#you know... it also reminds me of that one line of Jade's from his Ceremonial Robes card | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oklcmc · 1 year

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀،̲،̲⠀⠀⠀𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐀𝐑.ᐟ⏤͟͟͞͞★

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀〝⠀So I told the B@$#H I was wit’ that I’m goin’ to the SNACK BAR and got⠀⠀⠀THE FUCK OUT the car.ᐟ⠀〞

I DO NOT permit anyone to repost nor translate any of the work that lies beneath this line break. May this also be a quick reminder to not，and I repeat— DO NOT take from my characters，plots，GRAPHICS nor formats and try to use them as inspiration to those of your own advantage without asking me for permission or rightfully crediting me first.ᐟ I originally came up with these ideas myself，that including my forewarning and playlists formatting. I would hate for new readers to be led astray by thinking I’m stealing from someone else when that really isn’t the case at all.ᐟ I will not hesitate on BLOCKING you from my account indefinitely either. Let this be your final warning.ᐟ

✱ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.ᐟ

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⁰⁰¹.⠀⟆⠀𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐒.ᐟ ⏤͟͟͞͞★ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❪SERIES⠀╱⠀cinema❫

▋⠀𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐀𝐓 ❪urban❫. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .﹩⁰.⁰⁰

pairing⠀⦂⠀street fighter.ᐟblack.ᐟmale oc ❪keith powers❫ ✕ black.ᐟfemale oc ❪kelis rogers，circa ‘99❫

⋮ㅤㅤㅤHAVING BEEN BIRTHED IN SEATTLE，Washington of late August with vaguely enough parental guidance，Kei Valentine had rightfully earned the persona of being spunky，straightforward，eccentric and diligent，but so had the boy whom was birthed twenty-four hours later，five years earlier and more than two-thousand miles apart from her. The only difference was that while Kei was discovering the positives in life though being abandoned at an early age， Tyree Devlin was raking up all the negatives before her. He was eager， callous，streetwise and rebellious as they came，thanks to the teachings of his only false God.

ㅤㅤㅤFar from compatible，how the two Leos paths aligned was something that only the underbelly of New York City took to swallow，digest and keep sacred，but it wasn’t at all unattainable to one’s own access. You just had to know the correct route to take and connects to make. This is Underground Combat.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀or⠀⠀⠀in which even the innocent can wind up being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀TABLE OF CONTENTS⠀⦂

❱⠀SYNOPSIS. ❱⠀CHARACTER VISUALS. ❱⠀ACT I⠀⦂⠀〝MONEY，POWER ⅋ RESPECT.〞╱SOUNDTRACK.╱CHARACTER AES. ❱⠀CHAPTER UNO⠀⦂⠀〝HEAT WAVE.〞 ❱⠀CHAPTER DOS⸝ PT. 1╱2⠀⦂⠀〝SING ABOUT ME，〞 ❱⠀CHAPTER DOS⸝ PT. 2╱2⠀⦂⠀〝I’M DYING OF THIRST.〞 ❱⠀CHAPTER TRES⠀⦂⠀〝LOVE THY NEIGHBOR.〞 ❱⠀CHAPTER CUATRO⠀⦂⠀〝STOCKHOLM？〞 ❱⠀CHAPTER CINCO⠀⦂⠀〝HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A WOMAN SCORNED.〞 ❱⠀CHAPTER SEIS⸝ PT. 1╱2⠀⦂⠀〝HIGH RISKS，HIGH REWARDS.〞 ❱⠀CHAPTER SEIS⸝ PT. 2╱2⠀⦂⠀〝FORTUNE FAVORS THE BOLD.〞 ❱⠀ACT II⠀⦂⠀〝IMPERIAL OVERSTRETCH.〞 ❱⠀CHAPTER SIETE⠀⦂⠀〝THE MARATHON.〞❪COMING SOON❫.ᐟ

▋⠀𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐘 ❪romantic comedy-drama❫. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .﹩⁰.⁰⁰

pairing⠀⦂⠀male oc ❪leslie odom，jr.❫ ✕ black.ᐟfemale oc ❪faith renée evans，circa ‘01❫ ✕ male oc ❪anthony ramos❫

⋮ㅤㅤㅤEMBER MAGLIONE’S PERCEPTION OF LOVE was misconstrued from the day she walked the aisle as flower girl at her grandparent's vow renewal ceremony at the age of five. Her belief that all it took was attracting the opposite sex in order to become compatible rather than building a mutual trust，affection and commitment first is what ultimately causes her family to label her as an hopeless romantic，and these standards would follow her well into her adulthood.

ㅤㅤㅤNow twenty-seven with a high-wage career in the event coordinating industry，Ember had seen her fair share of relationships through rose-colored glasses，but her latest December heartbreak had now become the most jaded. Of course，Ember should've acted accordingly to her own policy when it came down to separating business from pleasure，but a very attractive man with such charisma and a six-figure salary like George Walton was enough to deceive any woman as oblivious as Ember，and he was damn near about to kill her!

ㅤㅤㅤIn the midst of attempting to piece her life back together again after been left in the dark for so long by her former fiancé，Ember is finally let in on the secret that tore them apart in the first place and it sends her spiraling down yet another rabbit hole where things are a little too perfect this time around.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀or⠀⠀⠀in which she finally receives her fairytale ending.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀TABLE OF CONTENTS⠀⦂

❱⠀SYNOPSIS. ❱⠀ACT I⠀⦂⠀〝COWABUNGA.ᐟ〞╱SOUNDTRACK.╱CHARACTER AES. ❱⠀PROLOGUE⠀⦂⠀〝ALONE IN THIS WORLD.〞 ❱⠀CHAPTER ONE⠀⦂⠀〝？〞❪COMING SOON❫.ᐟ

▋⠀𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 ❪blaxploitation╱the get down alternate universe❫. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .﹩⁰.⁰⁰

pairing⠀⦂⠀shaolin fantastic ❪shameik alti moore❫ ✕ black.ᐟfemale oc ❪beyoncé giselle knowles-carter，circa ‘02❫

⋮ㅤㅤㅤREFLECTING ON MY YOUTH，I must’ve pitied myself. That was the only real explanation I could think of when it came down to injecting my developing mind，body and soul with any chemical compound that broke me down until I completely surpassed the feeling of numb. Numb to the fact I was being exploited more ways than one by the hands of those other than my own. Numb to the fact I endured it all just to temporarily substitute the void my mother left Roam and I in since the ages of six and ten. She manifested every aspect of the young woman I was so desperately trying to become；independent， selfless and seemed to have the answer to any question thrown her way. I grew dependent on men，selfish to my own habits and breach to every promise I vowed to keep，even those that were left lying on her deathbed. I was untouchable，Mr. Nicky Barnes，until I was repeatedly caught up in my own acts and imprisoned by the same narcotics that made me numb. The good thing about rehabilitation was that I found time to humble myself，the bad thing about rehabilitation was that it was always hard to resist temptation. My final recovery couldn't have came at a better timing. It was Summer of 1977 when I made my return to the burning borough of the Boogie Down Bronx to make amends with my only sibling，make steep career choices，fall in love with a man with just as much venom as myself，resist folding under the pressure of the crooked cops and maybe even get a hit of that sweet stuff they call Hip-Hop.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀or⠀⠀⠀in which the origin of hip-hop is told from a woman’s perspective.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀TABLE OF CONTENTS⠀⦂

❱⠀SYNOPSIS. ❱⠀CHAPTER ONE⠀⦂⠀〝BE THAT AS IT MAY.〞 ❱⠀CHAPTER TWO⠀⦂⠀〝DISCO INFERNO.〞❪COMING SOON❫.ᐟ

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⁰⁰².⠀⟆⠀𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒.ᐟ ⏤͟͟͞͞★ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❪IMAGINES⠀╱⠀one-shots❫

Under this divider you’ll find IMAGINES╱ONE-SHOTS all written by me that will more than likely consist of BLACK INSERT，HETEROSEXUAL and SEXUALLY EXPLICIT content. LESBIAN╱BISEXUAL IMAGINES╱ONE-SHOTS will rarely occur in this instance. My name or the names I’ve made up will be what the original characters go by，so no〝y╱n，〞❪？✕ reader❫，but feel free to replace these names with one of your own if you so please.

❱⠀𝐒𝐇𝐄’𝐒 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 ❪hamilton alternate universe❫. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .﹩⁰.⁰⁰

pairing⠀⦂⠀soft.ᐟjohn laurens ❪anthony ramos，circa ‘15❫ ✕ black.ᐟtoxic.ᐟfemale oc ❪beyoncé giselle knowles-carter，circa ‘08❫

❱⠀𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑 ❪hamilton alternate universe❫. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .﹩⁰.⁰⁰

pairing⠀⦂⠀aaron burr，jr. ❪leslie odom，jr.❫ ✕ black.ᐟjournalist.ᐟchorus substitute teacher.ᐟfemale oc ❪faith renée evans，circa 1995❫

❱⠀𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 ❪bmf alternate universe❫. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .﹩⁰.⁰⁰

pairing⠀⦂⠀demetrius edward〝big meech〞flenory，sr. ❪demetrius edward〝lil meech〞flenory⸝ jr.❫ ✕ black.ᐟfemale oc ❪cheryl renee〝salt〞james，circa 1988❫

❱⠀𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐓 ❪euphoria alternate universe❫. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .﹩⁰.⁰⁰

pairing⠀⦂⠀fezco ❪conor angus cloud hickey❫ ✕ black.ᐟdentistry undergraduate.ᐟfemale oc ❪taylour dominique paige❫

❱⠀𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐎𝐄𝐒. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .﹩⁰.⁰⁰

pairing⠀⦂⠀kendrick lamar duckworth，circa ‘22 ✕ black.ᐟfemale oc

❱⠀𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 pt. 𝟏╱𝟐. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .﹩⁰.⁰⁰

pairing⠀⦂⠀bryshere y. gray ✕ black.ᐟpublication editor-in-chief.ᐟfemale oc

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⁰⁰³.⠀⟆⠀𝐁𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒.ᐟ ⏤͟͟͞͞★ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❪HEADCANONS⠀╱⠀drabbles❫

❱⠀𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 ❪black panther alternate universe❫. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .﹩⁰.⁰⁰

pairing⠀⦂⠀n’jadaka╱erik〝killmonger〞stevens ❪michael b. jordan❫ ✕ black.ᐟfemale oc ❪chaka khan，circa ‘77❫

❱⠀𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐍𝐎 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .﹩⁰.⁰⁰

pairing⠀⦂⠀kendrick lamar duckworth，circa ‘17？ ✕ black.ᐟfemale oc ❪lorraine ward❫

❱⠀𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .﹩⁰.⁰⁰

pairing⠀⦂⠀kendrick lamar duckworth，circa ‘18 ✕ black.ᐟfemale oc ❪lorraine ward❫

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⁰⁰⁴.⠀⟆⠀𝐖𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒.ᐟ ⏤͟͟͞͞★ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❪REQUESTS⠀╱⠀suggestions❫

The REQUESTS╱SUGGESTIONS section is currently UNAVAILABLE for the time being，so please refrain from sending me any. I VOW to inform you guys in the near future— When I actually have more time on my hands— On when this tab will actually be OPEN to the GENERAL PUBLIC and with more information regarding to how to EARN ONE，so don’t fret.ᐟ Just to inform you guys ahead of time，I WILL NOT be writing HOMOSEXUAL ❪boy ✕ boy❫ imagines╱one-shots╱headcannons forewarning.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀OKLCMC presents... ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀SNACK BAR.ᐟ ⏤͟͟͞͞★ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❪THE MASTERLIST❫

⠀⠀⠀heavily inspired by roll bounce ❪2005❫ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⅋ much more.ᐟ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⓒ oklcmc，2023.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❛ AND I’M LIKE，DAMN.ᐟ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I WISH I WAS IN THE BUCKET ⠀⠀⠀⠀TO BE THE SIXTH NIGGA WIT’ THE HO ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀AND I CAN FUCK IT.ᐟ ❜ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀❪THE TAGLIST❫

#┃⠀･｡ﾟ☆⠀〝slat，slat!〞⠀⠀╱ ⠀⠀꒰⠀𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗵𝗶𝗰𝘀.⠀꒱#┃⠀･｡ﾟ☆⠀〝i just want some dick.〞⠀⠀╱ ⠀⠀꒰⠀𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬╱𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬╱𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬╱𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬╱𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬.#master list #masterlist #poc authors #poc writers #black authors #black writers #streetlit #urban #urban ff #urban fanfic #urban fanfiction #black fanfic writer #black fanfiction

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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notapaladin · 3 years

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and this faith is gettin' heavy (but you know it carries me) redux

This is literally and unironically the SECOND TIME i have added another thousand words to this fic but now it is finally done. Behold, over 10k words of food as metaphor for love/angst-with-a-happy-ending! In which Teomitl goes missing on a foreign battlefield, and Acatl mourns...but events in his dreams suggest Teomitl maybe isn’t gone for good.

Also on AO3

Acatl grimaced as he stepped from the coolness of his home into the day’s bright, punishing sunlight. Today was the day the army was due to return from their campaign in Mixtec lands, and so he was forced to don his skull mask and owl-trimmed cloak on a day that was far too hot for it. Not for the first time, he was thankful that priests of Lord Death weren’t required to paint their faces and bodies for special occasions; the thought of anything else touching his skin made him shudder.

He’d barely made it out of his courtyard when Acamapichtli strode up to him, face grave underneath his blue and black paint. “Ah, Acatl. I’m glad I could catch you.”

“Come to tell me that the army is at our gates again?” They would never be friends, he and Acamapichtli, but they had achieved something like a truce in the year since the plague. Still, Acatl couldn’t help but be on his guard. There was something...off about the expression on the other man’s face, and it took him a moment to realize what it was. He’d borne the same look when delivering the news of a death to a grieving family. Ah. A loss, then.

He’d expected Acamapichtli to spread his hands, a wordless statement of there having been nothing he could have done. He didn’t expect him to take a deep breath and slide his sightless eyes away. “I have. The runners all say it is a great victory; Tizoc-tzin has brought back several hundred prisoners.”

It should have pleased him. Instead, a cold chill slid down his spine. “What are you not telling me? I’ve no time for games.”

Acamapichtli let out a long sigh. “There were losses. A flood swept across the plain, carrying away several of our best warriors. Among them...the Master of the House of Darts. They looked—I’m assured that they looked!—but his body was not found.”

No. No. No. A yawning chasm cracked open beneath his ribs. He knew he was still breathing, but he couldn’t feel the air in his lungs. Even as he wanted, desperately, to grab Acamapichtli by the shoulders and shake him, to scream at him for being a liar, he knew the man was telling the truth. That his face and mannerisms, the careful movements of a man who knew he brought horrible news, showed his words to be honest. That Teomitl—who had left four months before with a kiss for Mihmatini and an affectionate clasp for Acatl’s arm—would not return.

It took real effort to focus on Acamapichtli’s next words. The man’s eyes were full of a horrible sympathy, and he wanted to scream. “I thought you should know in advance. Before—before they arrived.”

“Thank you,” he forced out through numb lips.

Acamapichtli turned away. “...I’m sorry, Acatl.”

After a long, long moment, he made himself start walking again. There was the rest of the army to greet, after all. Even if Teomitl wouldn’t be among them.

Even if he’d never return from war again.

Greeting the army was a ceremony, one he usually took some joy in—it had meant that Teomitl would be home, would be safe, and his sister would be happy. Now it passed in a blue, and he registered absolutely none of it. Someone must have already given the news to Mihmatini when he arrived; she was an utterly silent presence at his side, face pale and lips thin. She wouldn’t cry in public, but he saw the way her eyes glimmered when she blinked. He couldn’t bring himself to so much as lay a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. If he touched her, if he felt the fabric of her cloak beneath his hand, that meant it was real.

It couldn’t be real. Jade Skirt was Teomitl’s patron goddess, She wouldn’t let him simply drown. But there was an empty space to Tizoc’s left where Teomitl should have been, and no sign of his white-and-red regalia. Acatl’s eyes burned as he blinked away the sun.

Tizoc was still speaking, but Acatl heard none of his words. It was all too still, too quiet; everything was muffled, as though he was hearing it through water. If there was justice, came the first spinning thought, every wall would be crumbling. No...if there was justice, Teomitl would be...

He drew in a long breath, feeling chilled to the bone even as he sweated under his cloak. Now that his mind had chosen to rouse itself, its eye was relentless. He barely saw the plaza around him, packed with proud warriors and colorful nobles; it was too easy to imagine a far-flung province to the south, a jungle thick with trees and blood. A river bursting its banks, carrying Teomitl straight into his enemies’ arms. They would capture him, of course; he was a valiant fighter and he’d taken very well to the magic of living blood, but even he couldn’t hold off an army alone.

And once they had him, they would sacrifice him.

Somewhere behind the army, Acatl knew, were lines of captured warriors whose hearts would be removed to feed the Sun, whose bodies would be flung down the Temple steps to feed the beasts in the House of Animals, whose heads would hang on the skull-rack. It was necessary, and their deaths would serve a greater purpose. He’d seen it thousands of times. There was no use mourning them. It was simply the way nearly all captured warriors went.

It was what Teomitl would want. An honorable death on the sacrifice stone. It was better to die than to be a slave all your life. But at least he would have a life—all unbidden, the alternative rose clear in Acatl’s mind. Teomitl, face whitened with chalk. Teomitl, laying down on the stone. Teomitl, teeth clenched, meeting his death with open eyes. Teomitl’s blood on the priests’ hands.

Nausea rose hot and bitter in his throat, and he shut his eyes and focused on his breathing. In for a count of three, out for a count of five. Repeat. It didn’t hurt to breathe, but he felt as if it should. He felt as if everything should hurt. He felt a sudden, vicious urge to draw thorns through his earlobes until the pain erased all thoughts, but he made his hands still. If he started, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to stop.

Still, it seemed to take an eternity for the speeches and the dances to be over and done with. By the time they finished, he was light-headed with the strain of remaining upright, and Mihmatini had slipped a hand into his elbow. Even that single point of contact burned through his veins. They still hadn’t spoken. He wondered if she, too, couldn’t quite find her own voice under the screaming chasm of grief.

And then, after all that, when all he yearned for was to go home and lay down until the world felt right again—maybe until the Sixth Sun rose, that would probably be enough time—there was a banquet, and he was forced to attend.

Of course there’s a banquet, he thought dully. This is a victory, after all. Tizoc had wasted no time in promoting a new Master of the House of Darts to replace his fallen brother, with many empty platitudes about how Teomitl would surely be missed and how he’d not want them to linger in their grief, but to move on and keep earning glory for the Mexica. Moctezuma, his replacement, was seventeen and haughty; where Teomitl’s arrogance had begun to settle into firm, well-considered authority and the flames of his impatience had burnt down to embers, Moctezuma’s gaze swept the room and visibly dismissed everyone in it as not worth his concern. It reminded Acatl horribly of Quenami.

Mihmatini sat on the same mat she always did, but now there was a space beside her like a missing tooth. She still wore her hair in the twisted horn-braids of married women, and against all rules of mourning she had painted her face with the blue of the Duality. Underneath it, her face was set in an emotionless mask. She did not eat.

Neither did Acatl. He wasn’t sure he could stomach food. So instead his gaze flickered around the room, unable to settle, and he gradually realized that he and Mihmatini weren’t alone in the crowd. The assembled lords and warriors should have been celebrating, but there was a subdued air that hung over every stilted laugh and negligent bite of fine food. Neighbors avoided each other’s eyes; Neutemoc, sitting with his fellow Jaguar Warriors, was staring at his empty plate as though it held the secrets of the heavens. He looked well, until Acatl saw the expression on his face. It was a mirror of his own.

At least his fellow High Priests didn’t try to engage him in conversation, for which he was grateful. Acamapichtli kept glancing at him almost warily, but he hadn’t voiced any more empty platitudes—and when Quenami had opened his mouth to say something, he’d taken the unprecedented step of leaning around Acatl and glaring him into silence.

If they’d been friends, Acatl would have been touched; as it was, it made a burning ember of rage lodge itself in his throat. Don’t you pity me. Don’t you dare pity me. He ground his teeth until his jaw hurt, clenched his fists until his nails cut into his palms, and didn’t speak. If he spoke, he would scream.

Even the plates in front of him weren’t enough of a distraction. Roasted meats glistened in their vibrant red or green or orange sauces. Each breath brought the deliciously warm fragrance of chilies and pumpkin seeds and vanilla to his nose. The fish and lake shrimp, grilled in their own juices and arrayed on beds of corn husks, would at any other time have tempted him to take a bite. Soups and stews were carried from table to table by serving women in gleaming white cotton; he breathed in as one woman passed and nearly choked on the rich peppery scent. He didn’t need to look to know it was his usual favorite, chunks of firm white fish and bitter greens in what was sure to be a fiery broth. Teomitl had always teased him for that, saying it was a miracle he could even taste the greens with so much chili in the way.

Don’t look. Don’t think about it. The ember in his throat was slowly scorching a path through his gut. He couldn’t eat. Didn’t even try.

There were more courses, obviously. More fish, more vegetables, more haunches of venison or rabbits bathed in spicy-sweet sauce. More doves and quail, and even a spoonbill put back in its own pink feathers for a centerpiece. When the final course was triumphantly set in front of him—wedges and cubes of fruit, with a little cup of spiced honey—he was nearly sick over the sweet crimson pitaya split open on his plate. It had been Teomitl’s favorite.

Somehow, he held it together until after the dessert had been cleared away. He rose jerkily to his feet, legs trembling, and fixed his mind firmly on getting home in one piece. No one hailed him on his way out of the room, and for a hopeful moment he thought he was safe.

