#< had that on loop while drawing this. also the song that sparked this drawing in the first place HASJDAJSDSHA

[lovinglin]

I have this weird obsession with making ppl dance so have some picolara having fun aheueaheh

[pineapplefulfillseveryneed]

The Revenge Of Two Hands One Mouth - O2 Academy Bristol (November 27, 2013) by Adam Gasson

After 11 years of not finding a single photo from this show, I found these yesterday! I can not begin to express what this means to me, I nearly cried and I couldn't sleep last night. I was still a rather new fan and this was my first time going to a show in the UK, the first show I went to see with a friend, and my first time meeting that friend, too. And these above photos are SO GOOD! Not much was preserved from this show at all, there was no recording allowed (no charcoal drawings either), and to my knowledge not even the full setlist for this specific show was preserved anywhere. So better late than never, but here's what I remember (with some help from these photos!) and the things I've puzzled back together:

If there was opening music or an opening act, i don't recall, but Russell entered the stage alone. It was dramatic and impactful, and it went quiet as he gave an intense stare into the audience and did a drawn out "ahhh" into the microphone. After a little moment of quiet, it turned out the microphone had been connected to a sequencer which now started repeating "ah ah ah ah ah ah". Suspense, excitement. Russell added: "Hold, hold, hold, hold". (...I was definitely freaking out.) While that started looping on top of the ah ah ah sequence, he made stop signs with his hand as we all listened. A few repeats passed. "I'm getting mixed signals, mixed signals - mixed, mixed, mixed signals".

^ the only seconds of this show I recorded as I didn't yet know it wasn't allowed - security signed at me and I put the camera away. It was fine. (Here's a recording of it made during the US tour later that year - recording seemed to be less frowned upon at that point.)

I don't recall when Ron entered the stage at this show, whether it was during the song or after, but what a way to open! And what an amazing song choice!

The performance that left the biggest impression on me at this show though was Nicotina. It was a choice I didn't see coming, but also the way Russell sang it! Falsetto heaven. (Sadly not a single video is to be found of Nicotina from this tour. But for your falsetto heaven needs, I hope you can find a video of Here In Heaven that they also performed on this tour, because that will also kill you.)

As everyone here probably knows I am quite big on Bergman, which at the time was heavily promoted during the tours, and, the excerpts they played on this tour were different from what they played during Two Hands One Mouth! They played "I Am Ingmar Bergman", The Studio Commissary (my favourite song on Bergman), Limo Driver (but sang by Russell, and HOW!) and "Oh My God". (Here's a video of it from one of the American shows. It's extremely good. People who've been around for a while have seen me lose it over this video many times.)

The most unexpected song choice was probably Katherine Hepburn. Me and my friend had been joking for absolute months that we were going to see Sparks and they'd play Katherine Hepburn (as if that would ever happen, we were obsessed with that song though!). And here we were, and they were playing Katherine Hepburn right in front of our eyes. (What is reality.)

Falling In Love With Myself Again had me losing it over the organ sounds, always a fan of Ron on organ, and I LOVE that song. Russell sang a line in my direction (I died), and he managed to throw another line at me during Those Mysteries ...I died a few times that night. As you might expect. That was kind of the whole THOM/TROTHOM experience anyway. Lots of dying. But the variety of dying where you end up in heaven. (You're at a Sparks show after all.)

They wrote a song especially for this tour, which was not released but only ever played live: Revenge Of Two Hands One Mouth. What a thing to experience! A very dark song, but wonderful. (REVENGE! REVENGE REVENGE!)

At the end of the show Ron took a photo of Russell with the audience. I don't really remember that happening, but the photo exists and it really was not a thing they did often back then. We had been a good audience :)

Here's all the songs that were probably played that night in random order:

Your Call's Very Important To Us. Please Hold., B.C., Good Morning, Here In Heaven, Academy Award Performance, Those Mysteries, Falling In Love With Myself Again, Big Boy, Nicotina, Popularity, This Town Ain't Big Enough For Both Of Us, excerpts from The Seduction Of Ingmar Bergman, Tryouts For The Human Race, Katherine Hepburn, Revenge Of Two Hands One Mouth. They likely also played The Number One Song in Heaven, When Do I Get To Sing 'My Way' and Suburban Homeboy. (I see mentions of How Are You Getting Home? and How Do I Get To Carnegie Hall? in setlists for this tour as well, which they very well might have played but I very sadly have zero memory of ever hearing those songs live.)

This tour had a real air of mystery, possibly even more so than Two Hands One Mouth, as the lack of existing footage definitely adds to it. But luckily some of it *is* out there, and I am so grateful for these photos :) On top of the songs I especially mentioned above, I would also advise people to look for recordings of Tryouts For The Human Race and Popularity from this tour, because the arrangements are probably not going to be the way you expect them to be. And as you might expect: B.C. is stunning live. (I could start a whole rant about Good Morning and Suburban Homeboy live but I think I sufficiently screamed about both in my personal notes on THOM the year prior.) Final note: I know Russell had some sort of dance move for Big Boy because me and another friend couldn't stop talking about it for months. I don't remember what he did, but both THOM and TROTHOM were wonderful for Russell dances <3

[fineartsjournal]

213341 Art Studio IIIA ⋆ Week 3 - Delaying the inevitable

I made brief mention of our dear friend John Oswald in the last entry, and would just about give him an entire dedicated article if it weren't for the fact that, much like almost every musical genre in circulation today - and repeat after me:

Yes indeed! Not long before John Oswald took his Blue Suede inspo to the recording booth for something actually danceable, a 'back-to-school’ party would birth the first sparks of hip-hop, a genre that owes its backbone to the art of sampling.

And it is here especially where we get into techniques.

As the legend goes, in August 11, 1973, Bronx block party sensation DJ Kool Herc had whipped out a batch of fresh new innovations to spice up his tracks.

On the beat-end of things, Herc took from his collection of hard funk records - known for their extended drum ’breaks’ - and would hook two turntables together to a mixer, using the back-and-forth ’merry go round’ technique to further draw out these breaks. Noting beforehand how people would only hit the dancefloor during the drum breaks, this technique kept the rhythm and dance flowing for longer.

The legend continued in 1975, as a young Grand Wizzard Theodore had his mum walk in on him making a liiiiitle too much noise on his bedroom mixing setup, to which he placed his hand on the record to pause it. Moving the record back and forth (presumably while his mum was still yelling at him), Theodore had just invented the ’scratching’ technique.

The third piece to complete the break-beat nucleus would come three years later, as Grandmaster Flash perfected the 'scratching’ technique. Adjusting his records to match BPM (beats-per-minute) and gluing wires in his headphones so he could hear both turntables at once, G.F applied the ’quick-mix theory’: a technique accomplished with the addition of felt and wax paper to the record to allow for a smooth scratching - from there, G.F would rewind the opposing record to replay the break - an evolution on the 'merry-go-round’ that could now allow for the break to go on indefinitely.

With this, a DJ could now achieve what once took two identical records - with just one; freeing up the other turntable to 'mashup’ one looping track with another, forming an entirely new track, and transforming the DJ from a Disc Jockey to a Disc Artist.

As Grandmaster Flash himself put it, “I am not the first DJ ever—absolutely not. I am the first DJ to make the turntables an instrument…” And you can see in the video below, G.F, in culmination, incorporating the innovations of both himself, Theodore and Herc before into a true distillment of sample-based musicmaking.

Ah crud, I almost forgot to mention John Oswald.

I guess we’ll get to talk about him later.

The week three critique was quickly approaching and I still hadn't the courage to christen the sampler. I was getting pretty used to the (generally finicky) Audacity layout, so I chose to stick with my guns and work from there.

In-line with my IPO, this presentation would demonstrate, through a groovy, sampledelic track, the delight of plunderphonics.

No particular overarching narrative to the samples I would use either - just anything that came to mind to best fit the flow of the track worked for me.

I had casually made mention earlier of presenting my work on the sampler, so I addressed these claims with a prelude - the namesake track begins with the following sentence, constructed entirely from the following samples:

While working on the project, I also discovered a little quirk when it comes to YouTube's video recommendations: If you're looking at a video with not a lot of views, YouTube will recommend videos with a similar view count. This is a really quick way to find some decently obscure material.

Of course, I did none of that for the 24 samples I used here, but I could utilize that later... perhaps.

With not much time to add delicate texture to the track, each sample in the subsequent song played an important role.

Bop Hop provides a soft background beat to keep the rhythm going, the synths from Pacific 202 give a layer of atmosphere, and the Grapefruit Technique Video is....uh... there.

Here's the finished result.

After some technical difficulties, I presented my work to the class, paying little mind to flashiness. I had hooked my laptop to my mum's blown-out Bluetooth speaker, playing straight from Audacity with the computer turned around so that the class could gather around and see the individual track layers.

CRITIQUE TIME, BABY.

Following a single playthrough (plus a readthrough of the list of samples), came the comments:

Immediate connections were drawn to the sampling styles of J Dilla and Kanye West. It was like quickly changing through radio stations, delivering an impatient, intentionally cacophonous, yet confident sound; with an aspect of humor.

Bryce compared the listening experience to trainspotting, letting the ears deduce what sound came where, and with that, my decision to unveil the samples afterwards worked against that experience. The glitchy 'surprises' of my song owed to obscurity, working better with a less technical viewing experience.

Representing sound through video, perhaps in the degree of objectification of sound offered in the metaphor of the bandstand. Other ways that I could go about showcasing this could draw from the swirly graphics that would play on Windows Media Player whenever you loaded music on an older PC:

On a slightly different note, when tinkering around on YouTube later that day, I stumbled this track: Slow by Amanati. I know nothing of the artist, care even less about the song, but GOODNESS ME does it sound good when given the ol' 'YouTube sampler' treatment.

The resulting chopped composition I got from it is a personal favorite of mine, and I wish to reuse it elsewhere shortly.

A few days later, I found myself with juuust enough time before work to hook up the sampler and get things going. Or so I thought.

Low and behold, there was an online manual, and my preliminary conceptions on how easy it'd be to start making sounds were a fair bit off. For starters, I needed some sort of USB middleman between the analogue line-out jacks, the SP-202, and my computer, to which I had neither, let alone that there needed to be some kind of audio set aside for me to feed into this machine.

It was a learning experience, and most likely one of many.

Made for a good photo, shame that I didn't even get time to turn the thing on before I had to head to work.

[burlveneer-music]

Rachael Dadd - Kaleidoscope - inventive modern folk rock from Bristol (Memphis Industries)

On 14 October 2022 wildly creative free-form songwriter Rachael Dadd is to release her brand new studio album ‘Kaleidoscope’. The record is her second album for Memphis Industries and follows 2019’s 'Flux', which was released to much acclaim and which she was touring when the pandemic struck.

Like so many people disconnected from their communities and struggling through the lockdowns, Rachael Dadd turned inwards, seeking escape through music and connection through songwriting, and her hope is that when people listen to ‘Kaleidoscope' “they will feel held and find space to breathe, grieve and celebrate.”

“This album is a lot more honest and personal than ‘Flux'” she shares, “but I feel the songs are universal as they are largely rooted in truth and love. If I had to pick a favourite album it would be this one because of the magical rekindling of human connection when me and my band got back in a room together again. All that magic went into these songs." "Music for me usually comes from a place where I’m in a state of flow and free-child: playful and explorative and sparked by the infinite possibilities that creating it can bring,” she continues, “so kaleidoscope, a toy with infinite possibilities of shape, colour and pattern, seemed like a really good title."

Following on from taking part in the Super Cool Drawing Machine touring art exhibition which raised money for small venues during lockdown, Rachael developed the album artwork by embroidering on her sewing machine. She created colourful geometric organisms, possibly depicting the patterns of a kaleidoscope, or musical sounds spread across a huge blue sky.

"The image of the sky appears many times on the album, representing boundless freedom from the mundanity and struggles of being human", says Rachael. "Music, too, provides escapism and freedom, and I like that while both music and the sky can be boundless, they are also containers to preserve all the very best things. Here on ‘Kaleidoscope’ they are vessels for truth and love."

Having been kissed on the cheek and told to pursue music at the age of 14 by Tori Amos, who along with Kate Bush and Joni Mitchell lit up a new universe of possibility and magic for her, showing Rachael a way to translate her own inner world into words and music, she went on to discover John Cage, Steve Reich and John Tavner. Creating avant-garde feedback loop experiments at Alton College also left a big impression on her, as did WARP artists such as Aphex Twin, Boards of Canada, Plaid and Broadcast, and more recently Elsa Hewitt. "I love synth worlds and it's been really great to explore this more deeply on ‘Kaleidoscope'”, says Rachael, who also draws inspiration for the new record from Bristol’s contemporary jazz scene and artists like Ishmael Ensemble and Waldo's Gift.

[thebrotherssalvatore321]

Keeping Secrets Ch. 34

Keeping Secrets Masterlist

Pairing: past: DamonxOc, TylerxOc, ElijahxOc. Future: KlausxOc. Warnings: Smut-ish and a gif containing nudity towards the end.

Katie managed to mind her own business for a month. Her only friends at school were Rebekah, who talked her out of quitting cheer considering that during their routines was the only time Katie ever smiled anymore, and Caroline who had stopped ignoring her and talked to her like they used to despite keeping certain things to themselves. Klaus had been busy dodging attempts against his and Rebekah’s lives. Like Damon and Stefan killing Finn in an attempt to kill all the originals, but Klaus had made Bonnie un-link the siblings, so it didn’t work. It did, however, reveal that when an original is killed, every vampire they’ve turned along with anyone those vampires turned, died.

Even with everything going on, Klaus managed to find time to shoot her a random text here and there to check up on her. She always replied with, I’m fine, but he knew she wasn’t. Rebekah had also tried to talk Katie into going to the 20’s decade dance tonight, but Katie just didn’t think she could sit through a stupid dance without being completely miserable.

She was sitting at her kitchen table doing homework when she heard someone knock on the door. She didn’t answer, assuming it was Rebekah coming to try one more time to get her to go to the dance, whoever it was let themselves inside. “Rebekah I told you I’m not going to that stupid dance.” She sighed only to see Klaus when she looked up. He wore an off white tux, a blue and white tie and a yellow hankie in the pocket of his jacket. His hair was slightly gelled and parted on the side. If she was being completely honest she didn’t think it was his best look.

“Well she may have failed at getting you to go but she successfully talked me into it.” He informed her as her eyes took in the green dress with black sparkling beads all over it and tassels hanging off the short zig-zag hem line, knotted white beads, a green headband with peacock feathers on it and a pair of black satin gloves were looped over the hook of the hanger that hung off his long nimble index finger.

“And she asked you to ask me to be your date?” Katie asked tiredly.

“Actually it was my idea.” He told her with a closed lipped smile. “You’ve been locking yourself in this house every day after school. You need to get out and have some fun.”

“I can assure you that a high school dance will not be fun.” She told him flatly. “Besides there’s like a seventy five percent chance that something is going to go incredibly wrong at that dance given the fact that since Damon and Stefan came to town our dances have been a hot spot for vampire, witch, werewolf activity.”

“If I’m going so are you.” he walked over, gently grabbed her arm and pulled her up from the chair with ease.

“I’ve told you once and I tell you again, I don’t take orders from you.” she told him as she took her arm out of his hand.

“Such defiant words from a woman with not even the slightest spark of fire in her eyes.” he told her as he cupped her chin in his big hand. “My brother extinguished you. I have every intention of setting you ablaze once again.” The look in his eyes sent a shiver through her spine that made her swallow hard and drop her eyes. When she looked back up at him he gave her a smirk and slipped his thumb over her cheek bone. “Now, go get dressed.” He lifted the dress up, but instead of taking it from him she cocked a brow at him and a smirk of her own tugged at the corner of her lips. He rolled his eyes. “Please.” She took the dress and went up stairs.

An hour later she came down stairs wearing the dress. Her hair was simply twisted and tucked at the back of her head to make her blond and red tresses appear short and the headband went across her forehead, the bundle of peacock feathers sat above her right ear. Simple eyeshadow let her red lips be the focal point of her face. “The shoes don’t really match, but they are the only black ones I own.” She motioned to the black heals she wore to homecoming.

“Trust me, Love, no one will be looking at your feet.” He told her, drinking her in as she walked over to him, the tassels brushing against her upper thighs as she did.

“Then tell me, what will they be looking at?” she asked, not breaking eye contact with him as she grabbed her keys and debit card off the table behind the couch that they were standing next to then put them in the black clutch in her hand along with her lipstick and makeup wipes.

His eyes moved down to her red lips then a little further taking in how the lines of black beads on the bust of the dress accented her curves before he looked back up at her eyes. “Lucky for you the women of the 1920’s were fairly modest when it came to the necklines of their dresses.”

“Yeah…lucky me.” She sighed then snapped the clutch shut. “Can we just get this over with?”

“If you do not at least attempt to have fun then going to this dance is pointless.” He told her and she just looked at him. “Smile.” The smallest smile pulled at the corner of her lips for a fleeting second. “You can do better than that.” She pulled her lips back showing off her teeth. “Are you silently growling at me, Love? Come on! Smile.” He told her in an up beat voice attempting to fire her up. She pursed her lips and pulled them to the side as she raised her brows at him. “Smile or I’ll find that ass hole classmate that hit on you at homecoming and break his spine like I originally wanted to.” Thinking about Klaus scaring the shit out of that sleazy guy brought a small smile to her face. “Not nearly good enough, but I’ll take it.”

“Can we go now?” she asked with a small genuine laugh and a motion to the door. He walked over to it and pulled it open for her.

TVDTVDTVD

When they walked into the gym Caro Emerald’s “That Man” filled their ears while everyone danced to the upbeat song. “You would have liked the twenties.” Klaus told her as they walked into the crowd to find a place to dance. As they found a spot the song cut off and a slow song started. Klaus grabbed her hand and pulled her into him with his arm looped around her waist. “The girls were reckless, sexy…fun.” He pulled her closer and spun her around. “They literally used to dance until they dropped.”

“From exhaustion or blood loss?” Katie asked with a look up at him through her lashes.

“Answer me this.” He slid his hand down to the small of her back. “If you lived somewhere where vampires and their natural habits and impulses were not frowned upon and judged as harshly as the people in this town do. Would you not give in and indulge in all the things being a vampire could offer you? Would you not murder just for the fun of it?”

Katie thought back to her time in Nashville. Being away from Mystic Falls, where no one knew her or what she was…She had done some things that made her feel good in a bad way. She lured men into her hotel room, got them drunk, compelled them, fed on them, and while she didn’t sleep with anyone she did make out with one guy she was pretty sure was a model. When he grew inpatient and dipped his head into her line of view she looked at him. “Indulge? Most definitely, but there’s a line I don’t cross and I draw it long before murder comes into the picture.”

“You say that like you’ve had to draw that line before.” He observed.

“Because I have.” She answered as she let go of his hand and placed both of hers on his neck as they danced. He slid his hands up her back holding her closer. “And it was fun.” He smiled before he realized they had been dancing for a while and Rebekah hadn’t made an appearance. “What?” she asked, watching him look around.

“Have you seen Rebekah?” he asked.

“No.” Katie answered looking around spotting Caroline and Tyler, Elena and Stefan, Bonnie and some guy she guess was her mother’s adopted son Jamie, who according to Caroline Bonnie liked. She didn’t see Rebekah anywhere. “She’s made it her goal to hijack this dance from Caroline. I’m sure she’ll be here soon.” Caroline noticed Katie and gave her a small smile then realized who Katie was dancing intimately with and gave her a questioning look. Katie realized then how close Klaus was holding her and the fact that she didn’t hate it. “I need some air.” She pushed him back and went outside intending on going to her car, but she slammed into an invisible wall a few feet outside the gym. “What the hell?” she asked looking down to see a line of salt. Her eyes followed it to see that it encircled the entire school.

“Esther’s back. We’re all trapped in here.” Stefan told her.

“Why won’t that bitch just stay dead?” She sighed.

“Rebekah, call me back immediately.” They heard Klaus say as he walked out of the gym. “I only came to this ridiculous dance because you begged me to and now you’re nowhere to be found.” He looked up to see her and Stefan. “Call me back.” he hung up and looked back and forth between Katie, Stefan and the salt line. “What is this?”

“Esther is back, again.” Katie answered. “We’re stuck in here.”

TVDTVDTVD

The dance was called off and the human students were free to walk out of the salt ring. Bonnie tried to do a locator spell on Elena, but Esther fought her on it. Because she was channeling a hot spot, Klaus knew Esther was at the old cemetery where Klaus first killed her. Since none of them could leave, Matt and Jeremy went after Esther and Elena.

Katie sat in the cafeteria waiting for Esther to die again so she could leave when Klaus found her. “I should not have dragged you here tonight. You were right about this school's history of dances and trouble.” He told her as he sat down across from her.

“It’s fine. It might not have shown, but I was actually having fun.” He gave her a smile and she changed the subject. “I just hope Matt and Jeremy can stop your mother from doing whatever it is she’s trying to do.” She told him as she put her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. “We all know she wants you dead and if you die...Tyler along with whoever else is part of your sire line dies too.”

“I turned the vampire that turned the vampire who turned Katerina.” He told her as he stood up. “You are part of my sire line and I will not let you die.” he walked out.

Katie was still sitting there when Bonnie came in and told her that Esther wasn’t fighting her anymore and the barrier was down. “There’s something else you should know.” Bonnie told Katie as she walked past her ready to go home. “It’s about Alaric.” Katie stopped and turned back to her. “Ester turned him into an original vampire and he’s not going to complete the transition.” Katie felt tears pool in her eyes. “We’re all going to the cemetery to tell him goodbye, you should come with us.” Katie swiped her hand over her cheek, wiping away a tear that slipped, and nodded.

When she got to the cemetery she saw that practically everyone was there. Elena, Jeremy, Damon, Stefan, Caroline, Tyler, Matt, and some woman that Katie had never met before were all standing around outside the tomb Alaric was in. Alaric walked out of the tomb and took them all in with tears in his eyes. As his eyes landed on Katie, leaning on a statue beside Matt she couldn’t help walking over to him. He opened his arms for her and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “You’ll always be my favorite teacher.” She told him through her tears.

He laughed and pushed her back a little. “And you’ll always be my favorite and best student.” He told her as he wiped her tears with the back of one of his fingers.

“Good bye, Alaric.” She told him as she turned and walked away from everyone.

She didn’t know where she was going when she got into her car; she just knew she couldn’t go home yet. After thirty minutes of aimless driving she ended up at the Mikaelson mansion. Deciding that she ended up there for a reason she got out and let herself inside. “My survival will haunt you through Eternity.” She followed Klaus’ voice to find him looking down on his mother lying in a coffin. “You will never destroy me!” feeling her there he asked. “What do you want?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just…I was driving and I ended up here.” He turned and looked at her with angry eyes. "I’ll go.”

He noticed her reddened eyes and tear streaked cheeks. “Stay.” he told her quietly. So she walked into the room and around all the open empty coffins to the one Rebekah was in. A dagger was lying on the table at the head of her coffin. “So what exactly happened to her tonight?”

“My guess is my mother fooled all of us into thinking she was dead by taking over Rebekah’s body. When she no longer had a use for it she had someone dagger her so she could jump back into her original body.” He told her then walked out of the room full of coffins.

“I think I hate witches just as much as I hate this town.” Katie sighed as she followed him to the kitchen where he grabbed a bottle of alcohol and poured her a drink and one for himself.

“You forget, you wouldn’t be alive right now if your witch friend hadn’t linked you to Elijah.” He pointed at her with his hand that held his glass as she sat down in the barstool across from him and picked up the glass that he slid to her.

“Yeah, and look where that got me.” She commented with a motion around her.

“Sharing a drink with a friend?” he asked playing stupid.

“Stuck in a world of pain and misery. Of one disappointment after another…of lies and hollow words and meaningless promises. I don’t even know why I’m still in this town.” She told him then threw back the drink and pushed the glass across the bar to him.

“You’re still here because you’ve never lost sight of your true goal.” He told her as he poured her more and slid the glass back to her. “Graduation then med. school.”

“That’s the funny thing.” Katie pointed at him then dropped her hand to the bar and picked up her glass. “Elijah left me because he didn’t want me to die before I accomplished my dreams. Now I don’t see the point of it all. My dreams mean nothing if I have no one to share the victory of accomplishing them with.”

“I would argue that they mean more because you accomplished them all by yourself.” He told her then took a drink.

“How can you encourage me to be alone when you yourself can’t even stand the thought of it?” she asked then through back her drink and pushed it across the bar to him. “I mean, isn’t that why you want Elena alive? So you can use her blood to sire a back up family when your blood family fails you?” he set his drink on the bar and blinked at her. “I’m not judging, just sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. I apologize.”

“Maybe you should slow down.” He pointed out not giving her a refill.

“I don’t want to slow down. I want to get so drunk that I can no longer feel my face much less the weight that is constantly sitting on my chest.” She told him as she hopped down off the stool, walked around the bar, grabbed the bottle and looked him in the eyes as she pressed the rim to her lips and took a large drink.

“You really think that’s a good idea?” he asked as he watched her move the bottle away from her wet lips then wipe her hand over them.

“Probably not.” She told him then turned her back on him and walked off, taking another drink as she did. He followed her to his studio where she started looking at the paintings on the wall. “I don’t know anything about art. So I’m just going to ask, how many of these did you do and how many are by famous artists?”

She took a drink as he walked over to stand next to her, “They are all mine.” He answered then took the bottle from her and took a drink. “The famous ones are scattered throughout the house.”

“Huh.” Was all she said as she turned around and walked over to the couch that sat in the middle of the room and sat down. "So why do you like to art?"

He walked over and sat down beside her, propping the bottle up on the arm of the couch. "Art, painting in particular, is a metaphor for control." He answered and she gave him a look that said, 'I'm interested, please keep talking'. He tried to pass her the bottle, but she surprised him when she waved him off. "Every choice is mine. The canvas...the color… As a child I had neither a sense of the world nor my place in it, but art taught me that one's vision can be achieved with sheer force of will. The same is true of life."

She felt the same way about her poetry, every word choice was up to her, a puzzle of her own creation. But she wasn't ready to tell him about that part of herself. So she kept the topic on art. "I had to take a couple of art classes in school, but our art teacher was a major pot head so we didn’t actually learn anything other than the ninja turtles are all named after famous artists. As long as we were quiet and did something even close to art we passed.”

“Please tell me you did not glue macaroni to a piece of paper and call it art.”

She laughed. “I’m not a three year old. I colored in an adult coloring book.” She told him with her chin held high and he smiled then closed his mouth deciding to keep his comments to himself. She laughed a little at his reaction. “I passed that’s all I cared about at the time.” She held her hand out for the bottle. He gave it to her and she took a drink then handed it back to him.

She pulled out her phone and unlocked it to see what time it was only for her eyes to land on the picture of her and Elijah after the ball. She couldn’t bring herself to change it yet. Her hand went to the infinity sign that still hung around her neck.

Knowing she was thinking about Elijah, Klaus plucked the unlocked phone out of her hand, took a picture of one of his more abstract paintings and made it her background. Now she didn’t see Elijah’s face every time she used her phone. He had sat back down on the couch and was handing it back to her when Rebekah came into the room. “What happened?” she asked with a tired look at the two of them.

“Excuse me for a minute, love.” Klaus told her then walked out of the room with Rebekah.

Katie wandered over to the table that had drawings scattered across it. Eventually she came across the one Klaus had drawn of her in her ball gown. She was looking at it when Klaus came back. “Why did you draw this?” she asked, holding up the picture as she turned to him.

“Because I find inspiration in beauty and it is no secret that I think you are beautiful.” He answered as he took the paper from her and set it back down on the table behind her. “And smart, relatable, strong, brave, honest, loyal, understanding, non-judgmental-”

“Stop.” She told him as she looked down at the floor. “Just…stop trying to make me feel better about myself when I know there has to be something fundamentally wrong with me.”

“Katie,” he stepped into her and hooked his finger under her chin, pushing her head up but she didn’t look at him. “Look at me, Sweetheart.” She lifted her eyes to his. “You…are a uniquely incredible woman.”

“If I’m so incredible why do I always end up alone?” she asked.

In that moment all he wanted to do was kiss her, take her to his room and show her just how perfect he thought she was, but he also knew that after everything she had been through in the past few months, despite the fact that she had flirted back with him tonight, her heart was hard as stone and it wouldn’t change anytime soon.

He sighed as he moved his hands to her hips and leaned down, his face just a few inches from hers. “I wish I could assure you that you are not alone and you never will be, but you do not need to be force fed any more lies.” She bit her lip to keep from crying and nodded. When he tilted his head slightly she thought he was going to kiss her, but instead, he pressed his lips to her cheek. “Goodnight, Katie.” He let her go and left her alone.

Not feeling like going home she grabbed the bottle of half drank alcohol and headed to the kitchen. Rebekah came in and found her eating a pint of strawberry ice cream she’d found in the freezer amongst other flavors she couldn’t stomach. “Sorry, I raided your stash.”

“It’s fine. I have plenty.” Rebekah told her as she grabbed a pint of buttered pecan then shut the fridge and grabbed a spoon. “I’m sure we could both use it after tonight.” she popped off the lid and threw it in the trash. “I’m sorry about your teacher. He seemed like a good guy.”

“He was. I’m sorry about your mom.” Katie answered as she played with the pink, slightly melted ice cream with her spoon.

“Are you staying here tonight?” Rebekah asked with a look at the clock.

Katie shrugged. “I don’t really feel like being alone in my house right now.”

“Well, you know where your room is at and I’m sure Nic won’t care if you stay.” Rebekah told her then started walking away, taking her ice cream up to her room. “Goodnight.”

