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[rainbowoasis]

Ghosts Beneath the Sunrise

Teen & Up

Summary: Kunikida has a nightmare, and Dazai attempts to help.

Dazai’s eyes were going to fall out of his head. They were dry, and there was an acute soreness at his temples. He sighed and shut off his phone. The dim light bouncing off his face vanished, cloaking the room in complete darkness. A shadowy purple dawn whispered through the slats of the blinds. Dazai unfurled in a long stretch with a big, feline yawn, his bandages wrestling under his pajamas. They were coming loose. The sheets exhaled under the wait beside him. Conscious and alone, Dazai allowed his lips to tilt into a darling smile. He adored Kunikida, and the latter had fallen asleep with him last night. Well, Kunikida had fallen asleep. Dazai struggled with slipping into slumber, so he had lied by Kunikida’s side, filling the air with nonsense conversation until Kunikida was dozing and Dazai was watching him doze.

Now the morning would be upon them in about an hour. Dazai hadn’t caught a wink of sleep, but Kunikida lied still and dreaming beside him. Having him nearby was a small comfort to Dazai. Kunikida’s lazy breathing and occasional low hums beat away the terrible thoughts that often crept in when Dazai was without company. Reaching over to stroke through Kunikida’s hair or rearrange the blankets over him - all things Odasaku used to do for him - made this one of few nights Dazai could survive without too much anguish. Kunikida’s alarm would ring at seven a.m sharp, he’d flow through his morning routine, and they’d tackle the day together at the agency. Together. The thought melted through Dazai like candle wax. Sometimes he wondered if he was riding the high of a  powerful psychedelic, so taken was he by the concept of having companions, people whom would tend to his heart and body out of love. Was this truly his reality? His to cherish and indulge in?

Kunikida’s breath hitched, snatching Dazai from his contemplation. Kunikida gasped, every inhale and exhale going ragged and labored. Dazai rocketed to a sitt. What’s wrong? Is he hurt? Impossible! His heart raced as he flicked on the lamp perched on the bedside table. Orange light spilled over the bed. There were no injuries to be found on Kunikida’s person, coaxing Dazai’s nerves to settle a margin. Sweat slicked Kunikida’s neck and temples. His face was open and vulnerable in a way Dazai was far too accustom to seeing. The face Kunikida pulled when innocence was suffering, and he could do nothing to stop it. A nightmare then. Had Kunikida always been plagued by such terror in his dreams?  When the night sauntered through the city and tucked everyone into bed, Dazai surveyed his coworkers rooms, checking on them, assessing their wellbeing, insuring no one was attempting an assassination on his new family. He’d never heard Kunikida toss and turn before. Perhaps it was the stress of this week then. With the President out of town, Ranpo and Kunikida had their hands full leading the ADA. The cases had increased and without the security of All Men are Created Equal, everyone was a little on edge.

“No..” Kunikida hissed, nails biting into the rumpled sheets. What was he dreaming about? In this blood begotten city it could be anything. The agency had been through too much. Kunikida had been through too much. Pain stabbed into him from so many directions, it was hard to say which knife was twisting into him now. Dazai’s heart throbbed like a swelling bruise. Opting to wake him, he took Kunikida by the shoulder.

“Kunikida,” he murmured, rocking him gently. “Hey, wake up.”

Kunikida shot up with a scream, arm thrusting out, sending Dazai sprawling. Dazai rolled onto his stomach and regarded him with chin pillowed on his crossed arms,

“That’s one way to greet someone,” he remarked. Kunikida answered with wheezing gasps and heaving shoulders. He shoved his face into his palm, sandy blonde hair splashing around his neck. His free hand curled and uncurled, as if trying to form a fist but lacking the strength needed to do so. Tears dripped down his cheeks. His eyes were enormous through the gaps of his fingers. The nightmare clung to him like wet clothes.

“Kunikida!” Dazai pitched his voice. It reverberated off the walls. Dazai pinched Kunikida’s side for good measure. Kunikida spasmed.

“Shhh,” Dazai propped himself up on an elbow, drawing a finger to his own lips. “It’s over.”

Kunikida’s lips parted on a weak sound. He lowered his hand and peered down at Dazai. The horror drained from his face, but his features didn’t soften. A look of profound despair shadowed Kunikida’s face. He resembled a drowned man, a man dead and free of hope.

“Hey,” said Dazai, “You’re-“

“Do not speak to me,” Kunikida rumbled, a tremble racking his voice and his body. He tripped from the bed and staggered into the bathroom. He didn’t turn on the light. He hunched over the sink, holding hard to the lip of the counter to maintain his wavering balance. Dazai dragged himself to sitting, resting his back against the headboard. He hugged his knees to his chest and watched Kunikida catch his breath in the bathroom. His stomach dove and the rhythm of his heart faltered and fluttered.

What did I do?

Was it his ungentle approach to waking him? Dazai had never been soft. Practically raised by violence, he hadn’t the faintest clue how to be tender or sweet. Even amongst those of the Port Mafia, Dazai was praised and feared for his cruelty. Of all the ghosts Dazai was able to abandon in his new life as a detective, that wasn’t one of them. Poignance burned sour in his throat. He wanted to be there for the agency beyond their physical safety, but he didn’t know how,

Odasaku, what should I do? A question he asked routinely in emotional matters such as this. Odasaku’s impassive expression and mellow voice drifted into the crevices of his mind, clouding his thoughts like mist. Odasaku had been so kind. He attended to Dazai and orphans with unconditional love and patience. He could help Kunikida. Almost anyone but Dazai could.  

Kunikida doused his face in warm water. He sniffed, pressing his index finger to the bridge of his nose as if adjusting the glasses he usually wore. He hobbled back to the bed and flopped down by his pillows. He grabbed his notebook from the nightstand and settled it in his lap. He caressed his fingers down the spine and opened it. He flipped to a random page and loosed a breath as he skimmed the words. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the quiet scrapes of turning parchment.

“Kunikida,” Dazai said, “What was your nightmare about?”

Kunikida gazed back at him. The signs of crying had diminished to only lingering tear tracks on his cheeks. There was an unhappy crease in his broad nose. In the incandescent lamp light, his eyes were a caramel gold flecked with green. Poetically pretty. Dazai really needed to break out of the habit of being wildly attracted to people who were nice to him.

“You,” said Kunikida. Dazai stopped breathing, a gasp snagging in his chest. Him?

“What happened?” he asked.

“Remember the Azure Messenger incident in your entrance exam?” Kunikida asked. His hand quivered on his book.

