#The Feathered Serpent's Daughter

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"The Feathered Serpent's Daughter" Preview!

“Make me sweat Make me hotter Make me lose my breath Make me water Make me sweat Make me hotter Make me lose my breath Make me water…”

Tyla – “Water”

Le Najo’ Ti’ le Kaano’.

That’s what her father’s private surface-dwelling home was called. The Serpent House. From the mouth of the snake-head looking entrance, and all through the serpentine winding of the connected caves that led to the warm waters at the heart of K’uk’ulkan’s earthly abode, Le Najo’ Ti’ le Kaano’ was Lewatle’s only connection to the land above Talokan.

As the eldest child of Namor and his Wakandan wife, Lebadi, Lewatle was the beginning of transformations in Talokan. The king of the Talokanil had produced another mutant with a human queen that ruled by his side.

The second and even more significant change had been her father’s numerous excursions to the surface world with his army, wrecking havoc and destroying humans who disturbed their tranquil waters. Lewatle’s curiosity about her human heritage grew. Her name was Wakandan, and she favored more of her mother’s physical traits as an African woman. Tightly coiled curls that became soft and bouncy in water delighted her father. Her round button nose, plump pouty lips and sultry eyes were her mother’s gifts. Her fiery tongue and truculent mannerisms came from the blood of K’ uk’ulkan entirely. It was probably why she butt heads with her father the older she became.

Lewatle sighed while standing in front of her mother’s black pearl-crusted mirror in the royal dressing room of their cave home. Her mother fussed with threading shark-tooth decorations on the braids she had made for the top half of Lewatle’s scalp that were scooped up into two afro-puffs.

“Why the sad look?” Lebadi asked, clasping a final jewel onto her daughter’s hair.

“Look at me,” Lewatle grumbled.

Queen Lebadi gazed at her daughter’s sad-faced reflection.

“I see my beautiful first born child. One who is about to go and become a lovely bridesmaid for her best friend.”

“Is that all?”

Lebadi touched Lewatle’s breathing mask and pressed her face cheek to cheek.

“What more is there to see?”

Lewatle flicked her hands down her body. The pale blue diaphanous huipil bridesmaid’s dress was held down at the hem by heavy deepsea clamstones to keep it from billowing too much below the surface.

“What?” Lebadi asked in confusion.

“Mother, you don’t see the problem?”

“No.”

Lewatle gave a frustrated sigh and  stomped her bare feet on the soft earth.

“This is the fourth wedding I’ve been a bridesmaid for in the past two years. All of my friends are settling down, starting families of their own as adults. But here I stand, a grown woman at twenty and I still look like a fourteen-year-old…a teenager barely past puberty.”

“Most people would think that’s a blessing.”

“I’m not most people. My father is K’uk’ulkan, the great feathered serpent who has lived for five hundred years. I will probably look this way until I’m at least two hundred years old. Maybe by year three hundred I will look like a full adult.”

Lebadi held her index finger under her nose and laughed.

“This isn’t funny mother!”

The anguish in Lewatle’s voice brought a comforting hug from her mother.

“I’m sorry my sweet child. I forget how sensitive you are about it. I would love to keep you all young and innocent forever, but you must go on to live your own lives. It’s harder because you’re a mutant. Your friends grow older and you remain—”

“A baby.”

“That’s not true.”

“Father treats me like one.”

“No, your father treats you how he does because you choose to be petulant and disobedient.”

“Standing up for myself shouldn’t be seen as being disobedient. In the eyes of our laws, I was an adult two years ago. You both won’t let me live because my body makes you uncomfortable. Admit it. None of you can see past my slender frame, or my young face. I can’t even keep a boyfriend because everyone thinks it looks gross.”

“You have a boyfriend?”

“No…I was just sharing an example…never mind. None of you listen to my concerns.”

“That’s even more untrue.”

“No it’s not, Na’,” Lewatle said.

Lebadi lifted Lewatle’s chin with her adorned fingers. Whenever Lewatle used the royal informal Talokanil word for mother, Lebadi knew her daughter hurt.

“I feel for you. I truly do. I can never know how it feels to have my outside appearance not match my inside maturity. We know you’re grown but we choose to ignore it sometimes because your physical appearance tricks us into holding on to the illusion of childhood.”

“Could you speak to Yuum? He listens to you. I want to move to my own home outside of the Talokan palace.”

Lebadi’s face tensed.

“Yuum would never allow that. He wants all of his children to live with us until you all marry.”

“Na’, I can’t wait two hundred years until my breasts get bigger and I grow some fuller hips that’ll finally convince people that I’m not a child! You’ll be dead by then. Please talk to Yuum! You lived on your own at my age.”

“I went to university at your age in another city from my own. That’s different. I would’ve stayed with my parents if I went to school in my hometown.”

“So…you won’t speak to him?”

“If you went to school, he’d be more lenient.”

“I don’t want to go to school right now. I want to live on my own…explore…I have centuries to go to school.”

“Lewatle, you’re an heir. Your father agreed to give you another year of freedom, but he expects you to start university next year.”

Lebadi patted her shoulder.

“I suggest you go to the Talokan Templo Ka’anal. You could have your own dorm space not too far from the palace. I can visit you with the new submersible on free days there.”

“But Yuum would always be hovering nearby. If I go to school, I want to attend the Sayyil Templo Ka’anal —”

“Out of the question!”

Lewatle jumped and Lebadi stepped away from the mirror to look at the angry face of Namor.

“Yuum…I want to go someplace new.”

Lewatle lowered her eyes in the presence of her father.

Namor sauntered in wearing his blood-red cape that settled over his ceremonial battle armor. The tasseled metallic gold fringe at the bottom of the cape sparkled with the addition of hand-cut iridescent abalone shell beads. He strode closer to Lebadi and the fringe fluttered with an undulating motion that mimicked the movement of the sea.

His gold mantle gleamed on his chest and his hands rested on the thick jade and emerald belt carved with images of a feathered serpent. With his regal movement, the shoulder padding of the mantle resembled the articulating  jaws of dragons whenever he moved his arms. The ruler’s graceful walk irritated Lewatle. She already knew he would shut down any talk of leaving the capital city. The serpent headdress with the lionfish plumage added a menacing quality to her father’s face. Ancient detailing in the gold and precious jewels reminded Lewatle that she too would be become ancient, like him.