Quenami’s voice stopped him in the next hallway. “Ah, Acatl. A lovely banquet, wasn’t it?”

He didn’t turn around. “Mn.” Go away.

Quenami didn’t. In fact he took a step closer, as though they were friends, as though he’d never tried to have Acatl killed. His voice was like a mosquito in his ear. “You must not be feeling well; you hardly touched your food. Some might see that as an insult. I’m sure Tizoc-tzin would.”

“Mm.”

“Or is it worry over Teomitl that’s affecting you? You shouldn’t fret so, Acatl. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s not dead after all; there are plenty of cenotes in the southlands, and a determined man could easily hide out there for the rest of his life. He probably just took the coward’s way out, sick of his responsibilities—“

He whirled around, sucking in a breath that scorched his lungs. It was the last thing he felt before he let Mictlan’s chill spill through his veins and overflow. His suddenly-numb skin loosened on his neck; his fingers burned with the cold that came only from the underworld. He knew that his skin was black glass, his muscles smoke, his bones moonlight on ice, his eyes burning voids. All around him was the howling lament of the dead, the stench of decay and the dry, acrid scent of dust and dry bones. When he spoke, his voice echoed like a bell rung in a tomb.

“Silence.”

You do not call him a coward. You do not even speak his name. I could have your tongue for that. He stepped forward, gaze locked with Quenami’s. It would be easy, too. He could do it without even blinking—could take his tongue for slander, his eyes for that sneering gaze, could reach inside his skin and debone him like a turkey—all it would take would be a single wrong word—

Quenami recoiled, jaw going slack in terror. Silently—blessedly, mercifully, infuriatingly silently—he turned on his heel and left.

Acatl took one breath, two, and let the magic drain out of his shaking limbs. He hadn’t meant to do that. It should probably have sickened him that he’d nearly misused Lord Death’s power like that, especially on a man who ought to have been his superior and ally, but instead all he felt was a vicious sort of stymied rage—a jaguar missing a leap and coming up with nothing but air between his claws. He wanted to scream. He wanted blood under his nails, the shifting crack of breaking bones under his knuckles. He wanted to hurt something.

He made it to the next courtyard, blessedly empty of party guests, and collapsed on the nearest bench like a dead man. His stomach ached. I could have killed him. Gods, I wanted to kill him. I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry in my life. All because...all because he said his name...

“...Acatl?”

Mihmatini’s voice, admirably controlled. He made himself lift his head and answer. “In here.”

She padded into the courtyard and took a seat on the opposite end of the bench, skirt swishing around her feet as she walked. Gold ornaments had been sewn into its hem, and he wondered if they’d been gifts from Teomitl. “I saw Quenami running like all the beasts of the underworld were on his tail. What did you do?”

Nothing. But that would have been a lie, and he refused to do that to his own flesh and blood. “...He said…” He swallowed past a lump in his throat. “He said that Teomitl might have deserted. He dared to say that—” The idea choked him, and he couldn’t finish the words. That Teomitl was a coward. That he would run from his responsibilities, from his destiny, at the first opportunity…

She tensed immediately, eyes going cold in a way that suggested Quenami had better be a very fast runner indeed. “He would never. You know that.”

Air seemed to be coming a bit easier now. “I do. But…”

Of course, she pounced on his hesitation. “But?”

I want him so badly to not be dead. “Nothing.”

Mihmatini was silent for a while, wringing her hands together. Finally, she spoke. “He would never have deserted. But...Acatl…”

“What?”

“I don’t know if he’s dead.” She set a hand on her chest. “The magic that connects us—I can still feel it in here. It’s faint, really faint, but it’s there. He might…” She took a breath, and tears welled up in her eyes. “He might still be alive.”

Alive. The word was a conch shell in his head, sounding to wake the dawn. For an instant, he let himself imagine it. Teomitl alive, maybe in hiding, maybe trying to find his way home to them.

Maybe held captive by the Mixteca, until such time as they can tear out his heart. He closed his eyes, shutting out everything but the sound of his own breathing. It didn’t help. He hated how pathetic his own voice sounded as he asked, “You think so?”

“It’s—” She scrubbed ineffectually at her eyes with the back of a hand. “It’s possible. Isn’t it?”

“...I suppose.” He took a breath. “I think it’s time for me to get some sleep. I’ll...see you tomorrow.”

He knew he wouldn’t sleep—knew, in fact, that he’d be lucky if he even managed to close his eyes—but he needed to get home. He refused to disgrace himself by weeping in public.

The first dream came a week later.

He’d managed to avoid them until then; he’d thrown himself headlong into his work, not stopping until he was so tired that his “sleep” was really more like “passing out.” But it seemed his body could adapt to the conditions he subjected it to much easier than he’d thought, because he woke with tears on his face and the scraps of a nightmare scattering in the dawn light. There had been blood and screaming and a ravaged and horrible face staring into his that somehow he’d known. He did his best to put it from his mind, and for a day he thought he’d succeeded. He shed blood for the gods, stood vigil for the dead, tallied up the ledgers for the living. Remembered, occasionally, to put food into his mouth, but he couldn’t have said what he was eating. Collapsed onto his mat and prayed that he wouldn’t have a dream like that again.

It wasn’t like that. It was worse.

He was walking through a jungle made of shadows, trees shedding gray dust from their leaves as he passed under them. There was no birdsong, no rippling of distant waters or crunching of underbrush, and he knew deep in his soul that nothing was alive here anymore. Not even himself. Though his legs ached and his lungs burned, it was pain that felt like it was happening to someone else. His gut held, not the stretched desiccation of Mictlan, but a nasty twisting feeling of wrongness; part of him wanted to be sick, but he couldn’t stop. Ahead of him, someone was making their way through the undergrowth, and it was a stride he’d know anywhere.

Teomitl. He thought he called out to him, but no sound escaped his mouth even though his throat hurt as though he’d been screaming. He tried again. Teomitl! This time, he managed a tiny squeak, something even an owl wouldn’t have heard.

Teomitl didn’t slow down, but somehow the distance between them shortened. Now Acatl could make out the tattered remains of his feather suit, singed and bloodstained until it was more red than white, and the way his bare feet had been cut to ribbons. He still wasn’t looking behind him. It was like Acatl wasn’t there at all. Ahead of them, the trees were thinning out.

And then they were on a flat plain strewn with corpses, bright crimson blood the only color Acatl could see. Teomitl was standing still in front of him as water slowly seeped out of the ground, covering his feet and lapping gently at his ankles. There were thin threads of red in it.

“Teomitl,” he said, and this time his voice obeyed him.

Teomitl turned to him, smiling as though he’d just noticed he was there. His chest was a red ruin, the bones of his ribcage snapped wide open to pull out his beating heart. A tiny ahuizotl curled in the space where it had been.

He took one step back. Another.

Teomitl’s smile grew sad, and he reached for him with a bloody hand. “Acatl, I’m sorry.”

He awoke suddenly and all at once, curling in on himself with a ragged sob. It was still dark out; the sun hadn’t made its appearance yet. There was no one to see when he shook himself to pieces around the space in his heart. It was a dream, he told himself sternly. Just a dream. My soul is only wandering through my own grief. It doesn’t mean anything.

But then it returned the next night, and the next. While the details differed—sometimes Teomitl was swimming a river that suddenly turned to blood and dissolved his flesh, sometimes one of his own ahuizotls turned into a jaguar and sprang for his face—the end was always the same. Teomitl dead and still walking, reaching for him with an apology on his lips. Sometimes it even lingered after he woke. Once he jolted awake utterly convinced that he wasn’t alone—that Teomitl was in the room, a sad smile on his lips and an outstretched hand hovering in the air. Only when he looked around, searching for that other presence, did reality reassert itself and he remembered with gutwrenching pain that it had only been a nightmare. That Teomitl was dead somewhere on a Mixtec altar, his heart an offering to the Sun.

He started timing his treks across the Sacred Precinct to avoid the Great Temple’s sacrifices to Huitzilopochtli. Sleep grew more and more difficult to achieve, and even when he caught a few hours’ rest it never seemed to help. He even thought, fleetingly, of asking the priests of Patecatl if anything they had would be useful, only to dismiss it the next day. He would survive this. It wasn’t worth baring his soul to anyone else’s prying eyes or clumsy but well-meaning words. He would work and pray, and that would keep him occupied. There was a haunting case that needed his attention; while he was tracking down the cause he had an excuse not to focus on anything else. He forgot to eat, no matter how much Ichtaca scolded him. The food tasted like ashes in his mouth, anyway.

Still, when one of Neutemoc’s slaves came to his door asking whether he would come to dinner at his house that night, he didn’t waste time in accepting. Dinner with Neutemoc’s family had become...normal. He needed normal, even if it still felt like walking on broken glass.

Up until the first course was served, he even thought he’d get it. Neutemoc had been nearly silent when he’d arrived, but he’d unbent enough to start a conversation about his daughters’ studies. Necalli and Mazatl were more subdued than they normally were, but they’d heard what happened to their newest uncle-by-marriage and were no doubt mourning in their own ways. Mihmatini’s face was as pale and set as white jade, but as the conversation wore on he thought he saw her smile.

He didn’t much feel like smiling himself. The smells of the meal were turning his stomach. It was simple enough fare—fish with peppers, lightly boiled vegetables in a salty, spicy sauce, plenty of soft flatbread to mop it up—but he couldn’t bring himself to touch it. The last time he’d eaten a meal like this had been with Teomitl at his side, hugging Mazatl and fondly ruffling up Necalli’s hair and barely paying any attention to his own plate until Mazatl had swiped something off it and he’d tickled her as revenge, the both of them laughing. Acatl would never forget the look on his face the first time she’d called him uncle.

He was vaguely aware Neutemoc was frowning at him. “Eat. Before it gets cold.”

He put some fish onto his plate. He ate it. He couldn’t say what it tasted like. Peppers, mostly. It sat in his stomach like a lead weight, and he swallowed so roughly that for a moment he was afraid he’d choke. I can’t do this. But they would notice if he didn’t eat, and then they’d worry about him. He forced himself to take a few more bites, filling the yawning void within.

A second course arrived eventually. Roasted agave worms and greens, which he usually liked. He took a small portion, nibbled on it, and set his plate down.

“More greens?”

Neutemoc’s voice was too careful for his liking, but he nodded. Another portion of greens was duly set onto his plate, and he ate without really tasting it. He only managed a few bites before he had to give up, his gorge rising.

Mihmatini picked at her own dish, and Neutemoc frowned at her. “You’re not hungry?”

She shook her head.

Silence descended again, but It didn’t reign for long before Neutemoc said, “Acatl. Any interesting cases lately?” With a quick glance at his children, he added, “That we can talk about in front of the kids?”

“Aww, Dad...”

Neutemoc gave his eldest the same look his father had once given him. “When you go off to war, Necalli, I will let you listen to all the awful details.”

It wasn’t enough to make Acatl smile, but nevertheless the tension in his throat eased. “Well,” he began, “we’ve been trying to figure out what’s been strangling merchants in the featherworkers’ district…”

Laying out the facts of a suspicious death or two was always calming. He could forget the ache in his heart, even if only briefly. But even when he was done and had just started to relax, Neutemoc was still talking to him as though he expected to see his younger brother shatter any minute. The slaves, too, were unusually solicitous of him—rushing to fill up his cup, to heap delicacies on his plate. At any other time he might have suspected the whole thing to be a bribe or an awkward apology for some unremembered slight; now, he just felt uneasy.

When the meal was done, he declined Neutemoc’s offer of a pipe and got to his feet. “I think I’ll get some air.”

The courtyard outside was empty. He lifted his eyes to the heavens, charting the path of the four hundred stars above. Ceyaxochitl’s death hadn’t hit him anywhere near as hard as this, but gods, he thought he could recover in time if only the people around him stopped coddling him. Everywhere he went there were sympathetic glances and soft words, and even the priests of his own temple were stepping gingerly around him. As though he needed to be treated like...like...

Like a new widow. Like Mihmatini. He sat down hard, feeling like his legs had been cut out from under him. Air seemed to be in short supply, and the gulf in his chest yawned wide.

But I’m not. I care for Teomitl, of course, but it’s not like that. It’s not—

He thought about Teomitl sacrificed as a war captive or drowned in a river far from home, and nearly choked at the fist of grief that tightened around his heart. No. He shook his head as though that would clear it. He wouldn’t want me to grieve over him. He wouldn’t want me to think of him dead, drowned, sacrificed—he’d want me to remember him happy. I can do that much for him, at least.

He could. It was easy. He closed his eyes and remembered.

Remembered the smile that lit up rooms and outshone the Sun, the one that could pull an answering burst of happiness out of the depths of his soul. Remembered the way Teomitl had laughed and rolled around the floor with Mazatl, the way he’d helped Ollin to walk holding onto his hands, the way he sparred with Necalli and asked about Ohtli’s lessons in the calmecac, and how all of those moment strung together like pearls on a string into something that made Acatl’s heart warm as well. Remembered impatient haggling in the marketplace, haphazard rowing on the lake, strong arms flexing such that he couldn’t look away, the touch of a warm hand lingering even after Teomitl had withdrawn—

He remembered how it had felt, in that space between dreams and waking, where he’d thought Teomitl was by his side even in Mictlan. Where, for the span of a heartbeat, he’d been happy.

There was a sound—a soft, miserable whine. It took him a moment to realize it was coming from his own throat, that he’d drawn his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them. That he was shaking again, and had been for some time. As nausea oozed up in his throat, he regretted having eaten.

It was like that, after all.

And he’d realized too late. Even if he’d ever been able to do anything about it—which he never would anyway, the man was married to his sister—there was no chance of it now, because Teomitl was gone.

He forced his burning eyes to stay open. If he blinked, if he let his eyes close even for an instant, the tears would fall.

Approaching footsteps made him raise his head. Mihmatini was walking quietly and carefully towards him, as though she didn’t want to disturb him. As though I’m fragile. You too, Mihmatini?

“Ah. There you are.” Even her voice was soft.

He uncurled himself and arranged his limbs into a more dignified position, keeping his fists clenched to stop his hands from trembling. At least when he finally blinked, his eyes were dry. “Hm.”

She sat next to him, not touching. There was something calming about her company, but gods, he prayed she couldn’t see the thoughts written on his face. She stretched out a hand and he thought she’d lay it soothingly on his shoulder, but instead she traced a meaningless pattern in the dirt. “...It’s hard, isn’t it?”

His dry throat made a clicking noise when he swallowed. “It is.”

“At least we’re both in the same boat,” she murmured.

The words refused to make sense in his head at first—but then they did, and he reared back and stared at her. No. I’ve only just realized it myself, she can’t have...she can’t be thinking that I—! “I beg your pardon?”

Her voice lowered even further, so that he had to strain to hear her. There was a faint, sad smile on her face. “You love him just the same as I do, don’t you?”

He drew a long breath. He knew what he should say, what the right and proper words would be. No, like a son. Or like my brother. But he couldn’t lie to her, not even to spare what was left of her broken heart, and so what came out instead was, “Yes. Gods, yes.” Hate me for it. Tell me I have no right to love him, that you’re the one who has his heart. Tell me I’m a fool.

She lifted her head, and her faint smile grew to something bright and brittle. “Good.”

Good?! He blinked uselessly at her, gaping like a fish before he could find his voice again. “You—you approve?”

“You’re my favorite brother,” she said simply. “And...well.”

She fell silent, her smile fading until it vanished entirely. He waited. Finally, in a much softer voice, she continued, “If you love him, there’s no harm in telling you what he swore me to secrecy over.”

Dread gripped him. Of course Teomitl was entitled to his secrets, but he couldn’t imagine what would be so horrible that Mihmatini wouldn’t tell him. At least, not while he lived. He didn’t want to ask, but he had to know. “...What?”

She blinked rapidly, fingers going still. She’d traced something that looked, from a certain angle, like a flower glyph. “...He...he loved you, too.”

No.

But Mihmatini was still talking. “He didn’t want me to tell you; he was sure you’d scorn him. But he loved you the same way he loved me...gods, probably more than he loved me.”

It was the last straw. His nails bit into his palms hard enough to draw blood, and he barely recognized his own voice as rage filled it. “Why are you telling me this?!”

Mihmatini took a shuddering breath; he realized she was fighting tears, and had been since she’d spilled Teomitl’s heart to the night air. “In case he comes back. If he does...no, when he does...you should tell him how you feel.”

He rose on shaking legs. “I think I need to be alone.”

Without really seeing his surroundings, he walked until he came to the canal outside the house. The family’s boats were tied up outside, bobbing gently on the water. When he sat down, the stone under him was cold; the water he dipped his fingers in was colder still. Neither revived him. Neither was as cold as the pit cracking open in his gut. Mictlan was worse, true, but all the inexorable pains of Mictlan were dull aches compared to this.

In case he comes back. In case he comes back. I love him—I am in love, that’s what this pain is—and I will never see him again in this world. Mihmatini says he loves me too, and it doesn’t matter, because his bones lie somewhere in the jungle and his flesh feeds the crows and I will never get to tell him.

Between one breath and another, the tears came. They spilled hot and salty down his face; he let them, shoulders shaking, because he no longer had the strength to stop them. And nobody would come to offer unwanted sympathy, anyway. Mihmatini had her own grief, and the hurrying footsteps he’d grown so used to hearing would never run after him again.

Eventually, when he was spent, he wiped his face and left. It was time to go home.

The rest of the month ground on slowly, and his dreams began to change.

At first they were minor changes—the blood was less vibrant, the forests and plains brighter. Teomitl bled less. Acatl woke without feeling as though the inside of his chest had been hollowed out and replaced with ash. His appetite started to return; he still never felt properly hungry, and his meals didn’t exactly fill him with joy, but he could eat without feeling sick. The bones in his wrists were not quite so prominent as they’d been. And if that was all, he might have simply thought he was beginning to deal with his sorrow. Such things happened, after all. Eventually the knives scraping away at his chest would lose their edges, and he would face a life without Teomitl’s sunny smile.

But there was more than just a lessening of pain. He dreamed of a sunsoaked forest in the south, and woke feeling like a lizard basking on a rock, warm in a way he couldn’t blame on the heat of the rainy season. He dreamed that Teomitl was fording a fast-flowing river—one that did not turn to blood this time—and when dawn broke his legs were soaked up to the shins. That got him to visit a healing priest; he knew when he was out of his depth, and if his soul was wandering too far in his nightmares then he wanted to be sure it would come back to him by dawn. But the priest was as befuddled as he was, and only told him to call again if he woke in pain or with unexplained wounds.

Unexplained wounds? he thought bitterly. You mean, like the one where half my heart’s been torn from my chest? But he knew better than to say that out loud; his feelings for Teomitl were none of this man’s business. So he thanked him and left, paying a fistful of cacao beans for the consultation, and tried not to think about it until the next time he slept and the dreams returned.

And they were dreams now, and not nightmares. While he slept his soul seemed content to follow Teomitl’s solitary travels through the very outskirts of the Empire, and he no longer had to see him torn apart by monsters or smiling ruinously with bloody teeth. Teomitl barely bled at all now, and his wounds were only the normal ones a man might get from traversing hostile terrain alone—a scraped knee here, a bound-up cut there. He sang to himself as he walked, though the words slipped through Acatl’s mind like water. Once Acatl stood just over his shoulder at a smoky campfire while he roasted fish in the ashes, and his heart ached as he watched him cry.

“Acatl-tzin,” he whispered into his folded knees. “Acatl, I should have told you.”

“Should have told me what?” he tried to ask, but before he could form the words he woke up. There were tears in his own eyes.

It’s only because I miss him, he told himself. This is grief, that’s all. But there was the smell of smoke and the sweet fresh scent of cooked fish clinging to his skin, and a single damp leaf was stuck to the bottom of his bare foot. It hadn’t rained in Tenochtitlan last night. He stared at it for a long time.

Each night went on in the same vein. He would clean his teeth, lay down on his mat, and drift off to sleep—and in his dreams, there would be Teomitl, hale and whole and walking onwards. Despite himself, Acatl started to wake with a faint stirring of hope. Maybe Teomitl really had only been separated from the army. Maybe he truly was on his way home. And maybe I’m delusional, came the inevitable bitter thought when he’d finished his morning rituals. It had become much harder to listen to.

It was almost a surprise when he dreamed about a city he knew. It was a small but bustling place about half a day’s walk from Tenochtitlan, and as he walked through the streets he realized that the torches had been lit for a funeral. He could hear the chants ahead of him. There was a darker shape in the shadows which spilled down the dusty road, and he knew the man’s stride like he knew his own.

“Teomitl!” He hadn’t been mute in his dreams for a while now.

Teomitl didn’t turn. He never turned. But he stopped, and by the way his head tilted Acatl just knew he was smiling. Wordlessly, he pointed at the courtyard ahead.

A funeral pyre had been lit, and it was so like the rituals he presided over that he felt a distinct sense of deja vu. There was the priest singing a hymn to Lord Death; there were the weeping family members of the deceased. There were the marigolds and the other offerings, brilliant in the gloom.

“That could have been me,” Teomitl said, and Acatl heard his voice as though he was standing next to him in the waking world instead of only in a dream. “But it’s not yet, and it won’t be for a good long while. So you don’t need to fear for me. I keep my promises.”

They’d never touched before. But this time Teomitl turned to face him, and the hand he held out was free of blood entirely. Slowly, giving him time to pull away, Teomitl pressed his palm to his. Their fingers laced together, warm and strong and almost real.

“Teomitl,” he said helplessly.

“Acatl.” Teomitl’s smile was like the sun. “I’m sorry I made you worry, but I’ll be home soon.”

