#say teo has brown hair and pretty green eyes. at first i do not care about this. then teo does or says something funny or borderline insane

[thelonelynindroid]

As a questioning possibly demisexual there aren't many features that just instantly make a person more attractive to me but then BOOM dark hair and that little front tooth gap

[iamsodoneohmygod]

-Limitless- Boku No Hero Academia x Male Reader Ch 3

(M/n) POV All I could see was black, a void and nothing else. Was I dead? I didn’t feel like it. Why am I still alive then? Why didn’t they let me die? All of these questions coursed through my head as I stared into the abyss in front of me and yet I could hear them. Their thoughts. Another mess my quirk has created for me, am I even me anymore? Or am i just a host for this force inside of me. No one knows what to call it because I’m not just some psychic gypsy. But then what am I? Right now I really want to be dead, but hearing the thoughts of the people proved I was sadly still alive. The void began to disperse as a bright light shined through and I opened my eyes. ‘Poor child’ ‘ who the hell is this’ ‘ what the hell is going on’ where are you’ what does he know’ thoughts I heard before i shut them out. I saw that i was in a hospital room as I began to hear the heart monitor make that annoying beeping noise. Also I couldn’t speak or move and there was an oxygen mask over my face. The first and only person that I saw was the pro Hero Eraserhead. He was standing over me looking at me with a strange look, one between the faces of pity and rage. Looking to not stay long he was aware when i was conscious. “I’m not going to say this again and I don’t want to see you again after this. For crimes against the public, arson, attempt in murder and murder in the first degree along with the evaluation of your quirk. As soon as you are discharged you will be transferred into the custody of the Oni Penitentiary facility. From this point forward you will be registered as villain.” That was it, after that he left and I was left to rot. I didn’t know him and he didn’t know me. Nobody knew me and nobody wanted me. I didn’t blame them, it was all my fault wasn’t it? Right? I knew that I would end up somewhere terrible, I never got a break and I never will. So why as soon as he left I couldn’t stop crying? I guess living like I do you don’t ever get used to it. I wanted to scream that it wasn’t me, I didn’t want to do any of those things, don’t blame me. Soon I was discharged and was on my way to prison. Being processed involved getting a mugshot, fingerprinted, blood tested, drug evaluations, and quirk evaluation. I was given a black jumpsuit with a white belt around the waist, apparently this was the uniform for new prisoners. I was then brought to a machine that clamped around my neck causing a pricking feeling then a burning feeling that caused me to bite my tongue so I didn’t yelp. When the machine removed itself there was a black band left around my throat. This was a quirk inhibitor mark for people with non body based quirks. It being centered around the part of the neck that connects all the nerves and brain functions and controls if you can use your quirk or not. My messy hair wasn’t a problem anymore because they had shaved it all off leaving a (h/c) tint on my head. I was given a second set of clothes to take care of and was led to my cell. As we walked pass the prison cells men would reach out and tried to grab at the guards and say what they usually said when a new prisoner would arrive. My cell was at the end of corridor and was the last cell on the right. “You got a new roommate Lee.” The guard said as he opened the the cell door and pushed me inside. The cell had to beds parallel from each other and a toilet in the corner. Sitting on the bed in what seemed to be a meditating state was an old Chinese man, around the age of 75 to 80. He looked like and old chinese man with bald head that oldly still had some hair on it in the back and long beard. He wore a baby blue prison jumpsuit and a pair of circular black sunglasses so I assumed he was blind. Also he had a dark brown cane in his lap that was used for his mobility. Once the door shut he looked at me quietly and left his spot from his bed and walked in front of me with his cane. Observing me with his non functioning eyes he looked me up and down and hummed a little to himself. “So you’re the one I’ve been hearing so much about. The one who could throw cars and hero students around like rag dolls and shot one of the most feared villains of Japan point blank in the face?” he questioned. Before I could say anything he reached up a patted me on my now bald head. “Good job.” “Excuse me?” I asked. “People like you and me aren’t viewed as Villains because of our actions but more of how they see us. For example, a boy with a very powerful quirk gets taken advantage of and shows some real strength. How do the heroes handle it? They throw that poor boy into prison because they don’t want someone that powerful around that they can’t control.” He lectured to me. “What are you talking about? It was my fa-” “Fault? The only people at fault here are the