It made her sad.

That sadness propelled her to act impulsive and wild at times. Her rashness perturbed her parents and deep down she knew that she acted that way to get under Namor’s skin. He claimed that she had reached her terrible twenties, the equivalent of a non-mutants terrible twos. In his eyes, she was still a toddler and would be treated as such.

Namor kissed Queen Lebadi’s cheek and admired the intricate powder blue face-paint and headwrap she adorned herself in. A heavy gold choker decorated with jewels only found at the deepest depths of the ocean covered her throat and upper chest. Her off-the-shoulder jade and cobalt blue royal dress blended the colors of Namor’s belt to create a complimentary look for his queen.

Lewatle waited patiently for her father to tend to her mother and hoped that she could slip away from his wrath. Her favorite older cousin, Namora, whom she treated more like an auntie, snuck into the entrance of the mirror room, hooking her fingers with a desperate beckoning motion. Lewatle’s winged ankles fluttered with quiet hummingbird speed and her body floated backward three inches off the ground in stealth mode. Namor caught her silent escape.

“Come here, daughter.”

Lewatle bunched her lips. Namora shrugged and crept away from the entrance, her loose orange tunic swooshing away leaving a soft draft of air behind. Lewatle floated humbly back toward her father with her head cast down.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

She raised her eyes and Namor held out his hands to her. She planted her feet back on the earthen floor and clasped his fingers. He pulled her in for a warm embrace.

“Sayyil is not the best place to be at the moment,” he said.

“Only because you attack the surface dwellers in the north Atlantic. I want to see a different part of our empire, Yuum. If not Sayyil, then Calakmul…or maybe even Uxmal. Please, Yuum.”

She stressed “yuum”, the informal royal word for father and Namor kissed her forehead.

“One day soon you will fight by my side when needed, but until that day comes, your choices are to attend school in Talokan now…or live in the palace until you do decide to go to that university.”

“Or I could live here with mother all the time.”

Lebadi stroked the top of Lewatle’s head.

“You would grow bored here. Besides, all your friends are in Talokan,” Lebadi said.

Getting married and having babies. Moving on without me.

“We should get going. The submersible is ready to depart. Kaax and Acan want to ride in it with you,” Namor said to his wife.

Lewatle could already hear her two younger brothers whooping it up on their way to the submersible pool in the great hall. Five-year-old Kaax teased his three-year-old baby brother Acan and the distant echoing of their excited voices bounced off the cavern walls, their royal nannies scurrying after them. Lewatle’s mother touched the small swelling in her stomach hidden under the extra layer of fabric on her dress. The new baby wouldn’t come until the end of the year and the Talokanil midwives told Queen Lebadi she carried a girl for K’uk’ulkan.

Lewatle was happy for her mother and her younger siblings. They lived a content life in the wondrous cave system. None of her parent’s offspring breathed air, but they all adapted with the breathing masks and dual life above and below. Perhaps if they had more children closer to Lewatle’s age she wouldn’t feel so desperate to get away from her father’s control. For the longest time her parents thought she would be an only child, a lucky genetic gift that would never happen again. They tried a few more times to conceive without success until Kaax was born. Lebadi’s diet of Talokan food had changed her physically too. For a woman in her mid-forties, she still looked as young as she did when she first ran off with Namor. The vibranium rich sea plants kept her youthful and energetic. A royal doctor suggested that her slowed down aging would continue and this news pleased the king.

Lewatle didn’t know how the Queen Mother coped with spending twenty years separated from her own people. Wakanda was so far away, almost a fable in Lewatle’s mind. But she adored all the stories and vivid colorful images Lebadi painted on the walls and sketched in human art books that were pilfered from the small towns surrounding the entrance of Namor’s sanctuary. Lebadi spun tales, took care of her children, learned Spanish to help her husband spy on the local humans, and lived a pampered and spoiled life with Namor.

Lewatle wanted the life of her mother one day. Accepted that she would take over ruling all of Talokan when the day finally came for her father to pass on…if he ever did.

Life would be long.

But it wouldn’t be boring.

The young princess wanted to go to Wakanda and visit the land of her mother’s people. She had a plan to do it as soon as her father left to check on parts of the empire. While he was away, she would pretend to visit her friend who was about to be married in less than an hour. Queen Mother would believe her because she did it often enough in the past. Plus, Lebadi would be preoccupied with staying healthy for the new baby girl coming and looking after Kaax and Acan.

Namor usually stayed away for a week visiting a region of the other underwater cities every other month. Lewatle knew that the next planned trip occurred during Wakanda’s Mama Wati celebration. She grew up learning all about the festivities. She also had access to her mother’s old Mama Wati celebration dress. According to Lebadi, Wakandans spruced up in all kinds of costumes during that time, so wearing an underwater mask openly and mingling among the people would be easy. She’d wear her hair down to cover her ears. The wings on her feet would be covered by the dress.

One week in her mother’s homeland.

Lewatle perked up her face with a vivacious smile and grabbed her father’s hand.

“Come on Yuum! We don’t want to be late!” Lewatle said.

Namor grinned and Lewatle grabbed a hold of her mother’s hand too, pulling both parents toward the great hall.

The rest soon come!

[raimagnolia]

Giving Olrox a(n adopted) daughter because I can.

> Speaks Mã’eekaneeweexthowãakan and Nahuatl.

> Continues that melting pot of cultures by having her 1/8 vampire from her grandpa's side who married into one one of the tribes in Mahicannituck

> the R.W. and settler's disease took her parents away at an early age, but no one knows what happened to the grandfather.

> Has her Papa's sass and jadedness (but her other father's appreciation for Westenhuck culture and nature's rivers)

> Causes Richter an existential crisis because he's out to kill her sole surviving parent, so he feels unnervingly like he's in Olrox's shoes

[fushic0re]

─ 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑

𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒, 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋

𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗢𝗥 𝘅 𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗔!𝗦𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — a prophecy has tied you to the feathered serpent god before you had even existed. now, it’s time to come home.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — 18+ ONLY; MINORS DNI. possessive behavior. near death experience. smut; penetrative sex, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie (lots of cum bc i'm disgusting), breeding kink.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑❜𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — this has to be the most excited i've been for a fic in a long time 🥹 i had a blast including a little bit of my culture's superstitions and lore. my sincerest apologies for any inaccurate yucatec maya translations, i used a translator website. the song the reader sings is "daughter of the sea" by sharm. i hope you all enjoy! ♡

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 —

⁀➷ “anak�� - child.

