notapaladin | Entries tagged with mihmatini

I flatly refuse to try and reformat this bullshit. I give up. Life is too short.

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55 (acatl – narnia crossover pt 2; aslan is not a tame lion & christianity is the religion of conquerors)

Oh giver of life! Who could conquer Tenochtitlan? Who could shake the foundation of heaven?

Acatl is an old, old man. He's seen much in his life—many horrors, yes, but many wonders too. (His nieces' and nephews' births. The dedication of the new Great Temple, shining with blood and light and life. Teomitl's smile, radiant as the dawn.)

When he sees the pale men in their great boats, with their moon-shining armor and their shorn priests in heavy robes, he does not see horrors. He sees only men like other men—foolish, greedy, grasping men, but men that can bleed and die. Men whose hearts will feed the Sun if they dare lift their swords against his city. The beast that stands at Cortes's side, the golden shaggy-maned cat they call a lion (though he has seen miztli, the puma, and they are much sleeker than this one) is only a beast, as their giant dogs and great hornless deer are only beasts.

And then

the Lion

speaks

Acatl goes to one knee, reeling from the pain of it, and reaches for his gods.

Lord and Lady Death do not answer. They are too busy screaming.

( Read more... )

(MUFFLED SHRIEKING okay this! fucking! post! is a HOWLING NIGHTMARE to format so just pretend everything is the same font because I refuse to sit here manually stripping calibri out of it, Fuck You Very Much Dreamwidth Coders)

1 (acatl – autistic)

His tutors all said the same things about him—what a smart boy, what a studious boy, he'll go far in the priesthood.

Acatl supposed they were probably correct about that; he was smart, he was studious, and he threw himself into the rituals with a fervor that annoyed the nobles' sons who were only there for power. They didn't understand how he could ponder the codices for hours, how he could sit silent as the statue of Lord Death and watch the funeral pyres burn.

He didn't understand it himself, really; all he knew, in those moments when he contemplated the inside of his own mind, was that having it consumed by devotion to the gods felt right.

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2 (teomitl & chalchiuhnenetl – a deal with the devil)"I can give you the crown you deserve," his elder sister says.

Teomitl thinks of their brother on the throne, twisted and craven; he is no fit warrior, no fit Emperor, no fit conduit of Huitzilopochtli's power in the Fifth World, but to slay him and take the crown by force of arms would be treason, would no doubt sever the ties between Teomitl and the people who, somehow, love him.

But if he doesn't, Tizoc will twist and twist until he tears the Empire apart, and Teomitl's loved ones will not be alive to hate him...so he meets his sister's eyes, and nods his assent. ( Read more... )

Teomitl goes missing on a foreign battlefield. The city mourns, and Acatl mourns with it. But his dreams - and Mihmatini's magic - suggest that maybe, just maybe, he doesn't have to. That Teomitl is only lost, and will find his way home eventually. Acatl doesn't want to believe in hope, not when grief is carving open his chest with a thousand dull knives...but hope, apparently, believes in him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

( Read more... )

Tizoc-tzin is finally, finally dead, and Teomitl will be crowned Revered Speaker. He will. Acatl just has to wait for it, for all their dreams to be realized - but Quenami's suspicions of their true relationship and the circumstances of the Emperor's death will test every ounce of his patience first.

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When Axayacatl died, Acatl had felt the snap of it in his bones. When Tizoc died, it was barely even a breath.

Then again, he was somewhat preoccupied at the moment.( Read more... )

Acatl's love for Teomitl is doomed, but this is...fine. Really. He knows they can't be together - Teomitl doesn't feel the same way, and even if he did, it would never work out - so he just won't tell him, no matter how badly he wants him. That's the choice he's made in the interest of having a better relationship with all of his family, and he's sticking to it.

Events during a family gathering at Neutemoc's house prompt him to change his mind.

Starring Aztec Family Game Night!

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Family game night had been Mihmatini’s idea.

Or...well, originally, in much better times, it had been Neutemoc’s idea, but the reinstitution of the event had been all Mihmatini’s. “It’s been nearly three years,” she’d said. “Shouldn’t we try to get together as a family again?”

And Neutemoc had agreed.

Acatl was officially invited on a night when, for once, he had something resembling free time. He’d combed his hair and set out earlier than necessary, hoping to catch Teomitl and Mihmatini on their way. Acatl had thought he should probably warn the man—they could be both boisterous and vicious when all of them played patolli together, and he was sure Teomitl was accustomed to a good deal less graphic language and a great many more serious threats over the game board—but when he actually met him alone on the street near Neutemoc’s house, he found he had bigger problems.

( Read more... )

After the unpleasant realization that her brother and her husband have...a thing for each other, Mihmatini decides to help them get together. They'll be happy, and she'll be even happier not to watch them pining.

Unexpectedly, Acamapichtli lends his assistance to her noble cause. He winds up regretting this.

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Most of the time, Mihmatini loved her husband. True, she often wanted to strangle him for his stubbornness and she would never forget how he’d planned an entire coup and expected her to simply fall in line, but she’d gone most of the way to forgiving him for that when he’d told her the full reason why he’d wanted Tizoc dead. The bastard definitely deserved it for having the nerve to try and execute her brother. (For treason, of all things! As though Acatl would ever!) Now they were friends again, even though she knew damn well that he was hiding something from her.

And this was one of those times where it really grated. “Teomitl.”

( Read more... )

The aftermath, and a night of joy and pleasure amidst the uncertainty.

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They had to stop kissing, eventually. Not that Acatl wanted to—gods, he couldn’t believe he’d gone so long without it, every minute he wasn’t kissing Teomitl now felt like a tragic waste of time—but it turned out that not only was it possible to literally kiss someone breathless, doing so had a disagreeable tendency to suck all the moisture out of your mouth. And then, too, Teomitl was still weak from his injuries; when he arched his back with a groan that mingled pleasure with pain, Acatl pulled away with a murmured apology.

“Hmph,” Teomitl said into his shoulder. “I’m fine.”

( Read more... )

Acatl is just getting used to maybe, possibly, having something akin to free time when the first corpses start turning up. In the course of his investigations, he discovers that a god he once fought holds grudges - and so, once again, he has to teach Him exactly why you don't harm the things a High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli has sworn to protect.

Especially if it's the man he loves.

Events in this fic reference Obsidian Shards, so you can read that if you'd like background/more of acatl being badass/the first on-page appearance of the wind of knives! There is gore in this.

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Acatl probably should have remained on his guard, but the Empire had finally seemed to be stabilizing itself. Of course he could still feel the boundaries straining around Tizoc’s existence, and of course there was still the terrible fallout of the plague to deal with—nobody in his order had been getting enough sleep, and Ichtaca had outright threatened to hand him over to Mihmatini if he didn’t take better care of himself—but aside from that, there had been no outstanding supernatural cases for him to concern himself with in months. He’d even had time for semi-regular meals at Neutemoc’s house.

And then, naturally, the first bodies started turning up outside the palace, and it all started going downhill from there.

( Read more... )

Acatl is executed for treason during Harbinger of the Storm. Teomitl will bring him back, no matter what it takes.

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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.

( Read more... )