There had been changes happening for months now. Xochipilli didn’t notice them at first. He had been on earth for decades, ever since Mictlantecuhtli gave them vessels so that, even if restricted, the fallen Gods and Goddesses could come back.
It had been too many years during which Xochipilli, like the rest of them, had gotten used to the almost too human life style; except for the immortality part of course. Their vessels didn’t age, they didn’t sleep, they didn’t necessarily eat, but they needed the praise and sacrifice to function corrently, to function God-like. Whether it was given or taken, the taste of blood, of an innocent, of whatever the deity consumed was enough for their strenght to remain, for the vessel to grow strong, to stay perfect and allow them to exist on earth, without them having to drain the little power they had left into manifesting their real forms. It was too much effort for fallen, destroyed Gods...
So they soon got used into manipulating, into taking, seeking and drinking up the praise of whatever little followers they had left on their culture. They were still there, and their costums made them strong enough to keep living on earth.
But now, as the rise of minorities making themselves heard grew louder, the old Gods could feel their beliefs being visible again. People investigating, people reclaiming their roots, their indigenous heritage, all of this ignited the spark. None of the Aztecs saw it coming, but humanity always surprises and delivers...
Xochipilli, especifically, was bursting with love and delight when in june 28 a wave of rejoice and divinity bloomed inside him with a raging force. His vessel quivered, and for the first time in centuries he felt the call of their people, chanting his name, praises that he shouldn’t have heard since he wasn’t present in the place. Echoes of his name, alabanzas, all of this overwhelming the God until he found himself in the scene, looking through the eyes of his believers, a sea of people in a pride parade, and around him (or at least the person who’s eyes he was borrowing) the people were wearing aztec clothing and ornaments, hair dresses, some mixed them with bondage wear, it was beautiful it made Xochipilli’s head spin for a moment, and as he turned he saw that all of them were dancing and singing and worshipping a statue of himself.
His true form, with bright red and yellow colors and a beautiful hair dress, surrounded by flowers native of their land... Xochipilli as he once was, in all his glory back in tenochtitlan.
He woke up then, by the call of his name, his twin calling her downstairs, and he realized that what he had seen, what he had done was the closest he had been to projecting his true form in centuries... He was getting stronger. Should he tell the others? ask if they were experiencing these changes? Or was it just him? Why was he stronger? He shook his head and saved these questions for later, standing from his hammock and heading downstairs...
The next changes he noticed while in bed with his husbands. Marriage wasn’t really his thing, so it was weird to use this expression. Yet now, with both Adonai and Chuck’s arms around him, sandwiched between their bodies and gaining conscious after waking up, he noticed Them like he had never before.
He had always been so receptive of Their Divinity and grace, after all his vessel was human-like and could get high on Their touch... But that night it felt even more. Like a presence. Outside Their bodies, outside the embrace They had around a supposedly sleeping aztec. It was there, and for the first time in all their months of relationship together, Xochipilli could see it. Of course, he always knew They shared a more intimate bond, just never knew at what degree. And now, laying in bed, being able to see Them, Xochipilli realized it was like his true form... the one that woke up a few weeks ago, during pride. And for a brief moment, he almost reached out, wanting to meet them in that intimate hold They shared... but decided not to. It wasn’t his place. So he held back that new feeling, that divinity that had been caged for decades behind a veil, a different plane of existance until now...
And that was the moment Xochipilli realized... it wasn’t only his reborn culture that was feeding his true form into life again... it was Them, and their touch, their embrace, feeding on that power and divine love... He was back again, thanks to Them. And what level? he didn’t know, he’d have to find out. Should he tell them? perhaps, if he gathered the courage. He’d have to speak to his family first. Would They be mad? no, They loved him... right?
The power inside him was aware of how hurt Adonai was, yet he didn’t know what about nor he wanted to pry. He made sure to tell Adonai he was here, and the time they spent in His garden of Eden sure eased up the worry in Pilli’s core. Maybe this would be the perfect time to tell Him about his new discovery, about how strong he had become...
But then it all broke down before he could even bring the subject out. Horrified brown eyes stared at the sky as his true form made it easy to see what humans could not: the burn of an archangel amongst Holy fire, the shout of divine enochian wrath, the violence and the fall of a God spyraling down to earth, only to be clashed by darkness and taken away from Xochipilli’s prying eyes. Even his renewed form was shaken to his core, unaware of what had coaxed this and what was to come after it...
And so, he decided to bury that divinity back into himself, this was not the time to make things about himself. For now, he needed to be there for Adonai.