⁀➷ “po” - a respectful term with no direct translation used when talking to someone of higher rank than you such as elders or your boss.

⁀➷ “mag ingat ka” - “be careful.”

⁀➷ “ka’a suku’un u?” - “cousin?”

⁀➷ “ko’oten tin wéetel in kaxtik ti’ le ajawo.” - "come with me to find the king."

⁀➷ "in yakunaj" - "my love"

⁀➷ "in k'áaté" - my one and only.

⁀➷ "le ba'alo' leti'e" - that is her.

⁀➷ "bienvenido tin wotoch ti', in reina." - "welcome my queen."

꒰ ͜͡➸ 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘, 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆! 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒❜ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 & 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑! ♡

FOR AS LONG AS YOU COULD REMEMBER, the ocean was your safe haven.

While others strayed from its depths for fear of the unknown, of the creatures that could be lurking down there, you had always been curious to know. There had always been an itch that couldn’t quite be scratched when it came to your love for the water. You frequented your local beach nearly every day, wandering aimlessly until you grew tired. Unlike others your age, your life was one of solitude. To an extent, you were content with it, for the ocean was your companion. It never judged you and always welcomed you. It listened when you spoke, carrying your worries far from you never to be seen again.

Nowadays, to your heart’s discontent, the ocean was not enough.

You were lonely. Truly lonely and feeling what it was like to be so for the very first time in your life. There were nights you stared into the abyss; eyes watery as you wished to drown in it. To be embraced by the one thing that was consistent in your life. Would you feel less alone then?

─

From the deepest point of the very sea you gazed into, the heart of a God grew heavy. K’uk’ulkan loved his people, adored them with every fiber of his body. Each and every one of the faces of those he ruled, dead and alive, were imprinted in his soul permanently. Every step he took was taken with them in mind. He prided himself for being a good leader, for doing everything and anything possible to keep his nation safe. After the events leading up to the alliance with the Wakandans, however, he did not know if that pride was deserved. He had made mistakes; misplaced his trust and allowed two of his own to die right in their very home. Namora, as loyal as she was, began to question his decisions. He was alone in bearing this burden with no one to rest his head on at night from the heaviness of the day.

What pained him the most? He knew he shouldn’t be alone.

He recalled the day he and his mother had been read the prophecy when he was a child clearly. The emotions he felt upon hearing those words spoken into existence were still fresh. There was someone for him. Just for him, and him alone.

“For His fealty, the First Son of Talokan shall be given a gift from the Gods; a descendant from the Heavens, a child of Bulan with the voice of an enchantress. For as long as He shall live, She shall rule the seas by His side.”

Years passed. Those years slowly faded into decades. After the passing of his beloved mother, it became difficult differentiating when those decades turned into centuries. Still, there were no signs of his soulmate. His people knew of the prophecy. K’uk’ulkan was all too aware of the anticipation his children felt as they eagerly awaited the arrival of their queen. Yet, she never came.

He grew angry at the so called Gods for turning on their promise – at her. Where was she? he’d hiss. My people, our people, have come dangerously close to being discovered. I have nearly died defending them all alone. My wings have been ripped from my flesh. Why isn’t she here? The prophecy meant nothing to him anymore. Just as he was naïve when he entrusted Princess Shuri with seeing his home, he was blindly foolish for believing in a fairytale.

Namor was without love in more ways than one.

─

You didn’t remember falling asleep. There was no explanation as to how you ended up perilously close to the edge of the water, the violent thrash of waves serving as a warning to you. Still, you remained completely still as fear immobilized you. You racked your brain for any recollections of your previous actions. Nothing came up. You couldn’t remember anything after you came home from the market.

Nothing, that is, aside from a single voice.

It cooed to you, whispered your name like it had waited a thousand millennia to taste it upon its tongue. Sang to you like you were its favorite person in the entire universe.

Come to me.

Come home.

In yakunaj.

In k’áate’.

Come home.

Taking a moment to steady your breathing, you slowly stepped away from the ledge before rushing back home. As you tucked yourself into bed that night, you tried your best to bury what had just transpired. You sought out every possibility – rational and irrational – that could have resulted in your odd behavior. You always went to the beach, maybe you just wandered there after dinner out of habit. Perhaps something went wrong with the batch of your usual tea and an ingredient that causes cognitive dysfunction was accidentally added to it. Maybe tomorrow morning you will wake up to a news report about your batch being recalled from all stores.

The explanation you vied for never came.

As time persisted, so did the bouts of blacking out, regaining consciousness, and finding yourself near the ocean. Each time, you got closer and closer to its waters. Every day after the next, you would feel the fatigue in your muscles from all of the walking. And yet, it did not stop you. You always found your way back to the ocean. It didn’t matter if you walked into ongoing traffic or if a concerned neighbor physically restrained you, the pull was stronger. Shamefully, you began to avoid leaving your home altogether. You couldn’t bear to face the condemnatory looks you were bound to receive. Whatever those in your area thought of you, you didn’t want to know. You were afraid enough of what you were becoming.

When you wake up from the next spell, you were waist deep in the ocean. Shivering as your thin nightgown stuck to your skin. Wrapping your arms around your torso, you salvaged any and all body heat. The gravity of your circumstances hit you all at once. Biting your lip, you held back your tears as your turned around and began making your way out of the water hastily. Just as your bare feet touched the white sand, you caught the eyes of the elderly woman who lived closed by. The two of you had never spoken, but her presence as a resident was always acknowledged.

“Sorry, po,” You spoke sheepishly, a polite and apologetic smile on your face.

Her expression was grave as she stared at you wordlessly. Silence stretched between the both of you and just as you were about to walk away, she harshly spat one single word.

“Magindara.”