“Night.” Katie called back. She grabbed the bottle of rum and took a drink then headed upstairs, grabbed a tank top and shorts and headed to the bathroom. After showering she laid down in bed and tried to go to sleep, but the way Klaus looked at her when he told her he intended on setting her ablaze, the feel of his hands on her while they danced, when he kissed her cheek after he killed Mikael, when he'd kissed her in this house before it had been renovated and when he kissed her cheek tonight filled her mind. The memories played in her head over and over until finally she sat up and brushed her fingers through her damp hair with an aggravated sigh.

She slipped out of bed and put on a satin robe then left the room and went out back to the garden that now had bright flowers where dead rose bushes had once been, taking a walk in the night air to clear her head. It worked for the most part, but on her way back to her room she noticed the light on in the parlor and her feet took on a mind of their own. They brought her to Klaus sitting on the couch, a sketch pad in his hand.

“You couldn’t sleep either?” she asked getting his attention and he snapped the book closed before she could see what he was drawing. With suspicious eyes she leaned on the back of the couch, putting her head next to his, looking at the book in his hand over his shoulder. “What were you working on?” she asked as she reached for the book, but he tucked it under his leg where she couldn’t get it. She gasped exaggeratedly, "Was it something dirty?”

“A little.” He answered, peaking her interest given her recent thoughts about him.

“Show me?” she asked.

He looked at her over his shoulder “No.”

“Is it Caroline?” she asked.

He scoffed. “No.”

“Please show me?” she asked with her best puppy dog eyes and a quiet laugh left his lips as pulled the book out from under his leg and opened it. She wrapped her arms around him and held the book in front of him. He looked at the book as she took in the drawing of one of the photos he’d seen of her on her phone. She realized that this was finished and not what he had been working on. So she flipped to the front of the book and found a sketch of her in the dress she wore to the homecoming dance. On the next page was just a picture of her face and shoulders, every detail was spot on. As she continued to flip through the book the pictures, that started off innocent, became more and more revealing until she came to the unfinished one at the end, a sketch of her and Klaus in her bed. He was nude sitting up on his knees with her in his lap, her long legs wrapped around him. His arms wrapped around her hid her breasts from view. Klaus noticed that her breathing changed and he couldn’t tell if she was pissed off or turned on. She closed the book and tossed it onto the coffee table then leaned further over the couch and slid one hand to hold the side of his neck and the other over his cheek, turning his head toward her. His eyes met hers a split second before she pressed her lips to his.

He instantly kissed her back, catching her bottom lip between his. Wanting a better angle he turned putting his back against the arm of the couch with his legs stretched across it then wrapped his arm around Katie’s waist, easily lifted her over the low back of the couch, never breaking the kiss, as he laid her on top of him. She braced herself with her hands on the leather arm of the couch behind him, lost in his kiss and the feel of his hands untying her robe. She pulled back and watched his face as he pushed it down her shoulders revealing that she wasn’t wearing a bra under her spaghetti strap tank top. He couldn’t resist slipping his hands up her shoulders then over her chest and cupping her breasts in his hands. A hum left her lips and pleasure shot through her when he pinched her nipples over the fabric making him chuckle as he let go of one of her breasts and pulled her back down to kiss him.

“Oh bloody hell!” Rebekah’s voice pulled them back down to reality and Katie tucked her face into Klaus’ neck, too embarrassed to look at Rebekah. Klaus on the other hand glared daggers at her. “How many rooms are there in this house?”

“Go away, Rebekah.” He told her aggravated.

“Gladly, get a room next time so I don’t feel like stabbing my eyes out. Yeah?” She told him then turned and walked away.

When Katie heard Rebekah’s stomping footsteps disappear upstairs she pulled her face out of Klaus’ neck and looked him in the eyes. Deciding that she wasn’t going to let Rebekah’s interruption ruin her night she stood up and held her hand out to him. He took it and let her lead him to her room. “Are you sure about this?” he asked as he watched her shut the door.

“All I’m sure about anymore is that I have been nothing but miserable since Elijah left. And tonight, when I was feeling lost and aimlessly driving around because I didn’t want to go home to a house that is filled with a thousand haunting memories, I ended up here.” She slipped her hands up his chest and held the sides of his neck. “I no longer believe in love nor do I want it. I do however,” she grabbed one of his hands in both of hers and started kissing his fingertips, “want your sexy hands to touch every inch of my body…” She brushed her lips over his fingertips then kissed his pointer finger, slipped it into her mouth and looked him in the eyes as she slipped it out, “and for you to let me feel every inch of yours.”

A heavy sigh left his parted lips as he smashed them into hers. A moan bubbled up from her throat when his tongue found hers. He grabbed her sides, picked her up and she wrapped her legs around him. As his lips attacked hers she wrapped her arms around his neck and he whooshed her back, pressing her against the wall. A growl left his lips as he attacked her neck with kisses and nibbles, pulling another moan from her lips.

When she pushed at the hem of his shirt he pulled away and looked into her eyes as he pulled it over his head and she did the same with her tank top. Desperate to have his lips back on her she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him to her catching his bottom lip between hers.

When she lightly bit his lip he moaned and whooshed them over to the bed, grabbed her hands from around his neck and pinned them down next to her head. A mixture of kisses and rough nibbles were trailed all over her neck and chest before he finally let go of one of her hands to cup her breast. She rolled them over and started undoing his belt, button and zipper.

As soon as she was done he rolled them back over losing his pants in the process then tugged her shorts and panties down her hips, tossing them haphazardly to the side. Wanting to see what he had envisioned in the drawing he sat up on his knees, running his hands down her thin sides over her curvy hips to grip her legs and wrap them back around him, admiring the sight before his eyes. Knowing what he wanted, she sat up. As she did he slid his big hands up her back until his palms were pressed to her shoulder blades.

She wrapped her arms around his torso and lightly ran her fingertips over his back making him sigh as he looked into her eyes and rested his forehead on hers. After a few seconds she noticed his gaze fall down to her chest and a smile spread over her lips. He looked back up at her with a smile of his own as he slid one of his hands around to her stomach then up, pausing when his thumb and pointer finger outlined the underside of her breast. He tilted his head, brushing her nose with his before he pressed his lips to hers.

A satisfied sigh slipped from his lips when she kissed along his jaw to his neck where she bit him without breaking the skin. His hand moved up, cupping her breast as he lightly pinched her nipple pulling a little whimper of pleasure from her as her head fell back and eyes slipped closed.

He watched her bite her bottom lip as she picked her head up and opened her eyes, looking into his as she grabbed the sides of his neck. Needing to taste her again he kissed her, his lips massaging hers before his tongue found its way into her mouth pulling a moan from her. Their hands explored each other as they made out.

Eventually when they both needed more Klaus slid his hands down her back, grabbed her butt and picked her up. Knowing what he was about to do she pulled back and looked into his eyes as he slowly lowered her down on him.

They both sighed in satisfaction then pressed their foreheads back together not breaking eye contact as he started moving her up and down. Eventually he laid her back and kissed her chest while one of her hands gripped his hair and the other gripped his back. “Klaus.”

His name rolling off her lips in a breathy moan nearly pushed him over the edge and he pulled away from her breast and looked her in the eye. Seeing the lust and pleasure in them let him know she was just as close as he was. “Let go for me, Sweetheart.” His whispered words were all it took to send both of them spiraling off into an intense state of pure pleasure.

As they came down from their high, both still breathing hard, she tucked her face into his neck and kissed it. After a minute he rolled onto his side, sat up, grabbed the sheet from the foot of the bed and pulled it up over them. When he looped his arm around her and pulled her into his chest she laid her head on his bicep and pressed her palms to his chest, content to cuddle in silence. But after ten minutes of he began to worry. “If you do not say something soon I’m going to assume you regret what just happened.”

She pulled back and looked him in the eyes. “I definitely don't regret what just happened.” she told him quietly with content smile and a shake of her head. “I’m just…still enjoying it.” He gave her a curious look. “At any given moment of any day my mind is racing ninety to nothing and here recently my mind has been a very dark, self loathing place.” He brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek, knowing what she was talking about all too well. “But in moments like this…my mind is tranquil. It may be weird, but I enjoy the calm of after just as much as the storm of during.”

“You…are a very interesting woman.” He told her as his eyes traveled her face. He called her interesting, but her mind suddenly went into overdrive and replaced the word with a thousand different ones all muttered in her grandfather’s hateful voice. She couldn’t tell the voice that he was wrong this time. Damon, Tyler, Elijah now Klaus all within a year's time? She was throwing herself around like a common whore. She frowned and dropped her eyes to his chest.

To silence the voice and get her head elsewhere she started kissing his chest, pulling a sigh from him when she kissed his nipple then a chuckle from him when she playfully bit it. She decided then that she liked the sound of his deep relaxed laugh and pulled away to look into his eyes. He hooked his fingers under her chin and ran his thumb over the corner of her mouth then looked at her eyes.

She grabbed his hand and pressed their palms together taking in the size difference. Thinking about his slightly obsessive drawings she propped her head up with her hand and elbow and asked, “So, how long have you been working on that sketch book?”

“Pretty much since you walked into that gym on senior prank night with a fire in your eyes and an I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude.” He answered. “Then seeing those pictures on your phone didn’t help nor did the noises that floated down the hall to my room when you were with Elijah. I’ve got to admit, I’m a little jealous I didn’t get those same wall shaking moans from you.”

“I doubt you ever will.” She answered, remembering blood sharing with Elijah.

“I’m not sure if I should take offense or accept the challenge.” He told her with a slight glare.

A cheeky grin brightened her face, her fingertips slipping up his arm and over his collarbone as she looked him in the eyes and whispered, "I think we would both enjoy it more if you accept the challenge." Her pointer finger slipped under his chin as she caught his lips with hers. His hand gripped the curve of her waist as the kiss deepened then slowed. When it broke he gripped her hip, slid his hand down to her thigh and pulled it over his hips, letting her feel and see by the look on his face what would happen if she kept teasing him. She laughed. "Seriously though, that wasn't meant to be a blow to your ego. My link to Elijah tends to enhance certain things.”

“Then maybe I should find a witch and have them link us.” he told her with a devious smile.

“Please, for the love of god, don’t.” she told him with an eye roll as she pushed his shoulder for him to lay on his back so that she was sitting on his lower stomach. “Because of that stupid link there have been times when I didn’t know what was organic and what was magic and I told myself it was all real because I desperately wanted it to be. But I no longer want head over heels, whirlwind, short lived, magically enhanced love that consumes me.”

“Then what do you want?” he asked, looking her up and down, admiring her naked body.

“This.” She fell forward bracing herself on her hands on each side of his head. “You. Real.” she kissed his cheek, “Raw.” the side of his neck, “No promises.” his collarbone, “No lies.” the hollow of his neck, “No expectations.” the center of his chest, “Just two people,” she bit his pec next to his nipple, "who fancy each other," then pecked him on the lips and looked into his blue eyes, "having fun." As she sat up, she slipped her hands down his chest settling them on his sides then looked at his face. “If that’s okay with you and you can handle the three no's of course.”

“That is more than okay with me, Sweetheart.” She gave him a look that told him to say out loud that he agreed to her terms. "You have been burned by promises and lies in the past and I do not wish to cram you into a mold of who I think you should be." He told her with a pointed look. "So no promises, no lies, no expectations. Only fun." He told her as he hooked his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her down to him, kissing her deeply and passionately. When the kiss broke he rolled over onto his side and propped his head up on his hand, looking at her. “I find you…" He started ghosting his fingers up her arm in thought.

"Weird?" She asked because that's what everyone always said about her.

"Intriguing." He finished as his fingertips moved lightly across her chest. "You were willing to die in the place of Elena's aunt even though you had everything to live for…you weren’t scared to die.” He told her with a confused shake of his head “You've also never been scared of me.” He grabbed her thigh and pulled her leg back up over his hips.

She slid her hand over his shoulder. “You’ve completely and utterly terrified me.” she absentmindedly drew invisible swirls over his arm with her fingertips.

“I stabbed you in the back and broke your neck that night. How can you even stand to be in the same room with me?” he asked. He wasn't complaining by any means, but he couldn't help being curious.

“I have an uncanny and very stupid, ability to over look the bad in people and only focus on the good.” She answered with a shrug. “I’ve learned over the past year or so that it’s a little too easy for me to turn a blind eye to the horrible things people do.” She looked at her fingertips slipping lightly over his arm. “And if I’ve learned anything since senior prank night, it’s that I am drawn to you.”

“And what good do you see in me that draws you in.” He asked as he slipped his hand over her hip, to her fleshy rear.

She looked up at him with a frown. “I don’t know what draws me to you…I don’t think it’s necessarily anything good or bad…” She paused, thinking about what she wanted to say. “But I know why I can’t hate you like my ex friends do.” He gave her a look that asked her to keep talking. “When I look at you…I see an innocent version of you. He has been rejected, abused, hurt and thrown away far too many times and it’s caused him to be wrapped in a thick cocoon of anger, distrust, paranoia and hatred.” She told him and he blinked rapidly as if to hold back tears. “I see you…as mirror image of myself, but your side of the reflection has far more cracks, chips and complexities that I know I can not even begin to understand.” She looked down at her hands on his chest for a moment, feeling like she wasn't making any sense, then back into his blue eyes. “So if I hate you…it feels like I hate myself and who I could very easily become.” He just stared at her with wide eyes and when several long seconds passed she was sure she had gone too far…said too much and pissed him off. But he surprised her and pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that quickly deepened and turned passionate before he gripped her leg that was still over his hip and turned onto his back, taking her with him and letting her take the reins this time...

A/N: This is my favorite chapter to date and there are 50+ chapters to this story so far...Please tell me what you think. I love feedback. And I appreciate those who've recently expressed how much they like this story. :-)

[notapaladin]

they say before you start a war (you'd better know what you're fighting for) (redux)

“I will just expand Acatl’s part a bit,” I said. “I’m not totally thrilled with the ending,” I said. “This will be a quick project,” I said.

FIVE THOUSAND WORDS LATER...y’all get this. Tizoc successfully executes Acatl during Harbinger of the Storm, and Teomitl will do anything to bring him back. Including hand over his own soul.

Original version here.

Also on AO3.

-

His knees hurt, and the stone under them was cold. It was an absurd detail to focus on when he was bound hand and foot with the executioner looping a garrote around two meaty fists next to him, but that was what stuck in Acatl’s mind. He was going to die, and his knees hurt. And, to add insult to injury, he was going to go to his death with his hair badly in need of a wash and something stuck in his back teeth. He prodded it with his tongue. It didn’t help at all.

He took one deep breath. Another. Any one could be his last. He was careful to keep them deep and even; he would not die sobbing and hyperventilating, begging for mercy. Though it be jade, it is crushed; though it be precious gold, it crumbles. For we do not live forever on this earth, but only for a little while.

A hand in his hair yanked his head up, and the cord came to rest loosely around his neck. He took another breath. Mihmatini. Teomitl. I’m sorry.

If only he’d had more time. His siblings would mourn him, he knew, but they knew he loved them. He’d said all he needed to say there. Teomitl was a different story. When he’d first agreed to teach him the magic of living blood, he’d never expected to feel so strongly for him. True, he’d grown fond of him quickly, but that had been very nearly against his will. His heart had been locked up so tightly for so long that the first crack in the stone had felt like the walls of the Sacred Precinct crumbling around him. At first, it had been terrifying. Over the past year, however...

Well. He didn’t think he could rightly call his feelings fondness anymore. Teomitl was stubborn as a rock and prickly as a cactus, but more and more Acatl had felt something soften like wax in his chest whenever he looked at him. Pride? Affection? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that it made his heart beat faster. That Teomitl’s radiant smile always brought an answering one to his own face. That when Teomitl looked even the slightest bit disappointed, the urge to pull him into his arms was near-overwhelming. That Teomitl was the most beautiful young man he’d ever seen. And now it would forever be a mystery. Now he would die, and Teomitl would never know that he might...he might...

His heart hammered against its prison of ribs, twisting nauseatingly as the realization struck. I might be in love. And I can never tell him.

Now his eyes were burning with unshed tears, and he forced them back with pure effort of will. This was a good thing. Teomitl was his student, a dozen years his junior, and courting his sister. There was no way he’d react well to learning his teacher had conceived a passion for him. He would die before he could be tempted to reveal what he’d learned and ruin the relationship they’d so painstakingly built. Teomitl would never be burdened with that knowledge. If he survived this, he would marry Mihmatini without guilt, and they would have a dozen children. Acatl could picture them now.

“And so the traitor falls.”

Oh, Duality preserve him. Instead of trying to fill his mind with calming thoughts of his family or his god, he was going to spend his last moments on earth listening to Tizoc gloat. Of all the indignities heaped upon him, this was one he knew he didn’t deserve. Somehow, he found words enough to snarl, “Hurry up.” It came out as a slurred rasp.

Tizoc smirked at him. He shut his eyes, but he could still hear the smug glee in his voice. It made him want to be sick. Throwing up on Tizoc’s sandals would even be satisfying; too bad the bastard was out of the likely splash zone. “And which of us is on his knees, priest? Which of us has betrayed the Mexica Empire with his words and deeds? It surely isn’t me; you know I’ve always worked for the good of Tenochtitlan, despite your efforts to obstruct my path. I do hope you’ll find an ample reward for your pains in the hereafter.”

There was more after that, but Acatl wasn’t paying attention. The cord was starting to draw tight. One more breath. Another. The darkness behind his eyelids was starting to flash. Another breath—no—he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t breathe. He bucked and jolted instinctively, eyes fluttering open in time to catch blurred images of Quenami and the She-Snake watching him; if he’d had his hands free, he knew he would be clawing his fingers to ribbons against the tough cord.

I can’t—

He needed air. He needed air and there wasn’t any, he was choking, he was going to die—

It wouldn’t be Tlalocan that awaited him, he knew, despite the manner of his death. A High Priest could go no other place than the realm of their patron. After this, he rather thought it would be a relief. At least in Mictlan, he could rest. Lord Death was always fair. Lord Death would let him fade the way his body was stubbornly refusing to.

No. It’s over. It’s over. I’m—only hurting myself—

His eyes snapped open as a twist of the cord sliced into his throat, feeling the sting and the trickle of upwelling blood. The sun blazed down, bathing the courtyard in light. For a moment, he could focus—there was Tizoc smirking, and there was Quenami with a twist to his mouth—but then the darkness flooded his vision again, and though he kept his eyes open he saw nothing.

This was it, then. He thought he should probably be afraid; maybe it was the lack of air that was making it so difficult for him to struggle. His limbs felt like stones, the hammering of his heart echoing like a drum through his ribcage.

The cord bit deep, but it no longer hurt.

He couldn’t feel his own limbs or heartbeat anymore. Soon, he couldn’t feel the cord either. Here at the end, there were no prayers to Lord Death he could offer. But then, he’d be seeing Him soon enough. He hoped Ichtaca wouldn’t be too overworked.

As he faded, he thought he heard the ahuitzotls’ song. And then...

Darkness.

&

Acatl’s knives burned at Teomitl’s hips, sending bile up into his throat and frozen emptiness down into his stomach, but they hadn’t yet damaged Huitzilopochtli’s wards woven over his skin and so he welcomed the pain. It was agony, but it spurred him onwards. He couldn’t afford to slow down or lose his focus, not even for an instant. Even that much of a delay would be too much time in which Acatl was in mortal danger. If he was late...

He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he was late. Part of him cursed Nezahual; if he hadn’t run out of power merely getting them out and finding them a boat, they’d have Quetzalcoatl’s magic to speed them on their way. Southern Hummingbird blind him, they’d probably even be safe by now. He could at this instant have been on a boat to safety in Tlacopan or Texcoco or gods, anywhere in the sea-ringed world as long as Acatl was in his arms. Instead there was only him and the ahuitzotls, who were still fast on land but not fast enough. He wished desperately that he’d been blessed by Mixcoatl instead, Lord of the Hunt, but there was no helping that now.

Instead, he prayed to them all, hoping desperately that fervor would make up for not daring to stop and offer his own blood. Gods, please. Please, I’ll build so many temples, I’ll cover you in gold, the blood of eagles, the hearts of jaguars—just let me save him.

They didn’t answer. He kept running. Down the corridor, through one room and another, turning when the sparks of Acatl’s knives sang close, close, and then he was bursting through the entrance curtain and for a heartstopping second he couldn’t move.

There was his brother, smug grin slipping into surprise as he registered the interruption. There was Quenami, backing away with his empty hands raised as though that would save him. There was the swirl of a black cloak around the far corner—the She-Snake, fleeing like a coward. There were even a few guards, looking panicked as they drew their weapons. And in the center of the courtyard was the executioner loosening his garrote to let Acatl fall bonelessly to the ground, eyes blank and unseeing. Dead. Dead. He didn’t need the rattling chill of the knives to tell him that.

No. No. Nonononono—

Teomitl’s mind was a whirlwind of horror and pain, but he’d been in enough campaigns now that his body knew exactly what to do. He couldn’t feel his hands, but that didn’t matter.

He drew his sword and opened himself to Chalchiuhtlicue’s power.

It felt like being at the bottom of the lake; it always did, but this time the water numbed him. He saw the world through lake water, through the eddying rush of a streambed. His heart pulsed like ripples on the shore. When he breathed, he tasted algae; inside his head, the ahuitzotls’ song rose in a chorus, threatening to drown out his thoughts.

In Tlalocan, the Verdant Land, we hunt In Tlalocan, the Verdant Land, we consume...

He sucked in a hard, painful breath and wrestled them back into submission. It had been harder since Axayacatl’s death, when his world had tilted; now that it was entirely inside-out, shattered irreparably, it was nearly impossible. He might not have managed it if he hadn’t given them their favorite command. Kill. Kill them.

They leapt to obey. He was only vaguely aware of their rush forward; the executioners and guards screamed as his beasts descended on them in a flood of snapping teeth and grasping claws, but he didn’t bother pitching in. The ahuitzotls had them well in hand. He tasted blood in his own mouth, felt the slick red heat of flesh tearing under his own claws—no, hands. He had hands, and they held a sword. And he had a job to do. The rabble didn’t matter. Even when one took a swing at him, he parried it without looking; all his attention was on Tizoc.

Tizoc, who had just slain Acatl. Tizoc, who was unarmed. Tizoc, who was trying to speak, as though anything he said could possibly bring Acatl back, could undo what he’d done.

“So you have betrayed me!” It sounded like it was coming from underwater.

It was just possible that, if he’d been contrite, he might have earned a few more seconds of life. Unlikely, but possible. But this? This—vindication, as though he was saying he’d been right, and he’d die being right? Teomitl inhaled sharply, feeling it scorch his lungs. “No.”

And then he swung his sword in an upward arc, feeling it cleave flesh and bone; something snapped off in Tizoc’s sternum on the way to the heart, but that was alright. He’d fix it later. Hot blood sprayed his face as Tizoc screamed and screamed and screamed, and some knot in his chest eased. Now I’ve betrayed you. It would take him a good, long time to die.

He turned away, lifting his head. The executioner and both guards were down, ahuitzotls feasting messily and adding the stench of entrails to the heavy odor of blood. They’d left a space around...around Acatl, and ice threatened to flood his veins. I’ve failed. Acatl, I’ve failed you. He wanted to crumple in on himself, wanted to curl around Acatl’s corpse and weep like a child. If he’d been minutes earlier, Acatl would still be alive. Avenging him, killing Tizoc—he knew, deep in his soul, that Acatl would have urged him not to. He would have urged him to consider the strength of the Mexica Empire and his own safety. Now he never would again. Grief rose like knives in his throat.

But he couldn’t give in to it, not yet; there was one foe in the courtyard he hadn’t yet accounted for. He could just make out Quenami huddling frozen and wide-eyed half behind a pillar, frantically trying to trace a glyph on the ground. He recognized the words of a spell on his lips, but that didn’t deter him. It would never be cast. He remembered the sight of a blade at Acatl’s throat with a sharp, sick swell of rage. Quenami had had the nerve to smile when dragging Acatl to his death. Teomitl would carve that smile from his face.

Water flowed around him even this far from the lake, washing Tizoc’s blood from his skin and lending him speed as he charged, sword raised. Quenami was frozen in fear, he could simply cleave his head from his shoulders and that would end it—

Again, he was too late. The strike slammed against glittering golden wards raised in the nick of time; as they spiderwebbed, a wordless scream tore its way free of his throat. His ahuitzotls screamed with him, abandoning their meals to circle this new target. He swung again, and the wards broke.

Quenami’s voice wavered—rank terror, not the ripples of Jade Skirt’s magic in his ears. If Tizoc’s death throes hadn’t died down to gurgling whimpers, he might not have heard it. “My lord...Teomitl-tzin, please!”

Please, he says. Rage threatened to choke him. Only his own self-control kept his hand steady, but the obsidian edge of his macuahuitl was pressed into Quenami’s neck just shy of drawing blood and it was extremely tempting to press harder. He wasn’t sure why he hesitated.

No, that was a lie. He knew why. Because Acatl, damn him, would have cautioned him against reckless slaughter. Would have warned him about the boundaries, about the safety of the Fifth World, about the godsdamned star demons trying to devour them all. If Coyolxauhqui truly was controlling them somehow, they would need the High Priest of Huitzilopochtli no matter what he’d done. But Acatl wasn’t here anymore to gainsay him, was he?

Would you have listened if Acatl had begged for his life? If he had asked to be spared, before you slew him? “Why? Why should I let you live?” His hand was still steady, but his voice shook. He would not cry in front of this bastard, this dog’s son who had torn his heart from him. He would not. Acatl is dead. He is dead, and it’s because of you. I will carve out your heart for his funeral pyre.

Quenami swallowed hard, meeting his eyes. Blood trickled down his neck from where the edge of the sword bit into his flesh. There was fear in his face, yes, but also a stone-hard resolve. “I can bring him back.”

He took an unconscious step backwards, feeling the edges of his grief crumble under the first light touch of hope. If he’s telling the truth. If...I could have Acatl back...

“...Speak.”

&

Quenami spoke. Indeed, once he was no longer in immediate danger it was difficult to get him to stop. There was a ritual, apparently; a secret passed down through Huitzilopochtli’s clergy from one High Priest to the next. Often it involved making a body of maize and amaranth dough, but given that Acatl’s remains were all in one piece they would be able to dispense with that step. All they would need to do—a trifle, really—was go down into Mictlan and convince Lord Death to relinquish Acatl’s soul. The hardest part would be opening the way, for which Quenami ordinarily required the other High Priests. Given the present circumstances, Ichtaca and the Guardian of the Duality would need to stand in for Acatl—Ichtaca for his connection to the underworld, and Mihmatini for raw power.

Mihmatini. Thinking of her brought another pang to Teomitl’s heart. They’d made plans to send her away for her own safety, but she hadn’t left for Popocatepetl yet. She would have to be informed of her brother’s death and the part she would play in his resurrection. Teomitl doubted it would comfort her much. It certainly wasn’t comforting him.

Acatl was dead. Teomitl had slashed the bonds around his cold limbs and closed his sightless eyes with shaking hands, cursing himself all the while that this was the tenderest touch he could offer, here where it no longer mattered. He should have spoken up when he had the chance, but what had he done instead? Picked stupid fights, clung blindly to his faith in the older brother who had once been admirable, failed to see the kind of man Tizoc was until it was far too late. If this works, he thought, I will lay the full truth of my heart at your feet and beg for your forgiveness.

Other people handled the cleanup after the slaughter, but that wasn’t Teomitl’s concern. He stood on the sidelines and watched as they gathered up the bodies and cleaned up the blood. There were questions. The She-Snake and the rest of the council showed up to answer them, with many sidelong glances in his direction. He hadn’t yet bothered to wash the blood from his skin. It seemed unnecessary.

Eventually Nezahual strode in, directing his warriors to place themselves at Tenochtitlan’s disposal. As he strode over to Teomitl’s darkened corner, Teomitl looked up from his idle study of the tops of his sandals to meet his eyes. Certainty filtered through the numbness. If he gives his condolences, I’m going to stab him.

“Teomitl.”

He held up a hand. “Don’t.” Not that he’d had enough bloodshed—Acatl was dead, he could float the city on a lake of blood and it still wouldn’t be enough—but if this worked, Acatl would probably be upset with him for maiming an allied Revered Speaker. Even if it was terribly, terribly tempting.

“I wasn’t going to.” But the way Nezahual’s eyes widened suggested he’d been thinking it.

“Good.”

Unfortunately, Teomitl’s curtness didn’t make the little bastard leave. No, instead he took a step closer and lowered his voice. “Is it true what I’m hearing? That Quenami can restore him to life?”

His heart gave a hard, painful lurch in his chest. He’d been trying not to think about that. Quenami had sounded so certain, but what if that was only self-preservation? What if he was only telling Teomitl what he wanted to hear? No, he thought finally. He wasn’t desperate enough for that. At least, not after Teomitl had taken the sword away from his throat. “He says it is.”

“Hmm. Hmmm.” Nezahual glanced away, stroking his chin. Teomitl forbore mentioning that it was an incredibly stupid-looking gesture on a youth who couldn’t grow a proper beard yet. Finally, he looked back at him and in a quiet, serious voice asked, “Can I help?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?” You had your chance, and your strength ran out when you might have prevented this. Do you think I’ll let you fuck it up again? Somehow, he managed to keep that behind his teeth.

Nezahual hesitated. “...I confess to feeling...somewhat responsible for Acatl’s current situation. I would not have this drive a wedge between us.”

Teomitl sucked in a hard breath. “No.”

“No?” He tilted his head like a snake, eyes just as cold.

Maybe it was stupid of him to rebuff him. No, he knew it was stupid, and he didn’t care. He could apologize later when his chest wasn’t full of knives. Right now, the idea of spending any more time in Nezahual’s presence made him want to kill something. Mihmatini and the priests would be strong enough. They’d pull Acatl’s soul out of Mictlan themselves. “You’ve done enough,” he spat.

Before it could deteriorate further, he spun on his heel and stalked away. Tears stung the corners of his eyes. He picked up the pace, almost running through the palace. Servants and nobles alike took one look at him and nearly dove out of his way—a good thing, because he wasn’t stopping. Anger and grief turned a tight whirlpool in his chest, keeping him on his feet. If he stopped to dwell on it, he would fall apart. He couldn’t do that yet. When Acatl is alive, he thought. When he breathes again, I’ll let myself remember this day.

