#typetrigger

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.”

The rain was coming down in sheets and there was no room under the awning but they crowded in anyway, Gotou laughing as Masayoshi shook his hair out like a dog. They’d been caught unawares, the cloudburst wasn’t in the forecast and at least they were far from alone in that as pedestrians bolted along the street, coats and books held over their heads in a futile endeavor to stay dry.

“I told you I thought it was going to rain,” Masayoshi said, scrubbing both his hands through his damp hair and sending it up in every direction. “Master said it was going to rain and he’s usually right.”

Gotou scoffed audibly despite himself, and snorted and covered his mouth with his hand, looking away. Masayoshi was doing that adorable thing again where he scrunched up his nose while he thought really hard about something and it struck Gotou like a physical blow every time.

“Fine, the old man was right.” Gotou patted his soggy shirt, fished out his soggier cigarette, and grunted in annoyance. “How long did he say the rain was going to last?”

Masayoshi frowned. “A day or so?”

“A day—why did we stop if the rain’s not going to!?”

“You’re the one that started running.” Masayoshi scooched closer to Gotou as two schoolgirls tried to fit under the awning with them, both completely drenched. “You didn’t give me time to explain.”

“It’s a monsoon. We’re in a monsoon.” Masayoshi had fully invaded his personal space now, and on instinct Gotou lifted his arm so Masayoshi could slide under it, squeezing them both together. Without thought, he put his hand on the side of Masayoshi’s head and tilted it in toward him, planting a kiss to his damp hair. “You’re a dumbass. You’re lucky I like you.”

---

This is the 2000th post on @scriveyner, only apropos as this was my post for the 1000th post...ten years ago lord help me.

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.

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.”

“Tamiit!” Zerith-var’s warm, rumbling voice made Tainted-Sorrow’s eyes snap open. “Have you finally returned from your journey? This one has heard your name on fellowship soldier’s lips returning from the south.”

Sorrow flung himself upright, upsetting the threadbare blanket before realizing that he was the only occupant in the bed. He stared blankly at the empty space he was very sure someone else was meant to be occupying, then looked around the room, noting the clothing and armor scattered about.

It was then he noticed that the Khajiit necromancer’s friendly chatter had ceased.

“Zerith,” Sorrow squawked, tripping himself over a stray pauldron and falling out the half-open door. He missed catching the doorframe and proceeded to flop dramatically on his side with a thud that shook the entire floor.

After a moment of silence, Sorrow unstuck his cheek from the floor and looked up. Zerith-var stood in all his massive, intimidating glory, arms folded, looking down at him. “I thought you were still in Rimmen,” Sorrow said sheepishly as he pushed himself into a seated position.

“This one presumed a friendly face to greet you would be welcome,” there was an amused arch to Zerith-var’s brow. “However, there appears to be a naked Man in the pantry.”

“What can I say? I was hungry.” Darien’s voice wafted from around the corner and Sorrow sighed, scratching the back edge of his frill. “I didn’t know there was company coming.”

“Is it common to be naked in the pantry in this era?” Zerith-var asked, clearly enjoying himself, as Sorrow returned to his feet and retrieved Darien’s trousers from the floor beside the bed. “Should this one also remove his clothing?”

“Zerith, no. That’s not—no.”

“This one was only asking.”

Atsushi winced as he plucked another piece of glass carefully from the side of his palm. A bright red drop of blood beaded to the surface, and he discarded the shard into the bin between his feet.

He looked up when the bathroom door opened, and Akutagawa closed it gently behind him. “They’re both in bed,” he reported. “And quite contrite, I might add.”

Atsushi extracted another shard from his skin, then ran his finger along the outside of his palm, looking for bits he missed. “I BET they’re contrite, you’re scary when you’re angry.” He raised an eyebrow at Akutagawa, who frowned. “It was an accident.”

“There are too many accidents. They know better.”

“They’re growing boys, and rambunctious.” Atsushi dug more glass from his skin. “Yelling at them won’t solve anything.” The glass pinged into the bottom of the bin. “Maybe we should enroll Acchan in a sport, or something.”