Before you could seek clarification, she was back inside her small hut, the door slamming behind her acrimoniously. The only proof that the interaction with her was even real was the residual sting of her hostility and rage. Her persecution was the straw to break the camel’s back. Unable to maintain your resolve any longer, you fell to your knees and began to you’re your hands clutching at your chest in hopes to alleviate the pain. Humiliation, terror, anxiousness, and frustration were just a few of the emotions you were feeling. Even then, they were just the tip of the iceberg. As you cried to yourself, sand sticking to your wet limbs uncomfortably, you longed for nothing but someone to wrap you up in their arms – for someone to tell you that for once, everything would be okay. Just this once, you craved a life outside of isolation.

Once your breathing evened out, you stood up and leisurely began to talk along the shore. Soothing yourself in the only way you knew how, you began to softly sing.

“Beware, beware the Daughter of the Sea. ‘Beware’ I heard him cry. His words carried upon the ocean breeze, as he sank beneath the tide.”

Namora watched acutely as the quill in her king’s hands abruptly dropped to the floor. The warrior waited for the moment he would pick it up off of the ground and continue with his painting, but it never came.

“K’uk’ulkan?”

She received no response. His eyes held an indecipherable expression, one far away from the present.

“Ka’a suku’un u?” Namora repeated, her tone now carrying concern.

The King of Talokan turned to her for a split second before he stormed out of the room with speed she had never witnessed from him before. Namora was hot on his feathered heels, but the second she dived into the water, her cousin was nowhere to be seen.

“Attuma!” She bellowed. “Ko’oten tin wéetel in kaxtik ti’ le ajawo.”

K’uk’ulkan was stunned when he first heard it – the most beautiful sound to grace his ears. He was livid with himself for being unable to find a better word to describe the voice, for “beautiful” was such an understatement that it was borderline insulting. Without hesitation, he followed it. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know where it was coming from or who it even belonged to, he needed to find it. It called to him, turned him into a man possessed as he soared through the waters restlessly to get to it.

His head broke the surface, and that’s when he saw its owner – her. His soulmate.

She was the most exquisite living being he had ever laid his eyes upon. A gift from the heavens she was. Her beauty made him dizzy, his knees growing weak as he took in his beloved’s features. He admired her as she outstretched her arms, cupping the moon in her delicate palms. It paled in comparison to her. Everything did. Nothing could possibly compare. He remained paralyzed as she continued to sing, a foreign feeling settling in his stomach.

“Why this? Why this, oh Daughter of the Sea? Why this? Why did you forget your seaside days? Always the pride of our nation’s eyes, how could she go astray?”

The words of her melody pierced his heart. They reflected their journey far too accurately to be a coincidence. Did she know that she had always been destined for him? To be loved by the entire nation of Talokan? His lids fell shut slowly as he basked in her harmonies, feeling tranquil at last.

“I heard, I heard, across the moonlit seas, the old voice warning me. Beware, beware, the Daughter of the Sea. Beware, beware…of me.”

Namor studied her face as her song ended. He noted her red rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. Her damp nightgown stuck to her body tantalizingly. The despair in her hypnotizing voice was palpable. All of the wrath and resentment he had once harbored dissipated. Oh, my love. I have longed for you too. He could do nothing as he watched you turn your back to him from above, only pray for another encounter. He rose entirely from the sea, the wings on his ankles fluttering in the air as he watched her in the sky until she was safe in her abode. A quiet splash could be heard from under him. Attuma and Namora stared up at him expectedly.

“Le ba’alo’ leti’e’.”

He nodded slowly, eyes burning holes in the spot where she once stood.

“A human?” Attuma questioned, his voice rigid.

Namor shook his head.

“’A child of Bulan with the voice of an enchantress’.” Namor quoted the prophecy directly. “Bulan was a deity the heavens sent to the ocean to protect the moon from sea monsters. She is a siren; they are descendants of Bulan.”

“What is she doing on the surface?” Namora chimed in.

The king frowned, his fists clenching at his sides as he longed to feel her touch.

“She is lost.”  

─

Returning to the beach after the unpleasant encounter with the elderly woman who lived on its grounds probably wasn’t the most sensible decision. In your defense, however, nothing in your life was sensible nowadays.

Magindara was what she called you. A whole day’s worth of research, hundreds of Google searches, and several life crises later, you found out what it meant – siren. A subspecies of mermaids that were known for being especially vicious. You wanted to badly to laugh it off, to chuck it up to her being a senile old woman, but that was not an option. To do so would be like ignoring statistics. The facts of your life were laid out clearly; there was a connection between you and the ocean. A connection so strong that it bewitched you – mind, body, and soul. There were no traceable origins you could use to refute the woman’s claims. Afterall, you had no family. There was nothing more to do than return to the very place that could give you answers.

Your eyes darted everywhere in search of the familiar head of silvery locks. Once identified, you ran to her.

“Excuse me, po?” You called desperately, your eyes begging her for something. Anything. “What…what am I?”

She stared at you with a severe expression on her aged features.

“The man from the sea with wings on his ankles. Mag ingat ka, anak. He’s coming for you.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion.

“Could you expla—”

“Do not come back here.” She warned. “He will drag you down with him.”

With that being said, she entered her home and slammed the door in your face for the second time. Vexation filled you as you were met with another dead end. A man from the sea with wings on his ankles. What the hell was that alluding to? Did the elderly have to always speak in riddles? Were you in danger? Why was he after you?

You dragged your feet as you trudged home dejectedly. You were already exhausted, not sleeping a wink once you returned home after your stint last night. Sleep was unfathomable considering you were haunted by unanswered questions. Once you crossed the threshold of your bedroom, however, you could no longer ignore your body’s need for rest. Flopping down on your bed, you shut your eyes and instantaneously succumbed to a peaceful slumber.

That night was the last time you slept in your own bed.

The beach was eerily quiet, void of the usual sound of waves crashing against the shore. Seemingly, the ocean yielded to you, it’s queen, the second you stepped foot in its territory, entranced and guided by a single voice.

Come home. Come to me.

Your feet carried you to a cliff high above the sparkling midnight waters.

My love. My soulmate.

Home. You needed to come home. It was time. 

Come home.

Just a couple of more steps.

Come home.