Mihmatini waited for him in the Duality House. He was struck by how normal she looked, surrounded by slaves and underlings. The sun shone down upon her, clear and bright—it was a beautiful day, when there should be storms to match the one in his heart—and she wore a sleeveless blouse embroidered with flowers. Looking at her, he might almost think the world was alright again.

“I...” he began, and stopped. Just that one word was already bringing tears to his eyes.

She got to her feet, searching his face for something she didn’t find. Her own expression crumbled, but her voice was shockingly steady as she asked, “Acatl?”

He shook his head mutely.

“...So it’s true,” she whispered, and threw herself into his arms.

He held her tightly enough that it had to hurt, but she only wrapped her arms around him and shook silently, without tears. Somehow that made it worse; if she’d sobbed, he might have been able to wipe them away and feel a little more useful. Instead he buried his face in her hair, shut his eyes, and focused on his breathing. In. Out. In again. Slowly. No hyperventilating, or he would be the one weeping. And if he started, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop. Again he reminded himself, Not yet.

Finally she sucked in a noisy breath and released him, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with the back of her hand. I should have taken Tizoc apart piece by piece. Out loud, he said, “We need to talk.” Her entire body jolted, and he belatedly thought he could have phrased that better. “It’s not bad. It’s about—him.” He still couldn’t manage Acatl’s name.

She inhaled slowly and nodded, meeting his gaze. “I’ll take you to a private chamber. Follow me.”

He followed.

The room she led him to was bare and impersonal, with a colorful pattern on the wall he was far too unfocused to make out. The only thing that mattered was the expression on Mihmatini’s face—grief-tight, with eyes like flint. He couldn’t find words at first; when he did, he was surprised at how steady he sounded. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. “Quenami says he can be brought back. There’s a ritual. To—to pull his soul out of Mictlan and place it back in his body again. We need you.”

She stared at the floor. He saw her fists clench, knuckles going white in the folds of her skirt. “And you trust him?”

“No.” Not even as far as I can throw him. He took a breath and continued, “But it’s all we have. I...I was too late to save him, Mihmatini, I saw him fall.” Then his voice did break, and he shut his mouth before it could turn into a sob. Acatl’s skin had been so cold.

Mihmatini closed her eyes. “How...?”

He saw it again in his mind’s eye, that horrible ring around Acatl’s throat. The words floated up from far away. “...The flower garland.”

She took a slow, deep breath. He felt the magic of the Duality pulse within her, the thread connecting them flaring up like a line of fire. “Acatl wouldn’t want anyone to go through that. But if this fails...if it’s some sort of trap...I’m twisting the rope around Quenami’s neck myself.”

Some things never changed. He found he could breathe a little easier. “It won’t fail. It can’t. But if it does, you’ll have to. I killed the executioner.”

“And your brother.”

There was no judgment in that voice, but he felt something twist in his chest anyway. His nails bit into his palms as he snarled, “Acatl died of Tizoc’s—of his paranoia and incompetence! He killed him, as surely as if he’d done it with his own two hands. I’d do it over and over and be glad about it!” The emotion was too much. He had to shut his mouth, chest heaving. I wish I’d taken my time about it. See how many parts I could remove before he died.

Mihmatini was watching him, eyes shrewd. “You love my brother, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

For a shameful heartbeat, he thought of lying. Like a brother, he could say. Or, Of course, he’s my honored teacher. But he knew there was no use—Mihmatini’s words and tone had made it all too clear that she’d looked at him and seen straight to the core of his heart. He couldn’t deny it. Not when Acatl was dead and she was here, waiting for him to speak truthfully. He could give her nothing else.

Dropping his gaze to the mat and feeling his face catch fire, he whispered, “...I do. I’m sorry.”

She frowned at him. “For what?”

The question was so unexpected that for a moment all he could do was gape at her. Horror. Anger. A broken heart. He’d expected any one of those reactions. There was simply no good way to tell the woman you might marry that you were in love with her brother, not and still keep her in your life. And he liked Mihmatini—as a friend, if nothing else. He’d been looking forward to marriage and raising their children together, even though the secret he’d harbored would surely tear them apart if he let it slip. But she’d neither struck at him nor burst into tears, and so—at a loss for words—he spluttered, “I—you—he’s your brother—”

She sat back. Whatever she saw in his expression made her face relax into something less precarious than it had been. “I can share. If you think you can make him happy.”

“...I can try.” The wise thing would probably be to reassure her that she would always have the first place in his heart, but he wasn’t sure if that had ever been true. A sizeable chunk, certainly. But the first place had been reserved for Acatl since the moment the man had first bandaged his wounds after a lesson, hands cool and gentle, and he couldn’t see that changing. Acatl made him want to be stronger. More patient. Better. The least he could do in response would be to gladden the man’s heart. Once it beats again.

The frown was back. “Are you going to tell him?”

“I. Uh.” The vow he’d sworn suddenly felt like a much more uncertain thing. There’s no way he feels the same. Does he? What if he hates me for it? But Mihmatini knows her brother; she wouldn’t suggest if she thought it would bring him pain... He chewed hard on the inside of his gold lip plug, but for once the action didn’t help.

By the way she looked at him, his distress was obvious, but her voice held no pity or scorn. Thank the gods. “You should.”

He squared his shoulders and met her eyes. “I will.” They would bring Acatl back. He would breathe again, smile again, walk under the sun with his family again. And Teomitl would lay his heart at his feet, and if he was fortunate—please the Duality, let him be fortunate!—Acatl would pick it up. He refused to favor the idea of any other outcome with so much as a passing thought.

“Good.” Now she was almost smiling, and some pain-tightened corner of his heart relaxed. “He deserves that. He deserves...so much.” For a terrifying second her voice sounded watery, but then she squared her chin and added, “But you’ll do.”

It took a moment for him to register it as a dry attempt at humor, and the chuckle that came out had more in common with a sob. Oh, Mihmatini. What would we do without you?

She took a deep breath, wiping at her eyes. “Take me to Quenami. Whatever this ritual needs, I’ll do it.” After a moment she added, “And please don’t let me kill him until after we’re done.”

That settled it. If she’d still have him after all this, he was definitely marrying her.

&

The ritual needed a great many things. Acatl’s corpse needed to be washed and laid out—straight, not curled for a burial—and a suitable space prepared. Mictlantecuhtli’s temple handled that, watched over by a gray-faced and nearly silent Ichtaca in full regalia. Not Acatl’s, thank the gods, but something with almost as many owl feathers and clicking bone beads. Slaves brought the beasts they would need to sacrifice; Quenami moved gingerly among them, tallying cages of owls and hummingbirds and a huge, ill-tempered heron. Mihmatini carried armfuls of flowers for the Duality, the orange of marigolds and the red blossoms of plumeria the only color in the room.

Teomitl had never been in the temple’s innermost sanctum before, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about his surroundings when a single wrong move might put Acatl beyond his reach forever. He stood by, forcing himself not to fidget as the fog of centuries of Mictlan’s magic sizzled against his skin. It very much did not care for the residue of Huitzilopochtli’s wards, even though those had been ritually removed to make his job easier. Across the room stood Neutemoc, who hadn’t spoken a word since arriving with Mihmatini nearly an hour ago. At least there was one other person who would much rather be fighting a dozen star demons at once than standing here waiting. There was very little he could do; it was up to Quenami to sacrifice the hummingbirds and trace the glyph for Four Jaguar while Acamapichtli did the same with the heron and the glyphs for Four Water and Four Rain. Ichtaca, knife in hand, took care of the owls and Four Wind. Four glyphs for the worlds that had come before, and living blood to bind them all into the spell. Finally Mihmatini stepped forward, slashed her earlobes, and added her blood and the flowers to their work.

Quenami had the job of cutting a circle into the floor to enclose the space. He paused, gaze sweeping the room—how dare he, they couldn’t afford to waste time—and lighting on Teomitl’s face, heedless of his furious glare. Someone had bandaged the cut on his neck. “Only one of you can go into Mictlan. This is not my realm, and I cannot widen the path. It can’t be Ichtaca; he needs to hold the way for us here.”

Teomitl didn’t need to think about it. “I’ll go.”

Another voice echoed his; confused, he looked up to see Neutemoc take a step forward, face set with grim determination. He met Teomitl’s eyes as he continued, “He’s my little brother.”

“He’s my—” Friend seemed inadequate, teacher too base. Beloved was something he couldn’t allow himself to think lest he break. It was easier, safer, to reach for other justifications, and they came easily to him in the memory of Mazatl’s curious hands and Ollin’s gummy smile. “What of your children, if this fails? Will you leave them orphans? Stay here, and let me bring Acatl-tzin back.”

Neutemoc studied him for a long moment, searching for something in his face. Eventually he seemed to find it and stepped back with a satisfied nod. “You’d better.”

As Quenami knelt to close the circle, Teomitl moved to take his prescribed position kneeling by Acatl’s head. He didn’t look down. He couldn’t bear to see that face waxy and still, not now.

A dog’s throat was slit, and the hymns began. He let the words wash over him; as the chants rolled on, the world around him started to fall away. Mindful of instructions, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, feeling the temperature drop. The air took on the stale smell of a thousand years of dust and the reek of decay, acidic emptiness scouring the back of his throat. He had a moment to be glad he hadn’t eaten anything, and then his head was swimming too much for him to think. The only thing anchoring him to life was his heartbeat, steady and strong.

Beat.

Beat. He was weightless, floating.

Beat.

A cold, wet nose nudged his palm, and he opened his eyes to a field of black stone, gray dust, and a sky precisely one shade lighter. The dog that had been sacrificed was sitting in front of him, tail sending up little clouds every time it thumped. There was wet crimson blood in its yellow fur, colors leaching to gray in light that seemed to come from nowhere and cast indifferent shadows.

It trotted off. He followed.

He very quickly lost track of how long he’d been walking. There were no landmarks here; he was walking the same path Acatl’s soul had walked at the moment of his death, and a High Priest didn’t have to contend with the rivers of blood and plain of knives that the common rabble did. Part of him was disappointed, for at least it would have been some measure of progress. The rest of him knew he wouldn’t have made it through so much as an overly deep puddle. He’d thought carrying Acatl’s knives was bad, but it was nothing to actually walking through Lord Death’s realm.

The air sapped all joy and hope from his soul, leaving only the grim certainty that he had to keep going. Even anger was too much effort; the heat of it was simply no match for the gnawing emptiness in his chest and the tremor in his limbs. Tears welled in his eyes, but he was too listless to blink and let them fall. Cold seeped through his veins and slowed his heart.

At least he could still feel it beating. He could take some comfort in that. Acatl, wait for me. I’m coming for you.

The dog seemed to know where it was going. Though obsidian shards bit through his sandals and bloodied his feet, they left no marks on its paws. He kept walking, one foot in front of the other; blood was a small price to pay for Acatl’s soul. He would offer his heart if he thought it would help. There was nothing else he could do for him now.

But oh, he was so cold. He was cold, and shivering sounded like too much work. Maybe he should rest for a while—yes, that sounded like a wonderful idea. There was a rock up ahead that had twisted itself into something vaguely like a tree, perfect to lean on.

He staggered towards it, slipping in his own blood, and fell facedown in the dust. It hurt. He couldn’t bring himself to care; the relief of letting the earth support his body was too great. Acatl could wait a little longer, surely. Surely...

Teeth fastened in his wrist, pain jangling up his arm. His eyes snapped open on instinct, free hand going for the sword he wasn’t wearing before he realized it was the dog tugging pointedly at his forearm with a growl that seemed to say, If you aren’t going to walk to Lord Death’s throne, then I will drag you there. It let him pull his arm free and stand up, but kept up its low, discontented rumble.

He felt like growling himself. Fool that I am, how could I have forgotten? I can rest later.

They walked on. His wrist throbbed in time with the beat of his heart, tethering him to the world and to his mission. He would not fail. The road stretched on before him, and all he had to do was keep walking. One step. Another. Another. His sandals were soaked with blood, making him slip; annoyed, he kicked them off and continued on. He’d walk forever if he had to.

And then the ground shifted, warped, folded, and he stood before a dais made of bones where the world was filled with rot and ashes.

Somehow, he’d expected a temple; instead, Mictlantecuhtli’s and Mictecacihuatl’s thrones looked as though they’d grown out of the ground. Bundles of femurs formed the low arms, and the seats were made of a collection of pelvises bound with curved jawbones. Lord and Lady Death lounged side by side, watching him with an expression of amused indulgence on their sunken, skeletal faces. Like I’m a dog that might be taught to perform clever tricks, he thought without much heat. He knew he should probably bow. He couldn’t make his knees bend.

Mictecacihuatl tilted Her head, studying him. “Well, well. What brings you to Our throne, little mortal?”

He’d never been good at speeches. It was something he’d been meaning to study, especially if he meant to move up through the ranks, but now there was no time. Besides, if They were like Acatl, They’d appreciate plain language more. “Acatl-tzin. Your High Priest. Where is he?”

“Ah.” She met Her husband’s eyes, and they shared a long look. She settled back on her throne, a fan of scapulas sprouting up behind Her, and said, “We have taken him into Our home, as is Our right and privilege. He has assumed his proper place at the foot of Our throne.” She gestured expansively, and he followed the movement to something he hadn’t noticed before.

There, just in front of and between the two thrones, was a tiny, fluttering moth under a thin dome of dust and air. He felt his heart stutter in his chest. “Acatl.” A wild thought seized him—grab him and run—but he knew he wouldn’t get far in Mictlantecuhtli’s domain. He’d be lucky even to feel the brush of wings against his skin.

He spun back to meet the gods’ gazes. “My Lady, My Lord, please reconsider. The Fifth World needs him back. We can’t—” The star demons. The boundaries. My empire. “We’ll fall without him.”

“Worlds have fallen before.” Mictlantecuhtli drummed His fingers on the arm of His throne, bone clattering on bone. “We have endured. We will always endure. Why should We give up such a loyal and well-beloved High Priest only to run the risk of him being killed again?”

Because I won’t let it happen again. Ever. He blinked dry eyes, feeling them prickle with dust. His eyes darted to where Lord and Lady Death sat on Their thrones, desiccated fingers almost touching. Even in their most formal attitudes, They leaned ever so slightly towards each other. Slowly, the words came to him. “Of all the gods, You know love best. My Lord...if My Lady were taken from You...”

“All existence would know My wrath until She was returned.” Mictlantecuhtli’s voice had all the finality of the grave, and Teomitl watched as His hand moved to cover His wife’s. “And is this why you are here, begging for Our priest’s life to be restored? For love?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “I never got to tell him.” It came out in a breath, barely audible over the breeze.

The gods shared another long look. Teomitl didn’t dare move. He willed his heart to beat quieter, lest it disturb them. The gulf in his chest howled.

Finally, Mictlantecuhtli spoke. “We will release him into your care.” Teomitl thought His skull face was attempting a smile. It was a terrible thing to see on a face that was mostly bone and dried skin. “But there will be a price for you.”

“I’ll pay it.” Here, at last, there was no room for doubt or hesitation. Whatever You want of me. Anything. My heart? My body? My life? It will be Yours. Just let me walk with Acatl out of here, let me set him back in his body and tell him how I love him.

“Brave boy.” The ash rose, nearly blinding him; when it cleared, the little moth was fluttering gently in front of his face. “You may take Our High Priest’s soul, and settle it back in his living flesh, and it will be like he never died. But upon your death, though you may die in glorious battle, you will take his place here.”

He cupped his hands around Acatl’s soul, feeling its tiny feet alight on his fingers. His heart felt full to bursting. He is here. He’s here. We did it. “As you wish, My Lord—my Lady.”

Mictecacihuatl snorted, waving Her hand. “You have what you came for. Be off with you, feather of the Hummingbird.”

Feather of the—? “Wait,” he began, but before he could even formulate a question there was a quincunx shimmering into being under his feet. For a long moment he knew nothing, was nothing, and then he was falling through ash again and back into the temple sanctum.

Beat.

Between one heartbeat and the next, he was present in his own skin. It felt too warm and too tight after his sojourn in Mictlan, breath rasping through his lungs, but he was kneeling by Acatl’s head and holding his soul in his hands so nothing else mattered. He could die immediately, and still nothing else would matter.

No, that wasn’t true. He still had to tell Acatl how he felt.

“Did it—?“

“Teomitl!”

He ignored the outcry around him. Instead he lowered his hands to Acatl’s mouth, letting the moth fly out to brush against Acatl’s lips where it disappeared in a brief, soundless burst of air. For an excruciating moment nothing happened, and despair threatened to drag him under. Is there more? Have we failed after all?

And then life flooded Acatl’s skin, and he took a slow, shallow breath.

Teomitl wanted to cheer. He wanted to sob. He wanted to curl up around Acatl and go to sleep for a month. He did none of those things. Acatl’s face was practically in his lap, filling him with so much tenderness he thought he might die of it; before he could even think to remember his audience, he reached down and cupped Acatl’s cheek, revelling in the warmth of living blood under his hands.

Thank the gods. Thank you, Lord and Lady Death, for this gift of Acatl’s life.

Things started to move quickly after that. Acatl was borne on a stretcher to recuperate in the palace, where the She-Snake had arranged for a team of Patecatl’s priests to meet him. Teomitl wondered if they’d be any use or if they’d just stand around making concerned noises; being brought back from the dead was surely not common enough to warrant a page in their codices. He supposed that if nothing else, they could do something about what promised to be some truly spectacular bruising on his throat. He wanted to go with him—surely he couldn’t be expected to leave Acatl alone, no matter that Mihmatini refused to leave his side—but when he tried to stand up he almost fell over, and Neutemoc had to help him to his feet.

“Thank you,” he muttered, face burning.

Neutemoc squeezed his shoulder, a brotherly gesture he’d never gotten from his own brothers. His eyes were suspiciously wet. “You brought my brother back. I should be thanking you.”

There were still too many people around. He couldn’t fall to pieces yet. “I won’t accept it. Anyone would have done the same.”

Neutemoc gave him a dry look so reminiscent of Acatl that he felt his throat close up. Before he could do or say anything else emotional, he shrugged off his hand and left. Star demons or no, he needed to be out in the sunlight. He needed to remind himself that he was alive, that they’d won at least this small victory.

The sun fell across his shoulders like a warm blanket, and he soaked it in with his eyes closed for a long, blissful moment. Here, there were no star demons. Here, there was no yawning chasm of power in the Mexica Empire. Here, he didn’t need to worry about consequences or the things he had left to do. Tizoc was dead, and Acatl was alive. The sun woke answering warmth in his blood. He could pretend he was free.

Then he opened his eyes and stared up at the blue sky. The clear blue sky, with not a single errant star piercing through the fabric of the heavens. His mind went blank in shock. We don’t have a Revered Speaker. Nobody should be channeling the Southern Hummingbird’s power in the Fifth World right now. This shouldn’t be happening.

He blinked hard, rubbing his eyes, and took a second look. The sky remained clear. He squinted, trying to see if the tiny pale speck was a star or—no, it was just a cloud. The sky was still clear, and now his temples throbbed with the beginnings of a headache.

Footsteps behind him announced Quenami’s presence before the man spoke. “Well. Congratulations, my lord.”

He resisted the urge to whirl around and strangle the man with his bare hands. There’d be no point to it now that Acatl was alive. “Mn?” He didn’t mean to make it a question, but even for him Quenami was being obsequious.

Quenami chose his words with the air of a man picking his way through a field of obsidian knives. “Acatl has been restored to life thanks to you, and it...appears...that Huitzilopochtli has taken a liking to your bravery in walking into His enemy’s domain. Allow me to be the first to greet my new Revered Speaker-in-waiting.”

Oh. He stared down at his hands, seeing for the first time the faint tracery of gold glimmering over his skin, the warmth that he’d thought had just been the sun. In a manner of speaking, he’d been right. The Southern Hummingbird’s blessing. Is this what Mictecacihuatl meant? As he turned the idea over in his mind, his fists clenched. If the gods were choosing him for the office, then he would be worthy of it.

He would start by being honest. With himself, with Acatl, and with those less deserving.

“If you ever again address Acatl-tzin with less than full respect, Quenami, I will cut out your tongue.”

&

Darkness.

Pain.

It was the first thing that greeted Acatl as he swam up from the depths of unconsciousness. Everything hurt. His joints throbbed, his skin tingled, and his back ached. And his throat...his throat was the worst. It felt as though it had been squeezed shut, so sore and swollen that even breathing was agony. He lay flat on his back, staring at the inside of his closed lids, and tried to remember why that should be. The last thing he could recall with any certainty was the sham of a trial Tizoc and Quenami had put him through, where he’d been unable to mount even a few words in his own defense without drooling like an imbecile. And then...

The verdict. The flower garland. The courtyard. The ahuitzotls singing to him.

Teomitl.

He tried to stir, but at first his limbs refused to obey him. Alright then, he thought, small steps. Though it felt like moving an entire mountain, he could wiggle his toes. His fingers were next. His arms and legs felt constrained by something, but as he shifted he realized why. Instead of his own thin reed mat, he was laying on at least two thick new ones, and someone had covered him with a light cotton blanket like an invalid. He should have been sweating in the summer heat, but there was a chill sunken into his bones. The last thing he remembered was the garrote cutting off his breath. Swallowing brought a spasm of pain, a dry clicking noise, and the realization that he was desperately thirsty. “Mngh...”

“My lady? He’s waking.”

“Oh, thank the gods.” Mihmatini. She was safe, then. Whatever Tizoc had done, it hadn’t touched her. He thought she must be close by; he could hear the rustle of her skirts and smell the faint piney scent of copal incense. The small hand laid on his forehead was reassuringly warm. “Acatl, can you speak? How do you feel?”

“Grmngh.” He swallowed again. With another monumental effort, he wedged his eyes open. Mihmatini’s face swam into focus above him, pinched with worry but blessedly not bearing any injuries he could see. She’d braided her hair at some point, but now the simple plait was in disarray. The dark circles under her eyes looked bruised in the dim afternoon light, and there was fresh blood beading at her earlobes. I must be in terrible shape. “Sore,” he croaked, and then, “Water...?”

Water was brought, mixed with fresh-tasting medicinal herbs. He tried to push himself up and failed; his muscles were like softened rubber trying to move the cold, solid rock of his own flesh. Mihmatini’s hand at his back molded him into a more or less upright position so that he could drain the cup offered by a slave he recognized as Oyahuaca, ignoring both women’s concerned glances until he was hydrated enough to speak without feeling like he was gargling knives. It helped a little. Not much—gods help him, he was still so damnably weak, and his throat was in agony—but a little. He could think now, and with thought came questions. “What...what happened? Where’s Teomitl?” The ahuitzotls were singing. I know I heard them. Where they are, Teomitl wouldn’t be far behind.

Mihmatini shot a sharp look at Oyahuaca. “Fetch the Revered Speaker while I fill my brother in on what he’s missed.”

He heard the words, but they seemed to be slow in assembling themselves into a coherent sentence. The Revered Speaker? What did that have to do with Teomitl? Gods, he prayed they hadn’t elected Tizoc while he was indisposed. He couldn’t see that going well for anyone, not with that man’s paranoia given free reign. And Teomitl would surely be furious if that was the case, which wouldn’t improve the situation. He’d been in enough of a temper recently that Acatl really didn’t want to see what it looked like if it got worse. That wasn’t even mentioning the star demons. Was Tizoc even capable of channeling the Southern Hummingbird’s power? Somehow he doubted it, Master of the House of Darts or no. It would be just my luck to survive a garroting and immediately have my soul eaten by a star demon, he thought sourly.

It wasn’t until Oyahuaca rose and left at a pace that wasn’t quite a run that he managed to say anything. “Mihmatini.”

She took a deep breath, staring down at her hands. “Do you remember the courtyard? The—the flower garland?”

He nodded dully. It wasn’t likely he’d ever forget. His knees throbbed, a sense-memory of cold stone and naked fear. Of searing pain and darkness and the knowledge that he would die with things left unsaid. Knowing that he now had the chance to say them didn’t bring him any comfort. It wasn’t as though he realistically could, not if he expected a favorable outcome. “There were ahuitzotls.” And then there’d been nothing else. He’d blacked out, probably.

“Well.” She took another breath, hands clenching into fists. “The ahuitzotls were too late. You...” Oh no. There were tears in her eyes. “Teomitl arrived in time to see you die.”

No. His chest felt suddenly too tight, his hammering heart the only thing he could focus on. As if in a dream, he looked down at his hands and knew she was telling the truth. If he engaged his priestly senses, he could see the ghostly tendons and bones under his skin. The dry, cold, acidic emptiness of Mictlan gnawed sharp and vicious at his stomach, too close to the surface. He felt colder than ever. “I...”

I died. I died, and yet I am here. He sucked in a slow breath, tasting ash and herbs and cold water. Another breath brought the sour stench of the sickroom. He’d died. He’d died, and somehow he’d been brought back. Somehow he was here with a pounding heart and aches in all his bones, the pain further proof that he yet lived. Mihmatini sat close enough that he could feel her warmth; when he sniffed, the mingled scents of her perfume and a distant kitchen filled his nostrils. Someone was roasting chilies, and it made his stomach growl lightly. Alive.

Mihmatini was still talking, and he struggled to keep up with it. “He killed Tizoc on the spot. He would have killed Quenami, too, if that dog’s son hadn’t led the ritual to bring your soul back from Mictlan. After...after that, apparently the Southern Hummingbird made it known in no uncertain terms who He was choosing to wield His powers in the Fifth World, so the rest of the council elected to instate Teomitl as Revered Speaker.” She swallowed. “You’ve...you’ve been unconscious for a week. You missed his coronation.”

What?!

Teomitl was Revered Speaker? That was... Acatl shook his head in disbelief. He’s too young was his first thought, but immediately he knew that was wrong. He certainly wasn’t too young to take prisoners in battle, to be personally chosen by Huitzilopochtli. To be the man Acatl realized, with a sinking heart, that he was definitely still in love with, because the idea of Teomitl wearing the Turquoise-and-Gold Crown and still calling him Acatl-tzin, still looking to him for guidance, was doing something very strange to his emotions. He thought he might laugh. Or cry. Either was a distinct possibility.

It was too much. Mind spinning, he grabbed one thing out of the swarm of questions thronging his mind to focus on. He couldn’t handle politics now, not in the state he was in, but the workings of even the most esoteric magical rituals were refreshingly familiar. Even if they involved—ugh—Quenami. “Lord Death should not have released me. So...how...?”

A faint smile crossed Mihmatini’s face. “You should ask Teomitl about that when he arrives. He’s been very worried about you, no matter how many of us tell him that you’re recovering well. If it wasn’t for his coronation, I really don’t think he’d ever leave your side.”

He felt himself blush. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

She snorted and gently shoved at his shoulder, shaking her head. “I’m sure I’m not! He loves you more than he does me.”

He couldn’t possibly have heard that right. He sat in silence for a moment, willing the words to make sense. Mihmatini had to have said something else—meant something else. When she didn’t follow up with any sort of clarification and he realized she was looking at him for a reaction, he found his voice cracking in shock. “He—what?!”

“You heard me.” And now she was unmistakably smiling. For the first time in his life, Acatl wanted a cup with something significantly stronger than water.

It didn’t seem likely that he’d get it. She was still looking at him, seemingly happy as anything, and she’d just told him that the man she was courting was in love with him. He didn’t need to pinch himself—he was in quite enough pain that he knew perfectly well he had to be alive and conscious, thank you very much—but it still didn’t seem real. He couldn’t be that fortunate. He’d made his peace, hadn’t he? He’d determined already that he would go to the grave with his feelings rather than ruin the relationship Teomitl and Mihmatini were building.

Except he had gone to the grave. And somehow—he was not giving Quenami all the credit, he flatly refused, a man had to have some limits—he’d been pulled out of it. And now Mihmatini was telling him that Teomitl had been worried about him. That it had taken the long, painstakingly involved rituals of a royal coronation to pull him away from Acatl’s sickbed. That he loved him. “But you...he...” At a complete loss for words, he gestured in the air between them.

She shrugged carelessly. “Oh, the wedding is still on. We were waiting for you to wake. But I’m not first in his heart, and that suits me fine.”

He swallowed, another grinding flash of pain. Belatedly he remembered his water, and took a long gulp before answering. “...If you’re happy.” Regardless of whether she was the Guardian of the Duality or Teomitl’s wife, she’d always be his little sister. Her happiness was far, far more important to him than his own heart. Even if it seemed, amazingly, that he had nothing to fear.

“I am.” Her grin made her whole face glow. “And you?”

“What about me?” She didn’t know. He was entirely sure she didn’t know, not when he’d only realized it himself moments before he died.

She swatted him again. “Tizoc is dead, you’re alive, and you very definitely have the favor of our new Revered Speaker. The boundaries are safe. The star demons aren’t a threat anymore. I’d say that’s plenty enough to be happy about.”

He had to sit with that for a moment, still clutching his empty cup in both hands. She was right, of course. He was alive. They were safe. Teomitl was Emperor now, and he was no paranoid coward like his brother had been. No, instead he was brave and strong and whip-smart and he...Mihmatini said he might... Gods, he thought dizzily. He had thought there was no chance. He had died thinking there was no chance.

Mihmatini was looking at him. He choked out a grunt. It was the closest he could get to an actual response.

Someone was sprinting down the hallway outside. It was all the warning he got before the entrance curtain was yanked aside so roughly that it nearly came off its hanging rod; the cacophony of bells that announced the intrusion nearly drowned out the cry of, “Acatl-tzin!” that accompanied it. Teomitl stood in the doorway for a moment, relief plain on his face and the Turquoise-and-Gold Crown equally plain on his head.