people who didn’t try to save you when they had the chance.” His words confused me too a large extent. “How do you know so much about me?” I asked him to which he chuckled and went to sit back on his bed. “I have been in this prison for a good thirty years. I’ve seen your kind come through here and not last a week. By the way if you’re going to kill yourself can you do me a favor and just hang yourself? Last guy slit his wrist by the toilet and it took weeks for them to clean all that rotten blood off.” he replied. “My name is Lee, just Lee, and I was once the greatest assassin in the world. But now I’m just the old man that they room the suicidal ones with because I complain less.” “I’m not suicidal.” I snapped. “Yes you are you already tried to kill yourself with that fire show.” He retaliated. I couldn’t really argue with that, I didn’t care if I died. What’s the point trying it now? I kind of wanted to live and prove this guy wrong. “But if you’re positive i won’t find you playing hangman after lights out then I don’t mind showing you how to not die from the other inmates.” he murmured as he was getting back into his meditation stance. “Who did you kill?” I asked him out of nowhere. “Hmm?” “Who did you kill when you were an assassin?” i rephrased. He let out a small chuckle before answering, “The worst of the worst.” Time Skip About an hour later it was time for dinner and Lee gave specific instruction to walk behind him as we made our way to the mess hall. I could feel the eyes of other inmates stare at me as I walked close behind the old man. My palms began to feel sweaty when we moved through crowds of larger people and I was barely keeping up with blind man. We finally got to the mess hall and I grabbed a tray of food, but now I lost Lee. I looked at the food tray and found no taste in it, it being weird meaty slop and a loaf of bread. I already found food disgusting and this form of it was not helping the case. Right before I was about to dump it someone grabbed my wrist, it was Lee. “If the guards catch you dumping food you're going to get punished.” he then grabbed my tray and dropped it on a table filled with a group of large men who took no time feasting on the extra meal they were given. Lee sat me down at a table behind a support beam that had a good view of the entire mess hall. “Now that we got a view of everyone this is what you need to know, everyone here is labeled for their crime by the colors on their clothes.” He started. When he said this I began to notice that the inmates were all wearing certain colors, pink, purple, blue, red, green, and yellow. “Red is for public destruction, what you will be wearing soon. Blue is for manslaughter, green is for large scale robbery, yellow is crimes against the government, and purple is for sex crimes.” He said quick and to the point. “What about pink?” I asked. “Pedophiles of the worst degree. Some real twisted shit.” Those words crawled up my spine. That description pretty much cleared up who to stay away from. “Don’t worry about the guys in pink. The reason why they have this damn color system is to zone out those types of people. If there is one thing you don’t want to be in this hell hole, it's an inmate wearing in pink.” he explained. Every inmate had the same black band around the their neck like I did, even Lee had one. I saw that some inmates were sitting color coordinated and some were mixed up. While I was in my own mind I felt a present sit next to me. Turning around I was met with a big muscular man with long brown hair and a beard. He also had a large scar going diagonally across his face, stood at about 2 and half meters (me standing only at one and a half), had very large muscles, and was wearing the same baby blue as Lee. “Teo, this is my new roommate (M/n), he says he’s not suicidal.” Lee announced to the VERY large man. Teo simply looked at me up, then down, and scoffed, “ You’d be the first.” He said in a deep coarse voice. “You might not be suicidal but you are anorexic.” Pointing out I was giving off that malnourished vibe that you’d get from an abandoned animal and had the body type that could barely win in a fight against a stick bug. “Teo is in the cell next to us and I know he looks like a cold blooded killer, which he is, he is actually a big teddy bear. Leader of the mafia this one was but will hold up traffic to help a bunch of baby ducks cross the road.” Lee said as he started eating his loaf of bread. I looked at Teo as soon as he looked at me at the same time as I was skeptical of what Lee was saying. My body tensed up as Teo reached into the inside of his jumpsuit while still looking into my eyes. To my surprise he pulled out a gray wool knitted beanie and put it on my head and patted it in place. “I like to knit. It’s my passion.” he said emotionlessly. My soul soon re entered my body and I was able to breathe again. Lee and Teo continued to eat as i processed what just happened. I decided it was okay to be relax at the moment, I trusted Lee and could only hope he wasn’t leading me down the rabbit hole to hell. However I knew for a fact, that not everyone in this prison would be like Lee and Teo.