And then he woke up, the dream shredded apart by the blasts of the conch-shell horns that heralded the dawn. For a long moment, he stared blankly up at the ceiling. He could still feel Teomitl’s hand in his; each little scar and callus felt etched on his skin. He lives. The slow certainty of it welled up in him like blood. He lives, and he is coming back.

He rose and made his devotions before dressing, but now his hands shook with something that was no longer grief. As soon as he left for his temple, he could feel the change In the air. Scraps of excited conversation whirled past him, but he couldn’t focus long enough to pick any out. He concentrated on breathing steadily and walking with the dignity befitting a High Priest. He would not sprint for the temple, would not grab the nearest housewife or warrior or priest and demand answers. They would come soon enough.

They came in the form of Ezamahual, rushing out of the temple complex to meet him. “Acatl-tzin! Acatl-tzin, there is wonderful news!”

Briefly, he thought he should have worn the hated regalia. “What news?”

Ezamahual’s words tumbled out in a headlong rush, almost too fast to follow. “The Master of the House of Darts—Teomitl-tzin—he’s returned! Our warriors met him at the city gates!”

Even though he’d half expected it—even though the recurring dreams, his soul journeying through the night at Teomitl’s side, had kept alive the flickering flame of hope that now burned within him—he still briefly felt like fainting. He clenched his fists, the pain of his nails in his palms keeping him upright. “You’re sure?”

Ezamahual nodded enthusiastically. “The Revered Speaker has reinstated him to his old position, and there’s talk of a banquet at the palace to celebrate his safe return. I think he’s at the Duality House now, though—they’re like an anthill over there.”

Right. He exhaled slowly, forcing down joy and disappointment alike. Of course Teomitl would want to see his wife first above all, to reassure her that he was well, and of course he had no right to intrude. Nor would he even if he did—Mihmatini deserved her husband back in her life, deserved all the joy she would wring from it. The things she’d told him didn’t—couldn’t—matter in the face of their union. “I see. I suppose we’ll learn more later. Come—tell me if there’s been any new developments in those strangling cases.”

Ezamahual looked briefly baffled, but then he nodded. “Of course, Acatl-tzin. It’s like this…”

The latest crop of mysterious deaths turned out to be quite straightforward in the end, once they tracked down their newest lead and had him sing like a bird. He nodded at the appropriate times, sent out a double team of priests after the perpetrators, and had it very nearly wrapped up by lunch—a meal that, for once, he was almost looking forward to. He was settling down with the account ledgers to mark payment of two gold-filled quills to the priests of Mixcoatl for their aid when he heard footsteps outside.

Familiar footsteps.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the tightness in his chest eased. But he didn’t have a chance to revel in it, because he knew the voice calling his name.

“Acatl? Acatl!”

He dropped the ledgers and his pen, getting ink all over his fingers. As the entrance curtain was flung aside in a cacophony of copper bells, he scrambled to his feet. Had he been tired and listless before? That must have been a thousand years ago. He thought he might weep for the sheer relief of hearing that beloved voice again. “Gods—Teomitl—”

He had a confused impression of gold jewelry and feather ornaments, but then Teomitl was flinging himself into his arms and the only thing that sunk into his mind was warmth. There were strong arms wrapped around him and a head pressed against his temple, and Teomitl’s voice shook as he breathed, “Duality, I missed you so much.”

Slowly, he raised his shaking hands and set them at Teomitl’s shoulderblades. He could feel his racing heart, feel the way he sucked in each breath as though trying not to sob. It was overwhelming; his eyes burned as he fought to blink back his own tears. He couldn’t speak. If he opened his mouth, he knew he’d lose the battle—and there were no words for this, anyway.

Teomitl abruptly released him, turning his face away. His voice was a soft, ragged thing, and his expression was a careful blank. “Forgive me. I was...Mihmatini said you’d be glad to see me. I wanted to look less like I’d been dragged over the mountains backwards, first.”

He swallowed several times until he thought he could risk a response, even as his eyes drank in the sight of Teomitl in front of him. He looks the same, he thought. His skin had been further darkened by the sun, there were new scars looping across his arms and legs, and someone had talked him into a fortune in gold and jade with quetzal feathers tied into his hair, but he had the same face and body and sweet, sweet voice. “It’s—there’s nothing to forgive. I’m glad you’ve returned.”

“They told me everyone thought I was dead.” Teomitl bit his lip. “Except for Mihmatini. And you.”

He steered his mind firmly away from the shoals of crushing grief that still lurked under the joy of seeing Teomitl before him. He is here, and hale, and whole, just as I dreamed. I have nothing to weep over. “I knew you weren’t. You wouldn’t let something like a flood stop you.”

There was the first glimmer of a smile tugging at Teomitl’s lips. “You have such faith in me, Acatl.”

“You’re well deserving of it,” he replied. And I love you, and even in dreams I could not think of any other path than your survival. That, he refused to say.

Especially because Teomitl still wasn’t looking at him.

They stood in agonizing silence, and he couldn’t bring himself to break it. Teomitl was so close, still within arms’ range; if he was brave enough, he could reach out and pull him back into his arms. Could bury his face in his hair and crush the fabric of his cloak in his hands and tell him...what? It didn’t matter what Mihmatini had said to him. There was simply no space for him in the life Teomitl deserved, nothing beyond that Acatl already occupied. He wouldn’t burden him with useless feelings.

But then Teomitl shook himself like an ahuitzotl and turned back to him, holding his gaze. “Do you want to know what got me home, Acatl? What sustained me?”

Mutely, he nodded. He still didn’t trust his voice.

“You.”

He felt like he’d been gutted. “I...Teomitl…”

Whatever Teomitl saw in his face made his eyes soften. He took a step forward, hands coming up to rest like butterfly wings on Acatl’s waist, and Acatl let him. “I thought about you. I...Southern Hummingbird blind me, I dreamed about you. Every night! I made myself a promise while I was out there, in the event I ever saw you again. Scorn me for it all you’d like, but I’m going to keep it now.”

Oh, Teomitl. I could never scorn you. They were very, very close now, and Teomitl’s gaze had fallen to his parted lips. His mouth went dry.

And then Teomitl kissed him.

It started out soft and gentle, lips barely tracing Acatl’s own. Asking permission, he thought with an absurd spike of giddiness—and so, leaning in a little shyly, he gave it.

Teomitl wasted no time. The kiss grew harder, fingers digging into Acatl’s skin as he hauled their bodies together. They were pressed together from chest to hip but it still wasn’t enough, they weren’t close enough; blood roaring in his ears, he wrapped his arms around Teomitl’s back and clung tightly. His mouth opened with a breathy little whine stolen immediately by Teomitl’s invading tongue, and when he dared to do the same, Teomitl made a noise like a jaguar and let go of his waist in favor of clawing at the back of his cloak, grabbing fistfuls of fabric along with strands of his hair. It pulled too hard, but he didn’t care. The pain meant it was real, that this was really happening. That for once it wasn’t a dream.

Teomitl only drew away to breathe, “Gods—I love you—” before claiming his mouth again, as though he couldn’t bear to be apart.

Acatl twisted in his arms, knowing he was making a probably incoherent and definitely embarrassing noise, but shame wasn’t an emotion he was capable of at the moment. He loves me. By the Duality, he loves me. “I didn’t think—Mihmatini told me, but I didn’t think...”

Teomitl jerked back, brow furrowed. “Wait. Mihmatini told you?!”

His grip on the back of Teomitl’s cloak tightened at the memory. “She was trying to reassure me, I think. I’d just told her...well.” He couldn’t say it, even with Teomitl in his arms, and settled for uncurling one fist and running his hand up the back of Teomitl’s neck in lieu of words.

He was rewarded with a shiver, and the near-panic in Teomitl’s eyes ebbed into something soft. “What did you tell her, Acatl?”

He’d asked. He’d asked, and Acatl had always been honest with him. He’d be honest now, even if it made his heart race and his hands tremble. “That I love you.”

Teomitl made a desperate noise and kissed him again. There was no gentleness now; he kissed like a man possessed, hungry as a jaguar, and Acatl buried a hand in his hair to make sure he didn’t stop. Teeth caught at his lower lip, and he moaned out loud. This seemed to spur Teomitl on, because his mouth left Acatl’s to nip at his throat instead; the first sting of teeth sent a wave of arousal through him so strong it nearly swamped him. “Ah—!”

Teomitl soothed the skin with a delicate kiss that didn’t help at all, and then he returned his focus to Acath’s mouth. This time he was gentle, a careful little caress that gave Acatl just enough brainpower back to realize that he’d probably been a bit loud. Which is Teomitl’s fault, anyway, so he can’t complain. “Mmm...”

Even when they eventually pulled apart, they clung to each other for a long while. Acatl stroked up and down Teomitl’s spine, tracing each bump of vertebrae and the trembling muscles of his back. Teomitl dropped his head onto Acatl’s shoulder, breathing slow and deep. He’d twined locks of long hair through his fingers, gently running his fingers through the strands. Acatl had to close his eyes, overwhelmed. The stone beneath my feet is real. Teomitl’s skin under my hands is real. This—this is real. He is in my arms, and he loves me.

“I don’t want to let you go,” Teomitl whispered. “I never want to let you out of my sight again.”

Neither do I. He tilted his head, nosing at Teomitl’s hair. Gods, even cut to a proper length again it was so adorably fluffy. He sighed into it. “You’ll have to eventually.” Even though he hated the thought, he couldn’t help but smile. “You’re the Master of the House of Darts, aren’t you? You have an army to help lead. Wars to wage. Glory to bring to the Empire.”

“Hrmph.” The arms around him tightened in wordless refusal.

Joy bubbled up within him, and he chuckled quietly. Still such a stubborn young man. But now he was Acatl’s young man, and there was something wonderful about that. He felt loose as unspun cotton, ready to sink into the floor with the release of all the tension he’d been carrying, but it had left a void behind. A void that rumbled—loudly—to be filled. His face burned with embarrassment at the noise. “...Ah. Why don’t we see about lunch?”

Teomitl snorted. “I have been gone a long time. You’re remembering to eat for once.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually had an appetite for food, but he decided not to mention that. Teomitl would worry too much. But eating lunch meant that they had to be seen in public, which meant they both had to actually let go of each other. Reluctantly, he lifted his head and lowered his arms, finding himself stymied halfway through by Teomitl’s serpentlike hold on his ribs. “Teomitl.”

At least now he wasn’t the only one blushing. “Right. You’re right. We should eat.” Teomitl stepped back, clearing his throat, but the look in his eyes was more awestruck than awkward. He was staring at Acatl as though he couldn’t get enough of the sight.

And since Acatl found himself doing the same thing, he couldn’t blame him. Had his eyes always been that dark? Was that scar slicing a pale line across his skin new, or had he just never noticed it before? I might have gone my whole life without this. What an idiot I was.

It took longer than Acatl liked for he and Teomitl to be properly alone again, this time with a plate of food between them. Lunch was simple fare: a plate of grilled newts and amaranth dough with a vibrant red sauce so spicy it made his nose prickle. The serving priests had taken one look at Teomitl and thoughtfully put it on the side instead of directly on their meal, which he’d had to thank them for. As he sat down, inhaling the scent, he felt as though his body was waking up after a long slumber. It filled his lungs and swirled through his veins, and his mouth watered.

He dug in greedily. Gods, it had been so long since he’d properly tasted the food he put into his mouth. The juicy grilled meat was the most savory thing he’d had in ages, and he couldn’t blame his suddenly blurry vision on the sauce he dunked his next bite in. It was perfect. He had one of the amaranth dough sticks to smother the burn, finding it crunchy and slightly sweet with its dusting of seeds on top. “Mmm.”

A hand landed on his thigh. “Enjoying yourself?”

He lifted his head, face hot. “I was hungrier than I thought.”

“That’s good. You need to eat more, anyway.” Teomitl smiled, and he couldn’t help smiling in return. “Pass me some sauce?”

He passed the sauce. Teomitl tore at his own grilled newt with more manners but just as much enthusiasm. The long trek through the wilderness must have hardened him, because he didn’t wince at the heat of the accompanying sauce. Then again, he also didn’t use quite so much. “Mm. This is good.”

There was a fleck of bright red chili paste by the corner of Teomitl’s mouth. He wanted to kiss it away. A heartbeat later, he realized that he could. They were alone. Nothing was stopping him now.

So he did, and Teomitl went crimson. “Acatl!” he yelped delightedly, grinning even as he turned his head and kissed him back.

Chaste as it was, it lingered long enough that Acatl was flushed when he pulled away. His pulse thrummed under his skin; he felt like he’d drunk a cup of pulque, dizzy at his own daring as it sunk in. They were alone. Good food was in his belly for once, giving him the energy he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. They could do a lot more than kiss, if they wanted.

Teomitl’s grin turned teasing. “I missed doing that.”

“It hasn’t even been half an hour,” he muttered. “You’re insatiable.” But there was no heat to it, and he found his hand resting at Teomitl’s waist. The skin under his palm was just so warm. He’d felt cold bones and grave dust for too long.

An eyebrow went up in stunning imitation of Mihmatini. “And I’ve waited years for even one kiss, Acatl. There’s a backlog to get through, you know.”

The blush had just started to fade, but now it returned with a vengeance. “Years?”

“Mm-hmm.” Teomitl’s eyes gleamed. “I’d like to make up for lost time, if you wouldn’t mind.”

He swallowed hard. Now that he could think again he wanted to know how Teomitl had survived, how he’d managed to make it all the way back home—the unreal fragments he’d witnessed each night had not been informative—but his questions suddenly didn’t seem that important anymore. Not when there were other, more immediate desires to be sated. “...I would not.”

And so their mouths met. Teomitl’s idea of making up for lost time was long and hungry and tingled with the spice of their meal; Acatl’s lips parted for his tongue almost before he knew what he was doing, and that was still a little strange but far from unwelcome. Especially when Teomitl drew back, mouth wet and red, to catch his lower lip between his teeth in another one of those stinging little nips that made his blood sing. A breathy noise escaped him, but this time Teomitl didn’t soothe it.

No, this time he lowered his mouth to Acatl’s neck and did it again. It was light and delicate, unlikely to leave marks, but Teomitl’s teeth were sharp enough that he felt each one in a burst of light behind his closed eyelids. He had to bury one hand in Teomitl’s hair and wrap the other around his waist just to keep himself upright; he couldn’t entirely muffle his own gasps. “Ahh...gods...”

Teomitl hummed, low and wordless, and slid a hand down his stomach. Acatl’s fevered blood roared in his ears, and all of a sudden it was almost too much. “Teomitl.”

Teomitl lifted his head, eyes bright. “Mm?”

“You.” He sucked in a breath, willing his heartrate to slow down. There had to be some limits. Too much had already happened much too quickly. “You can’t keep doing that here.”

“You don’t like it?” Teomitl grinned at him. “Or do you like it too much, Acatl?”

If by some miracle all the rest of it hadn’t already made him blush, hearing Teomitl purr his name like that would definitely have done the trick. He had to turn his face away. “You know damned well it’s the latter. We both have our duties; we can’t very well take the rest of the day off to…” Flustered, he gestured between them.

“Hrmph,” Teomitl said, and kissed him again. This time it was slow and sweet and came with warm arms sliding around him, and he lingered in it for long, long minutes.

By the time they finally remembered the rest of their food, it was stone cold. They ate anyway; cold food was still good, especially with the chili sauce. Acatl was privately of the opinion that it even made the sauce taste better, but he’d learned that people tended to look at him strangely when he voiced it. Besides, Teomitl was leaning against him with one arm slung loosely around his waist, a reassuring weight against his side anchoring him to the earth. There wasn’t a need for speech in moments like this.

Not to mention that, strangely enough, he was still hungry. The joy he’d first felt at knowing Teomitl was safe and alive had opened the floodgates, but it felt as though his body was determined to make up for lost sustenance. Even after their plates were both thoroughly clean, he was still rather looking forward to dinner.

The afternoon light was turning the air gold when Teomitl reluctantly got to his feet. Acatl followed; they stood without touching for a moment that was just long enough to be awkward, and then Teomitl pulled him into a fierce hug. Acatl knew it was coming this time; he marveled at how they just seemed to fit together, with one hand buried in Teomitl’s hair and the other pressed flat between his shoulderblades to feel the steady beat of his heart.

Teomitl took a long, slow breath. “Lunch wasn’t long enough.”

“It wasn’t,” he agreed softly. “But there will be others. Many others.” With Teomitl by his side, he didn’t think he’d ever skip a meal again.

Despite the hint of dismissal—yes, he loved the man with all his heart, but they did both have other things to do—Teomitl made no move to let go of him. In fact, he squeezed a little tighter, turning to bury his face in Acatl’s hair. “Mrghh...”

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to quell the urge to laugh. As fond as he was, he knew it probably wouldn’t go over well. He made do with stroking Teomitl’s hair—gods, it was so soft—and taking a deliberate step back so that Teomitl had to release him or be pulled off-balance. Now Teomitl was glaring at him, but nothing would stop the slow upwell of joy in his veins. “Go on. I’ll see you at the banquet tonight.” He knew he’d enjoy this one.

Teomitl’s eyes were fierce as an eagle’s. “And afterwards? Will I see you afterwards, Acatl?”

He had a pretty good feeling he knew what Teomitl had in mind for a private celebration. Nerves twisted his gut, but only for a moment. He’d come this far, hadn’t he? “Yes,” he said simply.

The way Teomitl’s lips parted in wonder let him know he’d made the right choice. For the rest of my life. Whenever you want, for the rest of my life, I’ll be there.

Teomitl didn’t reach for him—he seemed to be deliberately holding himself still, tension ringing through his body like a drawn bowstring—but he looked like he wanted to. He looked like he wanted to yank Acatl back into his arms and finish what they’d started earlier, and the thought was exhilarating. “My chambers in the palace? They’re closest.”

Acatl flushed, shaking his head. That was a risk he refused to take. The palace had too many people, too many ears and eyes. Far too many chances to be interrupted. If he was going to do this, it would be somewhere safe. “My house. I’ll...I’ll be waiting.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” There was a wild, radiant smile.

He smiled back. Though he’d miss Teomitl while he worked—Duality, they’d been apart for so long—it would be fine. He was already looking forward to the banquet and what would come after, when nothing would part them again save the dawn.

Teomitl had promised, after all.

#obsidian and blood #acatl #teomitl #teocatl #mihmatini #quenami #acamapichtli #paladin writes stuff

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years

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A Backwards Glance

Based on an idea by my wonderful girlfriend @spiky-lesbian!

Please leave a comment on Ao3 or reblog and let me know what you thought in the tags!

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Juno is about to marry the love of his life but its hard to forget the last time he wore a wedding gown.

So he's come to remember how far he's come.

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It seemed to Juno that there was more dust than there should be.

How much grime, how many fragments, how many days manifested as faint clumps of barely there grey, could really accumulate in just under two decades? More than he’d ever realised. It stuck to his fingers in drifts as he moved box after box, aging his skin before his eye like he was moving further into the future rather than digging back into his past. There was no system to them, they were just stacked haphazardly with no labels and uneven weights so he had to clamber through them all to find the one he wanted. Clearly he hadn’t ever expected to be back here, when he’d been a brokenhearted younger lady he’d just wanted to shove it all away in this storage unit and forget.

Part of him wanted to go back to that, the part of him couldn’t understand what exactly he was doing here now. They only had five hours left on Mars, a quick, whistle stop trip to collect Mick for the wedding and to stretch their legs before another long haul into space, and he was spending it trawling through the shit that was too depressing to keep around even when he was Mars’ PI who most needed therapy. He knew he should be out seeing old friends and visiting old haunts before remembering he didn’t have any old friends and all his old haunts had been destroyed and then just going to a bar or a restaurant with the man he was going to marry in less than a month.

But instead he was here. And there was a reason.

That man Juno was going to marry was currently leaning in the doorway, politely not questioning his fiancee's decision to bring them here, also not going near any of the boxes that landed near his feet as they were thrown aside, waiting for Juno’s permission because of course he was.

“You can look,” Juno grunted, wiping the dust off his hands, not making them much cleaner and ruining his trousers into the bargain, “It’s just junk.”

“Your junk,” Peter Nureyev amended, like that made it important and worth looking at.

He bent and looked through the first of the boxes Juno had jettisoned over his shoulder when it didn’t hold whatever he was here to find. That one was just old toys of his and Ben’s. Turbos mostly.

“They’re in quite a state,” Nureyev hummed, turning one over in his hands, watching as one of its arms sagged in the socket and counting the crayon marks, “I take it you weren’t as fond of this one?”

“Haven’t you ever had a toy, babe?” Juno snorted, moving aside a box of old school assignments. All Benzaiten’s, he’d thrown away all his own, “The more banged up it is, the more you liked it.”

“Ah...no. I never did, actually.”

Juno stopped, screwing up his face and cursing himself in his mind. Of course his thief had never had a toy, he’d never had the chance to be a child, “Sorry…”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Nureyev said lightly, as if he thought it really was, “My love, what is it you’re looking for?”

Juno bit his lower lip as he thought, eyes scanning the boxes that had seemed so few when they’d walked in but, now he was crouched amongst them, covered him like castle walls, “I...I think it’s in this one…”

Of course it was in the box that had been pushed furthest back, right into the corner of the chilly, cramped little space that had been all a younger Juno could afford. It was the one he most wanted to forget. The one he’d wanted the most space between it and him.

Again, the smell was mustier than it should have been. Inside the box, the old synthetic lace smelled like dust and stasis and just the faintest hint of rot. Juno stood and shook it out, unfurling the dress to its full length and holding it up so the pale sunlight from behind them washed yellow through the fabric and made it look like a skin of something. It made it look hollow, a space made to be filled.