“Of course,” Dazai nodded.

“That happened,” Kunikida growled, “Only after you compared my ideals to the messenger, you shot yourself in the chest three times.”

“Oh,” Dazai breathed, chewing the inside of his cheek. No wonder Kunikida was disinclined toward talking to him. Never mind the lack of realism in shooting oneself three times. A chill whispered up Dazai’s spine, a wave of remorse grasping at his stomach. He knew as soon as those words left his mouth, that they’d slice deep into Kunikida’s psyche, but nightmares? Sheesh! He had wanted to articulate the toxicity of Kunikida’s ideals to others and most importantly himself, not add a few inches to his stack of trauma. Dazai lowered his chin to his chest, peering up at Kunikida through the undulating sweeps of his dark hair. I fuzzed up. But Odasaku hadn’t told him to help everyone with their psychological troubles. Be someone who saves people, help out some orphans. Kunikida was no orphan nor was he a man in need of saving, and yet, Dazai ached for him, ached for his liberation from his ideals, Kunikida was far too precious a soul to agonize over constraints he put on himself. 

Kunikida smeared a hand over his face, smudging away the new tears that tried to escape.

“I’m sorry I said that,” Dazai said. His expression went pouting and plaintive. “I just ..” No words followed. Dazai fished for a way to explain himself, but digging up his heart and presenting it in a way people could understand was never a skill of his. He was helpless.

“It’s fine,” Kunikida muttered, “After all, how great can my ideals be if I can’t fulfill them?”

“But you don’t need to fulfill them,” Dazai straightened, “You’re a member of the Armed Detective Agency and a hero to Yokohama even if you don’t succeed all your ideals.”

“I know that,” Kunikida said, “But I can’t even adhere to the ideal most important to me… insuring no one dies on my watch.”

“People die everyday,” Dazai said, “Especially in our line of work.”

“Of course,” Kunikida jumped off the bed. A scowl roughened his intelligent face, and he planted his hands firm on his hips. A chiding pose, a familiar pose, but it did not amuse or assure Dazai as it so often did. Kunikida’s hands ripped into the fabric at his waist, teeth clenched behind a quivering lip.

“But that’s exactly why my ideals exist,” he said, “How is it that you don’t understand that much? How can you be so dismissive of people’s lives?” He got louder with every phrase. His words tumbled off his tongue, clumsy with rage and sorrow.

“Look at what worrying about them does to you,” Dazai waved a hand at Kunikida’s face. Kunikida was quiet for a moment. Then he dug his heel into the flooring and twirled, back to Dazai. Dazai caught his hand before he could walk away.

“Dazai,” Kunikida yanked on his hand, huffing when Dazai tightened his grip, keeping their fingers locked together.

“Where are you even going?” asked Dazai. Kunikida had no answer, his frustration scorching a flushed path across his cheeks and ears.

“While in the mafia, I worked with one of the most powerful gifteds in the world,” Dazai said, “Nakahara Chuuya the gravity manipulator. He can do anything. Together we were an unstoppable pair. Even with all that strength, we couldn’t save everyone.”

“It’s not like that’s the mafia’s top priority,” Kunikida said. Something loosened in Dazai’s chest to see the logic driven side of him return. Kunikida was so thoughtful and reasonable, while also remaining the most irrational person Dazai had ever met. Curious.

“Actually it is,” Dazai said, “Mori has the same goals as our president. The mafia does the work nobody else wants to so Yokohama can sleep and its civilians can survive.”

Kunikida offered no reply beyond a squint,

“Right?” Dazai singsonged, “Mori definitely doesn’t give that impression.” His shoulders jerked on a laugh, or perhaps a spate of choked breaths. “He’s awful, but he means as well as Fukuzawa does.” It was hard to say, not because it was untrue, but because it was the most honest thing about Mori. He’d do anything for Yokohama and its citizens, regardless of the mafia staff he had to torment and sacrifice. Dazai had been just like him, ready to kill, ready to hurt, ready to examine death in every format like a middle school science project. Any longer in the mafia and Dazai might have done to someone else what Mori did to Odasaku. That was the salt on the wound that wouldn’t suture itself shut.   

Kunikida’s hand relaxed in Dazai’s. He interlaced their fingers and piled his free hand over Dazai’s, running his thumb along his knuckles. His hands were warm. Heat trickled down Dazai’s wrists, chasing away the numbness that tried to take root. Shit! Kunikida was way better at this comforting thing than him.

“My point Kunikida,” Dazai said, “Is that even Chuuya and I couldn’t rescue everyone. Think of the pressure you’re putting yourself under.”

Kunikida sighed and came crumpling to the bed in a graceless heap. He rolled on his back, toying with the errant strings dangling from his pajamas. He traced shapes on the ceiling with his eyes, mouth pressed into a taut line.

“I’m sorry,” Dazai peered down at him, “I just hate to see you hurt yourself over things that are out of your control.” His gaze wandered to the window, where the sunrise  began to spill in, then back to his friend.

Kunikida met his gaze, beautiful golden green eyes. “I wish things were in my control. Everything,” he inched closer, dropping his head in Dazai’s lap. “I have to realize my ideals Dazai, even if it kills me.”

“Oh Kunikida,” Dazai expelled a suffering exhale. He dipped his hand into Kunikida’s hair, brushing out the tangles with lithe fingers.

“You’re too gentle for this life you live.”

Kunikida hummed, less agreement and more so delight as Dazai played in his hair. “Then I’ll make the world gentle.”

It was Dazai’s turn to fall silent. He couldn’t decide whether to smile or scream. Kunikida  was so fucking stubborn, resisting the mortal right to comfort, to being soothed.

“You know Dazai,” Kunikida said, “Your words weren’t the only thing about that nightmare that bothered me.”

“Oh?”

“I really hated seeing you shoot yourself too. My life’s a lot brighter with you in it, even if you are a pain in the ass.”

Dazai froze, mouth hanging open in a soundless gasp. He hated being acknowledged as more than an immortal nuisance. He hated being liked. It gave him so much more to hold close to his heart like a child’s plush toy or blanket, and thusly so much more to be ripped away from him. Feeling human was so foreign. Kunikida’s affection made him conscious of his own flesh and beating heart.

“I wouldn’t dare kill myself alone, remember?”

“Right, silly me,” Kunikida deadpanned. The relief in his tone was palpable.

Dazai tipped his head back with a chuckle.

Don’t worry. I’m not leaving you….

Any of you.  