[notapaladin]

harmonic orchestra, teocatl edition (pt 3)

yeah i have a problem & the problem is ancient aztec gays

ao3

-

1 (teomitl/acatl - “I don’t feel so good”)

"I'm sorry," Acatl muttered. "I'm afraid I'm not...feeling well…"

He didn't look well. Teomitl took a step forward, about to suggest he see a healer, and so he was in position to catch the man when his knees buckled and he slid to the ground like so much dead weight. At least there was no question of a healer not being summoned after that, with diagnosis of a high fever, a prescription of medicines and bed rest, and an offhand comment of "it was lucky that he collapsed in your courtyard, Teomitl-tzin, or who knows how long this might have gone unchecked?"

Right, Teomitl thought shakily. Lucky. He didn't feel lucky, not with Acatl drifting in and out of consciousness on his mat and him sitting by helpless and powerless, unable to do anything but hold his hand and press cold cloths to his forehead.

Acatl mumbled something incoherent. He sucked in a breath and gave his too-cold fingers a squeeze. "Please wake up," he whispered. "I can't lose you, too."

-

2 (acatl/teomitl – loyalty)

It is a slow thing, this love, and it begins like this. The temple of Mictlantecuhtli at sunset, when Tonatiuh's descent turns the air to gold and all the little hairs on Teomitl's skin to fire, when Acatl looks at him—looks at him and sees him, radiant in the light, and thinks Ah. There, there is my future Emperor.

The foundation builds from there. From looks to touches (casual, friendly, lingering); from a hand on Teomitl's arm to an arm slung around Acatl's shoulder; from the unthinking snap of an order to apologies and What would you suggest, Acatl? (He doesn't address him with the -tzin honorific anymore, doesn't put that distance between them, and each time it makes something melt and flow in Acatl's chest.) And each time Acatl thinks, My Emperor and does not let himself think I love you.

The night before Teomitl is due to begin the ceremonies of his ascension, he comes to Acatl's house alone. "There's something I should tell you," he says.

And kisses him.

When Acatl kneels before him four full days later, he pledges his undying loyalty with all the joy in his heart. Teomitl—the Emperor Ahuitzotl, now—raises him up with his own hands and a smile. "Get up, Acatl. You of all people never need to bow to me."

"You deserve it," he says simply, and his Emperor (his lover) beams like the sun.

-

3 (acatl/teomitl – honeycomb)

Raw honey is dripping down Teomitl's bare arm, rich and messy and golden as sunlight, and all Acatl can do is stare. Teomitl (innocent, careless Teomitl, his student) hums happily to himself and takes another bite. "Mmph." He chews, swallows, and holds the rest of the comb out with a smile. "Want some?"

He's speechless. (There's honey oozing slowly over the bone of Teomitl's wrist. He wants to lick it off.)

"I." He says intelligently. "Um."

Teomitl's eyes are dark and hot and hungry. He presses the comb to Acatl's mouth, and as Acatl's lips part he starts to grin. It's not careless anymore. "You deserve good things in your life, Acatl-tzin. Eat."

He eats. It’s good.

Teomitl’s mouth is better.

-

4 (teomitl/acatl – pour a little love into my lonely soul)

Teomitl would be the first one to insist he doesn't need people. Sure, he likes them—he has dozens of friendly acquaintances—but he can count the number of real friends he has on one hand and still have fingers left over. That's the way he likes it, he tells himself. He doesn't need to be enmeshed with other peoples' lives. It doesn't matter that he wakes with tears in his eyes and a searing ache in his chest, that he flinches away from casual touches because he craves them to a degree that frightens him.

Then he meets Acatl, who's ready and willing to take him under his wing, teach him the magic of living blood, share food and hopes and fears, put his life in Teomitl's hands and trust that he won't crush it. Acatl, who trusts him to one day lead them all to glory.