“I cannot see him containing himself to play a sport.” Akutagawa took Atsushi’s hand and inspected it himself; Atsushi knew better than to take it back. “But…it might be good for him.” He rubbed his thumb over some of the beading blood, smearing it, before raising Atsushi’s hand to his mouth and brushing his lips over the wound.

Atsushi sighed and smiled. “Sometimes I think you’re developing a taste for my blood.”

Akutagawa met his eye and licked the blood from his skin. Now Atsushi did pull his hand back, and Akutagawa rumbled in amusement. “Gross,” Atsushi muttered, inspecting his palm, but the wounds had healed over by now anyway. “Why do you have to be so gross?”

Akutagawa leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “It’s never gross when it comes from you, my darling weretiger.”

Atsushi leaned against the railing, half of a sandwich hanging from his mouth. “What’s going on here?” he asked Ryuu-chan, sitting on the railing swinging his legs, and watching the spectacle.

“Acchan has to run an entire lap without using his ability at all,” Ryuu-chan said, kicking his feet. Atsushi raised an eyebrow, taking a bite from his sandwich and watching as Acchan, tail out, ran face-first into a wall of Rashomon.

“Return to the starting line,” Akutagawa’s voice carried clearly to where they were standing. “Again.”

A clearly furious, red-faced Acchan stomped back down the track. “How many—?”

“Thirty-nine times,” Ryuu-chan reported dutifully. Atsushi chewed on the inside of his cheek to keep from looking too amused. “He actually got halfway around the track, earlier.” Ryuu-chan looked up at Atsushi. “Why is it so important that he doesn’t use his ability? Father never stops me from using mine.”

“Because you think about using Rashomon, and typically have to intend to cause harm with it.” Atsushi watched Acchan sprint—on two legs, instead of four—and make it nearly a quarter of the track before round ears sprouted from his head. Acchan dodged the first Rashomon wall, dropping to four legs, tail out, used a second tentacle as a springboard, and was plucked out of the air by the third, catching him around the middle. They both heard the growl from the stands.

Akutagawa’s voice was razor-sharp. “Did you just GROWL at me, Nakajima Atsushi?”

“And that’s my cue,” Atsushi said, slinging himself over the railing and dropping to the track.

“I didn’t growl,” Acchan very clearly growled, getting fuzzier by the minute. Atsushi managed to contain his laugh, catching Acchan by the back of the shirt. Akutagawa scowled, but Rashomon released him.

“Deal with your son,” Akutagawa said, and Atsushi patted Akutagawa’s shoulder.

“Well, figured out why the wifi’s down,” Atsushi said, wiggling out from behind the entertainment center. Akutagawa looked over his shoulder as Atsushi presented the ethernet cable, chewed entirely through.

Akutagawa frowned and looked at the two children leaning on their tip-toes to see what Atsushi had found.

“I didn’t do it,” Acchan said defensively, already knowing the look. “I know better than to chew on cables!”

Akutagawa looked over at Ryuu-chan, and Ryuu-chan nodded his head. “He knows better than to chew on cables,” he agreed. “He learned what happens when Dazai-oji told him to stick his tail in the power outlet.”

Atsushi hit his head on the underside of the entertainment center. “Dazai-san did WHAT!?”

Acchan held his tail in front of him with both hands, defensively. “I was little! I didn't know any better!”

“You’re STILL little,” Atsushi growled. Rashomon swooped in and snatched his phone before he could dial. “How little were you? Akutagawa, stop it, I’m going to call Dazai-san right now—”

“First we need to determine if we have vermin,” Akutagawa said sternly. “If a cat hasn’t chewed on…” he trailed off and paused. Then Akutagawa looked thoughtfully at the kitchen.

Atsushi watched Akutagawa head toward the kitchen with purpose. “What?” he said, and looked over at Ryuu-chan, who smacked one hand into the other.

“Murderface!”

“You are not calling that cat Murderface.”

Akutagawa returned from the kitchen, the white tabby hanging from his arms, a shredded piece of cable in the other. “The culprit has been apprehended.”

“Chuuya-oji said Murderface was a cool name!” Ryuu-chan said stubbornly, and Acchan nodded his head in stalwart agreement.

“Chuuya-oji also thinks it’s appropriate to deck out seven-year-olds in leather and skulls,” Atsushi said. “You are not calling that cat Murderface.”