A/N: Thanks for reading. Remember that while our lives go on, folks in Palestine, Congo, and Sudan are still suffering. So keep doing your part to help.

[rainbowoasis]

Away From it All

18+

In and out. In and out.

“Dazai,” Chuuya said. He gave himself a little pat on the back because his voice came out quite even considering the way his teeth were clenching. The car rolled to a stop, slanting in a combini driveway. Chuuya curled his trembling fingers into his jeans to keep from blasting the passenger window to pieces. His skin was hot enough to light a candle.

“Chuuya,” Dazai sang back. His tone was nothing short of irritating to Chuuya’s fried nerves.

“Why are we out of gas half an hour before the concert?” Chuuya asked. He was trying this breathing exercise Mori taught him. The boss was the most composed person Chuuya knew, and yet, inhaling for four seconds and exhaling for eight wasn’t repressing the festering urge to bash the beauty out of Dazai’s face. 

“Ohh, is that the problem?” Dazai plumped his expression into a perfect facsimile of innocence, looking melty and soft enough to bruise with a single poke. It was a skill to appeal to such a facade while embellished in dark makeup and black earring cuffs. Chuuya had to admit, Dazai cut an appetizing figure in his black graphic tee and jacket he wore off the shoulders, belts layered over his waist and thighs.

“Yes! Idiot!” Chuuya couldn’t resist jabbing his elbow into Dazai’s ribs. Piece-a-shit deserved it. Dazai yelped and sheltered against the window, knees bumping the steering wheel in his effort to flee. 

“So cruel,” he hissed, shoving his cheek into the glass and scowling. Well, it was more like a pout, a far cry from the violent glares he used to cast his subordinates in the Port Mafia. Chuuya was relieved. Dazai could wear many faces but childlike roundness suited him best. He was glad Dazai was in the agency. They softened his edges in a way the mafia never could, even if by only a margin. 

“Come to think of it,” Dazai tilted his head back against the seat rest. “I do remember Kunikida saying something about the company car needing gas. Huh,” he shrugged and blew an amused sigh through his mouth, “He always has so much to say, guess it slipped my mind.” 

“Dazaiiiiiiiii!” Chuuya kicked at the glove compartment before throwing his legs over it. He frowned at his buckled boots and distressed jeans. “Rotten bastard,” he bit, “You know I was looking forward to rockin out with Three Days Grace.”

“Well taking it out on the glove compartment won’t help,” Dazai said.

“Awww man, my bad. Would you have preferred the beat down instead?”

“Not a chance,” Dazai said, “You know I hate pain.”

“Good,” Chuuya purred. He lifted one hand, curling his manicured nails into the palm of his fingerless glove. “Cause you’ll be in for a world of hurt if you don’t call! A! Tow!” He punctuated each word with a rack of knuckles against the console.

“Please,” Dazai blew at the hair in his face, “You couldn’t land a hit on me if you were licensed in it.”

“It takes less than that to send a douchebag like you to the grave,” said Chuuya.

“Gotcha,” Dazai drawled, tugging on the chain looped around his neck. He tilted his head toward Chuuya, his ‘Challenge. I’m going to say something absolutely insufferable and it’s your job not to make a fool of yourself responding’ smirk plastered on his face. “Then it’s pretty impressive we’ve known each other for so long and you still haven’t managed to do either.”

Of course. It was a damn good thing that Chuuya was distracted with Dazai’s bony, locksmith fingers, otherwise he would’ve flipped the whole car over.

“Go fuck your self,” he breathed, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed behind his rumpled red hair in a makeshift pillow. “And call a freakin tow while you’re at it.”

“C’mon Chuuya, you know I have way more fun fucking you,” Dazai said, and fuck! Goddamnit! Chuuya wasn’t expecting him to just admit something like that, like it was commonplace and sex with Chuuya gave him no need for reservations. Chuuya’s face heated up, bright as his hair as images of nights gone by flashed through his mind and crept up his skin. Last week, Dazai had been so desperate for him, he had tugged off Chuuya’s pants and underwear with is teeth. Chuuya had the way Dazai said his name on repeat, his voice a scratchy whine as if he had been smoking Chuuya and still couldn’t get enough of him.

Well their chances of going to the concert were good and dashed. Maybe Chuuya should make something of this crummy situation and undress Dazai in the sanctity of this stranded car, get him all riled up, ride him and deny him every time he wanted to cum as punishment for his careless crimes. That could salvage Chuuya’s mood, especially if he left a big enough mess for Dazai, Kunikida, or any other agency loon to clean up off the upholstery seating later.

Chuuya popped out of his daydreams just in time to catch Dazai grinning at him, a toothy feline smile that bespoke of underhanded triumph. Chuuya scoffed and shot him his middle finger. An impish laugh sprang free as Dazai reached for him, pinching and pulling at Chuuya’s flushed cheeks like some crazed grandmother.

“You’re thinking about me,” Dazai fluted. His voice lowered to a velvety rumble, “About what you can do to me and what I can do for you right? I knew you would.”

“Your special ability is gonna be a lot harder to use with no hands,” Chuuya snarled, ignoring the rising temperature in his face and physically willing his almost-boner to get lost. He pawed at Dazai’s wrists, but Dazai ducked back with a snicker, evading his attack.

“Get a tow,” Chuuya said again. Dazai whipped his phone from his pocket and swung one leg over the other. Chuuya sighed. He doubted he was actually obeying him, likely playing a game on his phone just to press more of Chuuya’s very few buttons.

“The venue’s an hour and a half away,” Dazai said, “If we start walking now, we’ll miss some of the opening act, but we can still make it in time for Three Days Grace.”

“You serious?” Chuuya said.

“There’s a liquor store on the way.”

“Well thank hell. I’m gonna need something strong to deal with you,” Chuuya swung the door open and hopped from the car. He did a little dance to wake up his muscles and stretched his arms above his head.

“And I’m gonna need a miracle to deal with you drunk,” said Dazai, rounding the car to meet him.

“Eat my ass,” Chuuya grumbled, folding his arms over his chest.

“All in good time Love,” Dazai wagged his finger as if scolding a child.

“Stop making sex jokes before I sock you!”

All Chuuya got was another shit-eating laugh. He spat a bunch of venomous invective under his breath as he fished his phone from the inside pocket of his leather jacket. He all but jammed a Bluetooth earbud into Dazai’s chin until he took it from him. Dazai slipped the left earpiece in and Chuuya did the same with the other. Chuuya got an indie playlist going, and the pair began their lengthy walk toward the concert venue.