The first time Acatl pulls him into his arms—huddling for warmth on a freezing desert night outside Texcoco, with him still so shaken from the nightmare he's had that all dignity is a lost cause—he melts. And he knows, then, that here is where he belongs. That it will be this, forever, for as long as Acatl will have him.

He's not sure who initiates that first kiss, but they do stay much warmer after that.

-

5 (acatl/teomitl – take my hand, wreck my plans, that’s my man)

Acatl's life had been set for him. He was a priest for the Dead, and that was all he'd ever be. His life would be sacrifices and chants and funerals, a sympathetic hand to grieving families and a knife to monsters clawing their way out from the underworld. He'd never find love, never have children or know the glory of warriors, but he was content with that. He'd chosen his vocation knowing what he was giving up.

Then Teomitl smiled at him, and in a hundred different ways—

("I came for you.")

("Acatl-tzin, you don't look—")

("You'll find us a way out of this.")

("You said things as one man to another, Acatl. That won't change.")

("I'll think of something.")

—in a thousand different ways, his carefully laid plans were shattered. There were no rules anymore; there was only the song of his own beating heart, and what it said as Teomitl clasped his hand with that bold and reckless grin (and a blush, which was frankly so adorable that he wanted to pinch the man's cheeks) was yes.

-

6 (acatl/teomitl – beginnings are just endings in reverse)

The first time they'd stood on these temple steps together, Teomitl had been callow and impatient and almost savage in his desire to learn (to grow, to prove himself), and Acatl had felt himself pulled slowly out of sync, shaped and molded into this new world where he, the son of peasants, had an Emperor's brother for an apprentice. He'd had an apprentice once. He hadn't wanted another one, had wanted even less a chance to tie his life with another's—but Teomitl had asked, and he'd accepted. He'd never in a thousand years imagined where it would lead him.

Where it led him now, in fact, years later. Oh, Teomitl still had some patience to learn—the entire attempt to wrest the throne from his brother's grasp proved that—but he had changed more than Acatl had ever dreamed, and Acatl's feelings had changed too. (Deeper, now. Deeper, and yet brighter.)

Teomitl didn't need a teacher. That was over. The future ahead of them was a terrifying blank, dizzy with possibilities, and Acatl didn't know where it would take them.

But Teomitl was smiling at him, and he knew he wanted to find out.

-

7 (mihmatini, nezahual, & teomitl – high school au)

If Nezahual kept poking her between the shoulderblades with his pencil, Mihmatini was going to rip it out of his hand and shove it right in his fucking eye. He was a year younger than her and shouldn't even have been there, but he was in all advanced classes, set to graduate in a few months just like the rest of them, and never let anyone forget it for a second.

"Hey," came the hiss from behind her. "Hey."

Without turning around, she muttered, "What?"

"Your brother. Is he single?"

She didn't have to ask which brother he meant, even when Nezahual jerked his chin forward as though she could possibly miss Acatl setting up another slide on the overhead projector and launching into the next part of the lecture on pre-conquest history that they were all supposed to be taking notes on. "...Yeah. Why?"

"Oh, no reason."

And because he sat behind her, she missed him turning to where Teomitl sat in order to flash him a shit-eating grin and a thumbs'-up—but when Teomitl flipped him off in response, she had a pretty good idea why. She felt like doing the same thing; just because Teo's crush was doomed didn't mean he had to rub it in.

-

8 (acatl/teomitl – wingfic)

When you are loved, you grow wings. They're white when you're born, but after that...well, they can be any color. Bright red for a first lover, green for an auntie down the road who pinches your cheeks and cooks you tamales, blue for a husband. And those who are truly adored...well, they have so many feathers in so many colors that nobody can count them all.

Acatl's are a deep slate gray shading to black, with no other color—the mark of a man beloved by Lord Death, true, but by no one else. Even the pale greens and browns of his parents' regard have long since fallen out. He can't let himself miss them, but it's fine. He's fine. He doesn't need anyone else.