Acatl couldn’t look away. He’s been crowned. He is my Emperor now. And he still...he still calls me Acatl-tzin. He wanted to laugh for the sheer joy of it.

Mihmatini rose gracefully, but the smile she turned on Teomitl had an edge to it. “I’ll leave you to talk.”

&

After Mihmatini left, all Acatl could do was stare at Teomitl. Absurdly, he thought, He looks the same. The same lean, solidly muscled build, the same nose and eyes, the same little scar on one elbow where a training sword had caught him as a child. True, his cloak and sandals were rich turquoise, his earrings and lip plug were jade and gold, and there was a slender emerald rod piercing his nose, but his face hadn’t changed. It was still open and guileless, every emotion writ clear. He loves you, Mihmatini had said. Acatl thought he could believe it.

Slowly, carefully, Teomitl sank down next to his mat. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from Acatl’s face; for a moment Acatl thought he was going to reach for him, but he seemed to think better of it. “I...how are you feeling?”

How am I feeling, he asks. Again he thought he could laugh, but there was no joy in it; under his skin, dry dust rustled like paper. His bones still ached. Even with the blanket over him, there was a chill clinging to his skin. The words were out before he could stop them, more acidic than he’d intended. “...I’ve just been dead, Teomitl. How do you think?”

Teomitl jerked back, glaring at him with more hurt than anger. “It’s a valid concern!” He swallowed once, visibly, and added in a softer voice, “We weren’t sure when you’d wake.”

There was a tremor to the words Acatl really didn’t like, and Mihmatini’s words crossed his mind again. She’d never answered the question of how he’d returned. Part of him didn’t want to know. He was alive, wasn’t he? Let the details rest. But if Teomitl had done something...ill-advised to bring him back, then it was his responsibility to help fix it. Even now that Teomitl was Revered Speaker, it was still his responsibility. He took a deep breath. It didn’t hurt so much anymore. “I’m just glad to be able to wake at all. Mihmatini told me that Quenami provided the magic, but how...?”

Teomitl dropped his gaze, but his voice was firm; his shoulders rolled as though he was preparing for a fight. “...Someone had to go into Mictlan. I volunteered.”

What. The words crystallized in his mind, horror slicing like swords. It’s one thing for me to go—I am Lord Death’s servant! But Teomitl, sworn to the Southern Hummingbird and Jade Skirt, walking through enemy territory—for me—

“Lord Death was...willing to release your soul to me.”

He forced himself to breathe. Mictlan gives up nothing without a price. Mictlan gives up nothing without a price. For Teomitl to walk back to the Fifth World with my soul... With dread gripping his heart in eagle claws, he forced out, “What did He want in exchange?”

Silence. Teomitl closed his eyes on a long exhale.

“What did He want, Teomitl?!”

“Mine!” Teomitl’s eyes snapped open, filled with an anguished emotion Acatl couldn’t even begin to unravel. His fists clenched, white-knuckled, as he caught Acatl’s gaze and held it; he was stunned to see tears in his eyes. For all that, his voice held steady with barely a waver. “I offered Him my soul in exchange for yours, and He accepted. When I die...I’ll go to Mictlan. And it will be worth it, Acatl-tzin, do you understand?” He raised his voice right over the feeble noise that escaped Acatl’s lips. “It will! Because I lied to Tizoc, you’re mine, and I couldn’t let you die!”

Horror—he did that for me, gave up all hope of the Sun’s Heaven for me—almost threatened to swamp him. Teomitl was a warrior. He was the Emperor. He deserved an eternity by the side of the Sun, and he’d thrown it all away for him. For a poor priest from a family of peasants.

“I’m what,” he choked out. “Teomitl, what were you thinking?!”

“You heard me!” Teomitl snapped, making a furious stabbing motion with his hand.

His heart felt as though it had, impossibly, migrated up into his throat. He could barely speak around it. “But I...but...” Your soul. The place in the heavens you deserve. Even Tizoc might go there, if he died with a weapon in his hand. And you never will.

Teomitl had clearly decided there was no room for remorse or second-guessing himself. He raised his voice to a snarl. “No buts!” He jerked his head to one side, eyes shutting too slowly to stop the trickle of tears down his face. Acatl felt his heart crack in two at the sight. It was worse when Teomitl scrubbed at his eyes with the back of a hand, made a horribly wet throat-clearing noise, and bit out, “You’re the most important person in the world to me, Acatl-tzin.”

Helpless, he reached for him—and stopped. No matter how much he wanted to pull Teomitl into his arms, he had a feeling it wouldn’t go over well. “I’m not—” He stopped. Started again. “I’m just—”

Teomitl looked up, glaring at him through reddened eyes. “You’re not ‘just’ anything. Your life is worth more to me than anything else.”

Including your brother. He didn’t say that. His own eyes burned. “Mihmatini told me Tizoc-tzin is dead.”

“He is.” Teomitl’s voice was striving for neutrality, but there was too much bitter fury still lingering in it for it to ring true. That, and he still sounded close to tears.

Acatl had to swallow tears of his own and wished for more water. “By your hand?” He found he wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Yes, brothers should stand by brothers, and unquestionably that precluded murder. On the other hand...well. He could admit to a certain petty vindictiveness. Tizoc had executed him for a crime he hadn’t even committed. That certainly deserved death in return.

“I had to,” Teomitl said simply. Now he sounded steady, but his knuckles had gone white where he’d grabbed a fistful of his jade-beaded cloak.

“...Why?” But even as he asked, he knew the answer. The knot in his chest started to loosen, and he found he could breathe.

Teomitl recoiled, staring at him incredulously. “For you, you fool!” It came out ragged, raw. He had to take a breath before continuing, “I saw you and—Tizoc tore my heart from my chest when he killed you, Acatl-tzin. I returned the favor.”

Oh. Oh. Mihmatini was right. By the Duality, she was right. And so was Teomitl; he was a fool, because he’d thought he could possibly have hidden how he felt. There would be no hiding this. His heart was hammering so fiercely he could feel it in his fingertips. He was still exhausted, still sore from his encounter with death, but that didn’t matter next to the cataclysm of emotion swirling through him. It was for me. He went into Mictlan for me, slew his own brother for me. Because...

It still didn’t seem possible. He was no great warrior or dazzling beauty. He would bring no glory to his clan. He could only hope to be a good man, to serve the gods and the empire well. And yet somehow, he’d earned a place in Teomitl’s heart.

“...Teomitl.” It seemed to be the only word in his reeling mind. He realized he was leaning closer, that it would be so easy for him to close the distance between them, and only just stopped himself in time.

Teomitl swallowed convulsively, dropping his gaze. Even in the dim light afforded to them, it was easy to see him turn a dull, dark red. “I—” His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Acatl’s and squeezing tight. “Acatl-tzin. Acatl.”

He’d never heard his name like that before—harsh and desperate, unspoken emotion ringing through it like bells. It made his heart skip a beat, and for a moment he could barely breathe. “Are you not...?” The Revered Speaker, he wanted to say, as far above me as the sun in the sky. But the words lodged in his throat and stuck there; helpless, he gestured to Teomitl’s turquoise adornments with his free hand. The other one was still held firmly in Teomitl’s grasp, making it easy for him to tangle their fingers together. Whether you are or not, I’m yours.

It must have been the right thing to do, because Teomitl was looking at him again. “Yes. But...” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and Acatl’s focus followed it. “To you, I want to be Teomitl.”

He wasn’t cold anymore. Warmth pulsed through him like another heart, and Mictlan’s chill had never felt farther away. “And...” The words were out before he could call them back; maybe it was a stupid question, but he had to know. He had to be sure, before he did something he might regret. There were many different ways to love, and it was entirely possible that what Teomitl had said and what Mihmatini had heard were two entirely different things than the emotion coursing through him now. “Is that all you want from me?” Please say it isn’t, he thought desperately. Please say I’m not the only one willing to follow anywhere this leads.

Teomitl’s thumb smoothed over Acatl’s fingers, very nearly distracting him from his words. “No,” he said simply.

Now he knew he wasn’t breathing. Teomitl’s hand on his was his greatest anchor to the earth. “Ngh?”

Teomitl smiled, brief and radiant, as his gaze drifted pointedly to Acatl’s mouth. “When you are well enough, I’m going to kiss you.”

It was a simple statement of fact—the sky is blue, Grandmother Earth is hungry, I am going to kiss you. Acatl took a moment to breathe, feeling the foundations of his world lift and resettle themselves to account for this new version of reality. His limbs still felt too heavy and his throat was a dull-edged sword of pain, but none of that mattered. Teomitl had brought him back to life, saved the Fifth World, loved him.

He tilted his head and leaned in, the clearest invitation he could give. “...I’m well enough now.”

Teomitl closed the distance.

He’d thought about what kissing Teomitl might be like. He’d been ashamed, yes, but Teomitl was an attractive youth who smiled easily and his vow of celibacy didn’t make him a eunuch. He’d imagined something rough and passionate, maybe a little clumsy in his eagerness. He’d imagined more teeth. He hadn’t imagined soft, gentle lips pressed to his, coaxing his mouth open. He loves me. It was the easiest thing in the world to relax into it, letting the arm Teomitl slid around him take his weight as he kissed back.

From there it was only natural to pull him close in return. Acatl rested a hand at his waist, revelling in the heat of the smooth skin there and the small, soft noise Teomitl made into his mouth. It almost sounded surprised, and he couldn’t help but smile. Did you not think I wanted to touch you? Oh, but it was too difficult to kiss someone when you were smiling, and soon he had to pull away. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life.

“Acatl.” Teomitl was smiling too; they bumped noses, and Acatl had to suppress a little bubble of laughter. “You don’t know how happy I am right now.”

“I think I can guess.” He ran his fingers lightly over Teomitl’s side—too lightly, evidently, because it startled a squeaky, adorable giggle out of him. He hadn’t realized Teomitl could laugh like that. He certainly hadn’t realized the man was ticklish. Now there was no use suppressing his delight, nor the grin that threatened to split his face.

Teomitl’s eyes narrowed warily, but without any real heat. “Do not. I swear to the Duality, I’ll take back everything I just said.”

He decided to be merciful, smoothing his hand over the skin instead and watching the delicate little shiver that resulted. “You won’t. You never break your word.” He knew it as surely as he knew his own name. Teomitl loves me. I love him in return. That will never change, not in this world.

“Mm.” Teomitl kissed him again, brief and sweet. “No, but I wouldn’t mind the chance to say it again properly.”

“Properly?” He’d done an excellent job of expressing his feelings as far as Acatl was concerned. There was surely no chance of him misunderstanding kisses like that, not when they were still making his skin tingle.

But apparently Teomitl disagreed. He blushed again, averting his gaze. “This isn’t how I wanted to say...any of that,” he muttered. “I had plans. And besides, I was hardly sure you were going to listen!”

He felt like he’d been stabbed. How long? How long was he carrying this? And I was blind. I didn’t even realize what was in my own heart until the last moment. Duality curse him, he’d been a prize idiot. “Teomitl...” he murmured.

Teomitl glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. There was the faintest hint of a rueful smile on his face. “I thought for sure it was doomed,” he muttered. “That I’d have to take it to my grave. I thought I didn’t have a chance.”

Acatl was already shaking his head. Or rather, he shook his head once; continuing the motion reminded him he’d been recently strangled, and his neck muscles had opinions on that. “You thought wrong. I...” But he stumbled over the words, flustered.

“Hm?” He was acutely aware of the way Teomitl froze, watching him.

Well, there was no stopping it now. And it was the truth, besides. “I love you,” he blurted out.

Teomitl went spectacularly crimson, but Acatl didn’t have much time to admire the view because then they were kissing again. It was still slow and careful, but this time Teomitl shifted to lay them both onto the mat and that turned out to be considerably easier on his sore muscles, not to mention giving him an excellent chance to skim a palm all the way down the exposed skin of Teomitl’s side. Teomitl hummed into his mouth, an intoxicating noise. “Mmm...”

Even when he broke the kiss, he didn’t go far. He didn’t want to. “Does that mean you believe me?”

Teomitl’s smile was like a sun rising. “You’re right. Mictlan might have my soul, Acatl, but my heart is yours.”

He’d almost forgotten. He’d almost forgotten. He closed his eyes, unwillingly assaulted with far too vivid memories of the cold and the darkness and the dust. But he still tasted Teomitl’s mouth on his when he licked his lips, and that helped to banish it a little. “I still cannot believe you did that,” he muttered.

Teomitl held him tighter, huffing out an annoyed-sounding breath. “I had nothing else to give. Oblivion is worth it as long as I can spend my life with you.”

He inhaled sharply. “Oh, Teomitl.”

There was nothing for it but to draw Teomitl in for another kiss, this one deeper; as hands found his hair, his own dug into Teomitl’s skin. After a second’s worth of surprise, Teomitl returned the fervor with a growl. There were the teeth he’d been wondering about, and he welcomed them. If he’d had the energy—if the Revered Speaker could be assured of any privacy at all—he would have allowed himself to crave more. Since they couldn’t, he settled for catching Teomitl’s lower lip lightly between his teeth and thrilling in the soft gasp before he pulled away just far enough to breathe, “Then I hope we die on the same day, in the same hour. I won’t let you walk through Mictlan alone.” Not again, at any rate.

Teomitl grinned at him. “It will be a good journey.”

Upon their deaths, they would both dissolve into dust at the foot of Lord Death’s throne. But here and now, they were alive. Acatl found he was looking forward to that.

[fablesrose]

Of Kings and Shadows XXIII

Description: Y/n, a girl who seems to have found her calling. Being a SHIELD agent is like a dream come true. With a friendship starting to form with the Avengers, she’s the Queen of the world! What could go wrong?

Pairings: Avengers x reader, Loki x reader (eventually)

Notes: It’s a little short for the time it took, sorry!

On Wattpad –> Here

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The mind is a tricky place.

Effortless to become lost in, easy to meddle with, hard to break, difficult to control, and nearly impossible to put back in its place.

The mind requires both precision and respect. Neither can be given as a gift, only learned. Usually, they are developed together along with the ability to penetrate the mind. Wanda was given the ability without the required time for respect. Perhaps deep inside she knew it, that that was why Loki was placed in charge of the mission of Y/n's mind. She was still sharpening her magic's blade to be a steel knife. Loki, on the other hand, was sharper than obsidian.

That's why in the heat of battle, the Avengers were put in charge of keeping the opposing agents at bay and away from Queen and Loki while also defending themselves from attacks. It is well within Loki's abilities to multitask with mind magic and dueling, but this was a special case. Loki hung closer to the back and threw up a shield for good measure. He put minimal attention to the battle around him with occasionally taking out an agent if needed.

The rest of his focus and energy was put into exploring the folds and shadows of what used to be Y/n's mind. The surface was worryingly dark to him, not at all what he imagined the original Y/n's mind to be.

He dug deeper and found it somewhat difficult, every mind is different and has a different 'texture' and consistency, but Y/n's functioned differently than anyone he had ever seen. It was like it was actively trying to keep him out, with half a moment of pushing through sludge, to falling forward suddenly with thin and lightning-fast decisions of battle. It was puzzling, usually only those with mental abilities are able to protect themselves or even sense someone was infiltrating the mind unless the infiltrator specifically makes contact. As far as they knew she didn't have any mental magic, but he pushed through to see what was bouncing around in there. He was able to get far enough to start seeing flashes of assignments and missions that were numbered many times more than they had ever thought.

Some were horrific and brutal. Some were stealth with her blending with the shadows like she was born there. It was fascinating... and almost nauseating. Eventually, he had to refocus himself on what his actual mission was: make contact, try to see how much of the old, the good Y/n is still in here, and find if there are any weaknesses they could use.

He repeated her name over and over to himself to keep him on-mission. As he did so the pattern around him changed as if she was only then made aware of his presence.

A voice spoke to him that sounded only vaguely familiar, 'Y/n is not here.'

Loki realized he must have mistakenly projected his thoughts into telepathy instead of privately. At first, he wondered if he remembered her voice incorrectly since it has been so long since he's heard it, but the dark and almost unnaturally smooth quality told him otherwise. He believed her--partly--he believed that he was not talking to Y/n. 'To whom am I speaking then?'

'I've gone by many names as I'm sure you've seen on some of those files. Around here they just call me Queen. Y/n seems to think that I've evolved and have always been here, she calls me Noxy. You may call me what you like.'

There was a spark of hope at her words, 'So Y/n is here.'

There was a pause, 'She won't be for long. I'm actually surprised that she's lasted this long. Existing anyway. Not surprised at the state she's in.'

That was all it took for Loki to dig deeper into her mind, leaving whatever abomination was controlling Y/n's body to try to find something, anything to stop the rampage and hopefully save the woman he would like to call his friend.

He went farther past the missions, the strategies, and manipulation 101. He was about to give up on trying to find Y/n and start scavenging to find weaknesses when he approached the far reaches of her mind. That's when he began to hear faint traces of music. He followed it to a small corner that didn't reflect the dark sludge around him. It was colorful and light, but he didn't fail to notice the fingers of dark shadows invading the area, causing it to fade and turn a bit grey.

The rhythm of decisions being made now made sense. The brain does not have the ability to truly multitask. Instead, it switches back and forth between tasks quicker than we can register. Her mind wasn't trying to keep him out, her mind was just switching between this Noxy character and Y/n.

The song seemed familiar, but the lyrics being sung hardly made sense.

He tried to reach out to her, calling her name, but nothing seemed to snap her to pay any attention to him. It was just that snippet of a song playing on a loop and scrambled flashes of pictures, memories, all of them incoherent.

Blinded by the light...

revekjsmed up like a dochewekf.

Ansldkjthor rumner in the night!

He would be lying if he said it didn't scare him. Not even his own thoughts were ever this disarranged, and he has been called mad far more than his fair share of times. It became abundantly clear that he wasn't going to get through to her and he began to lose the small spark of hope that he got before.

Loki did the mental equivalent of sitting down with a huff and tried to think of what to do next. This was becoming more difficult than he had hoped. As he sat there he really paid attention to the music since that was the only thing Y/n was giving him.

He must admit that it took longer than it should have for the song to click and that maybe Y/n was trying to tell him something through it. It nearly broke his heart that even when she didn't have all of her pieces put together that she was still trying to give them something to work with. Something to beat her with.

At least, that's what he hoped she was doing. He kinda wanted a deep moment.

Loki snapped back to the battle outside of his mind and smacked his head for all of them being so stupid, including himself, but he wasn't going to say that out loud.

"Stark!" Loki yelled through the comms, throwing himself back into the battle.

"What? What have ya got?" Tony continued to blast at black spears being launched at him and Hydra agents that kept coming and didn't seem to have an end.

Loki flung daggers with deadly accuracy while slicing down any agent that came into his path, "What is the opposite of darkness?"

"Really? You're gonna give me riddles? Light... Light is the opposite of dark."

"And if there is enough light?"

"No darkness at all."

Loki nodded to himself, "Do you think we can get enough light?"

There was a pause while Tony did some calculations, "I don't know, but we can damn well try."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I had that feeling when you're zoned out and someone calls your name but you don't notice until five minutes after the fact? I was so focused on the song... It was so important. When I snapped out of making sure the song kept playing, something was different.

I couldn't put my finger on it--figuratively or literally--what exactly was different, I mean, I'm the only one who could rearrange things in my little corner, so maybe I was just going crazy. More crazy anyway.

I spent a moment puzzling over the strange feeling before I felt her body succumb to waves of exhaustion out of nowhere. I hadn't felt that kind of exhaustion in a long time, but I knew what it was all too well. It reminded me of the lightroom.

I was scared, I hadn't been in the lightroom since Noxy took over, but maybe something changed.

I finally decided to see what was going on in the outside world and I wasn't sure if I was going to like what I saw. I didn't want to see the stark white walls and the electric shocks. I tentatively paid attention to what was going on and a bittersweet feeling overcame me.

Noxy had her hands out and tried to shoot her spears of darkness at the Avengers... and others I didn't recognize. The pitch-black material that made up her weapons became smaller and smaller, not flying as far as they normally would, and some even fizzled away at her fingertips. I could tell that we didn't have the energy to keep the fight going.

The reason why is that everywhere I could see there were lights shining on me. Lights from the building behind me, some sort of aircraft above me had a spotlight trained on me, and every Avenger that was able had some sort of light fixed on me. They weren't perfect. There were shadows that Noxy was pulling energy from, but they were small and the sheer force and brightness of the light coming from Thor's lighting, Tony's repulsors from both of the suits, even Cap had his shield reflecting light at me, it all made it so the shadows weren't enough.

Nevertheless, the light wasn't enough to drop us.

Since she could draw upon the shadows, Noxy pulled out a gun and a whip from her belt.

All at once, I could hear everyone I had ever met, including myself say, "Kinky."

I didn't remember ever seeing it before, let alone using it, training with it. For a moment I felt like Indiana Jones with the bullwhip at her side. I could see it wasn't perfectly smooth and that there were bits and pieces of shiny material woven into it. I instinctively knew that it would be extremely painful to be hit with.

Noxy cracked it easily and began to advance towards the heroes. She only took two steps before there was a sharp prick in the neck. Noxy pulled out what looked to be a horse tranquilizer. Her eyes snapped to the direction it came from to see Clint crouched in a tree, bow slung across his back. He emptied the barrel in one fluid motion and shot a loose salute in our direction, but despite the lightness of it, there wasn't a smile on his face.

I could feel her body begin to shake as it became difficult to stand steady. She raised her gun to shoot at Clint, but her hand was trembling too bad to take aim. Noxy dropped the whip to steady her gun, but her eyes drooped in exhaustion. My already limited range of sight began to shrink even more and then the world became dizzy, I became dizzy? I wasn't sure anymore. The one thing I did know was that as I was falling to the ground it felt like there was a whole new presence in my head. It was soft, hardly noticeable, but before I could figure out what was going on, we blacked out.

[themoonstarwarrior]

PLAYLIST SHUFFLE TAG!

Okay, so @viterbofangirl tagged me in this and I need to start learning to post my own shit, so what the hell, why not?

Rules: you can usually tell a lot about a person by the type of music they listen to! put your favorite playlist on shuffle and list the first 10 15 songs, then tag 10 people. no skipping!

(I couldn’t stop at 10 so I added 5 more, sue me)

I have very random music taste and I listen to my music on shuffle alot, so I made a playlist of the ones I like the most (that way I don’t hafta skip 150 songs to get to the one I feel like) so I’m gonna use that one.

1) History of Violence - Theory of a Deadman

Hoo boy starting off light huh?.... Yeah so, I was in the drive thru at Sonic when I first heard this on the radio and was immediately like “holy shit”. Instead of like metaphors and poetic subtlety, it’s just straight up like “here’s a poor abused woman who resorted to murdering her shitty boyfriend/husband cuz she couldn’t take it dum dum dum”. Even though the actual situation is not the same, this song is perfect for getting across the internal issues and turmoil of my character Mikey. Its so perfect I’m even planning to animate something for it...... if I ever get around to learning animation that is.....     

2) The Vengeful One - Disturbed

Two songs in and I look kinda emo.... But hey this song is soooooo cathartic! I love me a good heavy rock song, and the drums and electric guitar are perfect for my ears to absorb. This song gives off a feeling of overwhelming power mixed with a coldness and disdain for the bad in the world. Obviously, thats not my usual temperment, but its an interesting one to explore! Especially when I’m trying to get into the head of characters that exude that like my OCs Spark or Ryu. Plus its fun to sing in the car X)

3) Enter Sandman - Metallica

Okay this one is just a classic! Same thing with the drums and guitar they both slap SOOOOO GOOD. I don’t really associate this song with any of my characters or fandom favorites, but it DOES give me a super strong urge to learn the drums. EXXXXXXXXIT LIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT! OFF TO NEVER NEVERLAND!!

4) We Are Giants - Lindsey Stirling ft. Dia Frampton

I don’t really to listen to music by band or artist, but I LOVE Lindsey Stirling!!! She’s probably my favorite musician! This is such a good song, especially for someone like me. Its a positive song that talks about feeling alone in a crowd and unimportant to the world, but how you really do matter and shouldn’t be afraid to dream big and shoot for the stars. It really speaks to me and the vocalization is so good (especially for singing), not to mention the official music video is animated and AMAZING!

5) Cetus - Lensko NCS

I dunno if anyone knows this song, but damn its good. Its one of those Royalty-Free songs that people look up for their channels, which is how I found it in the first place, but I loved it immediately. Its a peppy 8-bit electronic bop that turns a little Irish jig at the end and honestly I think if I ever start an animation channel I’m totally gonna use it! (Also go support Lensko he make good beats!)

6) Sanctuary - Utada Hikaru

I did not grow up with Kingdom Hearts, and only played KH2 within the past year n’ a half. But good God, the moment that Cinematic Opening came on and this song started playing I swear I astral projected into a daze of feelings without names. I know that “Simple and Clean” is the quintessential Kingdom Heart song that gives everyone feelings, but IMHO Sanctuary blows it out of the water. As beautiful as the animation was, or how curious the occasional backwards lyrics are, or how weird it is having high-res Goofy and Donald in what is essentially an anime opening, I really can’t be distracted from this song when I play.

7) Chemical Plant Zone (Rock Remix) - Zerobadniks

Chemical Plant Song is like, one of the TOP Sonic songs by popular vote (and we know how awesome the Sonic series is musically so thats saying something!), but I could never quite vibe with the normal 8-bit version. I think I first heard this as someone’s ringtone and was immediately like “THATS PERFECT THATS EXACTLY HOW I NEED IT!”. The rock makes the song soooo much better and honestly gives the song the perfect vibe. Unfortunately, it took FOREVER to find cuz none of the Rock Covers of this song were the right one. In fact, tbh, I’m not even sure whether Zerobadniks is the correct artist..... that’s just who everybody was crediting when I found it. 

(imma include the link i found since its a little hard to find: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fqJiZEM6aPI )

8) The Wolf - SIAMES

YOU WANNA TALK ABOUT ANIMATED MUSIC VIDEOS???? THIS IS A GOD-TIER ANIMATED MUSIC VIDEO. I found the video first, and seriously, if you haven’t seen it YOU NEED TO!!! The beat works perfectly with the images on screen and the story being portrayed is really intriguing, with the lyrics adding to atmosphere without necessarily describing the visuals shown. Even without the animation, the song itself is a banger. It bring to mind the feeling of intense motion forward, but unable to decide whether its movement TOWARD something or AWAY from something. I love listening to this on a nighttime drive.

9) Burn the House Down - AJR

If you ask me, the best way to make a pop song better is to add either violins or trumpets. For this song, it was definitely the trumpets that first caught my attention, and the rest of the song kept me listening. I don’t really know how to describe the vibe of this song, and I don’t have a specific character or story in mind when I listen to it, so its a little hard for me to talk about it. I think the best way I can describe this song and what draws me to it is a feeling of nonchalant go-with-the-flow attitude to shenaniganry. Almost an undertone of “We’re hooligans in a situation that we probably should get out of, but hey we’ve got life and each other so why worry?” At least that’s the closest I can get to a verbal description heh...

10) Slim Pickens Does the Right Thing and Rides the Bomb to Hell - The Offspring 

DANCE, FUCKER, DANCE, LET THE MOTHERFUCKER BURN!!!

So this also has a KICKASS animated music video, but its technically combined with the song “Dividing by Zero”. Now the video works SO well with both, and the shifting artstyles reflect the differing tones of the songs PERFECTLY. However, I have a preference for both the animation and the song on the Slim Pickens half. Its fun to listen to and sing at the top of your lungs and its SO CATHARTIC. Again I cant really describe what my head does when I hear it, but I think you can probably feel a similar vibe if you watch the music video. 

11) No Heaven - DJ Champion

The first time I finished the original Borderlands, I had been playing for days on end, had just finished a long battle with the Destroyer, and sitting back relieved to have beaten it and reflecting on how much I had enjoyed the adventure. Then this song started playing. For what I believe was forty minutes this song looped on my TV while the credits rolled. By the time the credits finished I was pulling up the song to listen to again! What an absolutely PERFECT cherry to add to this experience. This song perfectly encapsulated the chaotic, trigger-happy, morally ambiguous craziness that I had enjoyed and absorbed in this game. Every time I hear it now, I imagine myself in the wastelands of Pandora, driving haphazardly across the sandy dunes as my companions and I shoot and blow up everything in sight. You know, living the dream.......     

12) Hit & Run (Wolfgang Lohr Remix) -  The Electric Swing Circus

I fucking LOVE electro-swing! The electronic beats and rhythm blend so well with the wild and energetic freedom of swing. A lot of electro-swing gives me a vibe of wild movement, reckless abandon, and freedom from constraint. I think this song melds all of these feelings the best! As the last song might have indicated, despite my general nice and sweet temperament, there is a part of me deep down that is an absolute gremlin secretly enamored with chaos, insanity, and a general disdain for law and authority X). But whereas anything Borderlands related has a more “morality is an illusion blowing shit up is real” air about it, this song is far more peppy. More of a “good-hearted but insane” type of chaos, like an 100mph car chase where you end up sailing over the train tracks JUST as the train passes.

.... I may have gotten a bit off track lol 

13) Kickstart my Heart - Motley Crue

I love this song, but I have to be VERY careful when and where I listen to this. I love songs that make me feel like I’m going a million miles per hour, like I’m gotdam Sonic the Hedgehog. Unfortunately, I may or may not have had multiple instances of listening to this song in the car and abruptly realizing that I’m going like 15mph above the speed limit...... So yeah, regardless of absolutely perfect it feels to play this song while speeding down a nearly empty highway, please be careful and drive responsibly!!!

14) I’m Born to Run - American Authors

Imma just up and say it. This song is a Sonic song; like not like actually from the series but a song for the character. This song encapsulates Sonic as a character better than some of his ACTUAL THEMES (and remember Sonic music are bangers!). Its a song about freedom, living life as it comes, and not letting anything slow you down. Frankly I’m surprised they didn’t make this song FOR the Sonic series, or even the movie! Speaking of which, ironically I heard this song right after watching the Sonic movie in theaters, so yeah there’s no way I can associate it with anything else. 