The air was blessedly agreeable that evening, with the sun edging closer and closer to the horizon. Yokohama under skies of honey and rose was such a familiar sight, the celebratory backdrop to so many victories the Armed Detective Agency and Port Mafia pulled off together. Each sunset was a sign of Yokohama’s survival. The air was brisk and nippy, a mercy given the heavy punk wear Chuuya and Dazai were garbed in.

They spoke about career and finance, catching each other up on their recent assignments and gossiping about the members of their respective organizations. The tension seeped from Chuuya’s muscles after half an hour of walking. He liked being outside with no impending missions weighing on his steps. Somewhere along the way, his hand had found itself laced in Dazai’s. Sex was easy, but gentler types of intimacy was tricky. Chuuya feared getting attached, of holding on too tight and losing himself in the process. He knew Dazai as well as he knew the city they both longed to protect. He knew Dazai would never let anything happen to him. He’d catch him if he stumbled and stop him if he moved too fast, but still. Feelings weren’t like corruption, and though he trusted Dazai, he didn’t trust himself. He didn’t trust himself to be stable in the face of true and tender love. As far as Dazai went …

“Is this okay?” Chuuya asked, giving their joint hands a little shake.

Dazai paused in his enthralling tale of the Nakajima kid managing to get stuck in the ADA pantry. He spoke of him with such fondness. That had to be Odasaku’s influence. Dazai had hardly loved anyone in the mafia, and now, his words about his friends and colleagues were laced in an infectious, sugar sweet smile.

“Yeah, this is fine,” Dazai whispered. His grip tightened on Chuuya’s hand. It was hard to say exactly what made the wheels in Dazai’s head turn, and in what direction or at what speed. If Chuuya were to hazard a reliable estimation however, he’d say Dazai’s dilemma was the fear of loss, of loving just to lose. He couldn’t afford anymore holes in his heart.

They walked like that, keeping their hands locked even as they strolled into the liquor store. Chuuya purchased two bottles of red wine, then they crossed the parking lot to another store to get some snacks for Dazai.

“Not too much Chuuya,” Dazai said. Chuuya stopped his chugging and eyed his process as they turned down a street corner. He had only consumed a quarter of his first bottle.

“You know you’re a lightweight,” Dazai said, “Don’t you wanna be sober for Three Days Grace?”

“I can hold my liquor just fine,” Chuuya said, which they both knew was a lie.

“Okay okay, forget I said anything,” Dazai raised one hand in mock surrender. He bit into his KitKat and  made grabby hands. “Can i have a drink though?”

“Don’t try and outdo me now,” Chuuya passed the bottle over to him. It was probably a good thing. His footsteps were light, the way it felt when he manipulated gravity to walk on thin air. The heady desire to drink more, to get more liquid heat into his system was prickling up his spine too. Yes, definitely a good thing that Dazai took the bottle before Chuuya could dig himself an embarrassing, inebriated grave.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dazai rolled his eyes heavenward. He only took a few ginger sips much to Chuuya’s chagrin. He was always in the mood for a challenge. The ones that weren’t rigged by bandaged geniuses anyways.

“So tell me,” Chuuya stuffed his hands into his pockets, “Why’d you actually let the gas run out?”

The bottle slipped in Dazai’s grip, a few drops of wine splashing onto his chin. He was quick enough so that the bottle didn’t fall, catching it by the neck. For a split second his bronze eyes were enormous and his lips parted in a small O, and Chuuya treasured it as one small victory in their ridiculous seven year game of nonsense.

“Oho, you caught onto me huh?” Dazai’s mask of curated cheer and ease slid back into place.

“Duh,” Chuuya said. They came to a four way intersection. The light was green, and Chuuya booted a pebble as they watched the cars pass.

“All right fine,” Dazai said through a suffering sigh. His eyes squeezed shut for a moment and … and … he didn’t say anything at all. The light went red and they hurried across the street. Their walk continued and still Dazai said nothing. Chuuya was not a patient man, but for Dazai and his fragile tangled brain, Chuuya would summon every ounce of tolerance he could. Dazai drifted closer, wrapping his arm around Chuuya’s waist. Chuuya leaned into his shape, inhaling the fresh scent of his jacket. He had purchased it new just for this occasion then. How sweet.

“It’s silly,” Dazai rasped, “But I just wanted to spend a little more time with you before we went.”

Chuuya came to an abrupt halt. Dazai had the Grace not to trip over him.

“Oh Dazai,” Chuuya shook his head. Dazai only stared. He slouched in his jacket. The picture of calm, though Chuuya reckoned he was feeling quite the opposite. He snagged Dazai by his chain and pulled him down to his level. “You’re such a bozo.”

“I know,” Dazai said, lips curving up in a soft smile. Chuuya sealed that smile in a kiss. He tasted Dazai’s moan, chills whispering down his back at the fingers splaying in his hair. What a fool.

Chuuya didn’t regret a second. 

A/N Thanks so much for reading. I simply adore these two! Thank you Season 5 for the soukoku crums 🙏🏾

Regarding real world issues, please keep boycotting if you’re in the U.S like me. Our government is willfully ignoring us so we must target their finances.

wishing everybody luck, love, and safety

[rainbowoasis]

But it’s Over Now, Go On and Take a Bow

4.2 Update Spoilers!!!

She’s tired, so so tired. She wishes she could turn her brain off, wishes she could sink into Fontaine’s waters for eternity. Her knees shake and her arms are jelly as she shoves everything she owns into a suit case. Half the items end up scattered on the floor around the suitcase, and she sighs as she delegates more concentration to getting them inside. 

Reach, grab, lift, drop in suitcase.

She has to walk herself through what to do because her body doesn’t want to listen. Her joints are locking up. Her legs and arms are tingling. She is so tired, and she’s not even sure that she’s allowed to be tired.

Reach, grab, lift, drop in suitcase.

Everyone is alive. The prophecy had not come to fruition after all. She can’t be more relieved than she is now, so then why does everything hurt? Faking the roll of an archon for half a millennia, refusing to let anyone into her facade, pretending that everything was under control when Fontainian lives were slipping through her fingers, sobbing on stage and desperately clawing for her people’s approval, hasn’t it all been worth it? Why must it still hurt? Tears leak past her lashes, trailing down her cheeks. Her chest snags with a hiccup, and another, and another. It’s worth it. It’s worth it. It has all been worth it! Never mind that she sacrificed her humanity, her soul. Never mind that no one will acknowledge her pain and thank her for her contribution. Her nation is safe and that’s … she sniffles … that’s all that matters right? Right? The resounding click of approaching heels echos throughout the opera house. Furina scrapes at her face in a hurry, sifting her mind for a reason to excuse the tear stains.

