since the trial, but she still couldn’t think about him without being flooded with all sorts of confusing, conflicting emotions. On the surface, nothing had changed. They continued to work together to carry out the Storyteller’s will, walking the razor-thin line between heroes and villains in their turn. They consigned witches to a fiery grave, and resurrected them as ink stained ghosts of their former selves. They kept watch over Espella Cantabella from the shadows, ensuring that her fairie tale life remained as consistent as possible.

It wouldn’t be so terrible, she mused, if I could only figure him out. Zacharias Barnham was a puzzle that, despite her intelligence and insight, remained impossible to crack. Some days he seemed to make every excuse to stand just a little too close: ‘accidentally’ brushing his hand over the small of her back when guarding her in public, lingering a moment too long while helping her dismount her horse. Other days he ignored her with an ease that was heartbreaking to behold. Nothing would make him glance in her direction, his eyes staring right through her as if she wore a cloak of invisibility.

Deep down, Eve knew that he must have felt the same about her. At times, she clung to his side with a desperation that even she didn’t fully understand. And then—sometimes within the same day—she refused to speak to him though they spent hours holed up together in their office.

It wasn’t right! Barnham was supposed to be her best friend, aside from Espella—though she could hardly call Espella a friend, when her very existence had been erased from memory. Barnham was her assistant, her helpmeet, her accomplice… her protector, always, from the time they were small children. He was her first visitor in the hospital following the Great Fire, sneaking from his hospital bed to sit at the foot of hers. I’ll guard you with my life. That’s what a knight does.

For over thirteen years he’d honored that promise. Now where was he? Sleeping on the sofa, instead of at her side. They were hurting one another: she knew it, and she couldn’t stand it… but neither could she stop it from happening.

Countless nights she’d spent wondering what might have happened if things had gone differently. If Mr. Wright had not insisted on a not-guilty plea. If the bag had not slipped from her shoulder. If they had spoken in the hotel room that evening, instead of separating in terse silence. If she had allowed him to do things his way, without argument, trusting in his abilities. If she had not ran the first time he tried to make things right.

Oh, Zack…. She hid her face in the loose lapels of his shirt, breathing in the familiar scent. I don’t know how to fix this… fix us. How could he sleep so soundly? Was he unburdened by the same thoughts? The same regrets? He was the sort of man who wore his heart on his sleeve, but that did not help her here. She knew his heart; it was his brain that she wanted. She yearned to be privy to the thoughts that raced behind those steely, unflinching eyes.

The dream still floated on the fringes of her mind, the faceless entity replaced with thoughts of the man who assumed its form. Her throat tingled with the memory of searing lips against her pulse, the sharp nip of pointed canines, the way he had bitten her—kissed her. Or, rather… how she had kissed him. Eve swallowed thickly, a blush rising to her cheeks as her heart beat heavily against her sternum. Surely it didn’t mean anything, right? It was only a dream. But it had felt so real….

Perhaps it was better that he stayed on the sofa, rather than coming into the bedroom with her. Even now, the memory of her dream sparked beneath her skin, warming the blood in her veins. Her bare skin seemed to glow in the moonlight streaming through the curtains, a reminder that she wore next to nothing. If he did walk in without making his presence known, he was bound to get a healthy eyeful.

Shamefaced, she quickly began buttoning the shirt back up the front. What on earth had come over her? Not ten minutes before, she had been ready to wake him up in the dead of night, dressed only in his shirt and a pair of cotton briefs. Barnham was a man of honor, and while sensible, her underwear was admittedly lacking in seduction. But she would be a fool to believe a situation like that would not—could not—have an immediate effect on them both.

She could hardly handle the thought of being kissed in broad daylight, fully dressed! What would happen if he saw her now? What would she do if he touched her through the thin fabric of his own shirt? If he kissed her in the quiet, welcoming darkness? The last thing either of them needed was to ruin their friendship with unnecessary feelings. The burden would be too much; they would crumble beneath its weight.

Besides, she definitely did not want to kiss him. Dreams were simply dreams, nothing more. It was perfectly possible to fantasize about someone without ever wanting to act on those fantasies. Surely it was no different than daydreaming about a celebrity, or a handsome model in a magazine. At the end of the day, the fact that she knew him personally meant nothing… right?

There is one surefire way to fall asleep quickly.

Eve brushed the sticky bangs from her forehead, frowning at the blank white canvas of the ceiling. In her mind, she turned over all the cartoonish depictions of shoulder angels and demons, whispering thoughts into waiting ears. Unfortunately, her angel was being deceptively quiet tonight.

It won’t take much. Isn’t it your duty to comply? After all, you said it yourself: we can’t be out of form on a Parade day.

She squirmed, kicking the sheets further down the bed as her fingers plucked nervously at the top button of her borrowed shirt. While it was true that a well-timed orgasm did help to clear her brain and settle her thoughts, there was no way she could bring herself to do that while Barnham lay asleep in the next room. The thought of him waking up and hearing her, or worse—of mistaking her sounds as distress and bursting into the room….

I’d die. I would absolutely die. He would die too, probably by dashing his brains out on the doorframe in an attempt to escape.

Willing herself to fall into a doze, she squeezed her eyes shut and focused on remaining entirely motionless. A bead of sweat tickled the back of her neck, jaw clenched to the point of pain and nails biting crescent scars into her palms. In the hallway, a clock on the wall seemed to tick louder and louder with each passing second. Barnham continued to snore in the main room, a deep, rhythmic sound that only served to remind her of his presence. It was no use; like it or not, she was wide awake.

Come on… you know how to fix this. It’s not like he’ll ever know.

Her eyes flew open, a scowl flitting across her face. If she touched herself now, it would not be to the thought of him. There had to be someone else, anyone else. Her thighs clenched reflexively, a flush creeping down her throat in the darkness. The dream was still so fresh in her mind. Was it better to think of the Envoy? Was that too much? If she thought of it only as it appeared in her dream—faceless, formless—then perhaps that was different than imagining Zack beneath the helmet.

Guiltily, stealthily, her hand smoothed over her bare stomach. Her skin was warm, pliant beneath her palm and sensitive to the scratch of her nails. Eve let out a shuddering breath as she ran her fingertips over the cotton, down between her legs. She allowed her eyes to drift shut, teasing herself through the fabric with a featherlight touch as she thought of firelight and flickering shadows.

Curtains of flame.

Burning metal.

Melting gold.

A bruising grip.

Sharp teeth.

Full lips.

Red hair.

Eve….

Her breath hitched, hips canting as she arched into her own touch. A whine eased its way into her throat, fear and morbid curiosity crowding her jumbled thoughts. The creased fabric of his shirt seemed to press into her, dragging across her skin with each ragged breath. She dared not give voice to her pleasure, lower lip caught between her teeth as she slipped her fingers beneath the fabric.

When she mouths his name, lost somewhere between thoughts of keen eyes and warm, calloused hands, she feels both defeat and elation. A strange dichotomy, the two, building on itself with every guilty thrust.

Forever intertwined.

#plvsaa #plvspw #professor layton vs. phoenix wright ace attorney #professor layton vs ace attorney #barnlaw #zacharias barnham #Eve Belduke #Darklaw #AU #Canon Divergence #Bell Tower AU #fanfiction #my writing

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