“Oh,” Nureyev murmured faintly behind him, his voice catching just a little. He sounded further away than he really was.

Juno remembered when he’d first got this dress, spending far more money on it than his junior HCPD salary minus his addictions could stretch to. But at the time, it seemed worth it. When he’d worn this dress, even when he’d just held it up on the hanger in the store and imagined it on him, everything had felt like it would be okay. When he’d moved quickly and felt the waterfalls of tiered fabric had whispered, it had drowned out the doubts in his head. When he’d tried a twirl, just because he could, and watched as the lace floated in the air like it was weightless, he could forget the last argument they’d had and could ignore the fact that now a night couldn’t go by that didn’t end with them screaming at each other. When he’d looked at himself in the mirror and felt beautiful, he didn’t have to think about how Sasha still hadn’t replied to her invitation, how Mick changed the subject whenever Juno tried to steer it towards him being his best man, how Rita asked nearly every day now if he was sure this was what he wanted.

And he could forget that the answer wasn’t coming as easily anymore.

When Juno had worn the dress, it all felt right. Like an actor being given his costume, it had all solidified. The lines had felt more like truth, the repetition of them was only practise for the real thing. All the problems had felt trivial, things that every bride must surely worry about before their big day, before everything became as fairytale as they’d promised. Before the bad parts stopped and it was all just the good days, the bits he kept going back to them for.

The dress stopped him being just the son of the woman who’d gone mad, the brother of the dancer who’d died tragically young, the fuck up from Oldtown who’d thought he could make a difference, the jaded cop who’d started out with wide eyes and a clear heart but now needed as much drugs and drink as the rest of them to get through the day. He wasn’t Juno Steel. In the dress, he was Diamond’s wife. And that had it’s good days, at least.

Nureyev stepped up quietly behind him, his voice soft and almost reverent as he placed a hand on Juno’s hip, “It’s a beautiful dress, my love. I’m sure you were a vision in it.”

Juno paused a moment before laughing roughly, “It isn’t. And I wasn’t.”

With Nureyev’s hand against him, the dress looked different. He didn’t like the style at all, it was overly flashy with it’s ridiculously puffed up sleeves and it’s ruffled tiers. He must have looked like a damn wedding cake with it on, one someone would spend too much money on and would turn out to be nearly all fondant. The front was cut too short and the back draped way too low, the fake gems around the bodice were tacky and dull even in the light. It just wasn’t Juno’s style. Which made sense, seeing as he hadn’t chosen it.

And it was so small, reminding him how unhealthily thin he’d been back then, how the drugs had made him drawn and all sharp, painful angles. How food had never been a priority because he was too busy at work or because Diamond had taken his wallet again and their own fridge was bare. How, without Benten to feed as well, there just hadn’t seemed all that much point in remembering to eat. In taking care of himself at all, as a singular person who was meant to be part of a pair.

“Well…” Nureyev was attempting a charitable kindness, “I think you would look dashing in anything, of course…but you do have a point. It’s not quite your style.”

Juno made a soft noise of agreement, passing the material through his fingers, “Good thing I only had to wear it the one time.”

There were marks of that one time all over the dress. Not the ceremony that never happened, obviously, but the night that had followed. And, almost ridiculously, Juno found himself smiling at them. He found the dark amber stain on the skirts where he’d spilled his fourth whiskey at the Pour and Floor. He saw the grease on the back where he’d ridden behind Mick on his hoverbike through the streets at two in the morning, far too fast, fast enough to kill them both if they’d crashed but Juno had just whooped and cheered until his throat was so raw he couldn’t make a sound. He found the mud on the hem and the burn at the edge of the sleeve from when Sasha had turned up, given him one of her rare, tight enough to hurt hugs and they’d hopped a chain link fence behind a store to shoot cans off the wall with his and Sasha’s blasters. And of course the whole thing was crumpled and creased, when he’d staggered to his own apartment and fell asleep on the couch well past sunrise, he hadn’t been in the right state of mind to take it off and fold it nicely.

And when he’d woken in the morning, he’d never wanted to see it again.

That night had been reckless, profoundly stupid, one wrong step from turning into broken sobs and beating his fists against the pavement. But it had been wonderful too, everything feeling slightly unreal and just perfect enough to feel like the best days of his childhood. He’d breathed deeply, like his head had been underwater until that moment, and he hadn’t needed any powder or pill to feel it. After a while, even the space where Benten should have been standing began to feel less painful and almost friendly.

He’d felt like Juno Steel again and, honestly, for that night it hadn’t seemed like a bad thing.

He’d almost forgotten that night, in it’s bitch of a hangover that had stretched on for years and years of bitterness and depression and clawing himself back to some kind of control over his own body and his own mind. But it had been a pretty fun night.

“Would you like to keep it?” Nureyev asked gently, hand moving from his waist and sliding round until his arms encircled him completely, holding him fast, “We could take it with us and...I don’t know, perhaps I could sew it into something for you, a garter or…”

Juno leaned back in his arms until Nureyev’s forehead was pressed to the crown of his skull.

“Nah. I’m gonna throw it out. Should have done it years ago, honestly.”

There was a tinge of relief to how Nureyev smiled and kissed the top of his head, “But I think you needed to come here today. Am I right?”

Juno smiled crookedly, “I did...thanks for coming with me.”

“Of course,” Nureyev murmured, as if Juno didn’t even need to thank him for something like that, as if it was obvious he’d wanted to be with him as he’d faced his difficult memories.

But standing there, holding his old wedding dress, Juno felt like he really did.

“Come on, I’m done moping. Let’s go do something fun, there’s a tea place over in Halcyon that’s right up your alley,” he turned in Nureyev’s arms and kissed his cheek lightly before leading him back to the door.

Now he could understand why everything seemed so much older, so caked in dust that seemed to show more years than had actually gone by. It wasn’t because of time as it was distance. It was the fact that he was a completely new Juno Steel, who could barely remember being so sad, so angry at the world. He was looking at the relics of another life, one he’d gladly left behind.

Maybe that was the reason Juno had wanted to come back here, when he could have been feeding his fiance cake from the end of a fork or something else suitably romantic and engagement-y. After all, it wasn’t really as far off as it seemed sometimes. He’d made those bad decisions, he’d hurt those people and been hurt in turn. It did Juno good to remember that.

Because now he could see how far he’d come.

He would close the door and plunge it all into darkness, the dress melted into a careless puddle of fabric where he’d let it fall. He would toss the keys down at the desk of the storage unit place and tell them cheerfully to throw out everything, he was done with it all. He would pull Nureyev out into a surprisingly sunny afternoon, into their new names for the day, and live the kind of life he’d always dreamed he’d have but had never really believed he would. And then he would leave, back into the stars with his family.

And Juno Steel wouldn’t look back.

#cw: implied drug use #cw: past abusive relationships #jupeter #juno steel #peter nureyev #tpp #tpp fic #junoverse #happy ending #juno steel has a character growth

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renee-writer · 5 years

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Redemption Chapter 65 Wedding Day

Gabriella wakes up on 14th of February with her stomach full of butterflies and her hair full of rags. Jade had spent two hours the night before, putting her hair up in rag curls. When taken out, her hair will flow in curls, down her back, under her veil.

“My veil! Oh Lord, it is my wedding day.” She says softly to herself.

It is 7 am. The ceremony is at noon. Between now and then, she has to get herself and Evie ready. She and Eli are also planning to pray together before without actually seeing each other.

The hardest thing that they had to figure out, both logistically and emotionally about today, was who was to walk her down the aisle. They had finally decided on Paul. When John asks,’ Who gives this woman to be married to this man?’ he is to reply,’ Her church and sister do.’

She stands and stretches,” When I return to this room and bed, I won't be alone.” This thought sends a thrill of nervous anticipation through her. She grins and goes to wake up her baby sister.

“Sit still Evie Ruth.” Jade is brushing out her niece’s hair. They hadn’t curled it since it has it's own natural waves. It is to be brushed back, left hanging down her back, secured by a red ribbon that matches her dress. Her dress, designed by her and her Aunt Jade, hangs to the floor. It is a soft red, with ruffles and lace down it's entire length. The sleeves are half length and end in lace. It has a satin white ribbon around the middle to break up the red.

Jade's maid-of- honor dress is similarly made, with a little less lace and without the satin ribbon. It isn’t her style but today isn’t about her. Her hair is it's natural color today, a soft brown color, brushed flat.

“You are going to be a gorgeous flower girl.” Gabby says with a catch in her throat.

“Thanks. You will be a gorgeous bride too.”

“Yes. Let's get her hair down. Want to help?”

She does. She and Jade make short work of taking it down. “You are breathtaking Gabby and we haven’tgot your gown on yet.” Jade comments after getting the curls down and applying a minimal amount of make-up. “We need to head to the church so you can pray with Eli at ten.”

“Oh yes. Let's go.’

Gabriella heads straight to the bride's room while Jade takes Evie into the sanctuary to check that all is in place there.

Gabby, wearing jeans and a t-shirt that says, ‘ bride', gets ready to meet her groom. She knows he is dressed the same. The photographer will take pictures of the prayer. They will see each other but not today. Not one glimpse until she comes to him on Paul's arm.

But both believe it is important to continue to pray together especially today as they join themselves and their lives together.

“Gabby,” his soft voice comes from the other side of the door.

“I am here Eli.” She carefully open the door a crack, carefully keeping herself hidden behind the door. She just puts her hand through. She feels his strong, warm hand enfold over it.

“I love you Gabriella.”

“I love you Eli.”

He holds tight to her hand as he prays aloud for the day, for their marriage, for Evie as she spends the next four days with Jade, for their future children. It is a holy moment.

“I will see you in the sanctuary.” He tells her after the amen.

“Yes. I can't wait.” He kisses her hand and releases it.

“Ready for the gown?” Jade asks an hour later.

“Yes. Very ready.”

“Still an anxious girl.” Jade teases as she eases the gown over her head..

It is satin and lace. It falls below her feet with a train that flows a foot behind. The train is pure lace. It has full sleeves and the bodice ends in lace right below her neck. Lace encircles the waist. Roses made of delicate lace, encircle the skirt. They are Evie’s contribution to the design of the dress.

“Wow!” Evie exclaims when she sees her,” you are so beautiful Gabby.”

She smiles at her. She is quite beautiful in her flower girl dress. “Thanks Evie. So are you.”

“You both are. Do you want to go get the gifts Evie?”

“K.” she runs to the other side of the room.

“What gifts Jade? The dress is more then enough.”

“The dress is something new. You still need old, borrowed, and blue.” She explains as Evie hands her a bag.

“This is really not necessary.”

“Yes. It is. Something old. I found it in your mom's old jewelry box. I really think she would want you to wear it today.” She hands her, her mom's wedding ring.

“Oh Jade! I didn’t even think. It is perfect.” Freely crying, she thanks God for waterproof mascara.

“That's what maid-of-honors are for. Something blue and borrowed.” She hands her a handkerchief trimmed in blue lace.” I knew it would come in handy”

“You are so right. Where do I put it?” She asks after wiping tears off her face.

“Up the sleeve of your left arm.”

They get it placed and Gabby slips her mom's wedding ring on her right hand. “Oh. I've gifts for you also.” She hands them both small jewelry boxes. Each contain rings with rubies in the center.

“Oh Gabby! It is so pretty.” Evie places it on her finger.

“Yes. Very beautiful. Thank you Gabby.” Jade echoes.

“Thank you both for making this day so special.”

Jade places the veil on her head and she is ready. She gives Evie the basket of flowers. It has rose and daisy petals. She hands Gabby a bouquet that contains the same.

“Time to line up. Are you ready Gabby?”

“Yes. So very ready.”

“Good. Evie remember walk slow. Keep a hold of Mark's arm as you spread the flowers petals before and behind you.”

“I got it Aunt Jade. I love you Gabby.”

“I love you Evie.”

They meet up with Mark, Mike, and Paul. All wear white tuxes with red shirts.

“Okay. Mark take Evie’s arm. Very good. You two will go first. When you get to Eli and Brother John, Mark go to the right beside Eli. Evie to the left.”

Gabby realizes that her best friend is more nervous then she is. “It will be okay Jade.”

“I know. I just want it perfect for you.”

“It will be.”

From the other side of the door, they hear the music starts and Gabby's heart starts to beat in time to it.

“Evie and Mark. Slow remember.” Jade directs as she opens the doors and leads them out. Evie nods seriously as Mark escorts her down, holding a pillow with the wedding rings. They hear a collective ‘ awe!’ as they come into view.

“We are next. Follow after the count of five.” Jade reminds her as Mike takes her arm.

“I know. I love you Jade. Thanks.”

“I love you. You're welcome.” She and Mike follow the children.

“Are you nervous?” Paul asks.

“Not as nervous as Jade seems to be.”

He smiles. “I feel I should tell you something father like. Because I can’t do that, I will say that Eli loves you desperately. I have never seen him this happy. Y'all will be great together.”

“Thanks Paul.” The music changes to the wedding march. Gabby tightens her hand on Paul’s arm.

“Steady.” He whispers as he leads her down the aisle.

She lifts her eyes as they enter and meets Eli's at the end. They are full of awe. She feels the same at the sight of him in his blazing tux set off by the same red shirt the other guys wear. He also wears a white tie.

Paul leads her to him with a steady strong hand and a firm slow stride. The traditional hesitation steps seem to take forever. She moves slowly towards her future.

She sees out of the corner of her eyes, Jade and Evie and Mark and Mike. They all have smiles on their faces. She smiles back but her focus is on Eli. They finally make it to him. John smiles at her before asking,

“Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”

“Her church and sister do.” Paul answers placing her hand in Eli's. She hears a soft swell of awe behind them but it seems far away.

Evie's soft,” I do. I am her sister.” Brings a laugh to those close enough to hear but neither she nor Eli respond. John clears his throat and the laughter slowly stops. When it is quiet, he turns to the congregation.

“Dearly beloved.” He begins.

She and Eli had decided to do the traditional wedding vows. So they repeat,

“I Eli take you Gabriella.”

“I Gabriella take you Eli.”

“To have and to hold.”

“In sickness and health.”

“For as long as we both shall live.”

John explains the significance of the rings to the couple and congregation. They repeat the words that bind them as one, as they dlip them onto each others fingers. John them takes their hands and prays aloud for their marriage. He then turns them to face the congregation.

“I am pleased to introduce to you, for the first time, Reverend and Mrs. Eli Spencer. Eli, you may kiss your bride.”

He does with fierce joy. She vaguely hears the giggle of her sister. The slightly deeper laugh of the others. She hears John clear his throat. But, all these were of secondary importance. The most important thing was the feel of her husband’s lips on hers. Nothing else really existed.

John clears his throat again, a little loader. A reminder perhaps, that they are in church. This and the touch on their shoulders, finally penatrates their fog and they break apart to the cheers and whistles of their guests. Gabriella blushes a bit but Eli just grins, taking her hand and leading her out of the room. He stops in the hallway and pulls her back in his arms.

“My wife. How I love you.” He whispers before his lips claim hers again.

That is how Jade, Evie, and Mike find them moments later.

“Excuse me.” Jade softly says,” you two have reception to get to.”

“I told you they kiss good.” Evie says to Mark, who had joined them.

“Uh huh!” he is wide eyed. His father smiles and takes his hand.

“We will see you guys there.” He leads his son and Evie away, towards the fellowship hall.

“We should be joining them.” Jade tries again.

Eli lifts up and says,” Yes. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave.”

“That is a good point.” His wife agrees.

“Shall we go my wife.”

“Yes my husband.” Her smile is huge. “I love you.”

“I love you.” He takes her hand and leads her to their reception.

#my writing #my oc's #redemption #the eli and gabriella one #wedding day #nano #day 11 #1848

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emilyplaysotome · 6 years

Text

Chapter 8 - Hiding in Plain Sight

Catch up on Chapters 1 - 7 here! (or just Chapter 7)

I calmed myself down by reminding myself that Meg was no bright eyed fool.

She was a New Yorker in the most stereotypical sense - slightly cynical, (at the moment) jaded towards relationships, and completely self-sufficient. Her second year into her relationship with Noah, Meg had gotten laid off when a major brand had left the agency she was employed at.

Noah was an engineer and steadily rising in the corporate ranks at the time. He’d suggested that they move in together in order to take any pressure off of her, but Meg had flatly refused. She had appreciated the gesture but refused to allow herself to be rescued by some white knight. Instead, she revised her resume and updated her site, applying to jobs and freelancing before she was offered a creative director role at a superior agency than the one who laid her off.

With her upgraded title and upgraded employer, she then considered Noah’s offer to live together and rather than move into either of their apartments, they found a new place together that was also a considerable upgrade.

I remember secretly admiring how Meg had handled herself back then and wondered if I would have handled myself as well as she did. With that said, there was no way she would let her guard down (even in otome-ville) and certainly not with a PUA type like Baba.

Rather than get derailed with what ifs, I refocused on what I needed to do in order to get her home in a timely fashion. I pulled out my laptop and saw that Anita had sent me another message, “Naomi I know you’re sick but we couldn’t reschedule - can you do a video conference at 2? Please!?”

I’d hoped to sneak down to the Tribeca precinct that was dangerously close to my office during that time but with the realization that pressing pause on my life was impossible, I begrudgingly agreed to dial into the Zoom meeting. With an hour to kill I sent a flirty text to Hiroshi - confirming that we were still on for our date tomorrow in the park.

He didn’t reply immediately and I wondered if this was thanks to his new persona, or if he was merely tied up at work.

As for Soryu, I was at a loss but figured it couldn’t hurt to take a closer look at Terek’s card. I noticed that there was a phone number and email address listed but waffled on whether or not emailing him would lead anywhere. Instead, I opted to google Soryu and his arrest information. I was surprised to find out that he’d posted bail - something that seemed off considering the fact that bail had been set fairly high and he had been mugging people on the train for spare change.

There was no further information as far as if he’d been the one to pay or if someone else had covered it, and before I knew it I had to stop sleuthing and instead dial into Anita’s video conference.

“Hey Naomi - are you with us?”

The quality of the feed made it hard to see who exactly was in the room, but it was clear that the office’s largest conference room was packed full of clients and coworkers.

“Yep! I’m here. Hello everyone.”

“Thanks for dialing in. I know you’re feeling under the weather but I wanted to make sure you were present for this discovery meeting,” Anita said, leading the meeting. “We’ve already done intros so when you’re back in person we’ll be sure to go through that again, but for now I’d like to make the most of our time together and dive in.”

“Sounds good. It’s nice to meet you all.”

I saw the pixilated people nod in acknowledgement and Anita let them know in a lighthearted way that I was 360i’s resident digital marketing expert before moving on to the brand discovery.

I learned that this “new brand” Anita had been hinting at was actually a hospitality behemoth in Asia that was looking to break into the American market. At the moment their luxury hotel was almost ready to open in New York and they were looking to partner with an agency who could lead a successful digital marketing campaign that would help launch the brand.

We would have one month of prep and discovery (where we’d learn about the brand, their guidelines in order to formulate where in the NYC hospitality space there was a gap that they could fill), a pitch against two other agencies, and once awarded, only one month before the ribbon cutting ceremony.

The owner of the hotel (Hyun Kim) was a heavyset gentleman with salt and pepper hair who sat next to Anita taking notes on a sleek laptop. His fingers made an abnormally loud clacking sound on the keyboard, but his colleagues seemed used to it whereas I noticed a few of my coworkers glancing over from time to time.

Nothing was said during this initial discovery meeting that I found particularly meaningful. In general, I’d worked on and for several hospitality brands and they all required the same type of marketing. The only thing that stood out to me was the fact that this brand did not offer the standard amenities of a luxury hotel but also had created a “health and fitness” component.

LT Hotels was planning to roll out in addition to their spa offerings spin, barre, and yoga classes. Having just been reminded of how cramped NYC gyms tend to be, I silently wondered if there might be an opportunity in our NYC launch strategy by opening up these services to the public for a healthy fee. It seemed like a way not only to define LT Hotels (allowing them to keep half of the space in their classes for guests and half for local members) while maintaining the upper class, expensive and exclusive atmosphere.

I jotted down a small note to research luxury gyms in the city and get a cost estimate, also factoring in that members would have access to LT Hotels’ spa services at a discounted rate, should we propose something along those lines.

At the end of the hour, I thanked Mr. Kim and his team for their time and Anita brought the video meeting to a close.

Just before she did, I caught a glimpse of some of the men who were on Mr. Kim’s team towards the back and noted that it was slightly ironic that a luxury hotel and spa brand that appealed primarily to women was headed up exclusively by men.

With my work obligation complete, I pulled out all the stops to find Namba knowing that once 6 pm hit I wouldn’t be able to find him until Monday, should he currently be working a 9-5. I raced down to the TriBeCa precinct (and by raced I mean hobbled seeing as how I was incredibly sore), and strolled right up to the front desk where a weathered, butch female officer asked, “How can I help ya hon?”

“I’m actually looking for someone who used to work here - Jin Namba?”

Unimpressed, she raised an eyebrow and said, “And who would you be?”

“Naomi Lee.”

“Hold.”

I watched as she dialed a few numbers on a beat up phone and gruffly said, “Yeah, Fitzgerald - do you remember Jin ever mentioning someone named Naomi Lee?”

There was a pause and she eyed me up and down before quietly saying, “I dunno, regular lookin’ for this area. Dark hair and eyes. Why? Ok. Ok…sure.”

She hung up and informed me to take a seat.