“Lady Furina,” Neuvillette appears in her room, as austere and imposing as ever. Furina owes a lot to him. She had tried to transform him into a pillar she could lean on without disclosing her true identity. It had only kind of worked, but he still shouldered the burden of a nation’s cruel expectations for her nonetheless.

“Ah, Iudex Neuvillette,” Furina offers a mighty greeting, flourishing her wrist. “You’ve come at a good time. I’d like to announce my resignation from the position of hydro archon. I hope you understand.”

“But of course,” says Neuvillette, “Had you not decided to leave I would have fired you myself.”

“What?” she squeaks. Then clears her throat and asserts, “Pardon me, but what ever gives you the right to presume you’d relieve me of my position?” Oh, Celestia and all its principles, she’s pulling on her facade despite the soreness in her bones. She has been acting for so long, the role might as well be designed on her very spirit.

Neuvillette smiles, a soft, pitying tilt of the mouth and a lowering of his gaze that makes it appear as though he’s mourning and trying to be strong. “Setting the matter of your trial aside, I also spoke to Focalors, God of Justice.”

“Wasn’t that me?” Furina asks.

“In a sense. She was the woman that encouraged you to do all this.”

“Oh,” Furina breathes, “The mirror me.”

“Exactly,” Neuvillette nods, “Her machinations have been realized, which means you no longer have to play your part.”

“Ahh yes, good good.”

“Lady Furina,” Neuvillette’s voice trembles as he strides toward her. He nudges the suitcase aside with his boot and sinks to one knee in front of her. His gloved hands find her shoulders, and squeeze. Furina wants to crumble beneath a grip so firm.

“I am so, so, so sorry,” Neuvillette says. His eyes are enormous. “No amount of apologies will mend the wounds you’ve taken for Fontaine, but I am so incredibly sorry that you had to. I’m sorry you were all alone. I’m sorry you could confide in no one. I’m sorry your Iudex had no faith in you and therefore did not lend you his support. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” The apologies pour forth like water. Neuvillette can’t hold back his flood of emotion. Furina listens, lips parted, unsure of what to say or do. Should she soothe her dear Iudex or dismiss his concerns? What would be most appropriate? Acknowledgment! Someone’s expressing their grief for her pain. Finally, finally! 

“Ugh,” Furina groans, “Monsieur Neuvillette, let me assure you that mmff-“

“Hush now,” Neuvillette stamps a finger to her lips, his words still quivering. She’s surprised he isn’t shaking with the force of his own emotion.

“Don’t say anything,” he says, “You are no longer a performer. I do not wish you to conduct yourself as an actress. You have no need for that merciless role.”

“Oh well then, um,” Furina ducks her head and averts her gaze. Her heart flutters in contrast to how her stomach dips. She can’t help but worry that this is all wrong, that something terrible is bound to happen. It prickles the back of her neck. She wants to believe Neuvillette, to collapse into his words and do exactly as he instructs, to shed her role. But what if .. what if?

“Monsieur Chief Justice,” she gasps, “Is it really over? Am I really done?” She’s imperceptive to the new rivulets of tears running from her eyes, or the way her shoulders hitch.

“Yes Mon Petit Ange,” he coos.

“But we’re still in the opera house,” she cries.

“Then I shall take you out of it,” Neuvillette declares. With little ado, he collects her in his arms like a bride and rises to his feet. Her head lulls against his shoulder, and she clutches his jabot. Her eyes drift shut, but she can’t get her mind to quiet. “I’m never coming back,” she murmurs, more for herself than anyone else. She isn’t sure if she means it or not.

“You may only return if you will it,” Neuvillette says, “I will gladly govern Fontaine in your stead.”

“That’s good, cause I don’t wanna do it anymore.”

“I’ve already arranged suitable accommodations for you,” Neuvillette exits the room. Furina can  hardly tell he’s moving, his embrace so steady.

“You needn’t work or worry.”

“You’re so nice,” she yawns.

“Nonsense,” Neuvillette says, “It’s the least I can do.” 

…

When Neuvillette at last sets her down, it is upon a lace canopied bed of soft blankets and endless pillows. She feels like she’s melting into a cloud. She opens her eyes for but a moment, taking in the opulence of the bedroom and the low lighting before she closes them again.

“I’m so tired,” she whispers. She can only say it. She’ll never make anyone understand how fatigue weighs down her gait, how exhaustion has her living life through a dreary haze.

“I know Petit, I know,” Neuvillette breathes from somewhere below her. There’s a hand holding her ankle steady as her shoe is coaxed from her foot. Then her other shoe hits the carpet with a quiet plunk. He really is a kind person, the kindest person. Rain patters beyond the window. How long did it take her to notice? She curls up and hopes her consciousness surrenders itself, the rain her lullaby. 

…

She wakes as an unwilling participant. Her body is cramping and her eyes are dry. For a second, she frets over her duties for the day. Then she remembers. She isn’t in the Opera Epiclesse anymore. It is all over. She may cry again. She pushes herself up in her pillows. The room is dark, not a hint of light getting through the curtains. Sleep is so alluring. She’s draped in a lavender chemise she doesn’t recognize. Who is responsible for this?

“Lady Furina?” three knocks come to her door alongside a woman’s voice. “Are you up?”

“Yes, yes you may come in,” Furina calls, confounded at how hoarse her voice is, words raking up her throat. She coughs a little. The door pushes open and Navia floats in.

“Good to see you up My Lady,” Navia says, a radiant smile shaping her lips. In one hand she balances a long tray cluttered with pastries and juice. Navia sashays past the windows, yanking back the curtains as she does. Sunlight filters through the room. Furina squints. Navia sidles up to Furina’s bed and settles on the edge of it, placing the tray in Furina’s lap.

“Am I late for something?” Furina asks. The platter warms up her bare thighs and the aroma of the pastries sweeten the air the way flowers do spring.

“No, I’m just bringing you breakfast,” Navia laughs.

“Aw! Well then, I should thank you for your generosity,” Furina says, reaching for a bacon quiche. “Ahem, where is Monsieur Iudex Neuvillette?”

“He’s very busy establishing himself as Fontaine’s sovereign,” Navia says, “We’ve all been taking turns looking after you.”