Then he meets Teomitl—Teomitl the warrior, Teomitl the Emperor's brother, Teomitl whose wings are the flat unrelieved brown of someone who truly has no one else to love him—and something in him shifts. Stone cracks, and the first green shoot of something living pushes its way up into the sunlight.

When his primaries are tipped with sun-gold and jade and Teomitl's coverts swirl with silver and ink-black, he knows he's not alone anymore.

-

9 (acatl/teomitl – plum, orange, melon, berry)

"You don't take good enough care of yourself, love."

Acatl is leaning back against Teomitl's well-muscled chest, a platter of fruit resting on his knees. They're from all over the Empire, starfruit and cherimoya and some he can't even name, and seeing them spread out for his perusal makes him feel absurdly fond. But he still has his pride, and so he elbows his lover in the rib and huffs, "I take perfectly adequate care of myself. This...this is luxury I can't possibly have done anything to deserve."

Teomitl pokes his side, just where he's ticklish. "You deserve it just by being who you are. Eat. Enjoy."

And then his hand snakes around to snatch up the freshest, juiciest-looking slice of papaya. "Or I will, if you're not hungry."

"I didn't say that!"

-

10 (teomitl/acatl – let’s all raise a glass)

"Are you drunk," Acatl said. He sounded scandalized. Good.

Teomitl raised his half-full gourd of pulque—pulque he definitely was not allowed to drink yet, and most certainly not in public—and grinned wickedly at him. "Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not. Come and join me, hm? I know you could use this after the day we've had."

Acatl wasn't allowed to drink either, but if spending the day with the other High Priests without killing them both with his bare hands didn't mean he deserved it, nothing would. Then again, his stubborn lover was terrible at accepting the basic fact that he ought to have the best of everything life had to offer, and before he'd started on the pulque Teomitl had come up with a whole list of reasons why he should.

He didn't need to use them. Acatl sat down next to him with a sigh, gesturing for the rest of the gourd. "...Pass it over."

-

11 (acatl/teomitl & mihmatini – the best day ever)

"You should name her," Mihmatini tells him. She's sweaty, exhausted, and red-faced after having labored for most of a day to bring her and Teomitl's first daughter into the world, but she's radiant.

Acatl stares at her. This is his twelfth time meeting a new niece or nephew—no, thirteenth, he's forgotten their sister Nelli had another just last week—but he can't have heard her right. Naming a child is something reserved for parents. For the father, in fact, which he most decidedly is not.

He throws a pleading look at his beloved and opinionated Teomitl, who is. And who's sitting on the now-clean bench in the steam bath watching Acatl hold his sleeping newborn as though there's nowhere else he'd rather be in the world. "You should," he says simply. "You would be a wonderful father."

He's not crying. He isn't. But he's definitely a little choked up as he looks down at the wrinkly little girl in his arms. He already knows what her name will be, in honor of the woman who died giving Teomitl life. "Welcome to the world, Huitzilxochtin."

He's still not crying, but now Teomitl's scrubbing furiously at his face with the back of a hand. "Shut up," he says at his wife's raised eyebrow. "I have had a very long twenty-four hours and this is the greatest day of my life."

"You've had a long day?!"

Mihmatini's a little too loud, and now her daughter's woken up and started wailing. It derails any more potential shouting as they all rush to calm her, but not even her fussing can erase the smile from Acatl's face.

-

12 (teomitl/acatl – brave, I hope, not foolish)

"You're a brave man," Acatl says, and the way he smiles lets Teomitl know the words come straight from his heart.

His own hammers so hard against his ribs he thinks it's about to escape entirely. They're all alone on the darkened steps of Acatl's temple, only the moon as witness to this encounter, and Acatl is looking at him so softly and smiling like that and oh, he prays the man is right. "Brave, I hope, not foolish."

There's a moment's sweet confusion in Acatl's face. "Why would you say that?"

Teomitl leans in, cups his cheek—watching the way his face flushes, eyes going wide and dark and oh, he could drown in them—and kisses him on the mouth.

-

13 (acatl & mihmatini/teomitl – “i’m the other woman”)

“And I’m the First Imperial Concubine,” Acatl mutters sarcastically.