15) Opa Opa - Antique

Oh, what a PERFECT way to end this list! This may be one of my absolute favorite songs of all time! I don’t remember exactly how I found this song... I think I had just relistened to Dalar Mehndi’s “Tunak Tunak Tun” and was looking for other catchy non-english songs and BOY HOWDY I found one! I know nothing about the band or what the song’s about (its in greek and i dont speak it), but this song is just a masterpiece of retro, pop, and dance sounds. This song feels like the musical and lyrical manifestation of dance and movement. I really REALLY wish I could dance JUST so I can express how happy and free this song makes me feel! This is the BEST song for me to end this list with!

***********************************************************************************

JESUS, this got long..... Sorry about that XD. It was fun though, and hopefully somebody was vaguely interested in my ramblings.

Guess I need to tag people now? How about @tharkflark1, @rockmilkshake, @neonbuck, @drawingsdrawingseverywhere, @birthgiverofbirds, @puccafangirl, @kalcat, @biblestudybussybopsbabey, @monstrous-milktea, and @memecage! I think there are a couple of people here I haven’t talked to though soooooo..... hi, I hope you don’t mind the tag X)

 Anyway hope you enjoyed and/or want to do this too! This took for-fucking-EVER to type, so imma go fuck off and watch youtube or something now...

[angelsfalling16]

Sugar, We’re Goin’ Down

Rating: E

Summary: Simon keeps running into Baz at various bars, and even though he knows that there is no way that it will end well, he can't keep his hands off of him.

Technically, this a prequel to (Wishing to be) The Friction in Your Jeans but it can probably be read alone if you want.

Read it on ao3

Inspired by the song “Sugar We’re Goin’ Down” by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 4521

***

The first time that it happened, Simon was a little drunk, but not drunk enough to be able to blame his choices on the alcohol. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he’s not sure that he would have done anything different had he been completely sober.

He hadn’t seen Baz in years and running into him that night came as a shock, especially when he saw what Baz was wearing.

He’d never seen Baz outside of their school uniforms, and they were never the type of friends who hung out outside of class. Mainly because they weren’t friends at all. They could barely sit in the same room without getting into an argument with each other.

That night, as he heard a familiar voice behind him, he couldn’t believe his eyes when he found none other than Baz Pitch standing there, wearing tightly-clad, artfully ripped black trousers along with a white button up that was sheer enough to almost be see through, the sleeves rolled up to just above his elbows.

If that weren’t enough to have Simon’s mouth going suddenly dry, Baz’s eyes were also rimmed in a dark eyeliner, bringing out the silver color of his eyes, even in the dim lighting, and there was a tattoo peeking out from beneath his shirt sleeve.

It was another moment before Baz saw him standing there, and Simon was happy to see how surprised he was to see him there, too, his eyes dragging slowly down Simon’s body before coming back up to meet his eyes.

“Simon,” he breathed, eyes going wide with surprise before he managed to school his features.

“Baz,” Simon replied with a nod, not sure what else to say. What do you say to the guy you basically hated and who you may or may not have developed a crush on at one point?

“You here alone?” Baz asked, leaning against the bar beside him, and Simon struggled to keep his eyes on Baz’s face.

“I was here with a couple of friends, but they just left. I was actually on my way out.”

“That’s too bad because I just got here.” He shrugged, but there was this look in his eyes that made Simon begin to wonder if maybe he really was disappointed. “Well, it was nice seeing you.”

“Wait,” Simon said as Baz turned away, resisting the urge to reach out and grab his arm. “Would you like to go somewhere more quiet and talk for a moment?”

He didn’t really want to talk, and even though he once thought that he’d be happy if he never saw Baz again after they finished school, he suddenly didn’t want him to go.

“Sure,” Baz said, a little warily, but a smirk curved his lips.

Simon turned, not bothering to check that Baz was following him, and led him to the back of the club where the bathrooms were.

He pushed on the door and was relieved to find that there was no one else inside.

“I really hope you didn’t bring me in here just to talk, Snow,” Baz said quietly, slipping right back into calling Simon by his last name, just like when they were in school together.

“You called me Simon before.”

“No, I didn’t.”

We just stood there quietly after that, intensely gazing at each other, and before Simon knew what was happening, Baz had pushed him back against the door, angling his face down until their lips were just a breath apart.

Simon froze, and his eyes were drawn to Baz’s mouth, wanting to lean forward and kiss him, but Baz’s hands were still on his hips, holding him in place.

“What did you want to talk about?” Baz murmured.

“Nothing.” Simon swallowed hard as Baz moved closer to him.

“No?”

Simon shook his head just slightly. “I just didn’t want you to go. Fuck, you look gorgeous in these jeans.”

Simon cursed himself silently for letting the words slip out, but with how close Baz was, he couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t help but reach out to touch either, his hands landing on Baz’s hips, fingers slipping into the belt loops to pull him closer until their bodies were pressed up against each other.

Baz’s nosed bumped into his, and he let it rest there so that their breaths mixed. If either of them moved just a bit, their lips would meet, and Simon’s heart began to race at the thought.

That moment felt like a dream as they both stilled, waiting to see who would make the next move. Simon was afraid that anything that he might do would be the wrong thing, and he didn’t want to mess this up, especially if it was his only chance to be like this with Baz.

Their breathing sounded harsh in the quiet of the room as their eyes met, and Simon could feel his heart beating in his chest. He used to dream about this, having Baz this close to him. He never thought it would actually happy, and he never could have dreamt up the way that Baz was looking at him.

Simon was wondering whether Baz was actually going to kiss him when Baz dropped to his knees and began to undo the button of Simon’s trousers.

“W-What are you doing?” Simon gasped.

“What does it look like?” Baz asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“What if someone tries to get in?”

“Lock the door, and we’ll be fine.”

Simon did as he said, and his head thumped back against the door as Baz’s hand made contact with his cock, pulling it out and moving his hand slowly from root to tip.

Simon sighed, his eyes falling shut as Baz’s lips brushed over the tip of his cock, teasing.

Simon brought one hand up to loosely tangle in Baz’s hair, and Baz’s lips moved down, sucking and licking at the head of his cock.

The slow pace was tortuous, but Simon couldn’t complain because it felt wonderful.

Baz’s mouth was perfectly sinful as it began to move over his cock, drawing little moans from him that he struggled to hold back.

Baz brought one hand up to fondle Simon’s balls, rolling them gently and adding a light pressure occasionally. Then, his hand started moving farther back, and Simon gasped as he felt one of Baz’s fingers brush over his hole.

When Baz’s finger added pressure, Simon came hard, much sooner than expected and too quickly to warn Baz. He tried to bite back the moan that escaped him but failed miserably.

Baz gagged but managed to swallow almost all of Simon’s come.

“Sorry,” Simon murmured as he slumped against the wall, exhausted.

Baz shook his head, standing up, knees sore from the unforgiving tile of the bathroom floor. “No need to apologize.”

It took another moment for Simon to recover, but then he was reaching out to touch Baz. 

“Here, let me help you with that,” Simon whispered against Baz’s ear as his hand joined Baz’s on his cock that he had apparently freed while Simon was distracted.

Simon pushed Baz’s tight jeans farther down with his free hand and started to explore the exposed skin of his thighs and arse as their hands moved in tandem over Baz’s cock, quickly bringing him to climax.

Baz moaned low in Simon’s ear as he climaxed, his body shaking against Simon’s, and Simon stroked him through it, only letting go when Baz pulled back.

As his eyes trailed over Baz’s mussed, yet still beautiful, appearance, Simon yearned to kiss him, and he wasn’t sure where that need was coming from or why it was so strong.

He felt happy and sated, but for some reason, he still wanted more.

“I should go,” Baz said, suddenly unable to meet Simon’s eyes.

“Shouldn’t we talk about this?” Simon asked, not because he really wanted to but because he didn’t want Baz to leave yet.

Baz simply shook his head as he buttoned his jeans then Simon’s, something that felt oddly intimate and left sparks on Simon’s skin.

“It’s just a bit of fun between old school rivals.”

Simon wanted to argue that it was more than just “a bit” of fun, but then Baz was turning away from him to wash his hands. Simon was still leaning against the door when Baz turned back around, and as he moved closer and closer, Simon gasp quietly thinking - wishing - that he was about to kiss him, but then, Baz reached around Simon to unlock the door, barely even looking at him. 

Simon quickly stepped out of his way, and without another word, Baz disappeared back out into the crowd, and Simon was left feeling both confused and sated, wondering what the hell just happened.

***

The next time they met, Baz was a little more casually dressed in a plain black t-shirt that dips slightly to reveal the smooth expanse of his olive skin. His jeans were looser that time, but barely so, and there was no trace of any makeup. Even so, he looked just as beautiful as the last time.

Simon and Baz actually managed to make it out of the bar and back to Simon’s place before clothes started to come off.

All of their clothes were gone by the time they settled on top of Simon’s bed together, and Simon had begun to suck on the side of Baz’s neck when he was suddenly being pushed gently away. He moved so that his face was just above Baz’s so that he could see his expression, looking at him quizzically.

“I don’t want you to give me any hickeys.”

“Oh.”

“I just don’t want anyone to see and start asking questions.” He looked away as he said it, which was good for Simon because it gave him a chance to hide his disappointment

“Okay,” Simon said, trying not to sound disappointed and failing. Before Baz could comment on it, though, Simon moved down his body and began sucking on his cock.

The weight of Baz’s cock on his tongue made Simon forget about everything else, and Simon let his hands roam over Baz’s body as he sucked him, rubbing his thighs then up his chest, where he pinched and tugged on his nipples 

Baz’s body tensed beneath him, and Simon was sure that Baz was about to come when he pushed Simon off of him for the second time that night.

Before Simon could ask what was wrong, Baz had flipped them so that he was hovering over Simon, then slowly, he ground his cock down against Simon’s.

Simon moaned loudly at the unexpectedness of it.

Baz set up a steady pace, wrapping his hand around both of their cocks, pulling them together. Simon reached down to help, but Baz used his free hand to push his hand away, bringing their hands above Simon’s head and intertwining their fingers.

The slick of Baz’s cock from having Simon’s mouth around it just moments before eased the slide of their cocks together.

Simon gasped as Baz sped up his hand on their cocks, and it wasn’t long before he was coming between them, Baz coming soon after.

Baz let go of Simon’s hand almost immediately, and Simon bit back a frown at it.

They both relaxed as they came back down from the high of their orgasms, and Baz’s face came down so that their lips were mere centimeters apart, and Simon was so sure that he was about to kiss him when Baz rolled off of him, asking where the restroom was so that he could clean up.

He was gone from Simon’s flat quickly, collecting every article of clothing that had been tossed carelessly aside, and in the morning, Simon felt as though he had imagined it all. The only evidence that Baz was ever there was the used condom in the trash can and the smell of him on the bed sheets.

Once again, Simon was left alone, and he couldn’t help but think that Baz was only using him to get off and that he didn’t care that it was Simon he was with.

Simon wished that he felt that way, too, but there was something tugging at him, and he knew that he felt different about what they were doing than Baz did.

This was beginning to mean something to him, and he should probably put an end to it before it got out of hand.

***

Of course, when they ran into each other for the third time and Baz invited Simon back to his place, he couldn’t say no.

As Simon followed Baz to his flat in his own car, he was left with far too much time to think about what it was that they were doing.

Simon had never really been one for one-night stands or meaningless flings or whatever it was that you could call what he and Baz were doing, but it was like he couldn’t stay away from him for long.

As soon as he saw him in that bar that night, he could feel himself growing hard and trying to come up with a way to get Baz to go home with him.

He knew that it was a bad idea. You should never try to have meaningless sex with someone who you once had feelings for. It would only lead to disaster, but once he had a taste, it was like he couldn’t get enough.

It was like he had been drowning, and Baz pulled his head above water. Being with Baz was like the first breath of air after being deprived of it, and it was nothing like Simon had ever experienced before.

That’s why even though he knew that he should, he couldn’t put an end to this. Simon liked what they were doing too much to just give it up. He’d never felt this way with anyone else. Even his last boyfriend never made him feel as good as Baz does.

They didn’t talk as Baz led Simon inside his flat and to his bedroom, and Simon was beginning to realize how much they don’t seem to talk around each other. It was all sex between them, getting off as quickly as possible before leaving, and Simon would never admit how much he hated that.

That night, Simon took the time to slowly open Baz up, fingering him slowly and drawing Baz’s pleasure out, delighting in the way that Baz fell apart beneath him. As he gasped and moaned and begged for more, Simon memorized every sound that he made, wanting to commit it to memory for reasons he wouldn’t think about.

When he finally pushed his cock deep inside of Baz, he moaned low in his throat, resting his cheek against Baz’s for a moment while they both adjusted to the feeling.

Simon squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, taking a steady breath, before sitting up and slowly pulling out of Baz before slamming back in.

Baz’s finger dug into Simon’s back, gasping out sounds of pleasure, as Simon started out slow before steadily increasing his pace.

As Baz began to thrust his hips up to meet him, Simon brought his hand between them and began pulling on Baz’s cock in time with their movements.

Their eyes met, and Simon felt an overwhelming rush of emotions wash over him. He couldn’t put a name to what they all were, but he found himself coming inside of Baz with a loud moan.

Baz came a few seconds later, and they collapsed on the bed next to each other, breathing heavily but not saying anything.

Simon found that he had so many things that he wanted to say to Baz, but none of them felt right in that moment.

After a few minutes, Simon sat up and looked around the room, looking for his clothes.

He didn’t want to leave, but reluctantly, he slid out of Baz’s bed, collecting his clothes from the floor before disappearing into the bathroom to clean up and dress.

Baz was dressed when he stepped back out, and Simon wished that he could cross over to him, pull him into his arms, and kiss him, but he couldn’t because Baz didn’t want that, which was evident from the way that his expression held nothing as he looked up at Simon.

It was like Baz couldn’t care less about Simon, and it was killing Simon as he realized it.

Simon said goodbye and hurried back out to his car, thinking that he shouldn’t do this again but knowing that given the chance, he definitely would.

***

The fourth time they met, Baz took charge, drawing pleasure from Simon slowly enough to drive Simon crazy with lust.

He slowly trailed his mouth over Simon’s body, kissing and biting lightly, not leaving any marks even though Simon told him that he could. Apparently, he didn’t want either of them to have proof of what they were doing. He didn’t want there to be any chance of someone finding out about them.

The realization of how ashamed Baz was to be with him hurt, but Simon was too wrapped up in the pleasure of what he was doing to think too much about it at the time.

By the time that Baz finally put his mouth where Simon wanted it, he was so close to orgasm that he was afraid that he’d come instantly.

His hands tightened in the sheets as Baz wrapped his warm mouth around the tip of his cock, sucking and licking until Simon was panting and practically begging him for more. One of Baz’s hands was wrapped loosely around the base of Simon’s cock occasionally stroking the shaft.

“Please,” Simon gasped, his hand coming up to thread his fingers through Baz’s hair.

Baz glanced up at him, his eyes hooded and filled with lust, then he surprised Simon by taking him all the way down in one go.

“Hnng,” Simon groaned, eyes rolling back.

Baz slowly pulled off, letting his teeth graze the shaft 

It was unexpected and more pleasurable than Simon ever could have imagined, and it caused Simon to involuntarily thrust up into Baz’s mouth, making him gag a little before pulling off.

“I’m sorry,” Simon gasped, trying to regain control of himself.

“It’s okay,” Baz said before adding even quieter, “I liked it.”

“Fuck,” Simon breathed, barely able to contain the shiver that ran through his body. “C-can I?” Simon asked, his body shaking with the effort of keeping his hips still.

Baz’s eyes widened ever so slightly, but he nodded. “Yes,” he said before taking Simon’s cock back into his mouth.

Tightening his grip in Baz’s hair, Simon started out with slow, shallow thrusts, trying to be careful, but when Baz squeezed his hips, encouraging him, Simon began to thrust deeper, watching as his cock disappeared into Baz’s mouth.

Baz was beautiful, and Simon couldn’t believe that Baz trusted him enough to do this. He wanted to reach out with his free hand and trail his fingers down the side of Baz’s face, but he decided that it was best to keep his hands to himself at that moment.

“I-I’m going to come,” Simon gasped a few moments later, his body shuddering with how close to the edge he was.

Baz pulled away abruptly, and Simon was ashamed to say that he whined at the loss of Baz’s warm mouth, but then Baz was saying, “Wait. I don’t want you to come until I’m inside you,” and he couldn’t complain.

Simon readjusted his position, bending his legs and spreading them in order to give Baz access to his hole, and Baz began making quick work of opening him up while taking care to make sure that he was prepped enough, placing a kiss to the inside of Simon’s thigh as he worked.

“You’re gorgeous,” Baz whispered so quietly that Simon was pretty sure that he wasn’t supposed to hear it.

It sent shivers down his spine, and his eyes fluttered shut as he felt Baz’s fingers moving in and out of him. He hated the effect that Baz had on him. He hated how easily he fell apart when Baz touched him.

When Baz finally slid into him, Simon had been on the edge so long that he knew he wouldn’t last very long, but it felt so good and right to have Baz inside of him, filling him up.

As Baz thrust into him, Simon wanted to reach down and touch himself, but he was afraid of coming too soon, and it felt nice enough with Baz moving inside of him, hitting that spot deep within him.

Simon was right, and he didn’t last more than a couple of minutes, but Baz followed him to his climax soon after.

They were both breathing heavily as Baz slipped out of him, and Simon felt sleepy and happy as he came down from the high of his orgasm.

Baz lay beside him for a long time, and Simon wanted to ask him to stay the night but knew that it was stupid to hope that Baz would want anything more than a quick fuck.

Finally, Simon started to feel gross with his come all over his stomach, and he sat up to go get cleaned. Without a word, Baz got up and started dressing, leaving with little more than a murmured goodnight.

Again, Simon was left feeling like he wanted this so much more than Baz, and he was angry at himself for not being able to just have some fun without letting his feelings get in the way.

***

The fifth time was different. There was almost no awkwardness between them, and it seemed like their goal was more to just spend time together than to get to a bed as quickly as possible.

They danced together for a while, neither of them drinking much this time, hands roaming each other’s bodies as much as they dared in public.

Simon felt good with Baz there, and he couldn’t believe that Baz would choose to be with him when he could probably have any guy that he wanted.

Eventually, they made it back to Simon’s place, falling into bed together.

As the night progressed, it became clear that this night would be the most memorable, and Simon found himself never wanting the night to end.

It was the most sensual time, and it was the first time that they kissed.

Simon had barely managed to lock the door behind them when Baz pulled him into his arms and kissed him, their lips pressing urgently together before softening as they relaxed into the kiss.

Simon half-expected Baz to pull away immediately, but they stayed like that in Simon’s entryway for several minutes, taking the time to explore each other’s mouths for the first time. Simon was pretty sure that it was the best kiss he had ever experienced, and he wouldn’t have minded if it was all they had done that night.

When they finally did part, Simon was breathless and hard and almost certain that he was going to do something stupid before the night ended.

Simon slowly led Baz to his bed, and they fell into it together, moving slower than usual, like they wanted to draw out the night.

They moved together fluidly, easily giving each other pleasure with the things they’d learned about each other over the time that they’d spent together. This time it felt more like they were making love, rather than just trying to get off with each other, and Simon could feel himself falling for Baz more and more as the night progressed.

Baz teased Simon for a long time, holding off his orgasm until he came as soon as Baz’s hand touched his cock. It was the hardest that he could ever remember coming, and it took him a moment to pull himself together so that he could return the favor.

Using just his mouth, Simon started at Baz’s neck and began moving down his chest, stopping to play with his nipples from a moment before continuing on. He bypassed Baz’s cock, rubbing his face against his leg, where he yearned to leave little love bites on his inner thigh.

It wasn’t likely that anyone would see them if he had, but respecting Baz’s wish not to be marked, Simon settled for dragging his teeth lightly over the sensitive skin there, drawing a low moan from Baz.

Then, he began to suck Baz off, starting off slowly, sucking on the head for a while before taking more of him in, bit by bit.

Simon moved up and down, licking and sucking on Baz’s cock as he slowly increased his pace until he had Baz moaning beneath him before he finally came with a low sound that sounded a lot like Simon’s name.

Simon couldn’t help himself, and he moved back up the bed to kiss Baz breathlessly for long moments, their tongues wrapping around each other as their hands aimlessly rubbed over each other’s bodies. It felt like it might physically pain them to stop touching each other.

Simon found himself getting hard again as they kissed, and when he moved to adjust his position, he was pleased to find that Baz was getting hard, too.

Simon moved slowly against him, rubbing their cocks together as he dragged his mouth across Baz’s cheek and over to his ear, which he tugged at with his teeth.

Baz groaned and bucked up into him, creating more friction. With a low growl, Simon kissed him again, and he sped up his movements the best that he could without removing his mouth from Baz’s.

Soon, they had both come again, and when Baz got up to go clean himself in the en suite, Simon followed silently after. They cleaned up together, avoiding each other’s eyes, and there was a question sitting heavily on Simon’s tongue as he tried to get up the nerve to voice it.

Will you stay the night? He wanted to ask.

He couldn’t do it, though. He didn’t want to mess things up, so he watched as Baz got dressed, and his heart did a flip as Baz kissed him once more, softly, before leaving.

When Baz was gone, leaving Simon alone in his suddenly too-big bed, Simon realized that he was screwed. He’d fallen in over his head.

This was all just supposed to be fun. Baz kept repeating that every time they were together as one of them dressed to leave, and Simon could feel himself moving past simple fun.

He’d begun to develop feelings for his ex-rival. Those old feelings had come rushing back, and he knew that he was screwed because they were now stronger than ever.

He was falling in love with Baz, but Baz only wanted him for sex. The best thing to do would be to stop all of this, but Simon knew that he couldn’t do it.

He would keep returning to Baz for as long as Baz wanted him, even if it destroyed him.

[lemonietrinket]

Himawari ||| Kevin x Reader

Summary: Kevin is a ray of sunshine, and so are you. This time, Kevin has something to say to you. Genre: Fluff, as per usual Word Count: 1750 Theme Song: Man in a Movie - Day6; Spark - JBJ95 AN: Kevin Woo, an underrated ball of soft. Another request from @idont-knowabrian​ because they have good ideas. Thanks for reading!

Kevin took a deep breath.

It wasn’t like him, usually, to be so nervous. He’d been on so many stages, in so many recording studios, before so many important people, he reckoned he’d abandoned the idea of being nervous way back in his debut years.

And yet here he was, at your front door, freshly painted citrine by your own hand, cold dispelled by a smart but thick jacket, and  ever so slightly shivering,

Ah yes, that was the day he first met you. Walking past the terraced houses on his way to work, he’d glanced to his right and seen you coating the door in a very diligent fashion. Once he’d passed your door several times, greeting you with a wave and a shy smile every morning, and after you’d worked up the courage to ask if he really was who you thought he was, did he find out why you insisted on painting it in such a primary shade.

“To fulfil a childhood dream of mine.” You had shrugged. “I always wanted to live in a house with a big front window and a yellow door. Not that it originated from any great tragedy! I just... you know. Really like the colour yellow.”

You’d gone on to explain how you had finally had the chance to control the environment that surrounded you, after a youth characterised by restrictive policies that now as an adult you had escaped from. He would never admit it, out of politeness and slight shame on his own behalf, but he was more focused on your face at that very moment. He could still picture how your eyes flickered to the side, how you frowned and scrunched your nose at your own words, at the very moment your lips twitched into a smile, sheepish but no less relaxed. 

The memory did little to calm his nerves, merely lending a hand to his heart’s fluttering.  But it was no use now, as the very door opened to reveal you.

He was 90% sure his heart stopped.

“Kevin! Hi!” you exclaimed, face glowing in the dim streetlight behind. “You’re actually right on time. Not even a minute late!"

His eyes swept over the visage before him. You, in a mustard wool blouse, tucked into a deep moss-green skirt that billowed in the breeze at your ankles. Your eyes glittering in the twilight—a pool he wanted to sink into and also avoid for his own heart’s safety—outwitting the moon in a knowing gaze aimed only at him - a concept that almost stole his words - standing somewhat awkwardly in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back.

“You must be some kind of miracle,” you stated, voice touched with wistfulness.

He coughed, being very abruptly dragged from his thoughts. “What? Me? No! No, not...” He shook his head, playing it off with a laugh.

“What? Always here perfectly on time, always looking as dashing as you always do, it’s not a preposterous proposition, you know!” 

He shook his head, tipping his head away from the playful glint in your eyes, and letting his hands do the talking for him. 

You gasped, even though you saw the gift coming from a million miles away. Even if those million miles was only the couple of metres of your front path.

“Oh Kevin...!” You took the bouquet into your hands, eyes mottling with tears that you couldn’t quite contain, that matched the polka-dotted ribbon of pastel blue that neatly held the piece together.

The sunflower petals, smooth and radiant, were no match for you, Kevin decided. But as you cradled the bouquet close to your chest and stared up at him, lips—kissed by the sunshine itself—wavering in joy, he felt his heart swell to the point he felt as if it could burst.

“I hoped you’d like them,” he mentioned.

“I love them, Kevin, thank you so much!”

You sighed, peering down at the soft plumes. “Let me get a vase and water for them real quick—I won’t be long!”

And you disappeared from his sight.

What was he to do with himself? All tongue-tied and very nearly misty-eyed for you, a child of the sun. You’d been dating for a while, and what he’d planned wasn’t something to get this worked up about, surely.

But for you, he could barely contain the emotions that flooded from his soul. Feelings could no longer be caged by his ribs. They already struggled to contain the rapid march of his heartbeat.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, ironing out the tremors and his blending fears with it. He straightened his jacket, an undefeatable smile playing upon his lips. How luck had been on his side for him to even have the opportunity to meet you.

“Ready to go?” you suddenly enquired, reappearing in his vision and hanging from the door as much as you hung off his words—not that he was quite aware of that.

“If you are, then of course!”

“Great!” You locked your door with a grin, swinging your keys into your satchel, before coming to his side happily. You looped your arm around his, pulling your coat’s collar up to your chin to keep out the windchill while sending him the glimmering smile he adored so dearly. “Where to, fair knight?”

“Oh, um...” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, there is this small late-night vintage cafe I thought you’d feel at home in. We could go there first, and then the park after?”

“Sounds like a quest.” You nodded. “Let’s go!”

.

~ ~ ~

.

Your laugh fluttered in the breeze, blissful and very near misty in the shadows the lamps and stars could not banish. Skirt flowing, you span, arms wide as if to welcome.

“And then she went round and round like this!”

Kevin could barely hold back his laughter, feeling tears well in his eyes at your performance. He didn’t care if people questioned as they passed. In fact, he barely noticed them. Why would he, when the most important person was skipping along the cobblestone a few feet ahead of him?  “Why would she do that?!”

“I don’t know!” you feverishly giggled. “Wouldn’t you in that scenario?”

“No!”

“Well, she’d say ‘that’s your loss’!” 

As you wound around the paving, you drifted back to his side, arms clutching at his sleeve as you stumbled, dizzied.

“I shouldn’t have given you that much sugar,” he chuckled,.

You twisted your face in an exaggerated scowl. “Why ever not?”

Kevin felt his mouth continue without the accompaniment of his brain. “Ah well,” he guffawed, “it’s dangerous for me, you know.”

You played along with a hum. “How so?”

He felt the mild horror of his rational mind press him to change tact, but his words just continued to... spill.

“Well, you’re already too sweet for me to handle, and now? It’s just... too much for... my...”

“Heart?” you finished, expression twisted in an amused grimace at the cheese.

“Yes, I...” he broke down to breathy laughter, “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what the was at all—”

“Kevin, it’s fine, don’t worry,” you linked arms once again, “it’s just, unexpected of you.”

He gazed down at you, edging you to continue without another word passing his lips. Just in case whatever hysteria enraptured him the first time infected him again and he said something even worse. 

“I pegged you as the sweet type, but not the cheesy,” you placed a finger to the corner of your mouth, “however, I suppose on the Sweet & Cheesy Venn Diagram, there is instinctively an overlap.”

Bemusedly, he gushed, “What?”

“What?” you echoed, confused by his outcry. “Do you not understand me?”

“No,” he admitted. He immediately looked back to you, searching your face for any signs of offence taken. He found only mild excitement, as you awaited his continuation.  “No, I don’t think I do. But I feel I prefer it that way. You’re so... unique? Your energy is different from other people—friends and coworkers, I mean. I don’t know how to explain it but... things are so much more different with you here. I don’t think I could ever be without you.”

The two of you drew to a stop beneath a lampost. High above, the wind grasped a spider web and swung it into a waltz.

“Do you mean that?” you murmured, voice no higher than a mid-summer zephyr.

He, who’d continued to walk a couple of paces even though it had left you slightly behind, turned back to face you, as well as the anxieties that had lasted all evening.  “Yes. Of course. Without a doubt,” he insisted.

You stepped forward until the lamplight illuminated only you. Crested with a halo, your hands slowly wringing one another at your chest, you were lost for words.

Your silence only prompted him further, as he bit the bullet.

“Y/N, you’re the brightest piece of light in my life, sometimes you shine so brightly I could confuse you with the sun. And, I love you.”

You were stunned, to say the least. You had seen it coming but, not for another couple of weeks, you’d assumed.

But here he was, a few feet away, ever so barely shaking out of subtle fear, but his shoulders brazened, a determined expression painting his soft features that you cared for so dearly, with his eyes glistening in the auburn light and nearly flooding with sincerity.

You made the rest of the distance in a few steps, refusing to tear your eyes away, even if it would be for the entire world’s sake.

Once you reached him, you reached up to cup his cheeks, smoothing his nerves and drawing him closer to your level, before melding your lips with his.

Feeling the one thing he’d dreamt of ever since the first time he’d worked up the courage to utter words to you wash over him, he very nearly froze.