This is your destiny. Fulfill it. Fulfill the prophecy.

Come home.

With that, you took one final step off the cliff and prepared yourself to plunder into the deep waters. Your feet were only in the air for a brief moment before a pair of strong arms caught you midair. Upon physical contact, you snapped from your trance with a sharp gasp, your heart pounding in your chest as you began to panic.

A deep, gentle voice lulled you. It was then that you finally registered who it belonged to. The being who had saved you was the epitome is beauty. Everything about him exuded regality from the air of confidence and ease he carried himself with, to the adornments on his muscular body. A large gold and jade neck plate took up the most space on his expansive chest. Ropes of auriferous shells and opalescent-like pearls hung around his neck. Gilded cuffs were locked around his biceps, wrists, and ankles. You quickly noted the alabaster wings fluttering away attached to them, the very wings responsible for suspending the both of you in the air. Your eyes trailed to his delicately pointed ears, embellished with jewels just like the rest of him. The only clothing he sported was a pair of emerald shorts that left nothing to the imagination. The walls of muscle that were his thighs were on full display, the muscles of a man built to withstand the brutality of the ocean.

This was the man the elderly woman was speaking about. The man from the sea with feathers on his ankles.

That revelation should have scared you. Every alarm in your body should have gone off.

Escaping him should have been the only thing occupying your mind. You should have kicked and screamed until your throat was raw and bloody.

But you did no such thing.

Instead, it was the way he looked at you, gazing at you with the most intense smolder in his eyes that occupied your attention. He gazed at you with pure wonder, and held you delicately yet fiercely in his arms like you were the most precious thing in the entire world. Instinctively, you placed your hands on his bare chest, mindlessly tracing the dew drops sticking to his golden skin. The beautiful man shivered beneath your touch.

“500 years I have waited for you.” He whispered reverently.

Your mouth opened, prepared for a response that never came. Instead, your vision went dark.

─

You woke up to hushed voices and heedful, diligent hands. One set of hands languidly brushed your hair away from your face. Another daintily shimmied clothing onto your body once they were finished drying you off with the velvetiest cloth to ever touch your skin. The last set secured what you assumed was jewelry onto your wrists, neck, and ears. Upon opening your eyes, your assumption was correct. The dress on your body was stunning, embroidered with hundreds of crystalline beads. The jewels on your wrists alone were probably worth more than what you had made in your entire life.

The women who stood above you were unlike you had ever seen before. Their skin was a brilliant shade of cerulean. Vibrant, yet pleasantly understated. Masks covered their mouths and noses, but you could still see the bright smiles behind them.

“Hello,” You greeted shyly. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Each of them let out a small cry, their eyes welling up with tears as they bowed earnestly.

“Bienvenido tin wotoch ti’, in reina.” They spoke warmly in unison, forming a gesture with their hands at you respectfully. Their mother tongue was foreign to you, but not for long. As if you had spoken it your entire life, your mind made quick work of interpreting it.

Welcome home, my queen.

Once again, you were puzzled. You had no idea where you were or who exactly that man was and why he had taken you here. You obviously hadn’t a single inkling as to what he meant by “500 years I have waited for you”. Now, these women were calling you their queen in a language you had never heard your entire life but somehow had the ability to understand perfectly.

The sound of feet pattering lightly gradually got closer and closer until the man of the hour stood before you at the foot of the bed. The women attending to you immediately turned their attention to him, bowing and forming the same hand gesture you had seen moments ago. He looked just as regal still, now adorned in a cape tucked into golden plates of armor on his shoulders. He regarded them gratefully.

“Leave us, my children. Thank you.”

They bowed to you both once more before swiftly making themselves haste. You now had his undivided attention.

“I hope you slept well. The healers said showed signs of exhaustion.”

“I—” You cleared your throat nervously. “I did, thank you.”

The barest hint of a smile graced his features. With graceful and controlled movements, he poured water into a glass and handed it to you.

“Do not be nervous.” He spoke lowly. “Speak freely.”

“Thank you.” You squeaked out again, taking a generous gulp of water before speaking again. “Where am I? Who are you?”

“My people call me K’uk’ulkan. To my enemies, I am Namor. You are in our kingdom – Talokan.”

The water got caught in your throat mid swallow, causing you to cough obnoxiously. The man who you now knew as K’uk’ulkan, discreetly smiled to himself as if this was a reaction he had anticipated. Before you could blurt out another string of questions, he held his hand out to you.

“Come. I will remedy all of your concerns.”

As if you had done so a million times, you placed your hand in his and stood by his side. Namor lead the both of you through a series of corridors. Your eyes took in your surroundings with pure astonishment. Cavern seemed to be a secluded corner for the king, crystal waters surrounding its premises. Bits of glittery minerals were embedded into the sediment walls. An air of serenity blanketed the entire area.

From the corner of his eye, Namor gaged your reactions, his heart so full of unfiltered adoration that it felt like it would explode in his chest. His hand was still tightly clutched in yours like it was second nature. Subconsciously, you had drawn your body closer to his. He was a meticulous man of control and strategy, but at that very moment, K’uk’ulkan wanted nothing more than to take you into his arms and kiss you breathlessly. The moment was cut short when you reached his study. He offered you a seat at his desk, drawing the door shut behind him for privacy. It didn’t take long for you to deduce that the murals painted on the walls were ones depicting the history of Talokan.

“Centuries ago, my people took an herb that allowed them to survive underwater. The herb was infused with vibranium. We are the only nation aside from Wakanda to possess it.” He began, his hands tracing over a painting of a beautiful woman cradling an infant. “My mother was pregnant with me when she ingested it. That is why I am the way I am – why I am the only one out of my people that can survive on both land and underwater, fly, and age slower than the rest. For this, they made me their king. Their god.”

You listened intently, fascinated by the discovery that they had remained a secret for this long.

“There was a prophecy made shortly after my birth. The gods promised me a soulmate.”

Turning around to face you, he bore his soul to yours through his eyes as he read the prophecy to you. With each word that fell from his lips, the world around you spun quicker and quicker. It made sense. It all made sense.

“I gave up on the idea of the prophecy coming true as time passed. In yakunaj, when you have lived as long as I have, seen as much as I have, happy endings are nothing but meaningless fallacies. But then, that night came…the night I heard you sing for the first time.”