Sarcastically, mind you, but now Mihmatini’s raised her head and is just looking at him, long and level. As he watches, one eyebrow goes up. She keeps looking.

He blinks back at her. “What?”

“Well,” she says, and grins at him.

All at once it hits him, and he wants to curl up and die from sheer embarrassment. Of course he’s known what he’s doing—it would be impossible not to, given just who his sister and his lover are as people—but it’s one thing to be intellectually aware of what that makes him in regards to their marriage and another to put words on it. He’s accepted gifts from Teomitl, broken his vow of chastity to pieces for him, tangled their hands and their hearts together. Though he doesn’t live in the palace, there’s no question that he’s accepted his essentially subordinate position in regards to the man’s primary wife, just as she’s accepted that he’s first in her husband’s heart.

“Oh gods,” he groans, voice cracking. “I am the First Imperial Concubine.”

-

14 (acatl/teomitl – king and lionheart)

He’s not a warrior. But there are things he can fight, and when Teomitl leads...well, what else can he do but follow?

Tizoc’s death weakens the wards again, and someone starts summoning star-demons. Acatl’s not surprised. What is surprising is how vicious they are; true, they can’t manage to enter the palace this time, but one appears in an ordinary farmer’s field and slaughters the whole family, and Teomitl of course can’t let that stand. So he takes his warriors, and Acatl takes his priests, and together they row out to the Floating Gardens—to the very same patch of land where they once fought a beast of shadows.

The star-demon sees them and strikes, meeting Teomitl and his warriors head-on in a clash of obsidian and rage. Acatl stands back, eyes narrowed and all his priest-senses flung wide. The right strike will end this. It will only take one blow. But he has to be strategic, he has to think—

Teomitl’s flung halfway across the field, bleeding heavily, and he stops thinking entirely.

He throws his knife, misses, and the demon is on him. He stabs with his other knife, and the demon falls—but he was too slow, and now pure, icy agony is spreading through him from far too deep of a wound.

Teomitl is at his side in an instant, screaming for bandages, for a healer. He makes himself smile. “Had to avenge you. Last thing I do.”

“Shut up!” Teomitl snaps. Hot tears land on Acatl’s face. “You’re not dying—I love you, you are not allowed to die—“

Darkness descends, and he knows nothing more.

(He’s very surprised to wake up. He’s less surprised when it involves Teomitl glaring at him through his tears and ordering him to never do that to him again.)

-

15 (acatl/teomitl – barely even friends/then somebody bends/unexpectedly)

They’re teacher and student, master and apprentice. Teomitl is prickly and proud and stubborn. Are they friends? Well, as much as you can be friends with a cactus, Acatl thinks sourly. He’s sure Teomitl must feel the same way about him; it’s not like he’s ever had much practice making or keeping friends, not with how much time and focus his vocation demands, and even if he did, they’re both too conscious of the gap in their stations. (No, he can’t lie to himself. He’s the one that’s too aware of it; Teomitl treats him as though it doesn’t matter at all, and it makes an embarrassed sort of pleasure squirm in his chest every time.)

So they’re friendly, yes, but no more than that. The walls he’s set up won’t fall down overnight.

But they erode, little by little. Teomitl’s edges polish smooth; his smiles turn sweet. Acatl smiles back and the squirming in his chest turns to warmth. Respectful distance (his) and the occasional pat on the back or hand on the arm (Teomitl’s) become gentle, lingering touches.

The first time Teomitl hugs him is a revelation, and he never wants to let go.

-

16 (acatl/teomitl – if your parents weren’t dead already, i’d kill them for what they did to you)

When Mihmatini mentions her parents are dead, Teomitl's first reaction is sympathy. He's an orphan too, after all, and he knows how it is.

And then she tells him more, and his second and third reactions are anger. By the time she finishes telling him how they'd reacted to Acatl becoming a priest instead of a warrior—all but throwing him out of the house, his mother unwilling to reconcile even on her deathbed, when anyone with eyes and good common sense could see that Acatl is simply the best priest for the Dead anyone could ever ask for—he's actually shaking with suppressed rage.