However, he managed to hold himself together—though only just—and relished in the brush your sweet lips against his own. He threaded his hands through your hair, to barely rest on either side of your jaw. His touch was so light you could almost imagine it missing, not that you ever would even dream of doing so.

Melting further into the kiss, you knotted your hands behind his neck, just as he let his hands fall to the small of your back, and the two souls drawn together by luck finally combined.

~~~

AN: I know how to em-dash on my Chromebook now and I am so happy oh my jesuuuusss Also, zephyr is a great word that should come back into common use

Masterlist

[moonlightreal]

Winx club Season 8/14

In which Sky doesn’t quote Thor

14 The Wishing Star

This episode opens, where else, at a concert at Alfea!  The other students whisper and ooh and aah.  So the Winx are famous pop stars but also hold concerts here like every other week and go to school here?  They should be treated more like when the choir performs, I mean it’s cool but not a super big deal.

sigh this pop star thing.  It feels a little less weird than it did in WoW since the girls are younger so the blatant wish-fulfilment version of being a professional musician isn’t as jarring I guess.  But I still can see so many opportunities for characterization—whose idea was it to form the band?    Who decided Bloom wis lead singer rather than Musa?What happens when Musa writes a song and loves it but the others hate it?  What happens when there’s a concert but the girls are busy with schoolwork?  Why don’t the minor fairies also form bands?  Why do only Alfea students come to these concerts?  When do they practice?  Do they ever perform at other places in Magix and who sets that up?  Where did they get the transforming instruments?  Are some of the girls thinking of ‘musician’ as a future career?  How will that conflict with ruling their planets?  And adventuring?

So. Much. Wasted plot & characterization opportunity.

Girls sing.  Cute shots of the minor fairies dancing.  Knut waltzes Faragonda.  Kiko crowd-surfs on the minor fairies.  Stella kisses the screen.  

The girls go to meet their boyfriends.  Stella is adorable.  

But Sky’s missing, he’s on Eraklyon.  “His dad wants him to spend more time at court being a crown prince and all while Sky would rather be a professional hero.”  The other specialists and Bloom express sympathy for Sky.

Season 8 timeslide: Sky is no longer king… if he ever really was, that whole thing was retconned pretty much right after Secret of the Lost Kingdom when we all realized we were going to have more stories.  Also there’s no mention of Brandon being Sky’s squire as he was in season 1.

Meanwhile on Eraklyon!  Cool shot of the palace!  Nice landscaping?!

Yikes, Sky is yelling at his dad, “I’m a Specialist, my place is at Red Fountain!”

Erendor: “You need to put the good of the kingdom first, that’s what princes do.”

Sky: “I put the good of everyone first, that’s why I go on missions with the Specialists!”

So clearly the dubbing department hasn’t seen Thor: Ragnarok because they missed sliding in, “Because that’s what heroes do.” and having me fall over laughing.  Also this situation is very much caught in the timeslide; is Sky a student still learning to rule the kingdom, or a graduate ready to begin his duties?

But as Sky walks away I see someone peering from behind a pillar… a familiar blonde head… oh no, not the number one source of couples drama in all Winx-dom! D: T_T

Diaspro’s done well by the new art style, she’s got gorgeous golden eyes and a nice braid. Her face is really wide though, she looks like an Ever After High doll.  She’s hoping to take advantage of the fight so Sky “will finally be mine.”

Yeah, you tried to kill his girlfriend two seasons ago, why are you not in jail?

Diaspro plots bug me.  Strap in y’alll.

Gorgeous nighttime shot of Alfea.  In Bloom’s room the girls are saying how great their concert was.  Then Stella goes into how hard it is to spend time with their boys when they’re busy saving the magic universe. The other girls try to shut her up before Bloom gets sad, but Stella is oblivious and just rambles on.  Brandon’s planning to take her to the “magic enchanted theater” sometime soon.

Musa yells at Stella.  Stella: “What’d I do this time?”  And there’s Bloom, sad now.  But Bloom says it’s not Stella’s fault; Sky didn’t say he was going to Eraklyon.  The girls talk about boys, with a side of Grumping at Stella.

“Brandon and I always talk.”

“When Riven left we stopped talking, and that didn’t go well.”

“Sometimes Timmy doesn’t call or text but I know he’s just thinking about his projects.”

But the good news is, Valtor’s gone so everything’s going to get better!

Bloom goes outside to make a wish on a star and there’s Sky!  They talk a little about not having time, and Bloom suggests Sky wish on a star for more time.

And now to what I’m really curious about!  The Trix!  We cut to Valtor’s asteroid and I kinda want to see him showing the girls around, but instead he’s on his throne meditating or something while the Trix float in front of him.

Exposition time! Only three witches like them can get the Wishing Star aka the Comet Star apparently, which grants wishes.  It’s made of Sparks (Sparx?) The energy that gave birth to the magic universe, the stars themselves.  So… Dragonfire?  “the magic of fairies, and witches.”

Flashback to Valtor trying to grab the comet and getting knocked for a loop. Incompatible magic.

Icy does the, “And why should we help you?” and it turns out Valtor’s mark is on their hands—they belong to him.  Just now or still from season 3, I wonder.  Also once Valtor becomes the most powerful sorcerer he promises to give them immense power.

Icy, apparently forgetting every other teamup they’ve ever done, thinks this sounds like a good deal, “Am I right, sisters?”

The Wishing Star hurtles through space, quite close to Valtor’s asteroid.  Our villain team warps outside and…

...And we cut to the wishing Star, which is a person of the same species as Queen Dorana, but with a more snowy theme.  She comments, “Valtor’s palace.  Hasn’t changed much in the last thousand years.  Still creepy!”  That was kinda random and cute, and also, Valtor’s had that palace for a thousand years and space people just know where it is?

...And THEN the Trix appear and the chase is on.  Stormy’s storm powers seem to be able to cause a meteor storm in space.    Darcy summons the illusion of a black hole which actually draws things into it.  Then icy succeeds in catching the comet girl in a block of ice.  The Wishing Star is caught!  Valtor is pleased!

But then she sends out her power in a blast of colored lights and a star-shaped box.

Valtor goes, ‘Noooo!”

The colored lights fly away but the star box flies straight at Lumenia and nearly beans Twinkle.  She flees, with the star box chasing after her!  Twinkle flies to the palace for help, where Argen is admitting to his sister that he thought being king of Lumenia would be more exciting.  Heh. Then in comes Twinkle, chased by a star box!

Queen Dorana recognizes it: the star case.  (so, book version rather than movie version of Escape to Witch Mountain?)  And it’s a bad sign!  We need the Winx immediately!  Twinkle goes to fetch them.

Bloom and Sky are having a peaceful evening looking at the stars… when Diaspro texts. Sky makes a horrified face.

Bloom: “Who’s messaging you?”

Oh just my ex who always teams up with villains and tried to murder you back when…

Diaspro keeps calling and Bloom says Sky should answer it.  Then Twinkle arrives. Saved!  Bloom and Sky must say goodbye as the Winx leave on an urgent mission!

In the Owl Sky ignores a few more increasingly irate texts then calls Diaspro back. She’s got a super secret mission from Sky’s dad!  They gotta go find the “lost locket of Eraklyon, one of the most poerful items in our kingdom.  And the two of us have to find it!  Together!”

Sky is not down for this together stuff.  He tries to tell Diaspro the mission might be dangerous, but she is undeterred.  Then the other boys turn up with a new Specialist mission, that Sky has to turn down since he’s got thiss mission with diaspro.

“Diaspro?  That crazy girl who won’t give up on you?”

“Yes Brandon, that’s the one.”  

“Come on Sky, the Specialists aren’t afraid of anyone, even broody aristocratic girls from Eraklyon.”

In case you were wondering how the boys talk about Diaspro.

And honestly, I was sympathetic for Diaspro, she and Sky were engaged and then Sky started falling for Bloom and instead of working things out he did nothing and let both girls find out the truth by surprise in public and Bloom attacked Diaspro thinking she was Icy.  Diaspro was kinda more sinned against than sinning, at that point.  But the heartbreak apparently caused Diaspro to go over the edge and she started teaming up with villains, cast a love spell on Sky, and pushed a magicless Bloom into a fiery pit.  My annoyance at all things Diaspro isn’t really with her, it’s with everyone who acts like Diaspro is just an annoying ex instead of a dangerous criminal.

Things from Diaspro’s perspective would make a great fanfic.

But now we’re going to Lumenia to learn about the star case and the Winx’s second mission of the season!

The Winx arrive on their hoverboards, showing those off so kids will buy the toys, then we arrive at the palace.  They meet Argen, who recognizes them from his days as Obscurum but they don’t recognize him so he explains what happened to him.

Then, star case! It contains the essence of the wishing star.  Tecna remembers hearing about it from Miss F in a “cosmomagic lesson.”  It’s the most powerful star in the universe and it’s made out of “Sparx, a magical radiance that is the source of all fairy powers.  And witch magic!”  So, Dragonfire.  Which is why I shall keep spelling it Sparx.

So the girl in the comet was herself a star and to defend herself she “split herself into the seven prime stars.  But her essence remained inside this case.”  The Winx have to find the seven stars and put them all back, so the Wishing Star can pull herself together again.  But they need the star compass, which is in the case—but it won’t open.

Bloom has an idea: go inside the case!  Using our Enchantix powers!

The view pulls out to show our villains watching and I want them to say something about how the Winx are still using Enchantix like last time...

But no.  Valtor orders the Trix to find the compass first.

Enchantix!

And it’s… all right.  I can complain about the pink creep—aka everybody is wearing more pink than the first time around—but that’s about it. It’s not a terrible redesign, but not brilliant.  Musa’s translated best, I think, maybe just because her color is already pink so it’s not jarring like Aisha’s or Bloom’s.

The girls miniaturize and poof into the star box, which is like a miniworld of decorative gears.  They find a ballerina figure—the star case is a music box.  They find the star compass easily, and Tecna says “achievement unlocked!” again.  But then a cold wind starts to blow and a familiar laugh echoes...

“The Trix they’re back!”

“I hope you like this place, because you’re never leaving.”

Cliffhanger!

How did the Trix get miniaturized, hmm?

I have a suspicion that when a season of Winx is made, both halves are made at the same time by different sets of writers.  So things don’t completely match, like the Wishing Star being a person of the same sort as Dorana and Argen who are not stars.  Stars were lots of things, but they weren’t people until now.  I bet we’ve seen our last staryum, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Valtor uses a lot fewer portals.  I’m hoping we haven’t lost Orion because stolen design or not, I really like him.  And I prefer legit villain Valtor to the wimp who did nothing but pick on Obscurum for twelve episodes, so please keep him threatening to destroy the planet, ok?

[soundrooms]

Soundrs: DJ CYBERDAD

My name is John Verchot, I’ve released music under several names: J-chot as well as DJ CYBERDAD. Locally, I’m usually just billed as DJ Verchot. I feel like the first thing I should tell you about myself is that I have severe ADHD, which seems to be the single most consistent force guiding my art and existence. I often get distracted and always get ahead of myself when I try to explain things. DJ CYBERDAD started out as a funny pseudonym to release more profane songs that I didn’t want my son to hear, but changed into an outlet for my smoother dance jams as well as more introspective music. 

What are your inspiration sources?

It varies from project to project. Often times with tracks, the inspiration to work on them comes in two or three different phases. Inspiration to create sounds is one thing, as inspiration to finish and structure tracks, create moods/themes, or even package them into a finished project, all feel like different driving forces/processes that need to happen in order for me to get anything done. However, whichever one of those forces I am able to utilize when I sit down at my laptop often seems to be beyond my control.

Most times I’ll hear a sound, loop or phrase, I’ll start to wonder what I can do with it, or how I can change and manipulate it. It might be the timbre of an old instructional video’s narrator, or an odd metallic sound I’ve managed to coax out of some equipment. Occasionally I’ll think of a concept, either of overall sound or thematic content and before I know it, I’ve got half a track planned out in my head. Many times I’ll hear other tracks or songs, and want to use just one part/concept/sound or re-do the whole track differently. With “Emotional in Destin”, I was trying to convey moods or feelings I felt during an unexpected trip to Florida in the middle of a crushing depression. It sounds bizarre, but I've never channeled personal experiences into my music before.

Overall what inspires me to create different sounds is the novelty of technology and bits and other people’s music.

What makes me want to sit down and make music is personal or professional success.

What inspires me to finish tracks and projects is the distant white noise of overwhelming anxiety and dread setting in as the ennui of the imminent collapse of western society fades giving way to the dark, almost imperceivable thrumming of the void drawing nearer, and is definitely getting louder. Your “time” is almost up John. Did you even do anything, or are you too skiddish and feeble of heart and head to make any clear decisions, impulsively flitting from one animal urge to another bad habit, clogging the chemical receptors of your brain for simple stupid pleasure. It’s night now and your eyes and fingers grow weary…

What was the question again? 

Tell us something about your workflow.

Most times, it starts with just noodling around. Sometimes, it’s with synths and sequencers, either recording sounds or looping notes and tweaking/loading patches (virtual or real synths), sometimes I’m browsing potential sample material, but what happens next is the same regardless of how I’m making sounds or what I’m doing:

…I think hear something.

…And I STOP noodling. Basically, I either hear something I like, or I hit a riff or whatever and it’s like a tiny, tiny light bulb that blinks barely. Occasionally it’s like a hundred watt, and other ideas quickly fall into place. Most times, it’s a process of trial and error, but I’m making sure to document or isolate the little pieces that click and then attempt to refine or improve on those ideas. Ideas can quickly diverge, multiple sets with different names get saved, and I often jump around and get lost. I use color coding on clips and pieces in Ableton to help me sort those ideas. Some ideas form by running one sequence I’ve had already through a whole different synth/patch.

Very rarely, I’ll get a concrete idea while I’m driving, maybe I’ll make some notes on my phone (text to speech notes, voice recording).

When I get a spark that makes me imagine a full concept (“Charles Nelson Riley”, or that “My P**sy tastes like Pepsi Cola” remix for example), the track is formed VERY quickly (four to eight hours working time) and I finish the mix, structure, everything. This is rare, but these tracks are almost always my better material.

The next step is always the same: Let the track “cool-off”. Leave it alone. Do something else for a few days, or weeks… or in some cases, years… Then I’ll fuck around with it even more, or move on to:

STRUCTURE & MIXING: 

I look for/experiment with arrangements that compliment my DJ style, or allow someone to do a rough edit if they want, (breakdowns at the end), or I’ll load a track that I like to DJ that’s similar enough and I will STRAIGHT UP copy the song structure in terms of intro, (drums or keys?) repeating bits, breakdowns, outros… Most times I fuck with it until it sounds okay, which is kinda bad because I end up drastically overscrutinizing it.

When it comes to mixing, something that I should do more often but don’t is load a reference track (someone else’s track) and try to get my mix to sound like theirs… This technique REALLY helps stop “nasty surprises” when you listen to it on a big system, or in the car.

Most of the time, I’ve been tweaking the mix the entire time I’ve been working on the project. 

TL;DR

The “Emotional in Destin” EP is almost entirely soft synths, but lately my flow is:

1. dick around on hardware

2. “oh that sounds good, let me make another sound to go with it” (see step 1)

3. record a few pieces to an Ableton project.

4. “I don't know what to do now.” …maybe mixing or structure…

…almost ALL THE TIME, however I jump around and do everything very non-linearly. Hardware helps me not spend so much time tweaking patches or EQ-ing a snare drum for an hour. Texture is SUPER important to me, so I’ll often get hung up on EQ and compression before I even start on structure or mixing. 

How would creative rituals benefit your workflow?

The hardest part for me is ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS getting started, or shifting gears from other activities (resting after work, reading tumblr, goofing off…) and going to sit down at my desk and start music stuff. I’m certain it’s an executive dysfunction thing. The less I think about doing it before I do it, the better.

Animal sacrifice SIGNIFICANTLY speeds things up. Try not to get blood on the gear/laptop, and make sure never to clean, but regularly sharpen the ceremonial dagger (VERY important). 

How do you get in the zone?

I don’t really try…

As soon as I start to approach a task as “a thing” I get nervous and anxious. If I go “okay, I’ve got this task to complete…” my subconscious hijacks my higher functions to make me look at memes or tumblr for three hours instead of do what I “should” or “want”… The problem with me in the past has been how do I get OUT of the zone? 

How do you start a track? 

Oh jeez, I really jumped the shark with that question earlier, didn’t I? A technique I’ll sometimes employ is load up an old track, keep the drum sounds/patches but delete all the data, and make an entirely different genre of track… or one that's very similar… That’s kind of a fun exercise if nothing else. Also it often winds up getting tweaked and adjusted to hell and back. 

Do you have a special template? 

Nope. I make TONS of drum, EQ, and effects presets though. And they all have terrible names like “gooddrums”, “$GOODrums” and such.

Even though I’ve started with carbon copies, they ALWAYS end up sounding completely different by the time I’m finished with the track, because I can’t leave em well enough alone. 

What do you put on the master channel? 

Sometimes EQ, but always a phat ass compressor (limiting). I’ve been thinking about investing in a nice non-free one lately, but for some reason I am not comfortable with purchasing software plugins… I also have learned recently, that I’ve been using compression on the individual tracks way too much… which makes final-mixing a pain in the ass. 

How do you arrange and finish a track? 

DAMN IT. I really did go too hard with the first couple questions. The “finishing” of a track for me (arrangement, mixing) is usually done much later than the rest of the process. I try not to force stuff, but lately I’m realizing more and more that I need to not do this as much.

I can’t stress enough how using a reference track for structure or mixing can very often break up stagnation on a project. 

How do you deal with unfinished projects?

Several ways. The first step is to judge an old file and see if it's worth finishing. If there is ANYTHING of creative/sonic merit, I put it in a folder with the other “sketches and ideas” (project graveyard). Otherwise, I have been trying to delete the “junk” projects… this can make it easier to focus. Another thing I often do is to make presets/patches/Ableton instruments from the parts I like, then drop it in a folder called “meh”. Or I drop them into several categorical folders, i.e.: “uncircumcised electro bangers”, “abrasive techno”. 

How do you store and organize your projects?

Aw jeez. Oh gosh-oh darn. (See above answer.) 

How do you take care of studio ergonomics? 

Trial and error, trial and error, trial and error. This year alone my studio has been restructured and moved about my downstairs room at least five times. I’ve finally settled on something that feels very useful and productive. I am also this way with my work station at my job. CHANGE IT UNTIL IT WORKS GREAT. This can also help with creative stagnation, or can trigger it, so be careful. I keep my “electronics laboratory” close at hand so that more of that tinkering can find it’s way into my music… no such luck, YET.

I’ve currently decorated my space with all the crap I’ve saved up over the years, that for some reason, I’ve looked at this and thought: “This makes me happy” …SUUURE, my studio now looks like a fourteen year old decorated it, but I gotta say, I feel pretty phenomenal. Soon I’m gonna try to put this “stars and space” wall paper on my ceiling… I’ll update with a photo when that’s done.

Also I would like to say:

Minimalist spaces and studios are bullshit, y’all look like sick baby birds in empty shoe-boxes.

I mean, NOBODY LIVES THAT WAY, right? Maybe some boring rich people do, but damn… I mean, I try to clean and stay organized… and it helps, but I also try not to get to hung up on it. 

Tell us something about your daily routine, how is your day structured, how do you make room for creativity?

**LOUD SUCKING SOUND THROUGH TEETH** I don't… at least, not very well at all… but I’m working on that.

I am not the person you should ask this question, because THIS RIGHT HERE is the BANE of my existence… 

Share a quick producing tip.

MAN, I’ve already dropped like… seven, but okay, here goes:

BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY, FINISH THE TRACK. For me, this means ghetto-rigging, DIY, using the same goddamn audio interface from 2002 for f****ng fifteen YEARS… (recently fixed) don’t get hung up on “proper” ways, or ways that are outside your current means. Also, get a set of decent monitors… or use several pairs of headphones/speakers to double check mixes.

Recently, I’ve had less time, but a little bit of money, which is the opposite of how I’ve ALWAYS operated… it’s been difficult to unlearn “time consuming but cheap”. Also difficult not to impulse buy synths. 

Making music with just a mouse and keyboard may be the least sexy thing ever… it works tho… cheap MIDI controllers CAN work faster however. 

Share a link to an interesting website (doesn’t have to be music related).

My son just showed me this ➜ https://dddance.party/ and I have to say, this is an outstanding achievement of mankind. 

List ten sounds you are hearing right this moment : ) 

Traffic outside my window, gentle hum of laptop cooling fan, dog snoring, fingers typing, birds chirping… that’s it.

John has a lo-fi house EP out on UltraBold Records as DJ CYBERDAD. It’s called ‘Emotional in Destin’. Stream it ➜ here, audio cassettes are available ➜ here.

Thanks John! If you want to get featured next, send a message here on tumblr or email soundrooms@icloud.com.

[audreycritter]

Rated M for language. Bruce Wayne & Dick Grayson

After a severe, life-changing injury, Dick and Bruce have an epic fight and then fall back together.

Sometimes, family hurts you the most, but that doesn't stop how much you need them.

***

The house was so quiet that the heaviness of it wrapped around Dick’s chest like thick ropes, and tightened. He was sick of it, was sick of creeping around the house where even Damian went on silent tiptoe the past several days.

He kept the milkshakes level in his hands while he turned the knob and pushed the door open with one foot.

“Hey,” he said into the shadows. The lump on the bed didn’t move. He flicked on the lights and there was an irritated huff from beneath the covers.

Dick crossed the carpet and set the milkshakes on the bedside table, irritation scrabbling up his throat like poison vines. He swallowed them down so hard it hurt. He could do this. He could be gentle and empathetic.

“I brought you a strawberry chocolate chip shake,” Dick said, grabbing a dusty book from the bedside. He blew it off, not wanting to think about what the dust said about the distance Alfred was keeping outside of necessary contact. He curled the soft binding and poked Bruce with it.

“Stop,” came the growl that was barely a word.

“C’mon, B,” Dick cajoled. “You can’t mope all the time. Sit up and have a shake with me.”

He knew the second he said it that mope was the wrong word. He could tell by the way Bruce stiffened under the mountain of blankets. The childish rebuttal he was hoping for didn’t spill out of Bruce’s clenched teeth. There was merely silence.

“Bruce,” Dick said, pleading a little. “You’re scaring Damian.”

Nothing.

“Mope was the wrong thing to say, okay. You’re allowed to mope all you want. Just do it with me instead, okay?”

Nothing.

Dick ran a hand through his hair and bit back an annoyed sigh.

“Boss Man. Up. Or I’ll get Jason in here and take him up on his bet that you can’t.”

It was a lie. Jason hasn’t said anything of the sort— Jason had barely spoken in the past week, after that first day when he’d yelled and thrown up and yelled some more. It was also maybe just too close to cruel but Dick felt the vines climbing out of his mouth and pressing against those thick, corded ropes that trapped his ribs.

“Fine,” Bruce said.

“What— no. No, it’s not fine, would you—” Dick shoved at the shoulder closest with the book again. “Sit up and look at me, dammit!”

More silence.

Then, low and rasped like tumbling gravel at the bottom of a river: “No.”

Dick sucked in a breath and willed himself to calm down.

“Please look at me. Can you try, at least? Try to drink a milkshake with me?”

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

“I get it,” Dick said, closing his eyes. “You’re angry. I’d be angry, too, I am angry, I’m fucking pissed for you. You can tell me that. I’m right here, I’ll listen to whatever you need to say to get it off your chest.”

Silence.

He poked with the book a third time.

“Bruce,” he sing-songed. “B-man. Brucester. Did you fall asleep?”

The shoulder inched away from his poking reach.

Dick exhaled loudly and rocked back on his ankles. He laced his fingers behind his head and tried inhaling, counting, and he lost it somewhere around six when Bruce let out a low, incomprehensible growl of a syllable.

“Godammit, Bruce. Would you stop? Stop shutting me out.” Dick snapped. He could hear his voice rising with his waving arms and he didn’t care anymore. “I know it sucks, I know you’re mad, but you lost your leg, not your fucking heart. You can’t just shut down like this! I’m not asking you to get up and run laps, just sit halfway up in the fucking bed and have a milkshake with me! You could at least try!”

There was silence in the room as his words died away, muffled out of any echo by the thick curtains.

The vines looped around his neck now, choking every ounce of fury out of him. When Bruce still didn’t respond, Dick’s answer was tipping over from shouting to outright screaming.

“I’m trying to help you, you asshole!”

Arguing with Bruce was like fighting a brick wall until the instant the wall became a raging, rabid bear. The breath it changed was so sudden Dick took a half step back, because Bruce flipped— finally, finally facing him— and propped himself up on one elbow. His stony face was already carved into something ugly and mean.

“I didn’t ask for your help!” he snarled, one blanket clutched in his fist as if to still it. “I didn’t ask you to come help me.”

“Maybe that’s the goddamn problem!” Dick yelled back. “Alfred had to call me because you have your head so far up your ass you can’t see that you’re scaring your kids. You’d rather just hide in here feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Alfred should mind his own damn business.” Bruce shoved further up on his elbow, but he still wasn’t eye level with Dick, not even on the high bed.

“You are his business and that’s why he fucking called me! We care about you, even if that’s impossible for you to understand. Nobody wants you to rot away in here except you. And maybe if you’d called for my help to begin with you wouldn’t even be in this position!”

“What position?” Bruce hissed. He flipped back the covers and Dick stared, and the blood drained from his face before he could control himself, and he nearly puked. The thought of a strawberry milkshake now made his stomach turn.

One leg was bruised and scraped all the way up the bare shin, and the other was simply not there below the knee. It ended in a swath of gray, soaked bandages that looked yellowish and wet in spots. Bruising was black-blue all the way up the thigh and after another second, Dick had to tear his eyes away and glare at the wall behind Bruce.

“What position?” Bruce hissed again. “Invalid? Amputee? Go on. Say it Dick. Say exactly what you mean. I don’t want your help now, I didn’t want it then. I wanted to keep you away from the situation with Killer Croc and I did exactly that.”

Dick blinked back tears, hot and rebellious as they spilled onto his cheeks.

“You can’t keep protecting me just because you get scared,” Dick said, trying to keep his voice even. It was a losing battle from the second he opened his mouth again. “I’m completely capable of taking care of myself so stop making that call for me. I’m not a kid.”

“Oh, really? But you still think you can just waltz in here with milkshakes and bad jokes and fix this. And you need to fix me, don’t you, Dick, because I’m not good enough if I’m broken. I’m already a worse father, according to you.”

“You...fucking...asshole,” Dick gasped. “You...you’re so convinced you ruin everyone’s lives that guess what? You’re a self fulfilling prophecy, you incredible son of a bitch. You did ruin my day and I’m having second thoughts about the last couple years, too. It’s no wonder someone finally got the upperhand and tore off your leg; I bet it made him sick to the stomach, too, because it was yours and you’ve just got poison in your blood, don’t you? Don’t bother calling. I won’t answer.”

Dick slammed the door on the way out.

He stomped down the stairs, muttered under his breath while he scribbled a call me note to Damian, and yanked his jacket on while blowing by Alfred toward the garage.

There was a pang of regret for the older man, whose face looked worn and more tired than it had in a while, but really that was Bruce’s fault and Bruce’s mess.

“Don’t ask me to come back,” Dick warned, barely slowing. “I’m done with him. I’m just done.”

He broke the speed limit before he was out of the long drive. ***

Clark looked at him from across the beaten kitchen table, his hands clasped together.

“How long ago?”

“Two days,” Dick said, resisting the urge to squirm.

That was the weird thing about talking to Clark. He looked right at you, didn’t tinker and work with things while you were talking. Sometimes it made it easier. It was comforting seeing evidence that you had his full attention.

Other times, it made it harder. There was no distraction. No distraction from things like,

“And you said what to him?”

“I know, I know!” Dick moaned, his face in his hands. “Just...don’t, okay?”

Face in his hands was, as it turned out, far preferable to looking Superman straight on while his eyebrows pinched down in that quizzically disappointed expression.

“I’m sorry,” Clark said. “I know you know. I’m just...Dick, you have to imagine how he’s feeling right now.”

“With his entire half an emotion, probably pretty shitty,” Dick mumbled, a spark of acid in his tone. “But he does that all without my help.”

“But…” Clark said, drawing out the syllable.

“I don’t need to make it worse,” Dick sighed. “I get it. I know.”

“You’re just confirming it for him,” Clark said. “Don’t get me wrong. I know he can be…”

“A fucking idiot.”

“...difficult,” he finished, with an acknowledging, wry half smile. “And also that. It’s okay if you need some space. It sounds like he was being pretty cruel, too, and that’s not exactly fair to you.”

“So do I go apologize? Or wait a week? Wait for him to call?” Dick’s voice broke into a hysteric, short laugh on the last one. “I mean. We both know I’d be waiting until hell freezes over.”

“Because you told him not to call you,” Clark reminded him gently. “And you know how literal he is about things like that.”

“Yeah,” Dick sighed. “I might be changing my mind about that beer.”

Clark wordlessly got up and opened the fridge and withdrew his hand with a glass bottle. He popped the cap off with his thumb, which Dick thought was one of those showy-off things that still just made him remember how much he loved Clark. Someone else could have made it look like a really obnoxious trick, but it looked natural on Clark.

“This is a northeastern brew,” Clark said, setting it down. “I picked it up at a place in Boston. Let me know if you don’t like it.”

“It’s fine,” Dick said. He was barely going to taste it anyway. His hand closed around the glass and Clark didn’t let go.

“You drink this, you sleep on my couch tonight.”

“Aw, Clark. It’s one beer.”

The grip did not relent.

“Alright, fine,” Dick grumbled. He took a swig as soon as it was free.

“There’s a sleeper sofa in the office now. Jon won’t bother you.”

“So. What do I do? Go back tomorrow? Give him space first?” Dick picked at the matte paper label on the bottle, now beading with condensation.

“I think you need to do what you know in your gut you need to do,” Clark said. “You’ve got good instincts, Dick. You know him better than anyone.”