He approached you slowly, cautiously like a wild animal that would take flight if startled by any sudden movements. What happened next made your eyes fill with tears; he knelt before you. This man – a king, a god – surrendered to you with no hesitation.

“I have finally found you…” He breathed, his orbs shining with devotion. “You are home. Why do you think you have no family? No one to trace your roots back to? You were made for me. Mine.”

Your face fell in between the palms of your hands as you wept. Quickly, your hands were replaced by his. He held your face in his hands like he was holding the entire world, the pads of his thumbs gently brushing away your tears.

“Why the tears, my love?”

You shook your head, placing your hands on top of his. The spark you felt every time the two of you touched could no longer be ignored.

“Why did they just now bring us together?” You cried. “We’ve both been alone for all this time, how could they not do something about it!”

“Shhh,” Namor cooed. “You think I have not been angry with them, my sweet? I have held myself back from tearing their skies and oceans apart just to find you. But what I feel for you right now in this very moment? That feeling will always win.”

The both of you said nothing more, for there was nothing that needed to be said. Your long lost love held you in his arms as you liberated yourself from what felt like decades of anguish. His grip never faltered even as you gripped his flesh hard enough to draw blood. Instead, he soothingly rocked you as he recounted the stories of his people’s origins. Talokan was a clandestine national treasure, one of the only things on the earth that had not been bastardized. That was all the doing of this wonderful being who had been promised to you.

“They were wrong about you. Your name.” You whispered. “You’re not without love, quite the opposite actually. The actions you have taken, the lengths you have gone to protect your people and your home, are ones of a man consumed with nothing but love. You can see it in how happy they are.”

With cautious hands, you caressed his cheeks. He preened against your touch, melting right into your palms. The world would never see the stoic warrior king falter, but already, you had him firmly wound around your finger. He could sit there for hours soaking in your ardor.

“Our home. Our people.” Namor corrected. “They can’t wait to meet you.”

Lovingly, he pressed his forehead to yours, nudging the tip of your nose with his.

“Are you ready to meet them?”

He observed endearingly as your eyes widened as large as flying saucers as you nodded overzealously, a giggle tumbling from your lips. K’uk’ulkan noted once more how full of love he felt. He wondered if this was what your lives together would consist of, overcome with all of the possibilities. Was adoring you more than he did in this moment even conceivable? When your smile faltered slightly, worry filled him.

“I’ve never seen…myself.”

“I am honored to be the first to see your true form.”

The two of you stood, walking hand in hand out of his personal study and to the outermost cove surrounded with the most water. Inhaling shakily, you eyed what awaited below you with apprehension. You were not human, far from it, and yet it felt as if you and your true form were worlds apart. Namor was silent. He knew this was something you needed to do alone. The only form of assurance offered to you was a look of encouragement.

Slowly, you dipped one foot into the water and allowed the other to follow. Keeping your eyes closed, you focused on your heart rate as your body adroitly descended into the abyss of the sea. You could have easily fallen asleep if it weren’t for a tingly sensation disrupting your peace. It started small, gradually winding around you until all at once, currents of electricity bolted through your limbs. Instinctively, your lungs expanded, and you took your first gulp of air underwater. You ripped your eyes open in bewilderment when you didn’t choke on water. The clear-cut view you had of your surroundings despite no sources of light being near further consolidated your shock. A noise akin to a squeak and gasp escaped your lips and before you knew it, you were cutting through the waters with newfound ease until your head broke the surface.

Namor would have given everything to his name to capture the sight before him. There you were, beaming at him with unrivaled radiance. He stopped breathing when you lifted your tail out of the water. Just when he thought you could not be any more magnificent than you already were, you defied his expectations. The scales covering the muscle were a range of shades of lapis lazuli, emerald, and gold. Towards the tips of your forked fin, they all blended into a rich shade of dark indigo. Your torso was bare but hidden behind your locks as they cascaded over your breasts. Namor could have gawked at you for hours if it weren’t for you playfully flicking water at his face. He felt light and dream-like as your melodious laughter echoed through the cavern. He decided then and there that your laughter was his favorite song. The scowl permanently etched onto his face fell. In its place, a smile so wide it hurt spawned. For the first time in centuries, he laughed so hard his abdomen hurt.

Powerless to his desires, he dove into the water after you, finding shelter in your embrace once more. Intuitively, your tail curled around one of his legs. He submerged the two of you back into the water and before you knew it, his lips were pressed against yours. Skin to skin, naked chests were tightly pressed against each other, your arms locked around his neck as your mouths feverishly meshed against one another. A barely audible moan slipped from your mouth right into his as his tongue pushed passed your lips. Namor voiced his pleasure with a low rumble from his chest. Pathetically, you could cry again right then and there. How could you have gone without this your whole life?

A loud clearing of the throat caused you both to cease your ministrations. Namor was anything but sorry as he pulled away with the softest expression you had seen on his face thus far. He regarded the two individuals standing in front of you – a hulking man with long inky tresses and an ornate headpiece resembling the skull of a hammerhead shark and a fierce looking woman with a feathered lionfish-esque headdress. Though both clearly high up in the royal ranks with a cutthroat reputation to uphold, they studied you and Namor with mischief.

“K’uk’alkan, they are waiting for her.” The man spoke.

“You might want to put this on before you go.” Spoke the woman, pulling an opulent bra top from behind her back and extending it towards you.

The state of undress you were in hit you like a bus. Your face felt like it was on fire from embarrassment, your lover pressing a tender kiss to your heated cheek. Tactfully, he maneuvered you away from the eyes of the warrior you now knew was Attuma. The woman, his cousin and second in command named Namora, expertly laced you into the garment.

“That was so embarrassing,” You mumbled to yourself once your modesty was secured.

Namor cracked a hint of a smirk.

“Attuma and my cousin expected nothing less from us. Now, shall we?”

─

Talokan was a magnificent sight. The agriculture was impressive, the vibranium rich soil working wonders for the crops. Sea creatures from colossal sized sea turtles, lengthy luminescent jellyfish of different colors, lively fish, and enormous whales to start were one with the Talokanil, peacefully existing with one another. The treatment you received from everyone was something you would never get used to. Despite not knowing you, they acknowledged you as if they had known you their entire lives. K reina perdida they called you with earnest smiles and misty eyes. Our lost queen.