The next time he sees Acatl, it's all he can do not to pull him into his arms and snarl something heartfelt and useless about how much he wants to kill the man's parents all over again.

...It comes out eventually, of course, when Acatl's woken trembling on the anniversary of his father's death, and for a moment Teomitl hates himself for even voicing the thought when it can't do anything to help—but then Acatl chuckles damply and murmurs, "Sweet, but unnecessary," and he feels much more validated in his fury.

-

17 (acatl/teomitl – daemon au)

Itzli is just as proud and abrasive as his human is, not that Acatl expects anything else from a young black jaguar whose coat gleams like midnight fire—but where Teomitl does his very best to maintain his dignity, his daemon can never quite seem to manage the same gravitas. Itzli pouts. He flops over onto his back, showing his spotted belly. He chews on the end of his tail when he’s agitated in the same way Teomitl chews on the inside of his lip plug.

And every time he sees Acatl and Yoltzin, he purrs. Teomitl is almost incandescently embarrassed, but Acatl can’t help but soften at the knowledge that he’s appreciated. Cared for. Liked. Yoltzin licks Itzli’s ears, curls up next to the great black bulk of him, and it feels right.

When he escapes death by the skin of his teeth and Itzli nearly bowls him over in relief, dragging his rough pink tongue across his face and making Teomitl gasp behind him, that feels right too.

-

18 (teomitl/acatl– you are worth the work it takes to love you)

“I’m surprised you’re here,” Teomitl mutters, and hates the way his voice cracks and his eyes sting. They’ve had another fight, one where his pride and Acatl’s bluntness had collided in spectacular devastation, and he’d stormed off in a huff. He knows it’s his fault again, knows he should apologize, but the words are stuck in his throat and won’t come out. I’m sorry, I’m sorry—he says that a lot, says that too much, is always being too sharp and too rough and soon Acatl has to get fed up with him and just decide they’re too different to keep—

Cool, dry hands enfold his, and he meets Acatl’s calm and serious eyes. “Where else could I be?”

“With your priests,” he spits out. “With your temple. With someone easy to love, someone who’s not so...so…” Someone who’s not far too much like his namesake, he thinks, and remembers the ahuitzotls. They bite too.

“...So much work?” Like all he’s doing is stating a fact and not ripping the heart from Teomitl’s chest. At his stiff nod, Acatl��s grip tightens. “Teomitl. When have I ever shied away from hard work, when the reward is so great?”

He sucks in a breath. “Acatl,” he begins, “I’m sorry—“

Acatl kisses him. You don’t have to apologize, says that kiss. You are work, says that kiss, but it’s work I take on gladly, because I love you.

He does cry a little, but they’re tears of joy.

-

19 (teomitl & acatl – bloody fluff)

After their lessons and the necessary bloodletting, Acatl always bandaged his wounds. It wasn’t necessary—he was a warrior, he knew his way around the results of sharp knives on thin skin—but Acatl insisted, and he...well. Sometimes it was nice to be taken care of, to have Acatl gently press herb poultices on his cuts and wrap the wounds so that all he had to do was occasionally hold a knot in place while his teacher tied it off. And it let them talk—about what Teomitl had just learned, and about other things.

Today it was one of the ‘other things.’ “You never even played ball in the calmecac? Really?”

Acatl snorted and sponged away a bit more blood. “Peasant’s son, remember? They would never have let me.”

He made a face. True, the game could be rough, and he hated the idea of Acatl risking himself, but it was also fun. Acatl deserved fun in his life. “There’s going to be a small match next week—my cousins are setting it up. You should come watch!” Then he thought he’d probably been a bit too eager, and added, “If you’re free.”

“Will you be playing?”

He hadn’t planned on it, but...he flexed his injured arm. Yes, it would be healed by then, and he’d be able to put on a proper showing. He nodded. “Mm.”

Acatl smiled at him. “Then I’ll come.”

