is like that which is below

It was quiet when Atsushi opened the door; something that felt distinctly Incorrect. “I’m home,” he called, and noticed there was only one other set of shoes in the genkan. “Akutagawa…?”

When he looked up, hand still braced on the wall from removing his shoes, Akutagawa had come around the corner, wearing an apron and cleaning his hands with a towel. His face was neutral, as it often was; but there were lines beginning to develop around his eyes from smiling. “Welcome home,” Akutagawa said, and closed one eye when Atsushi kissed his cheek. “Don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” Atsushi said automatically as he passed, absolutely not sorry in the slightest. “Where are the boys?”

“Acchan is at practice, I’m not certain about Ryuu-chan but I’m not worried. They’ll be home at a reasonable time or face my wrath.”

Atsushi knew precisely what that wrath entailed and how little of a threat it actually was. He rolled up his sleeves as he entered the kitchen. “So just us for dinner again, huh? What can I help with?”

“You can help by exiting my kitchen before I remove you,” Akutagawa rumbled from behind him, and Atsushi laughed but did as instructed, seating himself instead on one of the stools that sat under the bar behind the sink.

“Does it ever feel weird,” he asked, chin in hand as he watched Akutagawa work, tendrils of Rashomon surrounding him like a web, “that it’s just us now, more often than not?”

He could see Akutagawa’s mouth quirk. “Is it not a victory for the children to grow up and away from the nest? Besides,” he scraped vegetables into the skillet, “they are children yet. They will need our protection and guidance for many years to come.”

Sorrow felt the whisper of a familiar touch on his jaw and he shifted, not wanting to open his eyes and linger instead inside the memory. It was dark still, dawn barely a hint over the horizon, and he sat up slowly, looking across the small campsite as if he expected a familiar face to greet him.

An owl hooted in a tree not far away, and Sorrow sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck and tilted his head, the unchanging stars above twinkling merrily. So much had changed so quickly and it haunted him. The solitude he once took comfort in had become a noose around his neck, constricting slow and deliberate until his entire world had narrowed into a single purpose.

He was on the road again before the sun had even begun to rise, head down and feet steady, tail twitching in time with each step. The Fighter’s Guild had sent their best, this time, after the last group never returned, swallowed by the Wilds.

Skordo’s group; the best of the best, had never reported back.

Darien, nuzzling his face and wearing his armor, light that Sorrow hadn’t even realized had faded back in his eyes. “Skordo has a job for me, I’ll be back before you know it!”

Sorrow crested the deer trail that led away from the main road and straight into the heart of the Wilds. The trees were twisted here, old and wrong, heavy with dark magic. His steps never faltered; Sorrow had faced down far worse than this.

17th of First Seed Very Important Holiday. Much Bread.

tease (1422 words) by scriveyner Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Elder Scrolls Online Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Darien Gautier/Male Vestige Characters: Darien Gautier, Male Argonian Vestige Additional Tags: Fluff, Flashbacks, Canon compliant-ish, they're smitten your honor Series: Part 15 of ESO Fics Summary:

Random 12k fic drop! New Life's been over for like, a week and a half. Better late than never! I am legally obligated now to finish at least two chapters of drowning in the dark before I start writing the next part.

words, hands, hearts (11,872 words) by scriveyner Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Elder Scrolls Online Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Darien Gautier/Male Vestige Characters: Darien Gautier, Male Argonian Vestige, Original Female Character(s), Zerith-var (Elder Scrolls) Additional Tags: Post-Seasons of the Worm Cult DLC, Old Life/New Life Celebrations, Mostly Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content Series: Part 14 of ESO Fics Summary:

Sorrow watched him burn their letters together, the parchment curling quickly, the slightly uneven scrawl turning to ash before the characters could be perceived. “Yeah,” he said softly, watching the candle flicker when Darien sat it back on the shrine. A small gust of wind caught the naked flame and toyed with it before extinguishing the light, letting the dark creep in again.

Silence, but Sorrow expected nothing less.

Old Life traditions, and New.

If you haven't been tracking my progress on my main, I've lost my mind entirely and wrote a 52k fic in 13 days. Cleaning up each chapter and posting them, and then back to complete kinktober! Promise!!!

better days (8190 words) by scriveyner Chapters: 1/6 Fandom: Elder Scrolls Online Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Darien Gautier/Male Vestige Characters: Darien Gautier, Male Argonian Vestige, Skordo The Knife, Zerith-var (Elder Scrolls), Sharp-As-Night (Elder Scrolls) Additional Tags: Post-Seasons of the Worm Cult DLC, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Canon-typical Argonian Slavery Content, Drunken Shenanigans, Cross-country Road Trip, Rescue Missions, Mostly Canon Compliant Series: Part 13 of ESO Fics Summary:

The Jel word was clumsy on Darien’s tongue, and Sorrow would not fare much better, but the weight of the word struck him like the flat of a blade. “My what?”