Dick wanted to swear because he hated that, hated when Superman gave him that fatherly smile of reassurance and the ‘I know you’ll do the right thing, kiddo,’ because it made it impossible to disappoint him. There was no shirking the right move with the excuse, “But Superman told me…” There was no way to shift the blame.

“Fine,” Dick muttered. He gulped beer down and let the bitter aftertaste swill in his mouth, bubbling against his teeth.

“I’m sorry, Dick,” Clark said earnestly. “I know you’re hurting, too. It’s not fair to anyone.”

Dick nodded and kept his head down. He stared at the worn grooves and crayon marks on the table so Clark wouldn’t see him nearly cry.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “It isn’t fair.”

“I’ll get some pizza,” Clark said. “You can figure out what to do in the morning.” ***

Dick didn’t last until the morning. He figured that tossing and turning on the sleeper sofa until 3 AM counted as ‘sleeping off’ his single beer. He suspected Clark just wanted to make him feel taken care of— he was like that sometimes when Bruce was being especially Bruce-ish.

In any case, Clark must have heard him folding the sofa back up and folding the blankets and unfolding his jeans to slip them back on. He didn’t come stop him when Dick slithered out the office window and crept down the building on the fire escapes.

Dawn was breaking pale gold and pink on the horizon when he pulled his cycle into the manor garage hours later. He shut off the engine and, with a weight growing steadily denser in his gut, padded silently through the house and toward Bruce’s room.

The lump on the bed was in nearly the same place. The heaviness that had been ballooning the entire trip burst now and Dick was crying before he’d even reached the bed. He paused at the edge of the mattress.

“Bruce,” he said, raggedly. “Bruce, are you awake?”

“Yes.”

Dick climbed onto the bed without waiting for further invitation. He arched to climb over Bruce, careful not to jostle him, and settled on the covers facing him in the dim light. Someone had left a lamp on across the room.

“You’re crying,” Bruce said softly. “What’s wrong?”

“‘m an idiot,” Dick said, gulping for air and choking on the words. “I’m sorry, Bruce, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have...I shouldn’t have said all of that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It was true,” Bruce said, gently. A thumb reached out and brushed a tear off Dick’s cheek.

“It wasn’t— fuck. No. No, B, I was mad and scared and I don’t know how to help you. It wasn’t okay.”

Bruce’s lips parted and then he seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say. His lips were chapped and his face was marred with deep circles under his eyes, like for all the time he’d been in bed he hadn’t slept.

“I’m sorry, too,” he finally said, in a tone like sandpaper. It wore away at the parts of Dick already raw and he winced.

“It’s okay,” Dick said, scooting closer so he could press his forehead against Bruce’s chest. “This doesn’t hurt you, does it?”

There was silence.

“B?”

“No,” Bruce managed, in a voice so choked and hushed that Dick knew he was trying not to weep. His second attempt was a bit clearer. “No, it’s fine.”

“It does hurt though, doesn’t it.”

“No, it’s…” Bruce trailed off. “Yes. But it’ll be alright.”

An arm slipped around Dick’s shoulders and tugged him a bit closer, and then the hold tightened even more and he could feel Bruce shaking.

“I’m so sorry, B. It’s just fucking unfair.”

There was a shake of Bruce head against his hair and Dick exhaled at the thought that even now Bruce would try to argue that. He settled instead for slipping an arm around Bruce in return and squeezing.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce whispered into Dick’s hair. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey,” Dick said, hugging. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to be pissed and sad about this. I wasn’t wrong about that.”

There was a dry gulp of a sob in the quiet room. Dick realized they’d both been whispering, it seemed so loud.

“Fuck,” Bruce exhaled.

He stilled and Dick pulled back to look at his face, and then he was wrestling out of the arm that clutched at him and sitting up on his knees and tapping Bruce’s cheek.

“B. Bruce. B, you gotta breathe. Come on.”

There was a rough nod and Bruce’s eyes pinched shut, tears in the crow’s feet in the corners.

Another ten seconds and then twenty and then there was a hoarse intake of air and a ragged exhale, and then another. Dick kept Bruce’s hand pressed to his chest the whole time, hoping Bruce picked up on his even breathing and not the wild thudding of his heart.

“Goddammit,” Bruce sobbed, when he had enough air in his lungs. His hand against Dick’s chest was shaking and his other hand clawed uselessly at the blankets and his missing leg beneath them. “I can’t...I can’t…fucking hell.”

“What do you need? What can I get?” Dick asked frantically, scanning the dresser and bedside tables.

Bruce shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said, between gritted teeth.

His hand dropped to clutch and twist in the blankets while he panted and Dick knelt beside him, feeling helpless while he tangled his fingers in Bruce’s hair to give him some kind of anchor.

Finally, after an eternity, Bruce sagged limp into the bed and pressed his face into a pillow while he groaned.

Dick, tentatively, laid back down beside him and stared at him.

“Muscle cramps,” Bruce said, not looking at him. “The nerve endings are...well. Wrong signals. Just have to...the painkillers aren’t…”

“How often?” Dick asked, his mouth dry.

“A few times a day, still. Leslie said they should lessen in frequency eventually.”

“Eventually,” Dick echoed. He wanted to cry again. “B.”

“It’s okay, Dickie,” Bruce said, hoarse but gentle and kind. How he pulled it out in those moments Dick never could figure out. “I’ll be alright.”

He sounded exhausted.

Dick slid until he was tucked up against Bruce again and swallowed back the ache in his throat.

“I love you, Bruce. I know you get weird about it, but I do. Whatever you need, say the word. I’m staying for a while.”

Bruce’s arms encircled him again.

“I don’t deserve you, chum.”

Dick had to bite back the argument that nearly flew out of him, but he managed to stop it for now.

“You think you can sleep?” Dick asked. Bruce’s hold already felt slack and weighty with drifting.

“Hnn,” Bruce said, his breath a hot whuff of affirmation on Dick’s forehead. Chapped lips pressed a kiss there. “I’ll try.”

Bruce breathing grew deep and steady and Dick turned his head so his ear was against Bruce’s ribs. He listened to the ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump of Bruce’s heartbeat, and let the selfish gratitude wash over him.

A missing leg wouldn’t keep Bruce down, and Bruce was alive.

Alive was enough for Dick.

He sniffled despite himself.

“Sweetheart?” Bruce said, so quietly and gently Dick thought for a second he’d imagined it. He was slightly jostled. “You alright?”

“Don’t give up, okay?” Dick sniffed again. He kept his ear right where it was.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Bruce said. “You missed Alfred yelling at me for going to the bathroom and back on my own.”

“You didn’t,” Dick’s laugh was shaky. “B.”

“I said he already yelled at me,” Bruce defended in a sleepy whisper. “I got the message.”

“Thank you for being you,” Dick said, a bubble of hope expanding in his own chest. “I mean that. Don’t grumble at me. You’re the best man I’ve ever known. I’m glad you’re you, even if you aren’t.”

“Dick, chum, I’m trying to sleep,” Bruce said roughly.

“Sweet dreams, B. I’ll be here when you wake up and we can both apologize to Alfred.”

Bruce nodded and Dick drifted off, still listening to the reassuring beat of Bruce’s beating heart.

[xxkellsvixen19xx]

Love Is Alive Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry took so long for an update guys trying to work on an angle and still not sure how many parts doing as of yet but please enjoy!

I didn't fall in love with you. I walked into love with you, with my eyes wide open, choosing to take every step along the way. I do believe in fate and destiny, but I also believe we are only fated to do the things that we'd choose anyway. And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you.

~ The Chaos of the Stars, Kiersten White

There is a stillness about Y/N that Jim can't work out. Most people fidget constantly - hair-flicking, smiling and jiggling and generally breaking his train of thought. But she's not like that, not at all.

It's rare, these days, to meet anyone who can sit still, shut up and listen. A valuable quality. She's beautiful, too. Nice eyes.

He had fallen for her at first sight, literally, fallen hard, fallen fast, they were meant to be no question about it.

Y/N can picture it. Kisses long and slow. Tender touches, lingering glances, and secrets deep and dark; hand in hand with the man who captured her heart. Still nights walking under distant stars that light the way. Cheeks blushing to pink, breaths synchronizing, hearts pounding, lips connecting with the young man she loves.

For the first time, Y/N feels genuinely happy and complete. Three months. It's been three months now. Jim Mason the sound of his voice or its many shades, ranging from sweetness to sarcasm. Three months with the touch of his gentle hands, the brilliant sparkle  in his blue eyes, shy crooked grin, strong arms, and tethering presence.

Three months with seeing that look – the one he is giving her right now. The one that fills her with warmth on even the coldest night. The one that makes her entire body tense and soften at the same time. The one that makes her excited and a little bit scared. The one that brings the butterflies and tugs at her heart like a magnet. The one that parts the clouds, reveals the sun, pulls the moon a little lower, and makes the stars shine a great deal brighter. The one that silently shouts I love you across any distance, great or small.

Three months since their entire bodies collided in the most passionate kiss she had ever experienced; when she willingly gave her breath to him, and Jim expanded her lungs and her life with his own. Their mouths fit together like puzzle pieces, and his hands were everywhere – drawing her nearer and nearer until their bodies were one. All the feelings were there – overflowing, and spreading, and mingling together.

He is right there with her, passion matched for passion as he grips her waist, his fingers dipping into the curve of her spine as she presses up against him. He relaxes into her mouth, muffled moan vibrating against her tongue. He kisses her, and he kisses her…until she is dizzy and breathless, clinging for balance with one hand at the nape of his neck and the other gripping soft cotton shirt.

When their lips part, a new memory has been made…leaving her smiling…and hoping…and waiting for more.

//Love took me by the hand

Love took me by surprise

Love led me to you

And love opened up my eyes

And I was drifting away

Like a drop in the ocean

And now I realize that

Nothing has been as beautiful

As when I saw heaven's skies

In your eyes//

Y/N distinctly recalls Jim's hand, extending towards hers as if he were aware of her need, and how she accepted it without a second thought. The long sleeves of her jacket briefly hindered them both. Jim swept the thick fabric away with a swift flick of his fingers, his hand quickly finding hers and completely enveloping it, surrounding her cool skin with his warmth.

She remembers the breath getting lodged in her throat and the feeling of his soft red t-shirt grazing against her cheek as she whispered I love you for the first time.

When Jim turned towards Y/N, the weight of his regard slowly settled over her. It made her feel safe, as though his very awareness of her shielded her like being in a bubble. She remembers him hesitantly reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear…for the very first time, and how her heart skipped beats as his hand skimmed the rim of her ear.

“Y/N, I…” he began.

She looked over her shoulder, ready to speak, anxious to speak to him. He put his index finger to her mouth, letting it linger at the center of her bottom lip, pad of his long digit still hot from the coffee that heated his hands.

“I love you Y/N, I always have and I always will.” He paused, letting his finger fall away from her lips, then put both of their cups aside. She remembers how he took her hand, and with it…another piece of her heart.

She remembers how intensely Jim observed her – like he could see into her soul. Much to her surprise, she wanted to let him, even though it scared her to allow someone so close.

He lowered his voice to a whisper when he spoke the next time. The sincerity in his tone like the ocean on a clear day – so pure, and deep, and expansive that she had no doubt Jim meant it when he said, “Y/F/N Y/L/N, you are something... You’re…incredible.”

She remembers his lips, silky and slightly parted. She remembers his minty breath ghosting across her face, his lashes casting long shadows over angled cheekbones, his skin dotted from the light of the moon that put the constellations to shame. Her heart was made vulnerable by his eyes, sparking blue in the moonlight. She remembers thinking she had just caught a glimpse of what heaven must be like…followed by the unrelenting need to look away…before thinking  herself to he could be hers.

When she dropped her head to his shoulder, he released a contented sigh and rested his cheek atop her temple. She thinks she felt the corner of his mouth turn up against her skin. She pictured Jim flashing his perfect crooked smile…and it made her smile too. They remained in their embrace for a while longer…

Jim is standing before her. Y/N glides one hand around his neck and grabs hold of his shirt with the other, pulling him into a deep kiss. Without the slightest hint of surprise, he dives right in with her; tongue tickling the roof of her mouth, lips playfully reshaping around hers, strong arms looping around her body. He holds her tightly to his chest…tighter and tighter…until there is no space between them.

When they part, they are left entranced by each other; breathless, eyes glassy, hearts rushing.

He nudges her nose with his. “Not complaining here – at all – but what was that for?” he asks, tone soft as an early summer breeze.

“It’s a thank you.”

“For…”

“Showing me what heaven looks like,” she answers.

Jim blinks at her a bit awestruck, question hanging at the tip of his tongue. Y/N lifts her head and kisses him once more, light and deliberate, then lingering at the corner of his mouth.

“There’s something different about you today…” he notes, peering thoughtfully into her eyes. “Good different?” she inquires. “Definitely good. You seem more……yourself. I can feel it...right here,” he continues, picking up her hand and placing it over his heart. “Can you?” “I feel different…and today…I don’t know… I mean…it doesn’t feel like an end. It’s more like…”

He completes her thought. “The start of something?”

“Exactly.”

“Y/N...”

She gazes at Jim, blush rising in her cheeks as she waits for him to continue.

“I love you,” he tells her. Like it’s the easiest, most natural thing in the world for him to say.

She smiles brightly, eyes misting ever so slightly, and her heart so full that she can’t wait to say it back. “I love you too.” And it feels like the easiest, most natural thing in the world to admit. Because she does. She loves him – so much.

She remembers the rush of nerves that affected the tenor of her voice. “I… I love you too Jim Mason.” He kissed her again this time more intense.

They both grasped for the hem of his shirt, hands brushing against each other, then stilling.

“I should let you do that,” she corrected, silently scolding herself for her inability to keep her hands to herself.

He reached back, pulling the formerly white cotton shirt over his head by its collar...and everything slowed down. She remembers watching his lean muscles stretch and contract as he moved, the elegant lines of his body gradually being revealed to her like the unveiling of a new sculpture in a gallery. She blinked with awe realizing that for the first time, she was alone with Jim…in near darkness…while he was only half-dressed. It seemed almost dream like how it happened.

Mesmerized, her eyes wandered over every inch of him. The surface of his skin practically glowed in dispersed lunar light. Y/N remembers the sprinkling of moles that adorned his shoulders and torso. It never even occurred to her to stop when her hands connected with his chest; smooth, and warm, and solid. She was touching Jim – she needed to – and with nothing separating her fingertips from his skin, it felt better than she ever even dreamed it could feel. Her left hand settled loosely over his heart and the digits of her right hand slid down toward his abdominal muscles.

But before she could recoil, his hand covered hers, pressing it nearer until she could feel his erratic heartbeat below her palm.

In silence, they held onto each other. Jim drew Y/N closer, and she relished in the sensation of him surrounding her so perfectly. His embrace made her lose all sense of time, all care for it too. She remembers wishing they could disappear. Just the two of them. Together. No song writing, no demos to record, no record execs to impress. Just Y/N and Jim alone together.

“Jim. Jim. Jim,” she repeats, rising to the tips of her toes and kissing every inch of his face; his cheeks, his eyelids and lashes, his brows, his nose, jaw, and chin, then finally his lips, as he pants into her mouth.

His hands come up to take hold of her face, and he gazes in to her eyes in a way that somehow uncovers the moon and the stars......even from behind a dense layer of clouds overhead. He replaces the ephemeral darkness of night with something more powerful, something enduring…

She presses closer, wanting to connect with every part of him. Her heart bangs wildly against her sternum, wordlessly chanting his name within the chambers of her rib cage. Jim. Jim. Jim.

He kisses her again, and when he stops, Y/N doesn’t even bother to stifle a disappointed moan. It hangs in the stillness of the night air, but she is desperate for more and she wants Stiles to know it. She never wants him to question her feelings for him. Ever.

She releases his shirt and winds her arms around his neck. “Jim... Will you?” she asks, looking at him through her lashes.

He arches his eyebrow, then slides his hands down her body, lifting her up and wrapping her legs around his waist. “Better?” he asks, softly nudging her nose with his.“Much,” she replies with a smile.Then he gives her a chaste kiss and carries her inside the house.

As Jim approaches the living room, Y/N speaks up. “Is it okay if we don’t watch a movie right now?”

“Sure. You wanna talk for a while?”

Tightening her legs around him, she can hear the desire in her own voice when she speaks to him in a breathy whisper. “Later. Right now……all I want is you.”

He touches his forehead to hers and weaves his fingers into her hair. “I want you so much Y/N.”

He turns them around and heads for the open doorway of his bedroom. Then, he steps across the threshold and closes the door behind them. Bracing Y/N against the grain, he explores her mouth with his, smiling as she parts her lips for him.

Within seconds, one of his hands leaves her back, and when she hears the lock click…her entire body clenches with anticipation because she knows the night is about to get infinitely better. Being with Jim makes everything better.

[sneek-m]

Retro Future: A Year in Perfume

Rather than write a blurb about Future Pop, I decided to write about Perfume’s entire 2018 because I can never stick to something short when it comes to my favorite pop group. This post is also available on Medium.

Perfume observed quite a few anniversaries between its fourth and fifth albums, LEVEL 3 and Cosmic Explorer, respectively, so I assumed the group would do the same this year and commemorate a decade since the release of its debut full-length, GAME. But not a peep came from Kashiyuka, Nocchi or A-chan about the album when the release date came around in 2018. The three seemed to be interested instead more in what lies ahead, revealing the title of the new album as Future Pop.

The promotions for music leading up to what would become Cosmic Explorer really worked the anniversary angle. The year before the album, the trio premiered its world-tour documentary We Are Perfume in conjunction with Perfume’s 15th year together as a group. Kashiyuka, Nocchi and A-chan talked up the retrospective qualities behind the movie’s tie-up single “Star Train” during TV interviews, and they made sure to point out how the lyrics speaks as though Yasutaka Nakata is congratulating them after working as their producer for more than a decade.

The Future Pop period, however, had Perfume explore its next potential directions. Last summer’s single “If You Wanna” attempted to introduce future bass not only to the group’s own music but also the Japanese mainstream. This spring’s “Mugen Mirai” refined those experiments, and the members continued to act as a spokesperson to explain the subgenre to the masses. But while Perfume tried its best to stay ahead of the curve, the group also spent much of 2018 revisiting its past successes as inspiration for its current work.

Perfume’s 2018 started with a live tour for its fan club, P.T.A., which coincidentally turned 10 this year. The group has been more than generous when it comes to fan service: for its 15-year anniversary tour, the three incorporated a dice-rolling system to decide its set list with possible choices full of deep cuts. For this year’s fan-club show, the trio built its set based on fan votes. And which track won the number-one spot on that 10-song set? “The Best Thing,” a non-single from its second album, Triangle.

From GAME album track “Take Me Take Me” to “Perfect Star, Perfect Style” included in the 2005 best-of collection, the P.T.A. show featured even deeper cuts released before “The Best Thing.” But more than acknowledgment of long-forgotten favorites, seeing Perfume bring back choreography that hasn’t been performed in almost 10 years seemed like one rare experience. I have yet to see clips other than “The Best Thing” from the show, but reading about the group revisiting old dances has been exciting material in itself.

Watching Kashiyuka, Nocchi and A-chan interact with old material was also the highlight of this spring’s Reframe concert in collaboration with NHK. As the title suggests, Perfume brought back past tracks from various parts of its catalogs in new, reconsidered contexts. Initially a throwaway B-side tied in with a Panasonic ad, “Display” was rebooted as the opening track introducing the show’s mission statement. “With a new, fresh experience,” began the EDM track, fitting this new environment far better than the original.

Reframe also included “Secret Secret,” one of the singles from GAME. After witnessing grand, sweeping choreography in Perfume’s dances for its recent singles such as “Flash” or “Mugen Mirai,” it was intriguing to watch the three revisit more meticulous movements favored during its earlier years. As Kashiyuka, Nocchi and A-chan packed in so many micro gestures throughout the chorus of “Secret Secret,” it showed how far they’ve come as performers. They no longer need to establish themselves so much on stage nor do they have to constantly entertain to make the music more palatable to new ears.

As much as Reframe gave a spotlight on how much has changed, it also dedicated space to show what remains the same. While Perfume’s electro-pop production has been a huge draw of the group since the very beginning, the concert spent a part of its set connecting recurring lyrics and themes in the music. The extended outro section of “Secret Secret” (remixed by producer Seiho) stitched together fragments of Kashiyuka, Nocchi and A-chan’s voices reciting words like “anata,” (you) “boku,” (me) “omoi,” (feelings) and “hikari” (light) culled from a few dozen songs from its catalog.

Out of all of the highlighted lyrics, “Koi” (love) is perhaps the most central topic that carries on in the music to this day. For all that Perfume talked up about its future-bass-inspired production, “Mugen Mirai” lyrically concerns a classic theme of newfound emotions which also inspires the group’s breakout single “Polyrhythm.” The title track to Future Pop further works in a similar vein, capturing the spark of discovery and a first-time encounter. The three marvel at the magic of technology, and their fascination speaks to the song’s inspired EDM production as well.

The wide-eyed wonder of Kashiyuka, Nocchi and A-chan towards their environment in “Future Pop” recalls the tone of GAME, where they, too, were being introduced to a new sound, setting, and series of experiences. Echoes of their past glories can be heard elsewhere in Future Pop. “Fusion” stands tall as the updated version of past mostly-instrumental anthems such as “Edge” or “Story.” The infinitely ascending “Tenkuu” works a chorus with an elongated cadence that resembles the chorus of “GAME.” The titular hook of “Chorairin” revives Nakata’s knack for writing in made-up phrases — think creations for Kyary Pamyu Pamyu but also tsundere-ation in “Puppy Love” — favoring purely its sound over meaning.

However, Perfume doesn’t pretend as though it can recapture its youth so easily in Future Pop. The members’ voices sings more in a worn-out sigh in “Let Me Know,” tapping into a prevailing uncertainty in settling down in a new environment — a recurring worry for Perfume since at least “Computer City” in 2005. In a self-referential album such as Future Pop, Kashiyuka, Nocchi and A-chan’s words sound as though they’re asking their former selves for advice. As they hand down a key to what looks like kid versions of the members in the music video, they provide enough materials in this single alone to signal their transition into an older guard.

Made up of a thump, a snap and a loop of a guitar pluck as its base, “Let Me Know” is one the most contemporary-sounding songs in Future Pop. The other singles, too, depart from the idea of classic Perfume as heard in a song like “Chorairin.” “Tokyo Girl” bridges American EDM to the works of Perfume, and “Everyday” responds to a post-Chainsmokers pop landscape. But if Perfume sounding like other producers is the future Nakata hopes to present in Future Pop, it’s a rather bizarre conclusion to reach after holding on to the pop wonders of GAME 10 years ago.

That said, it’s a realistic snapshot of the present, where electronic pop music has finally caught up with Nakata to the point he is now essentially referencing versions of himself. Future Pop, then, is an echo of what he has always done, and same could be said about the rest of Perfume’s ventures this year as the group reworked, fine-tuned and re-introduced a once-forward-thinking vision of its now-storied past. Rather than predict the future, that album title announces the arrival of it. Everyone involved can say with confidence, after 10 years from the debut album, that a time where this type of pop is accepted as the present might be finally here.

[notapaladin]

they say before you start a war (you'd better know what you're fighting for)

Me? Able to halt my bullshit? OF COURSE NOT.

Canon divergence midway through Harbinger of the Storm; Acatl is executed for treason, and Teomitl refuses to let that stand. If he has to go into Mictlan and bargain with Lord Death, he will.

As always, can also be read on AO3!

-

His knees hurt, and the stone under them was cold. It was an absurd detail to focus on when he was bound hand and foot with the executioner looping a garrote around two meaty fists next to him, but that was what stuck in Acatl’s mind. He was going to die, and his knees hurt. And, to add insult to injury, he was going to go to his death with his hair badly in need of a wash and something stuck in his back teeth. He prodded it with his tongue. It didn’t help at all.

He took one deep breath. Another. Any one could be his last. He was careful to keep them deep and even; he would not die sobbing and hyperventilating, begging for mercy. Though it be jade, it is crushed; though it be precious gold, it crumbles. For we do not live forever on this earth, but only for a little while.

A hand in his hair yanked his head up, and the cord came to rest loosely around his neck. He took another breath. Mihmatini. Teomitl. I’m sorry.

“And so the traitor falls.”

Oh, Duality preserve him. He was going to spend his last moments on earth listening to Tizoc gloat. Of all the indignities heaped upon him, this was one he knew he didn’t deserve. Somehow, he found words enough to snarl, “Hurry up.” It came out as a slurred rasp.

Tizoc smirked at him. He shut his eyes, but he could still hear the smug glee in his voice. It made him want to be sick. Throwing up on Tizoc’s sandals would even be satisfying; too bad the bastard was out of the likely splash zone. “And which of us is on his knees, priest? Which of us has betrayed the Mexica Empire with his words and deeds? It surely isn’t me; you know I’ve always worked for the good of Tenochtitlan, despite your efforts to obstruct my path. I do hope you’ll find an ample reward for your pains in the hereafter.”

There was more after that, but Acatl wasn’t paying attention. The cord was starting to draw tight. One more breath. Another. The darkness behind his eyelids was starting to flash. Another breath—no—he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t breathe. He bucked and jolted instinctively, eyes fluttering open in time to catch blurred images of Quenami and the She-Snake watching him; if he’d had his hands free, he knew he would be clawing his fingers to ribbons against the tough cord.

I can’t—

He needed air. He needed air and there wasn’t any, he was choking, he was going to die—

It wouldn’t be Tlalocan that awaited him, he knew, despite the manner of his death. A High Priest could go no other place than the realm of their patron. After this, he rather thought it would be a relief. At least in Mictlan, he could rest. Lord Death was always fair. Lord Death would let him fade the way his body was stubbornly refusing to.

No. It’s over. It’s over. I’m—only hurting myself—

His eyes snapped open as a twist of the cord sliced into his throat, feeling the sting and the trickle of upwelling blood. The sun blazed down, bathing the courtyard in light. For a moment, he could focus—there was Tizoc smirking, and there was Quenami with a twist to his mouth—but then the darkness flooded his vision again, and though he kept his eyes open he saw nothing.

This was it, then. He thought he should probably be afraid; maybe it was the lack of air that was making it so difficult for him to struggle. His limbs felt like stones, the hammering of his heart echoing like a drum through his ribcage.  

The cord bit deep, but it no longer hurt.

He couldn’t feel his own heartbeat anymore. Soon, he couldn’t feel the cord either.

As he faded, he thought he heard the ahuizotls’ song.

& &

Acatl’s knives burned at Teomitl’s hips, sending bile up into his throat and frozen emptiness down into his stomach. The pain spurred him onwards. If he was late...

He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he was late. Part of him cursed Nezahual; if he hadn’t run out of power merely getting them out and finding them a boat, they’d have Quetzalcoatl’s magic to speed them on their way. Instead there was only him and the ahuizotls, who were still fast on land but not fast enough. Gods, please. Please, I’ll build so many temples, I’ll cover you in gold, the blood of eagles, the hearts of jaguars—just let me save him. Down the corridor, through one room and another, turning when the sparks of Acatl’s knives sang close, close, and then he was bursting through the entrance curtain and for a heartstopping second he couldn’t move.

There was his brother, smug grin slipping into surprise as he registered the interruption. There was Quenami, backing away with his empty hands raised as though that would save him. There was the swirl of a black cloak around the far corner—the She-Snake, fleeing like a coward. There were even guards, looking panicked as they drew their weapons. And in the center of the courtyard was the executioner loosening his garrote to let Acatl fall bonelessly to the ground, eyes blank and unseeing. Dead. Dead. He didn’t need the rattling chill of the knives to tell him that.

No. No. Nonononono—

Teomitl’s mind was a whirlwind of horror and pain, but he’d been in enough campaigns now that his body knew exactly what to do. He couldn’t feel his hands, but that didn’t matter.

He drew his sword and opened himself to Chalchiuhtlicue’s power.

It felt like being at the bottom of the lake; it always did, but this time the water numbed him. He saw the world through lake water, through the eddying rush of a streambed. His heart pulsed like ripples on the shore. When he breathed, he tasted algae; inside his head, the ahuizotls’ song rose in a chorus, threatening to drown out his thoughts until he wrestled them back into submission. Kill. Kill them.

They leapt to obey. He was only vaguely aware of the executioners and guards screaming as his beasts descended on them in a flood of snapping teeth and grasping claws, even when one took a swing at him. He parried it without looking; all his attention was on Tizoc. Tizoc, who had just slain Acatl. Tizoc, who was unarmed. Tizoc, who was trying to speak, as though anything he said could possibly bring Acatl back, could undo what he’d done.

“So you have betrayed me!” It sounded like it was coming from underwater.

It was just possible that, if he’d been contrite, he might have earned a few more seconds of life. Unlikely, but possible. But this? This—vindication, as though he was saying he’d been right, and he’d die being right? Teomitl sucked in a breath, feeling it scorch his lungs. “No.”

And then he swung his sword in an upward arc, feeling it cleave flesh and bone; something snapped off in Tizoc’s sternum on the way to the heart, but that was alright. He’d fix it later. Hot blood sprayed his face as Tizoc screamed and screamed and screamed, and some knot in his chest eased. Now I’ve betrayed you. It would take him a good, long time to die.