“All?” Furina asks.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, Duke Wriothesley, Clorinde, and I”

“My! I did not expect my subjects to flock to my aid.”

“Ex subjects,” Navia says, twirling a bouncy tress of caramel blonde hair. Right, right. She is Fontaine’s archon no more. This mercy can’t have come soon enough.

“You have a rotation yes?” Furina grabs up a slice of vanilla cake topped with strawberries, “How long have I been resting?” 

‘Four days,” Navia says. Furina pauses mid chew, cheeks full of cake. She isn’t sure how to respond. Four days? It feels like she slumbered for only six hours.

“Sigewinne’s been monitoring you though, and your health hasn’t declined.”

“Ah yes. That is wonderful news,” Furina says. She swallows down her cake and takes another slice. “This is truly a delicious confection,” she sighs as the cream icing melts on her tongue.

“Really? Yay!” Navia claps her hands, “Fantastic! It would be a terrible shame if I disappointed you.”

“Hmm, you? Did you make this divine breakfast Ms. Navia?”

“Yes,” she bobs her head in a nod.

“Thank you. I love it! It quite befits me!”

“Well, you certainly deserve a treat.”

“Deserve?”

“Yup,” says Navia. Without warning, she dives into Furina’s space and throws her arms around her. Furina shrieks as her face is stuffed into Navia’s plush chest. She’s enveloped in strong arms and the fragrance of Navia’s floral perfume. Furina crumbles into her. She’s gooey and drenched in warmth like the cream of a hot confection.

“I wanted to thank you personally Lady Furina,” Navia speaks into her hair, “Your contribution to Fontaine is truly wonderful. My gratitude is eternal.” Oh, wow… Something crowds Furina’s throat, snatching her breath away. Her stomach cranks like the gears in a clockwork mega because, she failed Navia the most.

“Your the last person who should be thanking me,” Furina mutters. She’s taking up too much space in Navia’s embrace, cozy in a sanctuary she lacks the privilege to seal herself in. “Your attendants were dissolved before I could stop the prophecy.” A fresh wave of tears press behind her eyes. She has no right to mourn them. She hardly knows who they are, but she can’t help it. She had done everything her mirror self told her too, and innocent people still lost their lives. Navia stills against her. She holds her breath for a small eternity, then sweeps her hand through Furina’s sugar white hair.

“No, don’t say that,” Navia murmurs, “It isn’t your fault. You did your best, and it was enough to save practically all of Fontaine. I’ll never blame you for their passing. And I will never stop marveling at the perseverance and compassion you offered your people. Thank you.” She rocks Furina through her tears. Furina doesn’t ever want to leave.

…

Next time Furina wakes, it’s to a ridiculously sized man hanging over her, assessing her with shrewd blue eyes. She screams to the top of her lungs. Wait. She knows his face but can’t put a name to it, and the logical part of her brain loses the battle to the panicked part.

“Ah, you’re good and alive then,” his smirk is sideways and cavalier, “I thought I might have to get Sigewinne to examine you again. How are you feeling?”

“Um, Duke Wriothesley?” Furina dodges the question with one of her own, trying the title on her tongue. She hopes she got that right. She can’t answer that question. Every moment she’s awake, she wishes she was sleeping, and there are a million reasons why. None of which she desires to express or explain. 

“Yes?”

“It’s your turn to babysit me?”

“Perish the thought,” Wriothesley extends one bandaged hand, “I’m here to invite you outside for a cup of tea.”

“I’d rather not be seen by anyone,” Furina daintily shakes her head.

“We’re not going beyond your backyard,” says Wriothesley, “But everyone needs a little sunlight.”

“What an ironic notion, coming from the Duke of Meropide,” Furina snorts, but she sits up and slips her fingers through Wriothesley’s.

“To be fair, I’m a criminal,” Wriothesley says, “Flowers like you bloom best in the sun. I’m more like the moss that lurks between rocks underground.”

“You could’ve chosen any manner of night blooming flower or houseplant, and you chose moss for your simile. Your self esteem is rather deficient Monsieur Duke.”

“Well,” Wriothesley heaves her up. She squeals, kicking her legs until she’s cradled proper in his arms. She holds tight to his massive shoulders, worrying her lip at how far from the ground she is.

“Then we’re in the same boat, aren’t we Miss?” he carries her outside with ease. It’s a bright day, a warm one too, the sun’s heat on her skin, with no hint of a breeze. Neuvillette acquired her a house with a garden suitable for tea parties. Wriothesley dips her down in a cushioned chair, and sprawls in the chair opposite her.

“What?” Furina throws her head back into a laugh, “For five centuries I have been Fontaine’s archon, adored and trusted by all”

“But do you adore yourself?” Wriothesley drums his fingers on the mug before him, “Often when you’re supervising a vast sum of people, you lose the comfort of putting yourself first. And you learn that people don’t love you so much  as they love what you can do for them.”

Furina hiccups, almost choking on her tea. She takes another sip. It’s hot and sweet with honey and milk. Wriothesley’s tea is always welcome and exquisite, just like the duke himself. “You’re right,” she says, the words full seconds apart. “All I know how to do is pretend to take care of others. I don’t know how to love me.” She imagines she won’t ever learn either. She is too exhausted to rewire her brain to think normally. Her cup sloshes in her trembling hands,and she sets it down as not to drop it.

“See?” Wriothesley smiles, mouth in a rueful curve, and shelters Furina’s delicate hands in his big ones. “We are in the same boat.”

Furina’s breath stutters. No, no! The tears are coming back. The ache in her chest swells and it’s as if her ribs shatter.

“If I may make one correction,” Wriothesley says, and takes her silence to be permission. “While you may have been pretending to be an archon, every aspect of care and attention you granted your people was real.”

She doesn’t let go of his hands as she cries.

…

When she wakes, the steady, rhythmic bouncing of her body lets her know she’s being carried. Again? She hasn’t touched the floor since she arrived here. Is that on Neuvillette’s command? Does he wish to spare her legs? She’s delighted no one else appears to mind either. She forces her eyes open and tries to blink the dryness away. A purple jabot sways in her vision.

“Clorinde?” Furina asks.

“Good evening My Lady,” Clorinde says back. Her easy, syrupy voice travels down Furina’s neck, raising goosebumps as it goes. When last they saw each other, Clorinde had a sword pointed at her. What a horrifying time. Every second on that stage had been miserable, the air squeezed thin with her own fear. Everyone had turned against her. She doesn’t blame them, but it doesn’t soothe the pain.

“Where are we going?” Furina asks.