His reaction was clearly not what Darien was looking for. “Uxith-beeko,” Darien said again, and frowned. “Did I not say it correctly?”

Sorrow stared at Darien, who recognized immediately the look. “Who taught you that?” Sorrow demanded, standing up. “Was it Skordo?”

It was…nice, to wake up here, Tainted-Sorrow thought drowsily. After so many nights sleeping on cold, hard-packed ground or finding shelter in abandoned buildings, the number of times he got to sleep in a bed, an actual, honest-to-goodness bed with a straw-stuffed mattress and a roof over his head were vanishingly small. He exhaled, content, the very tip of his tail twitching where it hung over the side of the bed.

“Awake?” Darien’s voice was soft and close and despite the way his heart jumped Sorrow opened his eyes slowly. The room was dim now, the candles having guttered out and the only light coming from the fireplace, through the open door from the main room.

Sorrow’s night vision was better than most. He placed his palm on Darien’s chest, felt the warmth and his heartbeat. “How is it you always wake before I do?” he wondered, his usually rough voice even hoarser to his own ears. “Do you even sleep?”

“Not if I can watch you.” Darien shifted, and Sorrow withdrew his hand. “I don’t want this moment to end, you know? I don’t want to watch you leave.”

Their conversation from earlier sprang to mind, and Sorrow sat up, letting the covers slide off his rough skin. The air was dry, and he was beginning to feel it in his scales; it made him itchy. “I’m not leaving,” Sorrow said decisively.

“I know you don’t get to decide that, it’s okay.” Darien didn’t move, head on his arm as he looked up at Sorrow. “You’re important to a lot of people, not just me.”

Tainted-Sorrow really, ferociously, seriously, did not care if he was important to anyone else. He stared at Darien, tried to figure out the order the words should go in and instead heaved a sigh, the tension in his shoulders releasing. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Darien Gautier,” Sorrow snorted instead. He put weight on his hand, looking down at the man in his bed. “We’re going to have a little talk with your father together. I won’t let you face that alone.”

Darien reached up and hooked a finger around one of the short, rounded spikes that protruded from the tip of his nose. Sorrow went, as he tugged, and Darien pressed a kiss to the side of his snout. “How did I get so lucky to land you, Sor?”

“Well, you’ve got shit luck everywhere else in your life, someone had to tip the scales somewhere.” Sorrow thumped his tail once, which made the bed jump. “And I just so happen to have plenty of scales to tip.”

The way Darien laughed made him feel warm all over. “You are so corny.” He let out a small oof when Sorrow dropped onto his chest, interrupting his laughter. “And heavy.”

“Tends to happen when you tip scales.”

“You know,” Darien said, “you could have, I don’t know, mentioned the fact that you already had a room in the very tavern where we were drinking.”

“I was very drunk,” Tainted-Sorrow said, elbow on the table and palm pressed to his brow, where it felt like a full-grown welwa was trying to escape. “You got me very, very drunk.”

“You whacked your tail into a table leg and then did four full rotations trying to catch the end of it to inspect for damage,” Darien gestured with the mug in his hand, clearly amused and reliving the moment. “Possibly five rotations.”

“Incredibly drunk,” Sorrow muttered, both elbows on the table now and cradling his head. “I didn’t know that you didn’t have a room.” He lifted one hand. “Wait. Where have you been staying.”

“We’ve been camped out all over creation fighting the Worm Cult,” Darien pointed out, and Sorrow sighed because okay, yes, that was true. He hadn’t slept in the room he’d been letting for weeks at a time himself. “Tents and billets are a dime a dozen. I can catch a few hours anywhere, especially when I have people I trust around me standing guard.”

“Well, that explains why you slept on me so long, then,” Sorrow murmured, and despite his throbbing head, couldn’t help the pleased flush that rose to his scales. At this rate, he was going to need to find an apothecary and beg someone for a hangover remedy. Maybe after he ate. “Doesn’t explain the drool, though.”

“Hey! I don’t drool.”

There was always so much to do in the aftermath of a potentially world-ending cataclysm. The fact that this this was something he had lived through not once, not twice, but enough times that Sorrow had a system in place for getting through it was something he refused to think too hard about.

(As was the fact that he was almost always in the center of these world-ending cataclysms.)

After visiting the Mage’s Guild, running a few errands (seriously, could no one in this city deliver their own messages?) and soaking in one of the many public baths, Tainted-Sorrow felt like a new saxhleel. He was still sore in new and interesting ways, and that had also made the list of “things he wasn’t thinking about in public.”

“Have a fruitful evening, five-claw?” Razum-dar commented slyly, sprawled rather luridly on Regent Karwine’s currently empty throne. “Raz saw who you were stumbling through the streets with.”