I wasn’t entirely sure as to what was happening but after a short wait a burly, Irish cop in his 40s approached me. His ID revealed him as the man the woman at the front had been speaking with and with a smile he gave me a small wave.

“Hey there.”

“Hi,” I said, standing.

“Do you mind going for a walk with me?”

It was a little odd, but Officer Fitzgerald didn’t seem to be shady or scary and so, I followed him outside. We made small talk for a block and a half before he finally revealed that he wasn’t really supposed to say anything about Jin, but had remembered him talking about a girl he was crazy about.

“You’re that girl, aren’t you?”

I flushed and nodded, “I think so.”

“So why you lookin’ for him now when before you didn’t give him the time of day before?”

“Did he tell you I was engaged?”

“Was?”

“Yes, was.”

Officer Fitzgerald smiled, “Shit. I’m a sucker for a happy ending. I was gonna grill you but fuck it - he’s a PI now.”

“That’s a real thing?”

“Sure it is! You mean to tell me you thought it was only somethin’ in movies?”

Officer Fitzgerald let out a good natured tsk and with another grin told me the address of Jin’s office a few blocks away.

“You think I can just…go?”

“You better go! I expect to be the best man at this wedding, ya know.”

“Officer -”

“Call my Fitzy - all my friends do.”

There was something magical about a city where a tough looking man had a soft cuddly nickname and I found myself smiling as a result.

“Thanks Fitzy. I owe you one.”

“Hope it works out. Don’t break my dude’s heart, ok?”

I started to walk in the director of Jin’s office, but Fitzy stopped me by calling out, “And Naomi - if anyone asks…you didn’t hear any of this from me.”

“You got it,” I said and then picked up the pace towards Jin’s office in the west most section of TriBeCa.

“Can I help you?”

I found myself frozen standing in front of Jin Namba as the magic hour light flooded the large windows and illuminated his office, creating a warm glow around a man who still occupied a special place in my heart. He was the same Jin he’d always been - tall, serious, and eyes that had a hint of good natured mischief behind them.

Out of all of this world’s iterations, he was the closest to his original self - wearing a rumpled, outdated suit that was slightly too large as his five o’clock shadowed ventured on beard territory.

I think it was because of how familiar he currently felt to me that caused all these old feelings to come racing back and I found myself fighting back tears knowing that I wasn’t familiar to him at all.

“Miss - are you ok?” He asked cautiously.

“It’s Namoi,” I said. “Ami. Naomi. You don’t remember either one, do you?”

“Either? I don’t understand…”

“No, it’s nothing. I’m sorry.”

Jin ushered me to have a seat in his office. The space had a small waiting area, but there was no receptionist and from what I could see it was just Jin in an office resembled the one he’d occupied in Her Love in the Force. It was ironic that he’d lost his recollection of who he was, and yet had managed to recreate a space from his past.

He sat behind a large mahogany desk and I sat across from him and watched as he pulled out a vape pen and inhaled.

“So what brings you here?” He asked quietly, sensing my emotional upheaval.

“I’m looking for someone, but I don’t know who…”

Jin grinned and I felt my heart jump in my chest, “Sounds like quite the pickle Little Bird.”

“What did you just call me?”

For a moment, I could see in Jin’s eyes that he looked lost. He whispered the nickname to himself again and then apologized, noting that he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but that there was something familiar about me. Hearing that made me feel received - as if for once, I wasn’t experiencing something that was completely one-sided.

It was strange that I felt so nostalgic now, seeing as how since our breakup, I’d never looked back.

I knew why I had chosen Zyg and had also not-so-secretly thought that Jin was slightly too old for me. Despite that, there was something about the fact that even the “changed” Jin at his core was so closely tied to the man he was that even the king himself failed to alter him drastically. Perhaps it due to his age that he had maintained this strong sense of “self” while his younger otome counterparts had been altered much more.

The utterance of his old nickname for me conjured a bunch of feelings in both of us, and he mentioned that he’d gotten into a skirmish at work and suffered a blow to the head which the doctor said caused temporary amnesia.

I knew it was less of a blow to the head and more the doing of a nefarious king, but seeing as how Jin didn’t seem to want to go into detail he changed the subject and asked, “Anyway, how do you propose finding someone whose identity you don’t know?”

“I have no idea,” I said, “which is why I came to you hoping that you could help.”

“I mostly do cheating spouses, runaway kids, that kind of thing…this….”

“Why’d you quit the force?”

He paused, and I watched a flicker of curiosity flash through his gaze causing him to take another drag of his vape pen and avert his eyes before asking, “You knew me from before?”

“Something like that.”

“Being an officer in this city is dangerous. I’m gettin’ too old for that kind of thing. I thought tailing adulterers would be a bit safer and have far more job security.”

“That doesn’t sound like the person I knew.”

“How did we know each other Little Bird? I get the sense we weren’t just casual acquaintances.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because when I look at you…no. Nothing.”

“No, what?”

I could feel myself leaning towards him with a seductive look that I hadn’t anticipated wearing. He grinned at me and ran his fingers through his hair and with that irresistible smirk of his playfully noted, “I gotta be on guard around you heartbreaker.”

I pretended that he didn’t, though of course I was planning to get that kiss. For now, I celebrated the fact that I’d found five of the six men and left his office fifteen minutes later, promising to compile a list as far as who my top suspects for the king’s mystery sixth person was in this world.

As I stood in that small waiting area, I boarded the elevator feeling pretty good about this plan of Jin helping me locate this mystery man. However, when the elevator doors closed and I was alone once more, I realized that time was a flat circle and I had a legitimate, authentic crush on Jin Namba once more.

I managed not to run into any of my coworkers on the way home, and walked into my apartment tired but feeling on top of the world.

I collapsed on my couch and took out my planner to make sure I was on track to get Meg back (and also show the king who was boss). As I reviewed things, I also took notes with the hopes of brainstorming for situations that didn’t seem to have a clear answer at the moment.

Regardless though as drained as I was, I was also feeling very accomplished.

Tomorrow I was set to go out with Hiroshi. I’d met Soryu but had no idea as to his whereabouts. Thea’s contact information was in my phone and as much as it pained me, I could follow up and hopefully figure out what Zyglavis’ new life looked like. Hijikata had me popping Advil like they were candy but I was hopeful my haiku had started to thaw his heart. And finally, I was relieved to know that Jin hadn’t been transformed into some sexist, racist bad iteration of a NYPD cop.

Just as my guard started to come down there was a bright light and a snap and the King of the Heavens stood with an annoyed looking Meg standing next to him.

“Meg!”

I ran towards her and gave her a hug which she reciprocated.

“Ah tut tut,” the king said, gently separating us. “I’ll admit that I was amazed by your progress, but until you tell me the names and whereabouts of all the men you don’t get this one back.”

“Meg, are you-”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me…”

“Goldfish!” The king barked, “Names and whereabouts now or I send her back!”

“But I’ve only found five of the six.”

With a devilish grin the king laughed and noted, “Oh ho! I should have known you weren’t that clever.”

“Excuse me?”

“You didn’t even realize that you found the sixth man?!”

The king’s laughter grew from a chuckle into a hearty belly laugh and I racked my brain trying to think of all the places I’d gone today - from the subway, to the bodega, and even those at Hijikata’s gym. Either way, I’d been far too distracted to really notice and was beating myself up as a result.

Meg caught my attention by covertly waving her hands in the hopes of pulling me out of my stupor. She stood slightly behind the king (out of his eyeline) who was having a grand ol’ time at my expense, and mouthed something at me while pointing to her pocket. Before I could process everything that was happening the king snapped his fingers and she was gone once more.

“Just text me when you figure out the identity of the 6th man,” the king said flippantly, dabbing the tears that formed from laughter before snapping his fingers and leaving me alone again.

I let out an angry moan and collapsed on the couch once more, frustrated and wondering how it was possible that I could have met the last man without realizing. I had been so tired when I came in that I was still in my army jacket and as I slumped onto the couch I heard a crinkle and remembered Meg’s gesturing.

It was then that I reached into my pocket and discovered the list of possible suspects I’d written out before the king had taken her. My eyes widened as I saw that not only had Meg survived her time in the otome world, but she’d continued to be my ally as more than half of the names on my list were crossed out.

I now had three suspects for the mystery sixth man, and to be honest I wasn’t happy about who they were.

Chapter 9 here

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Thanks for reading :)

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#jin namba #her love in the force #her love in the force fanfiction #her love in the force fanfic #voltage fanfic #Voltage fan fiction #voltage fan #voltage fandom #voltage games #voltage inc #voltage romance sims

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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haikyuulovercompany · 7 years

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Oikawa - king by Lauren Aquilina

King - Oikawa Tooru.

Oikawa left the gymnasium holding his head high, andhe kept it like that all the way home. Not a single tear fell from his eyes. Herefused to drop his chin in front of the people he knew looked up to him. Helistened to their coach. He praised everyone, and flattered their skills.

“You all might feel disappointed, but what you did in the court was impressive.You need to…” Oikawa heard he coach saying as his attention swayed in and out.“The name of Aoba Josai…”

He looked to his side noticing the dried streams oftears on the faces of his teammates, on the faces of the people who trustedhim, and his words. He had promised they would win. They would beat Karasunoonce more, and then they would take Shiratorizawa’s glory out of their hands.

Instead, it was Karasuno the one who beatShiratorizawa on their first try. Oikawa had been able to see how much Karasunohad struggle throughout the whole match. He had pushed Iwaizumi claiming thatthe winning ceremony would make him sick. What was truly happening underneathhim was a complete different matter.

He closed the door of his room behind him watching thedimness it offered. He had faced that darkness before. He was familiarized withit more than he liked to admit. His shoulders grew heavier, and even the airwas denser. Just because he was used to staring into the void didn’t mean ithurt any less. He rested hi back on the door and his head finally fell down. Heslowly slid down letting the weight of his loss to settle in.

His hands went to his head, to his hair, and hisfingers started to scrap his skull and he grinded his teeth in a failed attemptto keep his emotions in control. Inevitably, faint whimpers escaped his mouthas thin lines of water framed his face. Their loss against Karasuno was like anearthquake destroying the foundations of his will. The ground beneath him shookso violently he didn’t have where to stand anymore.

You’realone, you’re on your own, so what?Have you gone blind?Have you forgotten what you have and what isyours?

He had worked hard. He had trained. He had spentyears trying to beat what he thought was his last obstacles just for Karasunoto come out of nowhere and stole what he had been fighting for. All fornothing. Because whatever he did would never be enough, wouldn’t it? Therewould always be someone to remind him his efforts were nothing but uselessreminders of the talent he lacked. When he looked back he only saw failure. Hegrasped victory, but never reach it. He was stuck in an infinite ‘almost’.

Almost there. Almost a winner.

Almost, but not quiet.

He could hear his phone ringing but he ignored it. Hedidn’t want to hear about the world. At the moment, even his soul feltpowerless and unable to answer any type of inquiring. There was not a bit ofhim that felt like trying.

He got out of his clothes still hearing his phonetirelessly ringing. He took it and turned it off before getting under hisquilt. His eyes were sore and his body begged for rest.

——

She stared at the empty seat in front of her. Two daysstraight and he was still missing. Her heart clenched in her chest. She knewthere was no coincidence for Oikawa to be absent right after he lost. Hercellphone marked the thousands of calls she had made. All of them had gone intovoicemail. She had never imagined she would grow enervated of his cheery voice,but his voice telling her to leave him a message had become a nightmare.

She knew she wasn’t supposed to be calling him. If anyof her friends found out, they would sure be giving her a lecture aboutself-respect and self-love. She always saw in Oikawa much more than the othersdid. She had peeked into his heart once and she had never forgotten what shehad found. So it was near to impossible for her to leave him be, to simplyignore the hunch throbbing, indicating nothing was as it was supposed to be.

Glasshalf empty, glass half fullWell, either way you won’t be going thirstyCount your blessings not your flaws

He looked at his reflection on the bathroom mirror. He had big darkcircles around his eyes, and even when he had fair skin, he was abnormallypale. In the last forty-eight hours his life had been a mixed of drifting inand out of his sleep and hollowly staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. Thefood her mother brought him ended up flushed down the toilet.

He had to get up. He was aware that he needed to move on. Yet somehow,his mind didn’t act according to that knowledge. Would it matter? He could backto the gymnasium, back to court. For what?

He would stand behind the line waiting for his turn to practice. Hewould jump, he would strike the ball and hear it smash against the floor feelingunsatisfied because no skills had ever been sufficient to drive him to victory.So why would he make any new efforts, if the ending result would always be thesame? He didn’t want to see the dejected countenances of his teammatesagain.

There would always be an Ushijima, or a Kageyama. Someone whose naturaltalent was so extraordinary, hard work would never outdo it.

Usually, his train of thought was the complete opposite. There used tobe no force on earth that could discourage him. With so much evidence along theyears there was no other conclusion he could reach. He couldn’t close his eyesto the facts anymore. To keep pushing countercurrent will only wreck himfurther.

He felt a jolt of desperation crossing his body caused by a crescentfrustration. To see himself so defeated made him feel pathetic and piteous. Theperson who was in front of the mirror wasn’t supposed to be him. He swanked hispride, his abilities, proud of who he was. He had sacrificed more than his timeto be who he was, to then just be reduced to that sad reflection.

He turned the shower on, and got in even when the water wasn’t warm. Histeeth clattered and his breath was heavy trying to resist the freezingsensation. Once the water felt hotter against his skin, he finished taking abath. He dressed in sports clothing and went out of his house.

Youdon’t get what all this is aboutYou’re too wrapped up in your self doubtYou’ve got that young blood, set it free

Oikawa started trotting with a constant rhythm as if he was training. Hewanted to scare the demon that was suddenly living on his back, but it had itsclaws deep down his flesh and in a matter of minutes the trotting turned into amaniac running. Even though his feet seemed to be made of stone, he keptrunning. He wished he could outrun his misery, avoid the thoughts that didnothing but infuriate him.

He wasn’t aware at all of how much time, or how far he had run. Hesimply couldn’t take it anymore. He found himself alone in a public park, andtook his chance to hit the trunk of a tree repeatedly as he cursed under hisbreath. He was jaded. He was furious with himself, with life, with destiny,with whatever force was responsible. He stopped hitting the tree once henoticed the stinging pain on his hand. He also notice thin tears had fallenfrom his eyes at some point. He turned around resting his back on the trunk.

“Tooru,” he heard someone calling him. His eyes flew wide open at thesound of the feminine voice. _______ was there looking at him with the mostconcerned eyes he had ever seen on her. His mouth was ajar but no sound cameout of it. His state was deplorable and he didn’t how long she had been her.For the look of her face, he guessed that she had seen enough.

She walked to him with hurried step and inadvertently held him tightagainst her. “It’s okay,” she whispered to his ear. He stood dumbfounded for asecond.

His body started having small spasms as a soft wail came out of hismouth. His arms wrapped her in return, and he hid his face on the crook of herneck. She started stroking his wet hair as he let himself fully cry.

“It’s okay,” she whispered again. Her own heart was breaking as well.Oikawa had always stood so tall, so powerful. It was disheartening to catch himin such a vulnerable state. “You did well, Tooru, so so well.”

“I didn’t,” he said in a thin thread that sounded nothing like his usualvoice. “I was never enough” he stopped mid sentence. His voice got lost inanother painful sob. “I’m just another good for nothing.”

“You’re extraordinary. Do you even know how many people look up to you?”she broke the embrace and softly took his face so she could see him straight inthe eyes. “You’re an example to not only your own team but to so many others.”She took a deep breath maintaining her own emotions at bay. Oikawa was fullycrying now, endless streams slid down. “Who cares if at the end you lost.You’ve had three amazing years at Seijoh. Don’t you care about your team?” shestopped for a second as he nodded. “That’s what truly matters. They admire you. I admire you. Get over Ushijima foryour own sake. You have achieved so much on your own… Be proud of your team, ofwho you are, of what you had built.”_____ gently wiped away his tears before taking his face again pulling it down.She kissed his forehead and finally let go of him. “There’s more in this lifethan a high school tournament. What you have given to the rest of the team isfar more than important than a trophy. Try to think about that.”

She smiled sweetly, and continued her way. Oikawa didn’t turn to watchher leave. Instead, he walked back home with his head full of her words.

There’smethod in my madnessThere’s no logic in your sadnessYou don’t gain a single thing from miseryTake it from me

In another time, she would have stayed with him. If the circumstancesaround them had been others, she would have surely stayed. She felt tempted,but it wasn’t the right time.

The weekend went on without hearing about him again, but when Mondayarrived and she found him on class again, she felt glad. Despite the historythey shared, she wished him well. She had seen him on lunchtime laughing andsmiling with his in-crowd, and then she was beyond glad. It was nice to see himbeing his usual self.

She didn’t expect him to come to her again, so it was a genuinesurprised when he approached her at the end of the day. He looked as charmingas ever. The person she had seen on the Friday evening was gone.

“Hey, ______, thank you for… for the other day.”

“Don’t worry. It was a coincidence to find you there. I only did whatevery descent human being would have done.”

“Yeah, I don’t believe that much in coincidence,” he admitted. He restedhis eyes on her taking in that small peaceful moment. They hadn’t share one inmonths. “What you said resonated a lot. It was a wake up call for me, so thankyou. I needed it.”

She shook her head. “Again, it’s nothing. I’m happy to know you’refeeling better.”

“Can we meet this weekend?” Oikawa asked leaving her speechless. “I wantto talk to you about Friday… and the aftermath of that.”

“Okay. That sounds nice.”

“Deal.” He smiled at her and then patted her head. “See you around.”

You’ve gotit allYou lost your mind in the soundThere’s so much more

What had happened on that Friday evening had been a change of course forhim. He hadn’t lied to her when he admitted her words had been an enormoushelp.

He had returned home looking for the videos of any previous match. Thattime around he didn’t stare at him or at the opposite teams. He stared at histeammates. There was truth on what ______ had said to him. They didn’t have thetrophy, but the team he saw was a winner one. The chemistry between each ofthem, the agility they had was impressive. They were a team that knew how towork things out. At the end, he had led a team full of proud warriors.

His chest had filled with proudness, with that same pride he alwaystalked about. Maybe they weren’t the winning team, but they were a team anyonewould remember.

At the end of it all, everyone will always remember Oikawa Tooru as thecaptain and main setter of Seijoh.

And that was amazing enough.

You canreclaim your crownYou’re in controlRid of the monsters inside your headPut all your faults to bedYou can be king

——

Thanks for the request! I hope you liked it!

#oikawa tooru #oikawa #1500 followers #haikyuu song fic #songfic #haikyuu!! scenarios #scenarios #scenario #haikyuu!!#haikyuu

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doof-doofblog · 4 years

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“It’s Just The Way It Is!”

Monday 2nd March 2020

Good Evening folks! How was your weekend? I hope everyone enjoyed themselves and had a good chilled time. So, it seems there have been more #SPOILERS released over the weekend, I'm sure you've probably all heard them by now, but I love sharing spoilers on here and keeping everyone in the loop as to what is coming in the soap, just in case the news may have passed you by somehow! What do you guys think of the new-ish character, Suki? I know she's not had much screen time but I'm liking what I've seen so far and from what the new pictures reveal, I feel like I knew she was a wrong'un! Since the new Panesar family arrived on the square, it came to the viewers attention that the 4 sibling's mother was suffering with cancer and was desperate to get her relationship with her daughter, Ash, back on track. However, Suki has been lying to her family about having cancer and been manipulating Jean to get as much information as she can to make her story convincing. It new released pictures, it appears to show Jean grieving for Daniel and carrying his ashes. Everything Jean has been through in recent months, it's awful to see how someone can manipulate her and lie about having the same dreadful disease as her. Is Jean about to uncover the truth about Suki?!

In other news, it's been reported that Ben will come across a familiar face in upcoming weeks. Paul Usher will be reprising his role as Danny Hardcastle. Most of you will remember his run-in with the Mitchell family last year when he kidnapped Louise while Ben went on a rampage against his gang. What does his return mean for the Mitchell family? What could he want with Ben? We know Phil has suddenly done a disappearing act, is he after Phil again for something?! I'm intrigued to see what else could happen between Danny and the rest of the Mitchell's.

Meanwhile, tonight's episode, there was a lot of stuff to focus on I feel, loads of different things happening with different characters.

Firstly, I can't get over how tall Peter is! Compared to the rest of the Beale family, he's towering over all of them! I'm feeling really happy that Ian has now finally told someone what happened to Dennis, even though, when he told Peter, I thought Sharon was going to emerge from the kitchen and reveal that she had heard everything he'd said! I'm also enjoying seeing Bobby and Peter back together, it feels like it's been a long time since we had these two characters in the same room. Like Peter said "Everyone is here, except Lucy" ... That scene where the two brothers were having a conversation in the square, it was a really lovely moment. Bobby asking his brother to just blame him over anyone else. Could the two brother rekindle their friendship? ... There has to be a reason as to why Peter is back, surely he will have his own secret to expose eventually? What happened between him and Lauren? Could there be a reason for Lauren to come back in the future?

Wow! No funeral for Daniel? Just an urn right there?! Already? Would've liked to have seen them have a funeral for him, or at least a memorial ceremony! I'm sure Jean will do some kinda of recognition in her own way, like Shirley suggested. I loved that moment when they were sat eating cakes. "They taste like feet! - I did find them in the Queen Vic toilet!" Shirley always has the best one-liners! Her friendship with Jean is just pure too, you might say Shirley doesn't really have that many friends, but the friendship that has blossomed between Jean and Shirley over the past few years has been amazing to watch, I always smile seeing them on screen together! Ahhh! So, is Jean already suspicious of Suki?! Did you see that little puzzled face she pulled when Suki made the story up about her doctor?! She looked so uncomfortable when they bringing the bed in for her, she can't keep up the pretence for long! Jean will discover the truth, along with Shirley!