But you were no longer lost.

It was evident in the way the orcas sang with you as you glided through the waters, seemingly understanding you in a way no one else could. Namor’s soul was finally content after seeing you swim freely, laughing so hard your stomach hurt as a couple of toddlers crawled around on your tail. His people loved you. Just as he thought they would. And you fit right in just as you were meant to. With further exploration of your physiology, the two of you discovered that like Namor, you could survive both underwater and on the surface, donning a set of legs seamlessly upon contact with land. Your strength, speed, and agility matched up perfectly with his. For hours, he chased you through the ocean, the both of you weaving in and out between walls of coral and tall beds of seaweed with dexterity. You truly were made for him.

A week later, you were officially crowned their queen. You and Namor ended the celebration with an intimate wedding ceremony in the cavern. After years of going without each other, neither of you had the patience to wait for a union on a grander scale. You both were enough – you would always be enough. And as he laid your bare body across the bed he occupied by himself for half a millennium, he was confident in that conviction.

You felt dizzy as he pressed his hard bulge against your core. The most heavenly noise to grace your ears came out of your now husband when you raised your hips to grind against it. Your hands liberally roamed his chest, now stripped of his jewels, before slithering to his robust back. Your nails drew tiny half moons as they dug into his flesh when his lips made their way to the column of your neck. The decorum of countenance he upheld was nowhere to be found as he ravaged your breasts with his mouth, lightly tugging your erect nipple between his teeth before he began to suckle. You cried out pathetically. His lips twitched, umber orbs now staring up at you with lust.

“You are so noisy for me,” He purred. “I have not even touched the most sensitive parts of your body yet.”

“Please,” You breathed. “Please, I need you,”

Namor made his way down your body, leaving no part of you untouched by his lips. Deftly, he gripped your thighs and place both of your legs over his shoulders. Gently, he kissed your dripping core.

“You have me, my love. Always.” 

His mouth took you straight to heaven. He devoured you like a man starved, tongue flicking your nub of nerves tirelessly with precision. Your thighs were already trembling, but he had just gotten started. Your orgasm crept up on you, the strongest one you had ever experienced. It left you heaving with your back arched off of the bed, unable to do anything besides chant his name like a mantra. But your beloved’s ministrations did not cease. He continued working at your core, now swollen and glistening from your juices and his spit. The second orgasm built up slowly, the knot in your stomach getting tighter and tighter with each time he sucked your clit. The final straw was when you noticed his hips gyrating. He was pleasuring himself while pleasuring you. This time when you came on your lover’s tongue, no words or sounds were able to slip passed your mouth. You were quite literally speechless.

With a satisfied moan, he lapped up the rest of your arousal, cooing to you as you quivered and whimpered from hypersensitivity. His scorching body covered yours once more, his lips familiarizing themselves with yours. Namor held you tightly against him, whispering sweet nothings against your lips as you steadied your breathing. It wasn’t long before you felt the head of his cock prodding your entrance. Gripping your face firmly, he forced your eyes open. The frenzied look in his eyes as he languidly sunk into you alone could have made you come for the third time that night. But alas, the universe was on your side. Instead, you savored that moment – the feeling of him. Every inch, every vein, ingrained into your memories for as long as you shall live.

“You feel incredible.” Namor panted, now beginning to steadily thrust. “You truly were made for me.”

You could only respond with wanton cries, too consumed with desire. The king began to piston in and out of you until he was fully pounding you into your marital bed.

“Namor!”

He grunted into your ear, pulling out of you for a brief moment to flip you onto your stomach. He plunged back into you and picked up right where he left off. This time, however, he was brutal with the punctuality of his thrusts.

“Am I your enemy, wife?” He taunted. “Are you even worthy of any mercy I have to spare?”

At this point, you could not even recognize the sounds you were making. They were debauched. Depraved. Combined with rhythmic percussion of skin against skin and the squelch of your wet cunt each time Namor entered you, the song you two orchestrated was one only for the lecherous.

“K’uk’ulkan,” You barely managed to murmur. “I’m s-so close, you make me feel so good,”

He hummed satisfactorily, driving into you even faster.

“You are, aren’t you, my sweet? That’s it, sing for me. Take my seed. Carry my children.”

“Please!” You screamed as your walls convulsed around his cock. Please come in me,”

With a shout and one final thrust, he released in you. Rope after rope, he filled you with his cum with proclamations of everlasting love on the tip of his tongue. His cock remained nestled deep within you as you both descended from your highs, keeping his spent from spilling. He shuddered at the image of you round and radiant carrying his child and just like that, he was hardening inside you once more. As you lay there, thoroughly cock drunk, he began to pull out of you and slowly push back in. This time, he was tender and gentle, unhurriedly focused on taking you apart for one final time that night. The two of you had centuries left together. There was no need to rush. Then again, Namor could live another 500 years with you by his side and still feel like it was not enough. He needed you forever, and then some.

“I love you,” He whispered against the blade of your shoulder. “You are everything.”

The next morning you would wake to the sight of your husband painting a new mural. One of a beautiful woman with the upper body of a human, and the lower body of a fish. By her side, a man with ears that pointed to the skies and wings on his ankles, their eyes locked and hands intertwined.

The beginning of your story.

[missblissy]

Domestic Astarion x Reader HCs

A/N: UwU just wanted to add to the married life headcanons after the events of the game. Fluffy good stuff below. GN!Tav, no class/race. Enjoy!

Some days always started better than others. But that’s only to say because someone didn’t need as much sleep as you, and had a life time left to learn new skills. One of them being cooking. Sure Astarion can’t taste and it’s a useless skill to him. But you? He would do anything for you. And that includes learning to cook for the sheer simple act of spoiling you with a warm and home made breakfast in bed.