“No where,” says Clorinde, “I’ve been in charge of your bathing and dressing.”

“Oh!” Furina yips and covers it with a cough. A rosy heat spreads along her cheeks and nose, and she hides her face in Clorinde’s neck. A low, sultry chuckle vibrates through her in response. Clorinde’s shoes reverberate off the mosaic floor as they enter Furina’s bathroom. It is just as luxurious as the rest of her bedroom, with a capacious claw foot tub beside a window that peers into her garden. Clorinde sets her on the counter. She leaves her to light a few candles, golden light spilling along the walls. She returns, beginning to unfasten Furina’s clothes. When done, Clorinde scoops her back up and lowers her down into the bath. Furina expels a dramatic sigh as the hot water ripples around her. 

“Is the temperature to your liking?” Clorinde kneels at the side of her tub.

“It is more than adequate,” Furina says.

“Glad to hear it,” Clorinde says. She starts with Furina’s shoulders, lathering soap smelling of hyacinth in her palms, and massaging it into her flesh. “You’re usually asleep when it’s my turn to tend to you, so I’m glad to see you awake for a change.”

This feels like it shouldn’t be happening. Furina’s vision frays at the edges, her thoughts going fuzzy. The water is blurry with incandescent candle light streaking through it. Her body gives a pleasant shiver with every glide of Clorinde’s fingers. She must be sailing through a dream. Soon she’ll wake up, and she’ll have to resume being a fraud god once more.

“I have been sleeping a lot,” she admits, a giggle skipping through her words.

“That’s all right,” says Clorinde, “You’ve earned a rest. If I were you, I’d be in a six month coma. Actually scratch that. I would’ve given up a long time ago.”

“I wanted to give up so badly though,” Furina whimpers. Sheesh! Emotions are governing every aspect of her, aren’t they? They’re so hard to hold back, as insistent as a hungry audience. Not even her feelings offer her clemency. As loud as an encore, her heart throbs in her chest.

“But you didn’t,” Clorinde says, “You didn’t and you’re brilliant. Anyone else would’ve given up and no one could blame them. You’re job was to act as a god, but isn’t the strength you cultivated its own divinity?”

“Shoot!” Furina screams. She collapses into a litany of sobs, her body spasming. She can’t stop crying. She can’t stop crying. 

“You know?” Clorinde’s voice softens, “I hate crying, but I let myself anyways because of Navia. She’s always vulnerable and there is such a beauty in that. You needn’t take any shame in your own sorrow. After all I’d be flooding Fontaine if I were you. So, thank you for everything. Cry all you need.”

Furina only cries harder.

…

She wakes again. Her room is in darkness and she can’t move, so frozen by her own fatigue. Her eyes are heavy, and a portal of dreams and abyss sits just behind her eyelids. To think she has all these people pampering and spoiling her, and she’s still bereft of energy. There’s shuffling in her bedroom, and she yells.

“Lady Furina,” Neuvillette’s sonorous voice answers from somewhere in the black.

“Ahh, My Dear Iudex,” Furina exhales, relief loosening her taut drawn muscles.

“I did not intend to frighten you,” Neuvillette murmurs, “I only meant to insure that everything was still in order here. I wasn’t expecting you to wake.”

“It’s fine,” Furina says, “What is the hour?”

“A few hours past midnight,” Neuvillette says. Slow, gentle footfalls descend on the carpet. Then, the bed sighs as Neuvillette sits on it.

“You’re up so late,” Furina whines.

“Indeed. Such is the nature of reestablishing a dilapidated nation,” she can hear the weary smile in his words, “And it fairs little compared to your own exhaustion anyhow. Also, Wriothesley visits nigh every night with tea to drink and oil to soothe my aches with.”

“How gentlemanly of him,” Furina isn’t sure why the idea conjures up a flush to her complexion.

“Quite,” he chuckles. He pats over the blankets before he finds Furina’s head. He hums and runs his fingers through her hair.

“Monsieur Neuvillette?” she asks. Her mind gets away from her, and she liquefies under his affection. It takes her a few moments to finish verbalizing her concern. “Everybody is taking such good care of me, and yet I can't seem to stay awake.”

“Why yes,” Neuvillette says, “The prophecy was not fulfilled in a day, so too will you not be ameliorated so soon. Please don’t fuss over it. We are all honored to serve you.”

“Are you sure?”

“As Fontaine is the nation of hydro.”

Her eyes flutter shut, and Neuvillette’s nails on her scalp coax her back to sleep. She reflects on the time she’s spent awake. Her subjects were spoiling her, gentle with her body and tender with her heart. They all acknowledged her in earnest, let her cry and expected nothing from her. If this is all real… if her show has truly come to an end and these good ladies and gentlemen don’t mind pampering her soul till it’s whole again, then perhaps she no longer has to dread waking up. A tear rolls down her cheek and her mouth lifts in a phantom smile. One day, she won’t be tired.

A/N: Thanks for reading. Title is from Rihanna’s Take a Bow.

You can find me on AO3 as RainbowPools

Lastly, wishing everyone luck, love, and safety, and encouraging everyone to boycott and interact online for the people that really need us.

[rainbowoasis]

✨Flufftober2023✨

Hello hello! I go by RainbowPools on AO3! Grab your fuzzy slippers and favorite snacks, cause I’m sharing my soft and fluffy plans for October.

First things first, the prompt list is here! https://www.reddit.com/r/AO3/comments/15kjdu4/unofficial_flufftober_prompt_list/

And here is what I’m doing. Subject to change cause of my fickle hyperfixations.

Day 1: First Kiss 

Relationship - Lyney/Aether (Genshin Impact)

Summary- After solving the serial murder case, Aether decides to spend his night in Fontaine relaxing. He meets Lyney on the Aqua-bus and one thing leads to another. 

Day 2: Love Confessions 

Relationship - Nikolai Gogol/Fyodor Dostoyevsky (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Summary - Fyodor escapes Meursault and has a chat with Nikolai.

Day 3: Sick/Injury

Relationship - Shinazugawa Sanemi/Tomioka Giyuu (Demon Slayer)

Summary - Sanemi’s taken an injury and the anesthetic Kochou gives him makes him dazed and adorable. Giyuu sticks around to look after him.

Day 4: Rainy Day 

Relationship -  Wriothesley/Neuvillette (Genshin Impact)

Summary - When it rains, it signifies the sorrow of the hydro dragon. Fontaine is hit with another downpour and Wriothesley seeks out Neuvillette to cheer him up.