He turned away, lifting his head. The executioner and both guards were down, ahuizotls feasting messily and adding the stench of entrails to the heavy odor of blood. They’d left a space around...around Acatl, and ice threatened to flood his veins. I’ve failed. Acatl, I’ve failed you. He wanted to crumple in on himself, wanted to curl around Acatl’s corpse and weep like a child. If he’d been minutes earlier, Acatl would still be alive. Avenging him, killing Tizoc—he knew, deep in his soul, that Acatl would have urged him not to. He would have warned him about the boundaries of the Fifth World, the star demons threatening them all. Now he never would again. Grief rose like knives in his throat.

But he couldn’t give in to it, not yet; there was one foe in the courtyard he hadn’t yet accounted for. He could just make out Quenami huddling frozen and wide-eyed half behind a pillar, hands free of blood. Good. It would be easier to kill him if he didn’t have to deal with spells.

He strode over. He raised his sword.

Quenami’s voice wavered—rank fear, not the ripples of Jade Skirt’s magic in his ears. “My lord—Teomitl-tzin, please!”

Please, he says. Rage threatened to choke him. Would you have listened if Acatl had begged for his life? If he had asked to be spared, before you slew him? “Why? Why should I let you live?” Acatl is dead. He is dead, and it’s because of you. I will carve out your heart for his funeral pyre.

Quenami swallowed hard, meeting his eyes. Blood trickled down his neck from where the edge of the sword bit into his flesh. There was fear in his face, yes, but also a stone-hard resolve. “I can bring him back.”

He took an unconscious step backwards, feeling the edges of his grief crumble under the first light touch of hope. If he’s telling the truth. If—I could have Acatl back—

“...Speak.”

&

Quenami spoke. There was a ritual, apparently; a secret passed down through Huitzilpochtli’s clergy from one High Priest to the next. Often it involved making a body of maize and amaranth dough, but given the condition of Acatl’s remains (all in one piece, evidently a rarity for this sort of thing), they would be able to dispense with that step. All they would need to do—a trifle, really—was go down into Mictlan and convince Lord Death to relinquish Acatl’s soul. The hardest part would be opening the way, for which Quenami would evidently require the other High Priests or—at least, he said, as though Mihmatini couldn’t obliterate him—the Guardian of the Duality. Who had been sent away for her own safety but who had not, thank the gods, left for Popocatepetl yet. And who would have to be informed of her brother’s death.

Teomitl let other people handle the cleanup and the preparations. Nezahual appeared at some point, directing his warriors. He did not offer condolences, but they nodded at each other and somehow, obscurely, that helped. He didn’t think he could handle soft words at the moment; anger, turning a tight whirlpool in his chest, was keeping him on his feet and moving forward. If he stopped to think about it, he would fall apart.

Mihmatini waited for him in the Duality House. He was struck by how normal she looked, surrounded by slaves and underlings. The sun shone down upon her, clear and bright—it was a beautiful day, when there should be storms to match the one in his heart—and she wore a sleeveless blouse embroidered with flowers. Looking at her, he might almost think the world was alright again.

And then she spoke, voice soft and raw. “I heard. Follow me.”

He followed.

The chamber she led him to was bare and impersonal, with a colorful pattern on the wall he was far too unfocused to make out. The only thing that mattered was the expression on Mihmatini’s face—grief-tight, with eyes like flint. He couldn’t find words at first; when he did, he was surprised at how steady he sounded. “Quenami says he can be brought back. There’s a ritual.”

She stared at the floor. He saw her fists clench. “And you trust him?”

“No.” Not even as far as I can throw him. He took a breath and continued, “But it’s all we have. I...I was too late to save him, Mihmatini, I saw him fall.” He’d closed Acatl’s eyes himself, hands shaking.

Mihmatini closed her eyes. “How...?”

He saw it again in his mind’s eye, that horrible ring around Acatl’s throat. The words floated up from far away. “...The flower garland.”

She took a slow, deep breath. He felt the magic of the Duality pulse within her, the thread connecting them flaring up like a line of fire. “Acatl wouldn’t want anyone to go through that. But if this fails—if it’s some sort of trap—I’m twisting the rope around Quenami’s neck myself.”

Some things never changed. He found he could breathe a little easier. “You’ll have to. I killed the executioner.”

“And your brother.”

There was no judgement in that voice, but he felt something twist in his chest anyway. “Acatl died of Tizoc’s—of his paranoia and incompetence! He killed him, as surely as if he’d done it with his own two hands. I’d do it over and over and be glad about it!” I wish I’d taken my time about it. See how many parts I could remove before he died.

Mihmatini was watching him, eyes shrewd. “You love my brother, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

For a shameful heartbeat, he thought of lying. Like a brother, he could say. Or Of course, he’s my honored teacher. But he knew there was no use—Mihmatini’s words and tone had made it all too clear that she’d looked at him and seen straight to the core of his heart. He couldn’t deny it. Not when she was looking at him like that, assessing him without an ounce of judgement and waiting for him to speak truthfully. He could give her nothing else. “...I do.” Duality preserve me, I do.

“Good.” She didn’t smile, but her face relaxed as she studied him. “He deserves that. He deserves...so much.” For a terrifying second her voice sounded watery, but then she squared her chin and added, “But you’ll do.”

It took a moment for him to register it as a dry attempt at humor, and the chuckle that came out had more in common with a sob. Oh, Mihmatini. What would we do without you?

She took a deep breath, wiping at her eyes. “Take me to Quenami. Whatever this ritual needs, I’ll do it.”

&

The ritual needed a great many things. Acatl’s corpse needed to be washed and laid out—straight, not curled for a burial—and a suitable space prepared. Mictlantecuhtli’s temple handled that, watched over by a gray-faced and nearly silent Ichtaca. Teomitl had never been in the temple’s innermost sanctum before, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about his surroundings when a single wrong move might put Acatl beyond his reach forever. Slaves brought the beasts they would need to sacrifice; Quenami moved gingerly among them, tallying cages of owls and hummingbirds and a huge, ill-tempered heron. Mihmatini carried armfuls of flowers for the Duality, the orange of marigolds and the red blossoms of plumeria the only color in the room.

Teomitl stood by, forcing himself not to fidget as the fog of centuries of Mictlan’s magic sizzled against his skin. Across the room stood Neutemoc, who hadn’t spoken a word since arriving with Mihmatini nearly an hour ago. At least there was one other person who would much rather be fighting a dozen star demons at once than standing here waiting. There was very little he could do; it was up to Quenami to sacrifice the hummingbirds and trace the glyph for Four Jaguar while Acamapichtli did the same with the heron and the glyphs for Four Water and Four Rain. Ichtaca, knife in hand, took care of the owls and Four Wind. Four glyphs for the worlds that had come before, and living blood to bind them all into the spell. It wouldn’t have been enough—the ritual demanded all three High Priests—but then Mihmatini stepped forward, slashed her earlobes, and added her blood and the flowers to their work.

Quenami had the job of cutting a circle into the floor to enclose the space. He paused, gaze sweeping the room—how dare he, they couldn’t afford to waste time—and lighting on Teomitl’s face, heedless of his furious glare. “Only one of you can go into Mictlan. This is not my realm, and I cannot widen the path. It can’t be Ichtaca; he needs to hold the way for us here.”

Teomitl didn’t need to think about it. “I’ll go.”

Another voice echoed his; confused, he looked up to see Neutemoc take a step forward, face set with grim determination. He met Teomitl’s eyes as he continued, “He’s my little brother.”

“He’s my—“ Friend seemed inadequate, teacher too base. Beloved was something he couldn’t allow himself to think lest he break. It was easier, safer, to reach for other justifications, and they came easily to him in the memory of Mazatl’s curious hands and Ollin’s gummy smile. “What of your children, if this fails? Will you leave them orphans? Stay here, and let me bring Acatl-tzin back.”

Neutemoc studied him for a long moment, searching for something in his face. He seemed to find it, stepping back with a satisfied nod. “You’d better.”

As Quenami knelt to close the circle, Teomitl moved to take his prescribed position kneeling by Acatl’s head. He didn’t look down. He couldn’t bear to see that face waxy and still, not now.

A dog’s throat was slit, and the hymns began. He let the words wash over him, and the world around him started to fall away. Mindful of instructions, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, feeling the temperature drop. The air took on the stale smell of a thousand years of dust and the reek of decay, acidic emptiness scouring the back of his throat. He had a moment to be glad he hadn’t eaten anything, and then his head was swimming too much for him to think. The only thing anchoring him to life was his heartbeat, steady and strong.

Beat. He was weightless, floating.

Beat.

A cold, wet nose nudged his palm, and he opened his eyes to a field of gray dust and a sky precisely one shade lighter. The dog that had been sacrificed was sitting in front of him, tail sending up little clouds every time it thumped. There was wet blood in its yellow fur, colors leaching to gray in light that seemed to come from nowhere.

It trotted off. He followed.

He very quickly lost track of how long he’d been walking. This area of Mictlan was devoid of any major hazards and landmarks; even if it hadn’t been, he was in no shape to take notice. He’d thought carrying Acatl’s knives was bad, but it was nothing to actually walking through Mictlan. The air sapped all joy and hope from his soul, leaving only the grim certainty that he had to keep going. Even anger, his constant companion, was too much effort; the heat of it was simply no match for the gnawing emptiness in his chest and the tremor in his limbs. Cold seeped through his veins and slowed his heart.

At least he could still feel it beating. He could take some comfort in that. Acatl, wait for me. I’m coming for you.

The dog seemed to know where it was going. Though obsidian shards bit through his sandals and bloodied his feet, they left no marks on its paws. He kept walking, one foot in front of the other; blood was a small price to pay for Acatl’s soul. He would offer his heart if he thought it would help. There was nothing else he could do for the one he loved.

But oh, he was so cold. He was cold, and shivering sounded like too much work. Maybe he should rest for a while—yes, that sounded like a wonderful idea. There was a rock up ahead that had twisted itself into something vaguely like a tree, perfect to lean on.

He staggered towards it, slipping in his own blood, and fell facedown in the dust. It hurt. He couldn’t bring himself to care; the relief of letting the earth support his body was too great. Acatl could wait a little longer, surely. Surely…

Teeth fastened in his wrist, pain jangling up his arm. His eyes snapped open on instinct, free hand going for the sword he wasn’t wearing before he realized it was the dog, tugging pointedly at his forearm with a growl that seemed to say If you aren’t going to walk to Lord Death’s throne, then I will drag you there. It let him pull his arm free and stand up, but kept up its low, discontented rumble.

He felt like growling himself. Fool that I am, how could I have forgotten? I can rest later.

They walked on. His wrist throbbed in time with the beat of his heart, tethering him to the world and to his mission. He would not fail. The road stretched on before him, and all he had to do was keep walking. One step. Another. Another.

And then the ground shifted, warped, folded, and he stood before a dais made of bones where the world was filled with rot and ashes.

Somehow, he’d expected a temple; instead, Mictlantecuhtli’s and Mictecacihuatl’s thrones looked as though they’d grown out of the ground. Bundles of femurs formed the low arms, and the seats were made of a collection of pelvises bound with curved jawbones. Lord and Lady Death lounged side by side, watching him with an expression of amused indulgence on their sunken, skeletal faces. Like I’m a dog that might be taught to perform clever tricks, he thought without much heat. He knew he should probably bow. He couldn’t make his knees bend.

Mictecacihuatl tilted Her head, studying him. “Well, well. What brings you to Our throne, little mortal?”

He’d never been good at speeches. “Acatl-tzin. Your High Priest. Where is he?”

“Ah.” She met Her husband’s eyes, and they shared a long look. She settled back on her throne, a fan of scapulas sprouting up behind Her, and said, “We have taken him into Our home, as is Our right and privilege. He has assumed his proper place at the foot of Our throne.” She gestured expansively, and he followed the movement to something he hadn’t noticed before.

There, just in front of and between the two thrones, was a tiny, fluttering moth under a thin dome of dust and air. He felt his heart stutter in his chest. “Acatl.” A wild thought seized him—grab him and run—but he knew he wouldn’t get far in Mictlantecuhtli’s domain. He’d be lucky even to feel the brush of wings against his skin.

He spun back to meet the gods’ gazes. “My Lady, My Lord, please reconsider. The Fifth World needs him back. We can’t—“ The star demons. The boundaries. “We’ll fall without him.”

“Worlds have fallen before.” Mictlantecuhtli drummed His fingers on the arm of His throne, bone clattering on bone. “We have endured. We will always endure. Why should We give up such a loyal and well-beloved High Priest only to run the risk of him being killed again?”

Because I won’t let it happen again. Ever. He blinked dry eyes, feeling them prickle with dust. His eyes darted to where Lord and Lady Death sat on Their thrones, desiccated fingers almost touching. Slowly, the words came to him. “Of all the gods, You know love best. My Lord...if My Lady were taken from You…”

“All existence would know My wrath until She was returned.” Mictlantecuhtli’s voice had all the finality of the grave, and Teomitl watched as His hand moved to cover His wife’s. “And you say this is why you are here, begging for Our priest’s life to be restored? For love?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “I never got to tell him.” It came out in a breath, barely audible over the breeze.

The gods shared another long look. Teomitl didn’t dare move. He willed his heart to beat quieter, lest it disturb them. The gulf in his chest howled.

Finally, Mictlantecuhtli spoke. “We will release him into your care.” Teomitl thought His skull face was attempting a smile. It was a terrible thing to see on a face that was mostly bone and dried skin. “But there will be a price for you.”

“I’ll pay it.” Here, at last, there was no room for doubt or hesitation. Whatever You want of me. Anything. My heart? My body? My life? It will be Yours. Just let me walk with Acatl out of here, let me set him back in his body and tell him how I love him.

“Brave boy.” The ash rose, nearly blinding him; when it cleared, the little moth was fluttering gently in front of his face. “You may take Our High Priest’s soul, and settle it back in his living flesh, and it will be like he never died. But upon your death, though you may die in glorious battle, you will take his place here.”

He cupped his hands around Acatl’s soul, feeling its tiny feet alight on his fingers. His heart felt full to bursting. He is here. He’s here. We did it. “As you wish, My Lord—my Lady.”

Mictecacihuatl snorted, waving Her hand. “You have what you came for. Be off with you, feather of the Hummingbird.”

The quincunx shimmered into being under his feet, and then he was falling through ash again and back into the temple sanctum.

Beat.

Between one heartbeat and the next, he was present in his own skin again. It felt too warm and too tight, breath rasping through his lungs, but he was kneeling by Acatl’s head and holding his soul in his hands.

“Did it—?“

“Teomitl!”

He ignored the outcry around him. All that mattered was opening his hands, letting the moth fly out to brush against Acatl’s lips and disappear in a brief, soundless burst of air. For an excruciating moment nothing happened, and despair threatened to drag him under. Is there more? Have we failed after all?

And then life flooded Acatl’s skin, and he took a slow, shallow breath.

Teomitl wanted to cheer. He wanted to sob. He wanted to curl up around Acatl and go to sleep for a month. He did none of those things. Acatl’s face was practically in his lap, filling him with so much tenderness he thought he might die of it; before he could even think to remember his audience, he reached down and set two fingers at the pulse in his throat, revelling in the strong and steady beat.

Thank the gods. Thank you, Lord and Lady Death, for this gift of Acatl’s life.

Things started to move quickly after that. Acatl was borne on a stretcher to recuperate in the palace, where the She-Snake—whom Teomitl had decided, grudgingly, to let live for now—had arranged for a team of Patecatl’s priests to meet him. Teomitl wondered if they’d be any use, or if they’d just stand around making concerned noises; being brought back from the dead was surely not common enough to warrant a page in their codices. He supposed that if nothing else, they could do something about what promised to be some truly spectacular bruising on his throat. He’d wanted to go with him—surely he couldn’t be expected to leave Acatl alone, no matter that Mihmatini refused to leave his side—but when he tried to stand up he almost fell over, and Neutemoc had to help him to his feet.

“Thank you,” he muttered, face burning.

Neutemoc squeezed his shoulder, a brotherly gesture he’d never gotten from his own brothers. His eyes were suspiciously wet. “You brought my brother back. I should be thanking you.”

If he thought too hard about that, he might start crying. There hadn’t been nearly enough time for him to erase the memory of Acatl slumping to the ground from his mind. “I won’t accept it. Anyone would have done the same.”

Neutemoc gave him a dry look so reminiscent of Acatl that he felt his throat close up. Before he could do or say anything else emotional, he shrugged off his hand and left. Star demons or no, he needed to be out in the sunlight. He needed to remind himself that he was alive, that they’d won.

The sun fell across his shoulders like a warm blanket, and he soaked it in with his eyes closed for a long, blissful moment. Here, there were no star demons. Here, there was no yawning chasm of power in the Mexica Empire. Here, he didn’t need to worry about consequences. He could be free.

Then he opened his eyes and stared up at the blue sky. The clear blue sky, with not a single errant star piercing through the fabric of the heavens. His mind went blank. We don’t have a Revered Speaker. Nobody should be channeling the Southern Hummingbird’s power in the Fifth World right now. This shouldn’t be happening.

He blinked hard, rubbing his eyes, and took a second look. The sky remained clear. He squinted, trying to see if the tiny pale speck was a star or—no, it was just a cloud. The sky was still clear, and now his temples throbbed.

Footsteps behind him announced Quenami’s presence before the man spoke. “Well. Congratulations, my lord.”

He resisted the urge to whirl around and strangle the man with his bare hands. There’d be no point to it now that Acatl was alive. “Mn?” He didn’t mean to make it a question, but even for him Quenami was being obsequious.

Quenami chose his words with the air of a man picking his way through a field of obsidian knives. “Acatl has been restored to life thanks to you, and it...appears...that Huitzilpochtli has taken a liking to your bravery in walking into His enemy’s domain. Allow me to be the first to greet my new Revered Speaker-in-waiting.”

Oh. He stared down at his hands, seeing for the first time the faint tracery of powerful magic glimmering over his skin. He swallowed roughly. The Southern Hummingbird’s blessing. Is this what Mictecacihuatl meant? As he turned the idea over in his mind, his fists clenched. If the gods were choosing him for the office, then he would be worthy of it.

He would start by being honest. With himself, with Acatl, and with those less deserving.

“If you ever again address Acatl-tzin with less than full respect, Quenami, I will cut out your tongue.”

& &

The first thing that greeted Acatl as he swam up from the depths of unconsciousness was pain. His throat felt like it had been squeezed shut; for a moment he couldn’t think why that should be, and then the memories began to filter in. The flower garland. The courtyard. The ahuizotls singing to him.

Teomitl.

He stirred, registering as he did so that someone had placed him on not one but several thick reed mats and covered him with a light cotton blanket like an invalid. He supposed he was; the last thing he remembered was the garrote cutting off his breath. Swallowing brought a dry click and the realization that he was desperately thirsty. “Mngh...”

“My lady? He’s waking.”

“Oh, thank the gods.” Mihmatini. She sounded close by; the small hand laid on his forehead was reassuringly cool. “Acatl, can you speak?”

“Grmngh.” He swallowed again, cracking one eye open. Mihmatini’s face swam into focus above him, pinched with worry. Her hair was in disarray, and the dark circles under her eyes looked bruised in the dim light. There was fresh blood beading at her earlobes. I must be in terrible shape. “Water...?”

Water was brought, mixed with fresh-tasting medicinal herbs. He tried to sit up and failed; it felt like his muscles had been replaced by solid stone. Mihmatini’s hand at his back molded him into a more or less upright position so that he could drain the cup offered by a slave he recognized as Oyahuasca, ignoring both women’s concerned glances until he was hydrated enough to speak without feeling like he was gargling knives. “What...what happened? Where’s Teomitl?” The ahuizotls were singing. I know I heard them. Where they are, Teomitl wouldn’t be far behind.

Mihmatini shot a sharp look at Oyahuasca. “Fetch the Revered Speaker while I fill my brother in on what he’s missed.”

He heard the words, but they seemed to be slow in assembling themselves into a coherent sentence. It wasn’t until Oyahuasca rose and left at a pace that wasn’t quite a run that he managed to say anything. “Mihmatini.”

She took a deep breath, staring down at her hands. “Do you remember the courtyard? The—the flower garland?”

He nodded dully. It wasn’t likely he’d ever forget. His knees throbbed, a sense-memory of cold stone and naked fear. “There were ahuizotls.” And then there’d been nothing else. He’d blacked out, probably.

“Well.” She took another breath, hands clenching into fists. “The ahuizotls were too late. You...Teomitl arrived in time to see you die.”

No. His chest felt suddenly too tight, his thumping heart the only thing he could focus on. As if in a dream, he looked down at his hands; if he engaged his priestly senses, he could see the veins and tendons wrapping around bare bones. Another twinge brought his attention to the familiar cold, dry emptiness of Mictlan sitting in his gut. “I...” He didn’t feel any different, but the faint grief-stricken waver in Mihmatini’s voice left no doubt that she was telling the truth. I died. I died, and yet I am here. He sucked in a slow breath, the smells of the sickroom and a distant kitchen filling his nostrils. Someone was roasting chilies, and it made his stomach growl lightly. Alive.

Mihmatini went on. “He killed Tizoc on the spot. He would have killed Quenami, too, if that dog’s son hadn’t led the ritual to bring your soul back from Mictlan. After...after that, apparently the Southern Hummingbird made it known in no uncertain terms who He was choosing to wield His powers in the Fifth World, so the rest of the council elected to instate Teomitl as Revered Speaker.” She swallowed. “You’ve...you’ve been unconscious for a week. You missed his coronation.”

It was too much. Mind spinning, he grabbed one thing out of the swarm of questions thronging his mind to focus on. “How...was I brought back? How am I alive?” How was Lord Death convinced to release me?

A faint smile crossed Mihmatini’s face. “You should ask Teomitl about that when he arrives. He’s been very worried about you, no matter how many of us tell him that you’re recovering well. If it wasn’t for his coronation, I really don’t think he’d ever leave your side.”

He felt heat suffuse his face. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

She snorted and gently shoved at his shoulder, shaking her head. “I’m sure I’m not! He loves you more than he does me.”

He couldn’t possibly have heard that right. He sat in silence for a moment, willing the words to make sense. Mihmatini had to have said something else—meant something else. When she didn’t follow up with any sort of clarification and he realized she was looking at him for a reaction, he found his voice cracking in shock. “He—what?!”

“You heard me.” And now she was unmistakably smiling. For the first time in his life, Acatl wanted a cup with something significantly stronger than water.

Someone was running down the hallway outside. It was all the warning he got before the entrance curtain was yanked aside so roughly that it nearly came off its hanging rod; the cacophony of bells that announced the intrusion nearly drowned out the cry of “Acatl-tzin!” that accompanied it. Teomitl stood in the doorway for a moment, relief plain on his face. Acatl couldn’t look away.

Mihmatini rose gracefully. The smile she turned on Teomitl had an edge to it. “I’ll leave you to talk.”

She left. For a long little while, all Acatl could do was stare at Teomitl. Absurdly, he thought He looks the same. The same lean, solidly muscled build, the same nose and eyes, the same little scar on one elbow where a training sword had caught him as a child. True, his cloak and sandals were rich turquoise and his earrings were jade and gold, but his face hadn’t changed. It was still open and guileless, every emotion writ clear. He loves you, Mihmatini had said. Acatl thought he could believe it.

Slowly, carefully, Teomitl sank down next to his mat. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from Acatl’s face; for a moment Acatl thought he was going to reach for him, but he seemed to think better of it. “I...how are you feeling?”

How am I feeling, he asks. He could almost laugh; under his skin, dry dust rustled like paper with the knowledge that he shouldn’t be here. The words were out before he could stop them, more acidic than he’d intended. “...I’ve just been dead, Teomitl. How do you think?”

Teomitl averted his gaze; as he turned, Acatl saw blood at his ears. “It’s a valid concern!” He swallowed once, visibly, and added in a softer voice, “We weren’t sure when you’d wake.”

There was a tremor to the words Acatl really didn’t like, and Mihmatini’s words crossed his mind again. Part of him didn’t want to know. He was alive, wasn’t he? Let the details rest. But if Teomitl had done something...ill-advised to bring him back, then it was his responsibility to help fix it. He took a deep breath. “I’m just glad to be able to wake at all. Mihmatini told me that Quenami provided the magic, but how...?”

Teomitl still wasn’t looking at him, but his voice was firm; his shoulders rolled as though he was preparing for a fight. “...Someone had to go into Mictlan. I volunteered.”

What. The words crystallized in his mind, horror slicing like swords. It’s one thing for me to go—I am Lord Death’s servant! But Teomitl, sworn to the Southern Hummingbird and Jade Skirt, walking through enemy territory—for me—

“Lord Death was...willing to release your soul to me.”

He forced himself to breathe. Mictlan gives up nothing without a price. Mictlan gives up nothing without a price. For Teomitl to walk back to the Fifth World with my soul... With dread gripping his heart in eagle claws, he forced out, “What did He want in exchange?”

Silence. Teomitl closed his eyes on a long exhale.

“What did He want, Teomitl?!”

“Mine!” Teomitl’s eyes snapped open, filled with an anguished emotion Acatl couldn’t even begin to unravel. His fists clenched, white-knuckled, as he caught Acatl’s gaze and held it; he was stunned to see tears in his eyes. For all that, his voice held steady with barely a waver. “I offered Him my soul, and He accepted. When I die...I’ll go to Mictlan. And it will be worth it, Acatl-tzin, do you understand?” He raised his voice right over the feeble noise that escaped Acatl’s lips. “It will! Because I lied to Tizoc, you’re mine, and I couldn’t let you die!”

Horror—he did that for me, gave up all hope of the Sun’s Heaven for me—almost threatened to swamp him, but hard on its heels came a fierce joy. Because I’m his. Because...Mihmatini was right. By the Duality, she was right. The knot in his chest started to loosen, and he found he could breathe. “...You killed him for me.”

“I did.” It came out ragged, raw. Teomitl had to take a breath before continuing, “I saw you and—Tizoc tore my heart from my chest when he killed you, Acatl-tzin. I returned the favor.”

“...Teomitl.” It seemed to be the only word in his reeling mind. He realized he was leaning closer, that it would be so easy for him to close the distance between them, and only just stopped himself in time.

Teomitl swallowed convulsively, dropping his gaze. Even in the dim light afforded to them, it was easy to see him turn a dull, dark red. “I—“ His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Acatl’s and squeezing tight. “Acatl-tzin. Acatl.”

He’d never heard his name like that before—soft and desperate, unspoken emotion ringing through it like bells. It made his heart skip a beat, and for a moment he could barely breathe. “Are you not...?” The Revered Speaker, he wanted to say, as far above me as the sun in the sky. But the words lodged in his throat and stuck there; helpless, he gestured to Teomitl’s turquoise adornments with his free hand. The other one was still held firmly in Teomitl’s grasp; it was easy for him to tangle their fingers together. Whether you are or not, I’m yours.

It must have been the right thing to do, because Teomitl was looking at him again. “Yes. But...” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and Acatl’s focus followed it. “To you, I want to be Teomitl.”

Oh. Oh. Love pulsed through him like another heart, and Mictlan’s chill had never felt farther away. “And...” The words were out before he could call them back; maybe it was a stupid question, but he had to know. He had to be sure, before he did something he might regret. “Is that all you want from me?”

Teomitl’s thumb smoothed over his fingers, very nearly distracting him from his words. “No.”

Now he knew he wasn’t breathing. Teomitl’s hand on his was his greatest anchor to the earth. “Ngh?”

Teomitl smiled, brief and radiant, as his gaze drifted pointedly to Acatl’s mouth. “When you are well enough, I’m going to kiss you.”

It was a simple statement of fact—the sky is blue, Grandmother Earth is hungry, I am going to kiss you. Acatl took a moment to breathe, feeling the foundations of his world lift and resettle themselves to account for this new version of reality. His limbs still felt too heavy and his throat was a dull-edged sword of pain, but none of that mattered. Teomitl had brought him back to life, saved the Fifth World, loved him.

He tilted his head and leaned in, the clearest invitation he could give. “...I’m well enough now.”

Teomitl closed the distance.

When he’d thought about what kissing Teomitl would be like—and he had thought about it, in flashes late at night that left him flushed and flustered the next day—he’d imagined something rough and passionate, maybe a little clumsy in his eagerness. He’d imagined more teeth. He hadn’t expected soft, gentle lips pressed to his, coaxing his mouth open. He loves me. It was the easiest thing in the world to relax into it, letting Teomitl’s arm around him take his weight as he kissed back. From there it was only natural to pull him close in return.

Teomitl made a small, soft noise into his mouth when Acatl rested a hand at his waist. It almost sounded surprised, and he couldn’t help but smile. Did you not think I wanted to touch you? Oh, but it was too difficult to kiss someone when you were smiling, and he had to pull away. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life.

“Acatl.” Teomitl was smiling too; they bumped noses, and Acatl had to suppress a little bubble of laughter. “You don’t know how happy I am right now.”

“I think I can guess.” He ran his fingers lightly over Teomitl’s side—too lightly, evidently, because it startled a squeaky, adorable giggle out of him. Oh gods, he’s ticklish. Now there was no use suppressing his delight, nor the grin that threatened to split his face.

Teomitl’s eyes narrowed warily, but without any real heat. “Do not. I swear to the Duality, I’ll take back everything I just said.”

He decided to be merciful, smoothing his hand over the skin instead and watching the delicate little shiver that resulted. “You won’t.” He knew it as surely as he knew his own name. Teomitl loves me. I love him in return. That will never change, not in this world.

“Mm.” Teomitl kissed him again, just as sweetly as the first time. “You’re right. Mictlan might have my soul, Acatl, but my heart is yours.”

He’d almost forgotten. He’d almost forgotten. He drew Teomitl in for another kiss, this one deeper; as hands found his hair, his own dug into Teomitl’s skin. After a second’s worth of surprise, Teomitl returned the fervor with a growl. There were the teeth he’d been wondering about, and he welcomed them. If he’d had the energy—if the Revered Speaker could be assured of any privacy at all—he would have allowed himself to crave more. Since they couldn’t, he settled for catching Teomitl’s lower lip lightly between his teeth as he pulled away, just far enough to breathe, “Then I hope we die on the same day, in the same hour. I won’t let you walk through Mictlan alone.”

Teomitl’s smile was a soft, wonderful thing. “We’ll be the happiest shades in the underworld.”