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20 (acatl/teomitl – competence kink)

If it was regular magic, Teomitl could help—if nothing else, he would gladly pour all his power into whatever spell Acatl cast, letting it blaze until the blood and light illuminated an approving glint in Acatl’s eyes. But the monster that the Tlaxcalans had torn a hole in the world to summon could only be banished by the High Priest of the Dead, and even though he’d been able to help set the ritual up—clearing the room, fetching the sacrifices—he was firmly dissuaded from attempting to take on some of the burden of channeling all that power. Ezamahual had had the nerve to comment that “it’s alright, Teomitl-tzin, we aren’t even allowed to help,” and he’d fought the urge to snarl at him. You’re his priests, he’d wanted to say, but I’m the one that loves him. So instead of doing anything actually useful, he stood on the sidelines and seethed.

And then Acatl begun his chant, and all he could do was stare.

He’d seen Acatl perform devastating feats of magic plenty of times. He’d known, intellectually, that this was the man’s element. But knowing and seeing were two different things; Acatl’s skin was black glass, his bones moonlight on water, his flesh smoke, his hair a cloud of midnight. There was blood up to his elbows. He’d never looked more untouchable, cold and remote as the moon above. He’d never looked more beautiful.

Finally, after an eternity, the spell was over, and even Teomitl felt the snap in the air as the world mended. Acatl wasn’t even breathing hard as the color rushed into his face, but his eyes still looked a little lost. “...It’s done.”

“Acatl.” He swallowed roughly. Wreck me, came the breathless thought. Sate yourself in me until you know you’re alive again.

And now Acatl was looking concerned. “Maybe you should have waited outside—”

“No.” The spell was over. It was safe to cross the circle. There was nothing stopping him from striding over and pulling Acatl down into a hard, messy kiss.

So he did.

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21 (acatl/teomitl – not an end, but the start of all things that are left to do)

Tonight, he is burying Tizoc. The man, unworthy as he was to be Emperor, should have died long ago; as it was, his death took years, and Acatl confirmed it with a certain amount of joy. No longer will he and Teomitl have to skulk in the shadows, fearing his wrath and hatred. He can walk with silver and jade in his hair and on his sandals, and when Teomitl smiles at him in public he can smile back. Within a week, his beloved will be crowned, and he will lead them all to glory.

But tonight, he looks at the shrunken corpse of the man he hated beyond words when he'd been alive and takes a long, deep breath. Tizoc's body has already been bathed and wrapped, with jade piercing his lips and every inch of his cotton shroud covered over with magic to keep him safe on his one-way journey to the underworld, but there's one last thing Acatl has to do.

He sacrifices to Mictlantecuhtli and begins the funeral prayers he knows by heart. This time, Tizoc is damn well going to stay dead.

22 (teomitl/acatl – forehead kisses)

He woke with flailing limbs and a strangled scream, and from Acatl’s grunt he knew he’d hit him at least once. It instantly made him feel worse, even though it was hard to feel anything through the residual flood of grief and terror that had swamped his nightmares. He should say something—he should apologize—but it was all he could do to keep his eyes shut and focus on his breathing.

“Teomitl?” His lover wasn’t quite panicked, but there was a definite edge of concern in his voice.

He took one deep breath. Another. Another. One night. I couldn’t even have a single night by his side. And he’d felt so safe when he’d fallen asleep, secure in the knowledge that Acatl cared for him. “Sorry,” he managed shakily. “I—nightmare.” It was one of the bad ones, too—the one where he held out his heart and his convictions, begged Acatl to accept them, and the man spat on them and turned away. Even knowing that it was a dream, that the real thing was stroking his back soothingly, didn’t help much.

Acatl was still looking at him cautiously. “...Do you want to talk about it?”

He didn’t. But if he kept it to himself the way he’d once kept much more important things, it would only fester. He was sick of letting that happen. So he took another breath, stared at his own lap in the darkness, and whispered, “You turned away from me. Forever.”

Acatl made a sound and cupped his face in his hands, turning him so that Teomitl had to look at him. He closed his eyes again, unable to bear whatever expression was on his face, but he felt it with a liquid rush of warmth when soft lips pressed to his forehead. “I would never do that.” Another kiss, this time to his nose. “I’ve made my decision, haven’t I? You were there. You know I’m yours, and you are mine.”

Yes, he thought breathlessly. Yours.

When Acatl kissed his mouth, he melted into it.