Day 5: Dancing Together 

Relationship - Douma/Kokushibo (Demon Slayer)

Summary - After dinner, Douma is in the mood for a romantic slow dance. Kokushibo will join him, whether he wants to or not.

Day 6: Playing With Hair

Relationship - Neuvillette/Navia (Genshin Impact)

Summary - Navia helps Neuvillette get ready for bed by brushing and braiding all of his hair.

Day 7: Sharing Clothes 

Relationship - Hobie Brown/Miles Morales (Across the Spider-Verse) 

Summary - Miles just wants to curl up in one of Hobie’s hoodies and nap his troubles away. Luckily Hobie is fine with this. All he asks in return is for one of Miles’ jackets.

Day 8: Kidfic/Pet Fic 

Relationship - Akaza/Rengoku Kyoujurou (Demon Slayer)

Summary - Rengoku is terrified of cats, but when Akaza brings home a stray kitten with a plea in his eyes, Rengoku can’t say no.

Day 9: Showering/Bathing 

Relationship - Gojo Satoru/Nanami Kento (Jujutsu Kaisen)

Summary - It’s been a long day. Nanami luxuriates in the shower and his menacing partner Gojo joins him. Nanami discovers he doesn’t mind.

Day 10: Gift Giving 

Relationship - Edogawa Ranpo/Edgar Allan Poe/Oguri Mushitaro (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Summary - Ranpo gets the idea to start giving his boyfriends gifts in order to make them more comfortable in their relationship. It works.

Day 11: Meet Cute

Relationship - Shikanoin Heizou/Arataki Itto (Genshin Impact)

Summary - In a modern universe, Itto crashes his motorcycle near Heizou’s job. Heizou goes to investigate, beginning the chapter of an unlikely friendship.

Day 12: Cooking Together 

Relationship - Hobie Brown/Pavitr Prabhakar (Across the Spider-Verse)

Summary - Hobie snagged a soul food recipe from Miles and wants to give it a try. Pavitr wants to help, and maybe add an Indian dish to their dinner.

Day 13: Learning a Craft 

Relationship - Kamado Tanjirou/Hashibira Inosuke (Demon Slayer)

Summary - Inosuke needs to concentrate all that restless energy somewhere. Tanjirou thinks taking up a hobby might help.

Day 14: Locked In/Trapped 

Relationship - Gyutaro/Uzui Tengen 

Summary - How Tengen manages to get stuck in a small enclosed space with the ugliest person he knows is beyond him, but Gyutaro Can make him laugh at least.

Day 15:  Early Morning/The Morning After 

Relationship - Fushiguro Toji/Gojo Satoru (Jujutsu Kaisen)

Summary - In the dreamy glow of the sunrise through the window, Gojo learns that Toji is a lot cuddlier than he lets on.

Day 16: Stargazing 

Relationship - Vanitas/Noé (The Case Study of Vanitas)

Summary - Noé knows that he and Vanitas will likely never understand one another, but there is no tension between them under the stars for once.

Day 17: Massage 

Relationship - Fukuzawa Yukichi/Mori Ougai (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Summary - Being the Port Mafia boss is difficult and Mori is exhausted. Fukuzawa helps.

Day 18: Protecting 

Relationship - Ryoumen Sukuna/Kamo Noritoshi (Jujutsu Kaisen) 

Summary - Sukuna is the most powerful curse in history to date. Rescuing Kamo and ensuring no harm comes to him is easy. It’s reckoning why he wants to do those things in the first place that is difficult.

Day 19: Road Trip/Motel

Relationship - Kibutsuji Muzan and his kizuki (Demon Slayer)

Summary - In a modern universe, Muzan has to travel from Kanto to Tohoku for work and brings his coworkers along. Big mistake. Douma’s too chatty, Kokushibo too quiet, Akaza too angry, and Gyutaro and Daki too needy. How is Muzan to deal with all of them?

Day 20: Reading Together

Relationship - Alhaitham/Kaveh (Genshin Impact)

Summary - Of course when Kaveh demands quality time from Alhaitham, Alhaitham suggests they read. Very well. Kaveh agrees, but it must be a romance novel.

Day 21: Outdoor Lunch

Relationship - Lynette/Navia (Genshin Impact)

Summary - Navia takes Lynette to enjoy some pastries outside.

Day 22: Apology Fic

Relationship - Pantalone/Dottore (Genshin Impact)

Summary - Pantalone can’t handle having a complete lunatic for a partner, but Dottore has a fascinating way of gaining his forgiveness. 

Day 23: Flower Shop/Tattoo Shop

Relationship - Dehya/Candace (Genshin Impact)

Summary - Candace wants a tattoo. Dehya gives her one at a discount. As a thanks, Candace brings her flowers.

Day 24: Game Night

Relationship - The nine pillars (Demon Slayer)

Summary - It’s Tengen’s idea. Invite everyone over for a bit of stress relief.

Day 25: Love Letters 

Relationship - Wriothesley/Neuvillette (Genshin Impact)

Summary - Wriothesley and Neuvillette are both so busy and rarely have time for each other, so they exchange letters to close the distance.

Day 26: Drunk Confessions 

Relationship - Hobie Brown/Miles Morales/Pavitr Prabhakar (Across the Spider-Verse)

Summary - Hobie and Pavitr have been dating for several months now. Miles accidentally lets it slip over some drinks that he wants to be apart of their circle. It works out for him.

Day 27: Nightmares 

Relationship - Dazai Osamu/Kunikida Doppo (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Summary - Kunikida awakes from a terrifying nightmare. Since Dazai is already up, he comforts him.

Day 28: Pumpkin Patch

Relationship - Roland Fortis/Vanitas (The Case Study of Vanitas)

Summary - Roland has a great idea. He’ll distract Vanitas from his self-loathing by taking him somewhere fun. Vanitas protests at first, but it sort of feels like he’s reclaiming his childhood.

Day 29: Corn Maze 

Relationship - Suehiro Tecchou/Jouno Saigiku (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Summary - Jouno and Tecchou play a game of hide and seek in the corn maze. Jouno uses his heightened senses to cheat.

Day 30: Scary Movies 

Relationship - Shinazugawa Genya & Tokito Muichirou & Rengoku Senjurou (Demon Slayer)

Summary - They all think they can handle scary movies. They’re all wrong.

Day 31: Halloween Costumes 

Relationship - Across the Spider-Verse cast.

Summary - Gwen’s throwing a Halloween party and she wants EVERYONE to wear a costume. It’s hard to say no to her.