Oh! Martin is back?! Where the hell has he been?! I don't think we saw him once during the anniversary week last week did we? If we did, can someone please remind me?! I can't even remember the last time we saw Martin?! Ha! Awww, so it looks to be the start of Bex's exit storyline, she's looking to go travelling with her friend Jade. Sonia didn't seem happy, but hopefully she'll be able to support her daughter's decision. That conversation Bex had with Kat about Zoe, I remember Zoe leaving, can't believe it's been nearly 15 years! It's about time Zoe came back to see her Mum AND her new little brothers! Who calls for Zoe to return?! .... Anyway, back to Bex .... what do you think of Bex's decision, we know she's leaving but, if she wasn't, do you think it would be good if she was to stay on the square? To be honest, I think it's exactly what she needs! After her attempting to take her own life, plus abusing pills/drugs and with her best friend Louise gone, what is keeping her at Walford? She needs to get away, have some breathing space and find peace with herself. Explore the world before she settles in a job or something. It'll be sad seeing Jasmine Armfield leave, but I am hoping she'll return to the role of Bex in the future.

Ahh so the pressure is really getting Gray, trying to do all he can for Kush and Whitney, putting on a front showing that he's coping being able to do both cases. It was only a matter of time before he was back abusing Chantelle, he lashed out again at her because he was feeling pressure of the work. Plus now the added pressure of finding Keegan a load for his new business opportunity ... Speaking of Keegan, I'm sensing a racial story-line happening, I probably should've noticed it earlier on, but this has been building in recent months as Keegan has been stopped by police numerous times, for nothing in particular. Is Keegan going to start causing trouble just to get back at police? He's an innocent man who has been treated like the suspect, I understand Keegan's frustration, he was only doing right by his wife and he gets mistreated for it, just because of his appearance?! I think this is another tough subject that EastEnders are now tackling, I'm intrigued as to how tonight's episode will affect Keegan, this is blatantly the last straw! He's had enough of being treated like the bad guy ... so will he purposely go out looking for trouble and causing havoc to the square, just to get to the police? Plus what will it mean for his relationship with Tiffany, if Keegan turns to breaking the law, how is Tiffany going to be able to stand there and support him? There are better ways to go about it, take a stand, protest ... or make a complaint. But who knows what could be in store for Keegan now?! I'm looking forward to finding out!

I believe there is sadly no episode tomorrow night, due to football! (How dare they!) What did you all make of tonight's episode? I'd love to hear your thoughts! Will you miss Bex when she leaves? What did you think is going to happen now for Keegan? I'll be back on Thursday with another episode review and blog! Have a good Tuesday and Wednesday! Goodnight peeps! xXx

#eastenders keegan bex peter jean

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idkanythingblog-blog · 7 years

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A Song of Ice and FIRE CONSUMES

In many instances where the description of fire consuming is used, it is in comparison to or compatible with the preservation qualities of ice.

Fire is often describes as “consuming” whatever happens to be on fire in a given scene, and sometimes it is more pronounced than others, (especially if mentioned in the same few sentences as ice), but this passage from Arya VIII in A Storm of Swords with Beric and Thoros always stood out to me the most, just because Beric’s behavior is so alarming and he just comes out of nowhere and starts rambling like a madman.

"Fire consumes." Lord Beric stood behind them, and there was something in his voice that silenced Thoros at once. "It consumes, and when it is done there is nothing left. Nothing." "Beric. Sweet friend." The priest touched the lightning lord on the forearm. "What are you saying?"

"Nothing I have not said before. Six times, Thoros? Six times is too many." He turned away abruptly.

- Arya VIII, A Storm of Swords

Then when I read this line from Bran’s second chapter in ADWD, it made me think back to Beric. It also reminded me of the way that wights very clearly are destroyed by fire, as is evidenced by Sam and Jon at the very least. Anyway, all these instances are using fire’s properties of consumption to destroy the wights, not reanimate a corpse.

Meera nodded at the girl. "It was her who saved us, though. The torch...fire kills them." "Fire burns them. Fire is always hungry."

- Bran II, A Dance With Dragons

From Samwell III, A Storm of Swords:

Small Paul was big and powerful, but Sam still outweighed him, and the wights were clumsy, he had seen that on the Fist. The sudden shift sent Paul staggering back a step, and the living man and the dead one went crashing down together. The impact knocked one hand from Sam's throat, and he was able to suck in a quick breath of air before the icy black fingers returned. The taste of blood filled his mouth. He twisted his neck around, looking for his knife, and saw a dull orange glow. The fire! Only ember and ashes remained, but still...he could not breathe, or think...Sam wrenched himself sideways, pulling Paul with him...his arms flailed against the dirt floor, groping, reaching, scattering the ashes, until at last they found something hot...a chunk of charred wood, smouldering red and orange within the black...his fingers closed around it, and he smashed it into Paul's mouth, so hard he felt teeth shatter. Yet even so the wight's grip did not loosen. Sam's last thoughts were for the mother who had loved him and the father he had failed. The longhall was spinning around him when he saw the wisp of smoke rising from between Paul's broken teeth. Then the dead man's face burst into flame, and the hands were gone.

And of course the first instance, back in A Game of Thrones, Jon VIII:

Truly, the gods had heard Jon's prayer that night; the fire had caught in the dead man's clothing and consumed him as if his flesh were candle wax and his bones old dry wood. Jon had only to close his eyes to see the thing staggering across the solar, crashing against the furniture and flailing at the flames. It was the face that haunted him most; surrounded by a nimbus of fire, hair blazing like straw, the dead flesh melting away and sloughing off its skull to reveal the gleam of bone beneath.

Interesting he references the gods answering his prayers, as he is surely referencing his own gods, the old gods of the North, which apparently right now is mostly Bloodraven living as a tree, and in this scene he, communicating as a god, quorks "fire!" via Mormont's bird to remind Jon to act.

Davos knelt, and Stannis drew his longsword. Lightbringer, Melisandre had named it; the red sword of heroes, drawn from the fires where the seven gods were consumed.

- Davos IV, A Storm of Swords

R’hollor uses fire to combat the Great Other who is too evil to be named but is probably Bloodraven and/or Brandon Stark. But most of it is just glamours and tricks, such as the whole deal with Lightbringer. If it needed to draw strength from the Seven “false” gods to make the sword truly Lightbringer, then it would probably have all the properties of Lightbringer - you know, the fact that it is actually HOT like fire instead of just bright like the sun (which is noted by Maester Aemon, and passed along to Jon Snow via a passage in The Jade Compendium). Speaking of Aemon saying interesting things...

Aemon chuckled softly. "Or I am an old man, feverish and dying." He closed his white eyes wearily, then forced them open once again. "I should not have left the Wall. Lord Snow could not have known, but I should have seen it. Fire consumes, but cold preserves.

- Samwell III, A Feast for Crows

The “fire” he is referring to here is simply his fever which he got from getting pneumonia while sitting out on the deck of the ship en route to Braavos in a downpour (and then being over 100 years old). The fever is consuming him and killing him quickly, although this is also as he is learning from first hand witnesses about Daenerys’s dragons and confirming, in his mind, that Dany is the Prince That Was Promised - you know, the guy that Stannis supposedly is. Back in the day, Aemon and his uh...great grandnephew?...Rhaegar Targaryen thought TPTWP was Rhaegar, then changed their minds to Rhaegar’s son Aegon, then Aemon remembers that dragons do not have gender, so Dany can be THE Prince that was promised, despite being a princess queen.

Back to R’hollor and the use of fire - in regards to Beric and Thoros and LS, this ability to bring people back to life with some sort of flaming kiss seems to be only around that particular flame passed from Thoros to Beric (six times) then from Beric to LS once. That is unique to R’hollorism and their fire obsession. Their literal bloodlust for fire is usually used to kill, so that they can have more fire to scare off the darkness. Burning people alive is common sacrifice, and despite the fact that it is basically confirmed Melisandre set Varamyr Eagleskin on fire from a great distance, just HOW she did it is never explained, except for Melisandre’s elusive comment about R’hollor empowering her.

Mostly this passage stuck out because it not just emphasized the outstanding pain of burning alive, but it’s in direct comparison to freezing to death. From A Dance With Dragon’s Prologue:

Varamyr Sixskins would know the truth of that soon enough. He could taste his true death in the smoke that hung acrid in the air, feel it in the heat beneath his fingers when he slipped a hand under his clothes to touch his wound. The chill was in him too, though, deep down in his bones. This time it would be cold that killed him. His last death had been by fire. I burned. At first, in his confusion, he thought some archer on the Wall had pierced him with a flaming arrow...but the fire had been inside him, consuming him...

- Prologue, A Dance With Dragons. I wonder if she can make human spontaneously burst into flames from within and if she can, she probably wouldn’t prefer that way because it does not involve the big ceremony, or something. I don’t know. Anyway, we know Stark = ice and Targaryen = fire and we know that R + L = J so we know that Jon has to be some part of the answer to this balance between the jealous, greedy pyromaniac R’hollor and his supposed nemesis, the Great Other, and whatever role these “gods” have in the existence of the Others, who are immune to fire but NOT immune to “frozen fire” aka dragonglass/obsidian.

I just had to double check that was actually said in the text, and it was, in Samwell V from A Storm of Swords:

“Dragonglass.” The red woman's laugh was music. “Frozen fire, in the tongue of old Valyria. Small wonder it is anathema to these cold children of the Other.”

So I guess R + L = dragonglass.

As cold winds hammered the city, King Aerys II turned to his pyromancers, charging them to drive the winter off with their magics[...]With the coming of the new year, the crown prince had taken to the road with half a dozen of his closest friends and confidants, on a journey that would ultimately lead him back to the riverlands. Not ten leagues from Harrenhal, Rhaegar fell upon Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, and carried her off, lighting a fire that would consume his house and kin and all those he loved—and half the realm besides.

- The World of Ice and Fire

Perhaps, after Jon is killed at the end of ADWD, he is kept in an ice cell for a very long time. Long enough that his second life inside Ghost has changed the nature of his consciousness when somehow returned to his body, which we will assume will be resurrected by Melisandre. I’m guessing she won’t go the kiss of fire route like Thoros did, because that doesn’t appear to bring them back fully. It could be that her knowledge that he is a warg is what will enable her to do whatever necessary to bring him back to life the “right” way?

Coldhands is essentially a wight controlled by Bloodraven, not an Other in control of Bloodraven or anyone else, because the Others look so spectacularly different from the corpses they can reanimate. They don’t have black hands of a dead body, they have like, beautiful icy armor and super awesome weapons. Although the language they speak (referenced in the Prologue of A Game of Thrones) is the same unknown language that Coldhands speaks before slaying the elk.

Compare from Bran’s POV in ADWD:

It had been twelve days since the elk had collapsed for the third and final time, since Coldhands had knelt beside it in the snowbank and murmured a blessing in some strange tongue as he slit its throat.

To the Prologue of AGOT:

The Other said something in a language that Will did not know; his voice was like the cracking of ice on a winter lake, and the words were mocking.

When Bran later hears the “Children of the Forest”/The Singers speaking in their language, the True Tongue, the one that ravens also speak, I don’t recall if he makes any connection to the words spoken by Coldhands. I don’t think so. Language aside, the ice-blue eyes seem to be the only thing they have in common with the wights, I think.

After much pondering about nothing, I suppose the question I am left with, for some reason, is: if dragons are “fire made flesh”, then are the Others “ice made flesh”? No, that’s not the question. Did any of this rambling spark any interest for anyone?

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #spoilers #a song of ice and fire

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travelworldnetwork · 6 years

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The Micronesian island of Yap has a famously unusual currency: hundreds of giant discs of rocks scattered all over the island, many of them too heavy to move.

By Robert Michael Poole

3 May 2018

Arriving on the tiny Micronesian island of Yap will fill even the most jaded traveller with a sense of awe. The single daily flight comes in over dense forests, taro swamp, shallow lagoons and a web of mangroves, all surrounded by fringing reef. But the real wonderment doesn’t come from the idyllic scenery, nor from the greeting by a Yapese girl in a traditional hibiscus skirt. It’s when you first come face-to-face with a piece of giant stone money.

View image of Hundreds of large stone discs can be found across the Micronesian island of Yap (Credit: Credit: Robert Michael Poole)

Hundreds of these extraordinary, human-sized discs of rock are scattered all over the island; some outside the island’s few hotels, others in rows close to the beach or deep in the forests. Each village even has a stone money bank where pieces that are too heavy to move are displayed on the malal (dancing grounds).

“My family owns five stone money of a good size,” said Falmed (Yapese just use one name), a taxi driver I flagged down to take me to Mangyol stone money bank in Yap’s eastern province of Gagil.

Five, it turns out, is a good haul, since many islanders don’t own any stones.

View image of The Yapese people have used the rai stones as currency for centuries (Credit: Credit: Robert Michael Poole)

The unique stone currency has been in use here for several centuries, although no-one is quite certain when the concept began. What is known is that each one is different, and they are as heavy with meaning as they are in volume of limestone, carved and voyaged by the Yapese all the way from Palau, an island nation 400km to the south-west. The very first pieces were used as gifts and shaped like a whale – thus named ‘rai’ stones – but they’ve evolved to become currency, including holes carved through the centre to make them more transportable across the oceans.

“My forefather Falmed, he is the one who started to go to Palau first by canoe, and make this connection between Palau and Yap. So I carry his name,” Falmed told me as we hurtled along dirt roads past the sleepy capital of Colonia. Despite his sun-worn T-shirt and rickety car, his lineage is surprisingly significant. His distant forefather Falmed was a high chief powerful enough to commission a boat to Palau where he met with locals and gained access to a quarry site.

“He came back and called a meeting where he told the village to gather tuba, the local alcohol, to trade,” Falmed said. Within a month, he was back in Palau to start carving the stone as money.

View image of The Yapese travelled 400km across the sea to carve the limestone discs from quarries in neighbouring Palau (Credit: Credit: Robert Michael Poole)

The issue was that Yap had no durable rock or precious metals with which to make coins. Instead, experienced Yapese sailors, commissioned mostly by wealthy high chiefs, would sail to Palau on bamboo rafts, and eventually, schooners, to load up with limestone from their quarries. Initially small, as techniques and tools improved, the coins became even larger than the people who would painstakingly carve them. When metal tools were introduced by European traders in the late 19th Century, quarrying was made easier, and reports from the 1880s claimed 400 Yapese men could be found working in just one quarry in Koror, Palau – a significant proportion of the population, which would have then been about 7,000 in total.

On their return from Palau, the sailors would give the carved stone money to the high chiefs who would gather from different villages to welcome back the sailors and the stones. The chiefs would keep the larger ones and two fifths of the smaller ones. They would also give names to some stones, usually choosing their own name or that of relatives, and confirm the stones as legitimate by giving a value based on an even older currency system: yar (pearl shell money). The stones could then enter circulation and be bought by anyone.

“If the chief says OK, 50 shell money for each stone money, if I have that I will make the trade and own one,” explained Edmund Pasan, a canoe builder from the northern province of Maap.

View image of Some rai stones measure more than 3m in diameter (Credit: Credit: Robert Michael Poole)

Today, shell money has been replaced by the almighty US dollar for day-to-day transactions like grocery shopping. But for more conceptual exchanges, like rights or customs, stones remain a vital currency for Yap’s 11,000 residents.

Falmed’s family has only used its money twice, and one was as an apology. “We used it for one of my brothers who made trouble for another family,” Falmed revealed remorsefully. His brother’s marriage had failed. “One of the chiefs, his daughter got one piece of stone money as an apology, and they accepted it. When it comes to high ranks, you have to use stone money.”

When it comes to high ranks, you have to use stone money

The value of stone money has always been fluid, challenging the Western concept that currency value is pre-determined and fixed. The coins are valued by their size – they range from 7cm to 3.6m in diameter – as well as their ornateness and even for the sheer difficulty in obtaining the rock. How much a coin is worth also depends on who you give it to, and what for.

In addition, Yapese factor oral history into each stone’s value, as there’s no written record of what belongs to who. Families rarely move from their villages, and the tribal elders from the around 150 villages pass down information of each piece, meaning they act as a reminder of the past and help to reinforce relationships and transactions that date back to times of warriors and clans. In some cases, the stones have engravings marking battles from more than 200 years ago.

View image of Each village has a stone money bank that displays pieces too large to move (Credit: Credit: Robert Michael Poole)

Falmed and I finally arrived at the Mangyol stone money bank after a 40-minute drive from Colonia. From large to small, the few dozen stones were lined up in front of a p'ebay, an open structure in the village centre where the community comes together to do their trade, celebrations and sometimes their schooling too.

Falmed explained that the rai are specifically placed, each encoded with secret connections, village relationships, and stories of marriage, conflicts and deep apologies that have seen the stones change hands over centuries. It’s those stories that only the local villagers know that truly determine which is most valuable. There’s no need to make more rai since the island essentially has a permanent number in circulation, and few are ever moved. Even broken ones retain their oral history that give them more value than a new piece. New pieces are occasionally made, though, simply to ensure the skills of past generations are not forgotten.

It’s those stories that only the local villagers know that truly determine which is most valuable

But if the stones are so valuable and so public, I wondered, what’s to stop someone making their own, or simply stealing one?

“Most matters are common knowledge and secrets among local people are rare; thus theft of rai is relatively unknown,” writes Cora Lee C Gilliland of the Smithsonian Institution in her paper The Stone Money of Yap.

Not that some haven’t attempted it. “They tried to do that in Yap, and they laughed about it because they broke,” Pasan later told me with a chuckle. “Then they did it with the stones in Guam, but they are not that strong and are more difficult to get at – it’s much easier to quarry in Palau.”

View image of Each stone’s worth is determined by its size, ornateness and history (Credit: Credit: Robert Michael Poole)

Yap’s neighbours, Guam, Palau and Chuuk, are all heavily affected by European and American colonisation, and all bear conspicuous scars of World War II. Guam remains a US territory with a significant military base on the island that has shaped its culture, while Chuuk Lagoon is home to around 60 sunken wrecks, a result of the devastating Operation Hailstone in 1944.

Yap, though, was largely bypassed by US bombing as the early 20th-Century Japanese occupation came to an end, and the rai stone’s sturdiness and longevity seem to represent the long-lasting authenticity of Yapese culture over the centuries.

“In Yapese culture, if something [important] is going on, and there is nothing else suitable to use, then you use stone money,” said Falmed, who has already ensured the next generation retains his wealth by passing one piece to his son at his first-birthday ceremony.

View image of No matter its location, the Yapese know to whom each stone belongs (Credit: Credit: Robert Michael Poole)

“When my girlfriend was pregnant, we [came here] from Hawaii,” he explained. “On a child’s first birthday, if a clan is of high rank and has some small stone money, they will cut a chicken and drain the blood on the boy’s head to recognise the moment. It’s a gift, and a lot of people came [to the ceremony].”

Falmed’s son is 12 now and lives in Hawaii. But the stone is in his family house in Yap. And even without written record, everyone already knows whose name is on it.

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#Discover - Experience

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oklcmc · 2 years

Text

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀،̲،̲⠀⠀⠀𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋⸝ 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋⸝ 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ❪masterlist❫ ⊹ ᨘ໑.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀゛⠀Life is a dream⠀⠀⠀you’re young⸝ free and pretty you ain’t gon’ worry ‘bout it all...⠀〟

I 𝙳𝙾 𝙽𝙾𝚃 permit anyone else to repost nor translate any of the work that lies beneath this line break. May this also be a quick reminder to not⸝ and I repeat— 𝙳𝙾 𝙽𝙾𝚃 take from my characters⸝ plots⸝ GRAPHICS nor formats and try to use them as inspiration to those of your own advantage without asking me for permission or rightfully crediting me first! I originally came up with these ideas myself⸝ that including my forewarning and playlists formatting. I would hate for new readers to be led astray by thinking I’m stealing from someone else when that really isn’t the case at all! I will not hesitate on BLOCKING you from my account indefinitely either. Let this be your final warning!