The castle servants were ignoring the Eye of the Queen’s impunity while they cleaned around him, as they had ignored pretty much all that had occurred in this palace over the last few months. Sorrow sighed, shuffling through the papers he had tucked under his arm since he returned to the palace. “You see a lot of things, Raz,” Sorrow said without looking up.

“This one does, yes.” Razum-dar inspected his claws, but his eyes were on Sorrow, piercing. “And this one also knows the signs of a lovelorn fool. Perhaps some advice, five-claw?”

Sorrow raised his head, tilting it to one side, listening.

“Your friend, the golden knight. He has a target on his back, yes? Perhaps it is not so wise to get involved with the plaything of a daedric prince.”

“Don’t go through my things,” Tainted-Sorrow said, crouched before the singular trunk of belongings he had obtained on his adventures, safely kept in his rented room.

The remonstration didn’t stop Darien from nosing around Sorrow’s desk. Sorrow shook his head and thumped his tail on the carpet. It wasn’t like he had anything embarrassing sitting out, at least.

“You play tribute?” Darien said, opening the card pouch Sorrow had left out. “You any good at it?”

“I’m okay, I guess.” Sorrow closed the trunk holding his belongings and flipped the latches. “I don’t play that often, but I learned from the Roisters.”

“Don’t know what that is.” Darien handed him the card pouch, and Sorrow flipped through the decks, still mixed from his last game. Amused, he sat on the edge of the bed and shuffled them.

“Do you play?” he asked Darien, who waved a hand dismissively.

“Not well. Skordo convinced me to play him, and then took all my money. And my armor. And my sword.” Darien leaned his hip into the desk, counting off on his fingers now. “And my horse, and my clothes…”

Sorrow snickered, still shuffling the cards idly. “Wanna play?”

“You know that I don’t have any money for you to win.”

“Not what I asked.” Sorrow flipped a card up between his claws, and flung it at Darien, who caught it between his fingers and seemed surprised that he did so. “I asked if you wanted to play.”

“Oh, well then,” Darien said, and smirked. “Let’s play.”

---

“I sure hope you’re pleased with yourself,” Darien said, still somewhat breathless as he fished his pants off the floor.

Sunport was busier than ever, despite the Worm Cult’s plans being thwarted and the war itself being nominally over. Members of the Stirk Fellowship poured into the city to celebrate, non-stop, despite the work that still needed to be done to rebuild.

Tainted-Sorrow, the Vestige, envoy and emissary of kings, champion of the Stirk Fellowship, was currently shirking whatever duties he had left, sitting on the far end of the docks and watching the ships depart the port like clockwork.

Endings were hard, he knew. There were many partings to be had here; good friends gone their separate ways, and some left behind for good. He had lost more friends than gained, lately; and knew quietly that those numbers would only increase in time.

A vestige, after all, was not mortal.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding all day,” a familiar voice said, startling him, and Sorrow looked over, smiling despite himself at the interruption. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me, or at least gotten tired of this mug.”

“Never,” Sorrow said as Darien Gautier seated himself on the wooden dock beside him. It was still strange to see him out of armor, wearing normal, common clothing; but Sorrow could say the same for himself at this point. “Just watching the ships leave.”

“Yeah, the Dominion vessels are getting ready to cast off.” Darien leaned back on his hand. “Raz said to tell you,” he cleared his throat, and in a passable imitation of the Khajiit, said, “this one will see you again in the Summerset Isles, five-claw. Be certain to bring your incredibly suave and handsome mate with you when you visit, as this one knows all the best wineries.”

“Really,” Sorrow said dryly. “Raz said that.”

“I have something for you,” Darien said, almost as an afterthought. Sorrow had seated himself on the floor, back to the fire, arms folded over the thick cushion of the bench and used to pillow his head. They had been sitting in silence for a while, warm comfortable silence broken only by the crackle of the fire behind him.

Sorrow didn’t lift his head from his arms. He didn’t want this moment to end any more than Darien did, the two of them together, unseen by the world. Instead he closed his eyes when Darien brushed his knuckles over the rough scales of his jaw.

“Does it involve going back to bed?” Sorrow asked lazily, the heat from the fireplace pooling in his belly.

“Sor,” Darien said. Sorrow looked up at Darien, who, when he met his eye, looked away and flushed in the firelight.

“You’re the only one who calls me that, you know,” Sorrow said, intentionally breaking whatever spell of tension was being quietly weaved between them.

Darien looked back at him, concerned. “I can stop, if you don’t like it.”

“No, I like it.” He stretched his arms out, letting his wrists hang over the open back of the bench. “I’ve been called all kinds of things. Friend, walker, hero… it is nice to hear my name, once in a while.” He looked up at Darien slyly. “I like that it comes from you, most of all.”

Darien smiled. “Don’t worry me like that,” he said lightly, before shifting and slipping a hand into the pocket of his trousers. Sorrow cocked his head, curious. “I’ve meant to give this to you for some time, but…” the flush was back. “It never seemed like a good time.”