✱ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❛ ROLLED UP ON THE WRONG GIRL ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❪ROLLED UP TO THE WRONG GIRL❫ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ROLLED UP ON THE WRONG GIRL... ❜

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀*⠀⁰⁰¹⠀╱⠀𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋⸝ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❪SERIES⠀╱⠀cinema❫ ⊹ ᨘ໑.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀゛⠀She can’t crush my world⸝ ‘specially since she’s a...⠀⠀⠀dirty girl⸝ dirty girl⸝ dirty girl! ⠀〟

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ▋⠀𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐀𝐓 ❪urban❫

pairing⠀⦂⠀street fighter!black!male oc ❪keith powers❫ ✕ black!female oc ❪kelis rogers，circa ‘99❫

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀or⠀⠀⠀in which even the innocent can wind up being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀TABLE OF CONTENTS⠀⦂⠀

SYNOPSIS. CHARACTER VISUALS. ACT I⠀⦂⠀〝MONEY⸝ POWER ⅋ POWER.〞╱SOUNDTRACK.╱CHARACTER AES. CHAPTER UNO⠀⦂⠀〝HEAT WAVE.〞 CHAPTER DOS⸝ PT. 1╱2⠀⦂⠀〝SING ABOUT ME⸝〞 CHAPTER DOS⸝ PT. 2╱2⠀⦂⠀〝I’M DYING OF THIRST.〞 CHAPTER TRES⠀⦂⠀〝LOVE THY NEIGHBOR.〞 CHAPTER CUATRO⠀⦂⠀〝STOCKHOLM？〞 CHAPTER CINCO⠀⦂⠀〝HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A WOMAN SCORNED.〞 CHAPTER SEIS⸝ PT. 1╱2⠀⦂⠀〝HIGH RISKS⸝ HIGH REWARDS.〞 CHAPTER SEIS⸝ PT. 2╱2⠀⦂⠀〝FORTUNE FAVORS THE BOLD.〞 ACT II⠀⦂⠀〝IMPERIAL OVERSTRETCH.〞 CHAPTER SIETE⠀⦂⠀〝THE MARATHON.〞❪COMING SOON❫!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀▋⠀𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐘 ❪romantic comedy-drama❫

pairing⠀⦂⠀male oc ❪leslie odom，jr.❫ ✕ black!female oc ❪faith renée evans❫ ✕ male oc ❪anthony ramos❫

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀or⠀⠀⠀in which she finally receives her fairytale ending.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀TABLE OF CONTENTS⠀⦂

SYNOPSIS. ACT I⠀⦂⠀〝COWABUNGA!〞╱SOUNDTRACK.╱CHARACTER AES. PROLOGUE⠀⦂⠀〝ALONE IN THIS WORLD.〞 CHAPTER ONE⠀⦂⠀〝？〞❪COMING SOON❫!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ▋⠀𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 ❪blaxploitation╱the get down alternate universe❫

pairing⠀⦂⠀shaolin fantastic ❪shameik alti moore❫ ✕ black!female oc ❪beyoncé giselle knowles-carter，circa ‘02❫

⋮ㅤㅤㅤREFLECTING ON MY YOUTH⸝ I must’ve pitied myself. That was the only real explanation I could think of when it came down to injecting my developing mind⸝ body and soul with any chemical compound that broke me down until I completely surpassed the feeling of numb. Numb to the fact I was being exploited more ways than one by the hands of those other than my own. Numb to the fact I endured it all just to temporarily substitute the void my mother left Roam and I in since the ages of six and ten. She manifested every aspect of the young woman I was so desperately trying to become；independent⸝ selfless and seemed to have the answer to any question thrown her way. I grew dependent on men⸝ selfish to my own habits and breach to every promise I vowed to keep⸝ even those that were left lying on her deathbed. I was untouchable⸝ Mr. Nicky Barnes⸝ until I was repeatedly caught up in my own acts and imprisoned by the same narcotics that made me numb. The good thing about rehabilitation was that I found time to humble myself⸝ the bad thing about rehabilitation was that it was always hard to resist temptation. My final recovery couldn't have came at a better timing. It was Summer of 1977 when I made my return to the burning borough of the Boogie Down Bronx to make amends with my only sibling⸝ make steep career choices⸝ fall in love with a man with just as much venom as myself⸝ resist folding under the pressure of the crooked cops and maybe even get a hit of that sweet stuff they call Hip-Hop.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀or⠀⠀⠀in which the origin of hip-hop is told from a woman’s perspective.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀TABLE OF CONTENTS⠀⦂

SYNOPSIS. CHAPTER ONE⠀⦂⠀〝BE THAT AS IT MAY.〞 CHAPTER TWO⠀⦂⠀〝DISCO INFERNO.〞❪COMING SOON❫!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀*⠀⁰⁰²⠀╱⠀𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋⸝ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❪IMAGINES⠀╱⠀one-shots❫ ⊹ ᨘ໑.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀゛⠀You’ve got the wrong girl⠀⠀⠀I ain’t the one I ain’t to be played wit’ or tried in any way...⠀〟

Under this divider you’ll find 𝙸𝙼𝙰𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂╱𝙾𝙽𝙴-𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚃𝚂 all written by me that will more than likely consist of BLACK INSERT⸝ HETEROSEXUAL and SEXUALLY EXPLICIT content. LESBIAN╱BISEXUAL 𝙸𝙼𝙰𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂╱𝙾𝙽𝙴-𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚃𝚂 will rarely occur in this instance. My name or the names I’ve made up will be what the original characters go by⸝ so no “y╱n⸝” ❪？✕ reader❫ but feel free to replace these names with one of your own if you so please.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✱⠀𝐒𝐇𝐄’𝐒 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 ❪hamilton alternate universe❫

pairing⠀⦂⠀soft!john laurens ❪anthony ramos⸝ circa 2015❫ ✕ black!toxic!female oc ❪beyoncé⸝ circa ‘08❫

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✱⠀𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑 ❪hamilton alternate universe❫

pairing⠀⦂⠀aaron burr⸝ jr. ❪leslie odom⸝ jr.❫ ✕ black!journalist!chorus substitute teacher!female oc ❪faith renée evans⸝ circa 1995❫

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✱⠀𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 ❪bmf alternate universe❫

pairing⠀⦂⠀demetrius edward ゛⠀big meech⠀〟flenory⸝ sr. ❪demetrius edward ゛⠀lil meech⠀〟flenory⸝ jr.❫ ✕ black!female oc ❪cheryl renee ゛⠀salt⠀〟james⸝ circa 1988❫

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✱⠀𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐓 ❪euphoria alternate universe❫

pairing⠀⦂⠀fezco ❪conor angus cloud hickey❫ ✕ black!dentistry undergraduate!female oc ❪taylour dominique paige❫

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✱⠀𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐎𝐄𝐒

pairing⠀⦂⠀kendrick lamar duckworth⸝ circa 2022 ✕ black!female oc

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✱⠀𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 pt. 𝟏╱𝟐

pairing⠀⦂⠀bryshere y. gray ✕ black!publication editor-in-chief!female oc

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀*⠀⁰⁰³⠀╱⠀𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋⸝ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❪HEADCANONS⠀╱⠀drabbles❫ ⊹ ᨘ໑.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀゛⠀I’ve been a bad girl and I want to⠀⠀⠀come back home...⠀〟

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✱⠀𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 ❪black panther alternate universe❫

pairing⠀⦂⠀n’jadaka╱erik ゛⠀killmonger⠀〟stevens ❪michael b. jordan❫ ✕ black!female oc ❪chaka khan⸝ circa 1977❫

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✱⠀𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐍𝐎 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒

pairing⠀⦂⠀kendrick lamar duckworth⸝ circa 2017？ ✕ black!female oc ❪lorraine ward❫

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✱⠀𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄.

pairing⠀⦂⠀kendrick lamar duckworth⸝ circa 2018 ✕ black!female oc ❪lorraine ward❫

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀*⠀⁰⁰⁴⠀╱⠀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋⸝ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❪REQUESTS⠀╱⠀suggestions❫ ⊹ ᨘ໑.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀゛⠀You’re not the misses⸝ you’re more like the mistress who be gettin’ fresh⸝ backseat of an LS⸝⠀〟

The 𝚁𝙴𝚀𝚄𝙴𝚂𝚃𝚂╱𝚂𝚄𝙶𝙶𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 section is currently UNAVAILABLE for the time being⸝ so please refrain from sending me any. I VOW to inform you guys in the near future— When I actually have more time on my hands— On when this tab will actually be OPEN to the GENERAL PUBLIC and with more information regarding to how to EARN ONE⸝ so don’t fret! Just to inform you guys ahead of time⸝ I WILL NOT be writing 𝙷𝙾𝙼𝙾𝚂𝙴𝚇𝚄𝙰𝙻 ❪boy ✕ boy❫ imagines╱one-shots╱headcannons forewarning.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀OKLCMC presents... ⠀⠀⠀𝗱𝗶𝗥𝗧𝗬𝗴𝗶𝗥𝗟𝘄𝗥𝟬𝗡𝗚𝗴𝗶𝗥𝗟𝗯𝟰𝗗𝗴𝗶𝗥𝗟. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀🍧 ⊹ ᨘ໑. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❪THE MASTERLIST❫

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❛ MYSTERY OF LOVE⸝ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀SHINING UPON MY HEART ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀IT CAME TO FIND... ❜ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀❪THE TAGLIST❫

#┃⠀･｡ﾟ☆⠀〝slat，slat!〞⠀⠀╱ ⠀⠀꒰⠀𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗵𝗶𝗰𝘀.⠀꒱#┃⠀･｡ﾟ☆⠀〝i just want some dick.〞⠀⠀╱ ⠀⠀꒰⠀𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬╱𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬╱𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬╱𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬╱𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬.#master list #masterlist #poc writers #poc authors #black writers #black authors #wattpad #urban ff #urban fanfic #urban fanfiction #streetlit #hamilton #euphoria #dirty girl wrong girl bad girl #latrelle #finally learned how to make my own psds ☺#do NOT copy my shit either

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notapaladin · 3 years

Text

and this faith is gettin’ heavy (but you know it carries me)

Me, a simple fool: what if I wrote heavy angst (with a happy ending!) with Teomitl MIA/presumed dead & Acatl only realizing he’s been in love this whole time while he mourns?

Me, crying at 2 AM over my own words: that would be fun!!

ANYWAY, here there be lots of grief, Acatl lashing out in anger (it’s at Quenami, though, so like...he deserves it), Mihm trying to help, a very tense family dinner, and significant dreams. Oh, and reunion makeouts. Also on AO3!

He’d barely made it out of his courtyard when Acamapichtli strode up to him, face grave underneath his blue and black paint. “Ah, Acatl. I’m glad I could catch you.”

It should have pleased him. Instead, a cold chill slid down his spine. “What are you not telling me? I’ve no time for games.”

“Thank you,” he forced out through numb lips.

Acamapichtli turned away. “...I’m sorry, Acatl.”

After a long, long moment, he made himself start walking again. There was the rest of the army to greet, after all. Even if Teomitl wouldn’t be among them.

Even if he’d never return from war again.

Greeting the army was a ceremony, one he usually took some joy in—it had meant that Teomitl would be home, would be safe, and his sister would be happy. Now it passed in a blue, and he registered absolutely none of it. Someone must have already given the news to Mihmatini when he arrived; she was an utterly silent presence at his side, face pale and lips thin. She wouldn’t cry in public, but he saw the way her eyes glimmered when she blinked. He knew he should offer her comfort, but he couldn’t bring himself to lay a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. If he touched her, if he felt the fabric of her cloak beneath his hand, that meant it was real.

And once they had him, they would sacrifice him.

Somehow, he held it together until after the final course had been cleared away. He rose jerkily to his feet, legs trembling, and fixed his mind firmly on getting home in one piece.

Quenami’s voice stopped him in the next hallway. “Ah, Acatl. A lovely banquet, wasn’t it?”

He didn’t turn around. “Mn.” Go away.

“Mm.”

“Silence.”

Quenami recoiled, jaw going slack in terror. Silently—blessedly, mercifully, infuriatingly silently—he turned on his heel and left.

Acatl took one breath, two, and let the magic drain out of his shaking limbs. He hadn’t meant to do that. He made it to the next courtyard, blessedly empty of party guests, and collapsed on the nearest bench like a dead man. I could have killed him. Gods, I wanted to kill him. I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry in my life. All because...all because he said his name...

“...Acatl?”

Mihmatini’s voice, admirably controlled. He made himself lift his head and answer. “In here.”

“...He said…” He swallowed past a lump in his throat. “He said that Teomitl might have deserted. He dared to say that—“ The idea choked him, and he couldn’t finish the words. That Teomitl was a coward. That he would run from his responsibilities, from his destiny, at the first opportunity…

She tensed immediately, eyes going cold in a way that suggested Quenami had better be a very fast runner indeed. “He would never. You know that.”

Air seemed to be coming a bit easier now. “I do. But…”

Of course, she pounced on his hesitation. “But?”

I want him so badly to not be dead. “Nothing.”

Mihmatini was silent for a while, wringing her hands together. Finally, she spoke. “He would never have deserted. But...Acatl…”

“What?”

Alive. The word was a conch shell in his head, sounding to wake the dawn. For an instant, he let himself imagine it. Teomitl alive, maybe in hiding, maybe trying to find his way home.

“It’s—“ She scrubbed ineffectually at her eyes with the back of a hand. “It’s possible. Isn’t it?”

“...I suppose.” He took a breath. “I think it’s time for me to get some sleep. I’ll...see you tomorrow.”

He knew he wouldn’t sleep—knew, in fact, that he’d be lucky if he even managed to close his eyes—but he needed to get home. He refused to disgrace himself by weeping in public.

The first dream came a week later.

The next night was worse.

He was walking through a jungle made of shadows, trees shedding gray dust from their leaves as he passed under them. His legs ached and his lungs burned, but he couldn’t stop. Ahead of him, someone was making their way through the undergrowth, and it was a stride he’d know anywhere.

Teomitl didn’t slow down, but somehow the distance between them shortened. Now Acatl could make out the tattered remains of his feather suit, singed and bloodstained, and the way his bare feet had been cut to ribbons. He still wasn’t looking behind him. It was like Acatl wasn’t there at all. Ahead of them, the trees were thinning out.

“Teomitl,” he said, and this time his voice obeyed him.

He took one step back. Another.

Teomitl’s smile grew sad, and he reached for him with a bloody hand. “Acatl, I’m sorry.”

But then it returned the next night, and the next. While the details differed—sometimes Teomitl was swimming a river that suddenly turned to blood and dissolved his flesh, sometimes one of his own ahuizotls turned into a jaguar and sprang for his face—the end was always the same. Teomitl dead and still walking, reaching for him with an apology on his lips. Sometimes it even lingered afterwards, clinging stubbornly such that, just for a moment, he thought Teomitl was truly by his side and had a moment’s joy before reality reasserted itself. Those ones were the worst.

He started timing his treks across the Sacred Precinct to avoid the Great Temple’s sacrifices to Huitzilpochtli. Sleep grew more and more difficult to achieve, and even when he caught a few hours’ rest it never seemed to help. He even thought, fleetingly, of asking the priests of Patecatl if anything they had would be useful, only to dismiss it the next day. He would survive this. It wasn’t worth baring his soul to anyone else’s prying eyes or clumsy but well-meaning words.

Up until the second course was served, he even thought he’d get it. Neutemoc had been nearly silent when he’d arrived, but he’d unbent enough to start a conversation about his daughters’ studies. Necalli and Mazatl were more subdued than they normally were, but they’d heard what happened to their newest uncle-by-marriage and were no doubt mourning in their own ways. Mihmatini’s face was as pale and set as white jade, but as the meal wore on he thought he saw her smile.

“More fish?”

Neutemoc’s voice was too careful for his liking, but he nodded. Fish was duly set onto his plate, and he ate without really tasting it.

Mihmatini picked at her own dish, and Neutemoc frowned at her. “You’re not hungry?”

She shook her head.

“Aww, Dad...”

Neutemoc gave his eldest the same look his father had once given him. “When you go off to war, Necalli, I will let you listen to all the awful details.”

It was almost enough to make Acatl smile. “Well,” he began, “we’ve been trying to figure out what’s been strangling merchants in the featherworkers’ district…”

Laying out the facts of a suspicious death or two was always calming. He could forget the ache in his heart, even if only briefly. But even when he was done, when he’d started to relax, Neutemoc was still talking to him as though he expected to see his younger brother shatter any minute. The slaves, too, were unusually solicitous of him—rushing to fill up his cup, to heap delicacies on his plate. At any other time he might have suspected the whole thing to be a bribe or an awkward apology; now, he just felt uneasy.

When the meal was done, he declined Neutemoc’s offer of a pipe and got to his feet. “I think I’ll get some air.”

The courtyard outside was empty. He lifted his eyes to the heavens, charting the path of the four hundred stars above. Ceyaxochitl’s death hadn’t hit him anywhere near as hard as this, but gods, he thought he could recover if only the people around him stopped coddling him. Everywhere he went there were sympathetic glances and soft words, and even the priests of his own temple were stepping gingerly around him. As though he needed to be treated like...like...

Like a new widow. Like Mihmatini. He sat down hard, feeling like his legs had been cut out from under him. Air seemed to be in short supply, and the gulf in his chest yawned wide.

But I’m not. I care for Teomitl, of course, but it’s not like that. It’s not—

He could. It was easy. He closed his eyes and remembered.

He remembered how it had felt, in that space between dreams and waking, where he’d thought Teomitl was by his side even in Mictlan. Where, for the span of a heartbeat, he’d been happy.

It was like that, after all.

He forced his burning eyes to stay open. If he blinked, if he let his eyes close even for an instant, the tears would fall.

Approaching footsteps made him raise his head. Mihmatini was walking quietly and carefully, towards him, as though she didn’t want to disturb him. As though I’m fragile. You too, Mihmatini?

“Ah. There you are.” Even her voice was soft.

He uncurled himself and arranged his limbs into a more dignified position, keeping his fists clenched to stop his hands from trembling. At least when he finally blinked, his eyes were dry. “Hm.”

His dry throat made a clicking noise when he swallowed. “It is.”

“At least we’re both in the same boat,” she murmured.

Her voice lowered even further, so that he had to strain to hear her. There was a faint, sad smile on her face. “You love him just the same as I do, don’t you?”

She lifted her head, and her faint smile grew to something bright and brittle. “Good.”

Good?! He blinked uselessly at her, gaping like a fish before he could find his voice again. “You—you approve?”

“You’re my favorite brother,” she said simply. “And...well.”

She blinked rapidly, fingers going still. She’d traced something that looked, from a certain angle, like a flower glyph. “...He...he loved you, too.”

No.

But Mihmatini was still talking. “He didn’t want me to tell you; he was sure you’d scorn him. But he loved you the same way he loved me...gods, probably more than he loved me.”

It was the last straw. His nails bit into his palms hard enough to draw blood, and he barely recognized his own voice as rage filled it. “Why are you telling me this?!”

Mihmatini took a shuddering breath; he realized she was fighting tears, and had been since she’d spilled Teomitl’s heart to the night air. “In case he comes back. If he does...you should tell him.”

He rose on shaking legs. “I think I need to be alone.”

Eventually, when he was spent, he wiped his face and left. It was time to go home.

The rest of the month ground on slowly, and his dreams began to change.

At first they were minor changes—the blood was less vibrant, the forests and plains brighter. Teomitl bled less. He woke without tears welling in his eyes. And if that was all, he might have simply thought he was beginning to deal with his sorrow. Such things happened, after all. Eventually the knives scraping away at his chest would lose their edges, and he would face a life without Teomitl’s sunny smile.

But then other things intruded. He dreamed of a sunsoaked forest in the south, and woke feeling like a lizard basking on a rock. He dreamed that Teomitl was fording a fast-flowing river—one that did not turn to blood this time—and when dawn broke his legs were wet up to the shins. Teomitl barely bled at all in his dreams, now, and his wounds were only the normal ones a man might get from traversing hostile terrain alone. Despite himself, Acatl started to wake with a faint stirring of hope. Maybe he had only been separated from the army. Maybe he was on his way home. And maybe I’m delusional, came the inevitable bitter thought when he’d finished his morning rituals. It had become much harder to listen to.

“Teomitl!” He hadn’t been mute in his dreams for a while now.

Teomitl didn’t turn. He never turned. But he stopped, and by the way his head tilted Acatl just knew he was smiling. Wordlessly, he pointed at the courtyard ahead.

“Teomitl,” he said helplessly.

“Acatl.” Teomitl’s smile was like the sun. “I’m sorry I made you worry, but I’ll be home soon.”

They came in the form of Ezamahual, rushing out of the temple complex to meet him. “Acatl-tzin! Acatl-tzin, there is wonderful news!”

Briefly, he thought he should have worn the hated regalia. “What news?”

Ezamahual’s words tumbled out in a headlong rush, almost too fast to follow. “The Master of the House of Darts—Teomitl-tzin—he’s returned! Our warriors met him at the city gates!”

Ezamahual looked briefly baffled, but then he nodded. “Of course, Acatl-tzin. It’s like this…”

The latest crop of mysterious deaths turned out to be quite straightforward in the end, once they tracked down their newest lead and had him sing like a bird. He nodded at the appropriate times, sent out a double team of priests after the perpetrators, and had it very nearly wrapped up by lunch. He was settling down with the account ledgers to mark payment of two gold-filled quills to the priests of Mixcoatl for their aid when he heard footsteps outside.

Familiar footsteps.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the tightness in his chest eased. But he didn’t have a chance to revel in it, because he knew the voice calling his name.

“Acatl? Acatl!”

He dropped the ledgers and his pen, getting ink all over his fingers. As the entrance curtain was flung aside, he scrambled to his feet. Had he been tired and listless before? It seemed like it was a thousand years ago now. He thought he might weep for the sheer relief of hearing that beloved voice again. “Gods—Teomitl—“

He swallowed several times until he thought he could risk a response, even as his eyes drank in the sight of Teomitl in front of him. He looks the same, he thought. His skin had been further darkened by the sun and there were new scars looping across his arms and legs, but he had the same face and body and sweet, sweet voice. “It’s—there’s nothing to forgive. I’m glad you’ve returned.”

“They told me everyone thought I was dead.” Teomitl bit his lip. “Except for Mihmatini. And you.”

There was the first glimmer of a smile tugging at Teomitl’s lips. “You have such faith in me, Acatl.”

“You’re well deserving of it,” he replied. And I love you, and even in dreams I could not think of any other path than your survival. That, he refused to say.

Especially because Teomitl still wasn’t looking at him.

They stood in agonizing silence, and he couldn’t bring himself to break it. Teomitl was so close, still within arms’ range; if he was brave enough, he could reach out and pull him back into his arms. Could bury his face in his hair and crush the fabric of his cloak in his hands and tell him—what? It didn’t matter what Mihmatini had said to him. There was simply no space for him in the life Teomitl deserved, nothing beyond that Acatl already occupied. He wouldn’t burden him with useless feelings.

But then Teomitl shook himself like an ahuizotl and turned back to him, holding his gaze. “Do you want to know what got me home, Acatl? What sustained me?”

Mutely, he nodded. He still didn’t trust his voice.

“You.”

He felt like he’d been gutted. “I...Teomitl…”

Whatever Teomitl saw in his face made his eyes soften. He took a step forward, hands coming up to—gently, so gently—rest on Acatl’s waist, and Acatl let him. “I thought about you. I—Southern Hummingbird blind me, I dreamed about you. Every night! I made myself a promise while I was out there, in the event I ever saw you again. Scorn me for it all you’d like, but I’m going to keep it now.”

Oh, Teomitl. I could never scorn you. They were very, very close now, and Teomitl’s gaze had fallen to his parted lips. His mouth went dry.

And then Teomitl kissed him.

It started out soft and gentle, lips barely tracing Acatl’s own. Asking permission, he thought with an absurd spike of giddiness—and so, leaning in a little shyly, he gave it.

Teomitl only drew away to breathe, “Gods—I love you—“ before claiming his mouth again, as though he couldn’t bear to be apart.

Teomitl jerked back, brow furrowed. “Wait. Mihmatini told you?!”

He was rewarded with a shiver, and the near-panic in Teomitl’s eyes ebbed into something soft. “What did you tell her, Acatl?”

He’d asked. He’d asked, and Acatl had always been honest with him. He’d be honest now, even if it made his heart race and his hands tremble. “That I love you.”

“I don’t want to let you go,” Teomitl whispered. “I never want to let you out of my sight again.”

Neither do I. He tilted his head, nosing at the nearest and fluffiest bit of Teomitl’s hair, and let out a long sigh. “You’ll have to eventually.” Even though he hated the thought, he couldn’t help but smile. “You’re the Master of the House of Darts, aren’t you? You have an army to help lead. Wars to wage. Glory to bring to the Empire.”

“Hrmph.” The arms around him tightened in wordless refusal.

He smiled against Teomitl’s hair. “But first, why don’t we see about lunch?”

Teomitl made an undignified snorting noise. “I have been gone a long time. You’re remembering to eat for once.”

It was the first time in a month he could remember feeling actually hungry. He decided not to mention that. To his regret, however, lunch meant that they both had to actually let go of each other. Reluctantly, he began the process of disentangling them; after a significant period of hesitation, Teomitl deigned to help. Even when they were no longer wrapped in each other’s arms, though, he stared at Acatl as though he couldn’t get enough of the sight.

And since Acatl was doing the same thing, cataloging the precise shade of Teomitl’s brown eyes and the exact path each visible scar took, he couldn’t blame him. I might have gone my whole life without this. What an idiot I was.

It took longer than Acatl liked for he and Teomitl to be properly alone again. It wasn’t until they were finally ensconced in a small receiving room with a plate of fried newts to share and strict orders not to be disturbed that he could do more than look; just when he was getting up the nerve to maybe hold Teomitl’s hand, though, his beloved leaned in and kissed him. It was chaste, but it still made him blush.

Teomitl was smiling when he drew back. “I missed doing that.”

An eyebrow went up in stunning imitation of Mihmatini. “And I’ve waited years for even one kiss, Acatl. There’s a backlog to get through, you know.”

The blush had just started to fade, but now it returned with a vengeance. “Years?”

“Mm-hmm.” Teomitl’s eyes gleamed. “I’d like to make up for lost time, if you wouldn’t mind.”

He swallowed hard. He’d wanted to know how Teomitl had survived, how he’d managed to make it all the way back home, but his questions suddenly didn’t seem that important anymore. “...I would not.”

And so their mouths met. Teomitl’s idea of making up for lost time was long and hungry; Acatl’s lips parted for his tongue almost before he knew what he was doing, and that was a little strange but far from unwelcome. Especially when Teomitl drew back, mouth wet and red, to catch his lower lip between his teeth in another one of those stinging little nips that made his blood sing. A breathy noise escaped him, but this time Teomitl didn’t soothe it.

Teomitl hummed, low and wordless, and slid a hand down his stomach. Acatl’s fevered blood roared in his ears, and all of a sudden it was almost too much. “Teomitl.”

Teomitl lifted his head, eyes bright. “Mm?”

“You.” He sucked in a breath, willing his heartrate to slow down. “You can’t keep doing that here.”

“You don’t like it?” Teomitl grinned at him. “Or do you like it too much, Acatl?”

If by some miracle all the rest of it hadn’t already made him blush, hearing Teomitl purr his name like that would definitely have done the trick. He had to turn his face away. “You know damned well it’s the latter. I can’t very well take the rest of the day off to…” Flustered, he gestured between them.

“Hrmph,” Teomitl said, and kissed him again. This time it was slow and sweet and came with warm arms sliding around him, and he lingered in it for long, long minutes.

When the afternoon light started to turn gold, they reluctantly stood up. They stood without touching for a moment that was just long enough to be awkward, and then Teomitl pulled him into a fierce hug. Acatl knew it was coming this time; he marveled at how they just seemed to fit together, with one hand buried in Teomitl’s hair and the other pressed flat between his shoulderblades to feel the steady beat of his heart.

Teomitl took a long, slow breath. “Lunch wasn’t long enough.”

“It wasn’t,” he agreed softly. “But there will be others. Many others.”

Teomitl made no move to let go of him. In fact, he squeezed a little tighter, turning to bury his face in Acatl’s hair. “Mrghh...”

He wanted to laugh, and had to bite the inside of his cheek to quell the urge. He made do with stroking Teomitl’s hair—gods, it was so soft—and taking a deliberate step back so that Teomitl had to release him or be pulled off-balance. Now Teomitl was glaring at him, but nothing would stop the slow upwell of joy in his veins. “Go on,” he murmured. “I’ll see you at the banquet tonight.”

Teomitl’s eyes were fierce as an eagle’s. “And afterwards? Will I see you afterwards, Acatl?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t an answer he even needed to think about, not with the way Teomitl’s lips parted in wonder. For the rest of my life. Whenever you want, for the rest of my life, I’ll be there.

Acatl flushed, shaking his head. That was a risk he refused to take. “My house. I’ll—I’ll be waiting.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” There was a wild, radiant smile.

He smiled back.

Though he honestly hated the idea of separation too, he knew it would be alright. Teomitl had promised, after all.

#obsidian and blood #acatl #teomitl #teocatl #mihmatini #quenami #acamapichtli #paladin writes stuff

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notapaladin · 3 years

Text

and this faith is gettin’ heavy (but you know it carries me) - redux

Because I was thinking about this fic and realized it could be BETTER with even MORE angst, pining, love connected to physical hunger, and uh...connective tissue I thought really hard about but didn’t actually write at the time.

Also on AO3, as usual

He’d barely made it out of his courtyard when Acamapichtli strode up to him, face grave underneath his blue and black paint. “Ah, Acatl. I’m glad I could catch you.”

It should have pleased him. Instead, a cold chill slid down his spine. “What are you not telling me? I’ve no time for games.”

“Thank you,” he forced out through numb lips.

Acamapichtli turned away. “...I’m sorry, Acatl.”

After a long, long moment, he made himself start walking again. There was the rest of the army to greet, after all. Even if Teomitl wouldn’t be among them.

Even if he’d never return from war again.

Greeting the army was a ceremony, one he usually took some joy in—it had meant that Teomitl would be home, would be safe, and his sister would be happy. Now it passed in a blue, and he registered absolutely none of it. Someone must have already given the news to Mihmatini when he arrived; she was an utterly silent presence at his side, face pale and lips thin. She wouldn’t cry in public, but he saw the way her eyes glimmered when she blinked. He knew he should offer her comfort, but he couldn’t bring himself to lay a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. If he touched her, if he felt the fabric of her cloak beneath his hand, that meant it was real.

And once they had him, they would sacrifice him.

Somehow, he held it together until after the final course had been cleared away. He rose jerkily to his feet, legs trembling, and fixed his mind firmly on getting home in one piece.

Quenami’s voice stopped him in the next hallway. “Ah, Acatl. A lovely banquet, wasn’t it?”

He didn’t turn around. “Mn.” Go away.

“Mm.”

“Silence.”

Quenami recoiled, jaw going slack in terror. Silently—blessedly, mercifully, infuriatingly silently—he turned on his heel and left.

“...Acatl?”

Mihmatini’s voice, admirably controlled. He made himself lift his head and answer. “In here.”

She tensed immediately, eyes going cold in a way that suggested Quenami had better be a very fast runner indeed. “He would never. You know that.”

Air seemed to be coming a bit easier now. “I do. But…”

Of course, she pounced on his hesitation. “But?”

I want him so badly to not be dead. “Nothing.”

Mihmatini was silent for a while, wringing her hands together. Finally, she spoke. “He would never have deserted. But...Acatl…”

“What?”

Alive. The word was a conch shell in his head, sounding to wake the dawn. For an instant, he let himself imagine it. Teomitl alive, maybe in hiding, maybe trying to find his way home to them.

“It’s—” She scrubbed ineffectually at her eyes with the back of a hand. “It’s possible. Isn’t it?”

“...I suppose.” He took a breath. “I think it’s time for me to get some sleep. I’ll...see you tomorrow.”

He knew he wouldn’t sleep—knew, in fact, that he’d be lucky if he even managed to close his eyes—but he needed to get home. He refused to disgrace himself by weeping in public.

The first dream came a week later.

The next night was worse.

“Teomitl,” he said, and this time his voice obeyed him.

He took one step back. Another.

Teomitl’s smile grew sad, and he reached for him with a bloody hand. “Acatl, I’m sorry.”

But then it returned the next night, and the next. While the details differed—sometimes Teomitl was swimming a river that suddenly turned to blood and dissolved his flesh, sometimes one of his own ahuizotls turned into a jaguar and sprang for his face—the end was always the same. Teomitl dead and still walking, reaching for him with an apology on his lips. Sometimes it even lingered after he woke, clinging stubbornly such that, just for a moment, he thought Teomitl was truly by his side and had a moment’s joy before reality reasserted itself and he remembered with gutwrenching pain that he was alone. Those ones were the worst.

“More fish?”

Neutemoc’s voice was too careful for his liking, but he nodded. Fish was duly set onto his plate, and he ate without really tasting it. He only managed a few bites before he set it aside.

Mihmatini picked at her own dish, and Neutemoc frowned at her. “You’re not hungry?”

She shook her head.

“Aww, Dad...”

Neutemoc gave his eldest the same look his father had once given him. “When you go off to war, Necalli, I will let you listen to all the awful details.”

It was almost enough to make Acatl smile. “Well,” he began, “we’ve been trying to figure out what’s been strangling merchants in the featherworkers’ district…”

When the meal was done, he declined Neutemoc’s offer of a pipe and got to his feet. “I think I’ll get some air.”

The courtyard outside was empty. He lifted his eyes to the heavens, charting the path of the four hundred stars above. Ceyaxochitl’s death hadn’t hit him anywhere near as hard as this, but gods, he thought he could recover if only the people around him stopped coddling him. Everywhere he went there were sympathetic glances and soft words, and even the priests of his own temple were stepping gingerly around him. As though he needed to be treated like...like...

Like a new widow. Like Mihmatini. He sat down hard, feeling like his legs had been cut out from under him. Air seemed to be in short supply, and the gulf in his chest yawned wide.

But I’m not. I care for Teomitl, of course, but it’s not like that. It’s not—

He could. It was easy. He closed his eyes and remembered.

He remembered how it had felt, in that space between dreams and waking, where he’d thought Teomitl was by his side even in Mictlan. Where, for the span of a heartbeat, he’d been happy.

It was like that, after all.

He forced his burning eyes to stay open. If he blinked, if he let his eyes close even for an instant, the tears would fall.

Approaching footsteps made him raise his head. Mihmatini was walking quietly and carefully towards him, as though she didn’t want to disturb him. As though I’m fragile. You too, Mihmatini?

“Ah. There you are.” Even her voice was soft.

He uncurled himself and arranged his limbs into a more dignified position, keeping his fists clenched to stop his hands from trembling. At least when he finally blinked, his eyes were dry. “Hm.”

His dry throat made a clicking noise when he swallowed. “It is.”

“At least we’re both in the same boat,” she murmured.

Her voice lowered even further, so that he had to strain to hear her. There was a faint, sad smile on her face. “You love him just the same as I do, don’t you?”

She lifted her head, and her faint smile grew to something bright and brittle. “Good.”

Good?! He blinked uselessly at her, gaping like a fish before he could find his voice again. “You—you approve?”

“You’re my favorite brother,” she said simply. “And...well.”

She blinked rapidly, fingers going still. She’d traced something that looked, from a certain angle, like a flower glyph. “...He...he loved you, too.”

No.

But Mihmatini was still talking. “He didn’t want me to tell you; he was sure you’d scorn him. But he loved you the same way he loved me...gods, probably more than he loved me.”

It was the last straw. His nails bit into his palms hard enough to draw blood, and he barely recognized his own voice as rage filled it. “Why are you telling me this?!”

He rose on shaking legs. “I think I need to be alone.”

Eventually, when he was spent, he wiped his face and left. It was time to go home.

The rest of the month ground on slowly, and his dreams began to change.

At first they were minor changes—the blood was less vibrant, the forests and plains brighter. Teomitl bled less. Acatl woke without feeling as though the inside of his chest had been hollowed out and replaced with ash. And if that was all, he might have simply thought he was beginning to deal with his sorrow. Such things happened, after all. Eventually the knives scraping away at his chest would lose their edges, and he would face a life without Teomitl’s sunny smile.

“Acatl-tzin,” he whispered into his folded knees. “Acatl, I should have told you.”

“Should have told me what?” he tried to ask, but before he could form the words he woke up. There were tears in his own eyes.

It’s only because I miss him, he told himself. This is grief, that’s all. But there was the smell of smoke clinging to his skin, and a single damp leaf was stuck to the bottom of his bare foot. It hadn’t rained in Tenochtitlan last night. He stared at it for a long time.

“Teomitl!” He hadn’t been mute in his dreams for a while now.

Teomitl didn’t turn. He never turned. But he stopped, and by the way his head tilted Acatl just knew he was smiling. Wordlessly, he pointed at the courtyard ahead.

“Teomitl,” he said helplessly.

“Acatl.” Teomitl’s smile was like the sun. “I’m sorry I made you worry, but I’ll be home soon.”

They came in the form of Ezamahual, rushing out of the temple complex to meet him. “Acatl-tzin! Acatl-tzin, there is wonderful news!”

Briefly, he thought he should have worn the hated regalia. “What news?”

Ezamahual’s words tumbled out in a headlong rush, almost too fast to follow. “The Master of the House of Darts—Teomitl-tzin—he’s returned! Our warriors met him at the city gates!”

Ezamahual looked briefly baffled, but then he nodded. “Of course, Acatl-tzin. It’s like this…”

The latest crop of mysterious deaths turned out to be quite straightforward in the end, once they tracked down their newest lead and had him sing like a bird. He nodded at the appropriate times, sent out a double team of priests after the perpetrators, and had it very nearly wrapped up by lunch. He was settling down with the account ledgers to mark payment of two gold-filled quills to the priests of Mixcoatl for their aid when he heard footsteps outside.

Familiar footsteps.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the tightness in his chest eased. But he didn’t have a chance to revel in it, because he knew the voice calling his name.

“Acatl? Acatl!”

He dropped the ledgers and his pen, getting ink all over his fingers. As the entrance curtain was flung aside in a cacophony of copper bells, he scrambled to his feet. Had he been tired and listless before? It seemed like it was a thousand years ago now. He thought he might weep for the sheer relief of hearing that beloved voice again. “Gods—Teomitl—”

“They told me everyone thought I was dead.” Teomitl bit his lip. “Except for Mihmatini. And you.”

There was the first glimmer of a smile tugging at Teomitl’s lips. “You have such faith in me, Acatl.”

“You’re well deserving of it,” he replied. And I love you, and even in dreams I could not think of any other path than your survival. That, he refused to say.

Especially because Teomitl still wasn’t looking at him.

They stood in agonizing silence, and he couldn’t bring himself to break it. Teomitl was so close, still within arms’ range; if he was brave enough, he could reach out and pull him back into his arms. Could bury his face in his hair and crush the fabric of his cloak in his hands and tell him—what? It didn’t matter what Mihmatini had said to him. There was simply no space for him in the life Teomitl deserved, nothing beyond that Acatl already occupied. He wouldn’t burden him with useless feelings.

But then Teomitl shook himself like an ahuizotl and turned back to him, holding his gaze. “Do you want to know what got me home, Acatl? What sustained me?”

Mutely, he nodded. He still didn’t trust his voice.

“You.”

He felt like he’d been gutted. “I...Teomitl…”

Oh, Teomitl. I could never scorn you. They were very, very close now, and Teomitl’s gaze had fallen to his parted lips. His mouth went dry.

And then Teomitl kissed him.

It started out soft and gentle, lips barely tracing Acatl’s own. Asking permission, he thought with an absurd spike of giddiness—and so, leaning in a little shyly, he gave it.

Teomitl only drew away to breathe, “Gods—I love you—” before claiming his mouth again, as though he couldn’t bear to be apart.

Teomitl jerked back, brow furrowed. “Wait. Mihmatini told you?!”

He was rewarded with a shiver, and the near-panic in Teomitl’s eyes ebbed into something soft. “What did you tell her, Acatl?”

He’d asked. He’d asked, and Acatl had always been honest with him. He’d be honest now, even if it made his heart race and his hands tremble. “That I love you.”

“I don’t want to let you go,” Teomitl whispered. “I never want to let you out of my sight again.”

“Hrmph.” The arms around him tightened in wordless refusal.

He smiled against Teomitl’s hair, and realized as he did so that the unraveling tension in his core had left a void behind. A void that rumbled—loudly—to be filled. His face burned as he murmured, “But first, why don’t we see about lunch?”

Teomitl made an undignified snorting noise. “I have been gone a long time. You’re remembering to eat for once.”

It was the first time since the army’s return that he could remember feeling hungry. He decided not to mention that. To his regret, however, lunch meant that they had to be seen in public, which meant they both had to actually let go of each other. Reluctantly, he began the process of disentangling them; after a significant period of hesitation, Teomitl deigned to help. Even when they were no longer wrapped in each other’s arms, though, he stared at Acatl as though he couldn’t get enough of the sight.

It took longer than Acatl liked for he and Teomitl to be properly alone again. It wasn’t until they were finally ensconced in a small receiving room with a plate of fried newts to share and strict orders not to be disturbed that he could do more than look, but just when he was getting up the nerve to maybe hold Teomitl’s hand his beloved leaned in and kissed him. It was chaste, but it still made him blush.

Teomitl was smiling when he drew back. “I missed doing that.”

An eyebrow went up in stunning imitation of Mihmatini. “And I’ve waited years for even one kiss, Acatl. There’s a backlog to get through, you know.”

The blush had just started to fade, but now it returned with a vengeance. “Years?”

“Mm-hmm.” Teomitl’s eyes gleamed. “I’d like to make up for lost time, if you wouldn’t mind.”

He swallowed hard. He’d wanted to know how Teomitl had survived, how he’d managed to make it all the way back home—the unreal fragments he’d witnessed each night had not been informative—but his questions suddenly didn’t seem that important anymore. “...I would not.”

And so their mouths met. Teomitl’s idea of making up for lost time was long and hungry; Acatl’s lips parted for his tongue almost before he knew what he was doing, and that was still a little strange but far from unwelcome. Especially when Teomitl drew back, mouth wet and red, to catch his lower lip between his teeth in another one of those stinging little nips that made his blood sing. A breathy noise escaped him, but this time Teomitl didn’t soothe it.

Teomitl hummed, low and wordless, and slid a hand down his stomach. Acatl’s fevered blood roared in his ears, and all of a sudden it was almost too much. “Teomitl.”

Teomitl lifted his head, eyes bright. “Mm?”

“You.” He sucked in a breath, willing his heartrate to slow down. “You can’t keep doing that here.”

“You don’t like it?” Teomitl grinned at him. “Or do you like it too much, Acatl?”

“Hrmph,” Teomitl said, and kissed him again. This time it was slow and sweet and came with warm arms sliding around him, and he lingered in it for long, long minutes.

By the time they finally remembered their food, it was stone cold. They ate it anyway; Acatl couldn’t bring himself to care about such a mundane thing as cold food when Teomitl was leaning against him as they ate, with one arm still slung loosely around his waist. Not to mention that he was ravenous after all; he’d heard of love making you too nervous to eat, but loving Teomitl seemed to be different. Having him in his arms, knowing he wasn’t going to leave, knowing he would always be in his heart—it made him feel safe, and so he could enjoy his meal in peace.

When the afternoon light started to turn gold, they reluctantly got to their feet. They stood without touching for a moment that was just long enough to be awkward, and then Teomitl pulled him into a fierce hug. Acatl knew it was coming this time; he marveled at how they just seemed to fit together, with one hand buried in Teomitl’s hair and the other pressed flat between his shoulderblades to feel the steady beat of his heart.

Teomitl took a long, slow breath. “Lunch wasn’t long enough.”

“It wasn’t,” he agreed softly. “But there will be others. Many others.” With Teomitl by his side, he didn’t think he’d ever skip a meal again.

Teomitl’s eyes were fierce as an eagle’s. “And afterwards? Will I see you afterwards, Acatl?”

Acatl flushed, shaking his head. That was a risk he refused to take. “My house. I’ll—I’ll be waiting.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” There was a wild, radiant smile.

He smiled back.

Though he honestly hated the idea of separation too, he knew it would be alright. Teomitl had promised, after all.

#obsidian and blood #acatl #teomitl #teocatl #mihmatini #quenami #paladin writes stuff

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