It’s strange to say you two never had a wedding. That’s not to say you two weren’t married. “Oh…?” Astarion isn’t sure how to explain this when someone asks, “Well, you see, my darling little love here found this-” He holds up his hand and wiggles the ring in his finger, “On a rotting old skeleton then found the matching one, get this, on another smelly corpse!” Most people wouldn’t look fondly on something like that. But no, Astarion wasn’t most people. He’d smile and swoon, “And I suppose since then we’ve been married,”

It doesn’t help that back then when you did find those rings, you quite literally told him, “We’re married now,” As a joke. It wasn’t joke….

Astarion has a habit of leaving you poems to find in the most hidden of places. Like little lost treasures. Or maybe he just knows the looting demon you are at heart with your little grabby fingers going for anything they can touch. So it always comes to a surprise to you when you open a book and a poem written years ago flutters out… but the love and truth still rings pure despite the yellowing of the pages.

Crimson sons, vermillion daughters. Quivering maroon, burgundy, cardinal. Short fainting strokes Fester a broken carotid Free from feathers Unbound By the serpent's head no more.

His way of saying thank you for everything you've ever given him. And then some. No matter the message you cherished each treasured poem you would find.

The man had a knack for spoiling you, unconditionally, and most importantly, endlessly. If you saw something out in a shop that caught you eye, but you were just to stubborn to get it for yourself. Surprise, surprise when you get home and find it there with a man beaming proud like a puppy with his bone.

But that didn’t mean affection was off the table either. Astarion spoiled you with kisses, big ones, little ones, some on the back of your hand as he opened a door for you. Others on your cheek, gently but with sorrow as he left for some few weeks for whatever reason. He had his own things to do and sometimes you couldn’t go with him. But that just meant when he got home you could throw your arms around him, breathe him in and share the long awaited kiss of his return.

Married life strangely suited you both, from the little grabbing of hands under tables, the protective placement of an arm, the look of pride when the other did something extraordinary. And Astarion would always be the more boastful in pride when it came to talking about you.

And he couldn’t help but show off, sure he’s loud and arrogant about it. Saying he was best option of course, no one else stood a chance… blah blah blah. But when no one was around he can look you in the eye and practically grovel, “I am so lucky you chose me,”

There were many other things that came with the long life of being married together. The two of you were quite dedicated to learning to… dance. Astarion hadn’t a clue wether his left foot was right, and you may have been no better. It was your idea really. You heart would swoon watching other couples and with an eager voice you pointed a finger and declared, “I want to do that too!”

And so you did, but behind the close doors of your own home. Seeing as Astarion didn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of so many people. Where you both could trip and side step and laugh, giggle and make the most out of learning something new together.

It seemed the two of you had a habit of learning things together. From silly little drawings, to paintings, perhaps an instrument or two. You both always found a way to share your hobbies and passions together.

And it was the mornings, where these happened most often. Naturally Astarion couldn’t be in the sun but that didn’t stop him from enjoying what little light he could. You’d find him in the dusty dusk right before the sun actually broke the horizon.

He had been teaching himself to play the piano, so to wake up in the morning and not hear the soft echos of keys down the halls would be a bad sign. It’d be another bad sign if you didn’t sit down beside him, stroking the keys as the two of you played a song that was always in the process of being made and never done.

Surely soon he’d go off to sleep, sharing kisses and affection. You wouldn’t see him again until the evening, when the sun was starting it decent. Day-phobia was real in vampires no matter how much they loved the sun and he didn’t have a worm anymore to help him fight that. But he managed, enjoying every sun rise and sun set he got to see just as the world of night came and went.

Despite staying up all night sometimes just to be beside him, it was fairly often that Astarion would have to nag you to go to sleep. You’d barely have even one eye open, drifting back and forth between dreams and you’d still tell him, “I’m not tired, I’m just resting my eyes,” All because he was up late in kitchen and you didn’t want to leave his side.

He often compromises though, making deals and barters, “If I go upstairs with you, will you go to sleep?”

“…” Surely you aren’t going to say no? “Will you be the big spoon?”

“Of course,” How could he say no to a face like yours? And such a sleepy one too?

He didn’t mind, not really. Some nights he’d stay in bed with you until the morning. Even though nothing would get done, or things he had planned were set aside, he wouldn’t sleep either, he truly really didn’t mind. He could lay there for eternity holding you close and be at peace.

[nellycanwrite]

A Request

Part 1 of the “The Request” Series  ||  Attuma x Talokanil!Princess!Reader

Summary: As the daughter of the feathered serpent god, you had always felt the pressure of living up to your father’s name. But you never had to worry; Attuma was always there to quell your fears and follow your will to the ends of the earth.

Or, in which Attuma swears his undying loyalty and love for you, even if it meant being as shameless as to declare his love to a princess when he was but a mere warrior.  

Rating: 16+

Word Count: 10.9K

Warnings: None. Just pure fluffy goodness. If you include a slightly overprotective Dad!Namor then yes, he’s the warning. Maybe a little bit of childhood friends to lovers. A whole lot of Princess x Warrior. 

Note: It is worthy to note that I have not included any deep Yucatec Maya phrases (besides the terms of endearment) despite the Talokanil speaking in their native tongue as respect to their language. Therefore their mother tongue shall be labeled with italics.

Part 1  ||  Part 2 ||  Part 3

K'uk'ulkan had never felt as much loss as he had the day he had lost your mother. Yet there lay bittersweet joy; for the heir to the throne of Talokan had breathed their first breath and let out a cry so strong it beckoned the creatures of the deep sea to their bidding.

You were born a wee thing; weak and fragile as the old shells that littered the floors of the sea. Yet you held strong in the arms of your father as he witnessed his wife lifelessly lay in their shared chambers. The handmaidens and wet nurses all wept and mourned at the loss of their queen, the ocean swayed with the waves of its people's grief. You cried with your father's subjects as if you had understood the passing of Talokan's queen mother, but K'uk'ulkan never shed a tear, no. 

 He was a king to his people. He was the protector of his nation. A God was he revered by both land and sea.

 He was your father.

 And he dared not to weep in front of the children he held so dear—for even in the heartache of his loss does he remember the weight of his divine majesty and countenance to his people.

 “The queen of Talokan has passed,” K'uk'ulkan swallowed the lump that formed on his throat as he bit back bitter tears. Tears that he will never show his people in a sign of great weakness, “yet she would not have wished for us to mourn in sadness. She brought us a gift that none could ever compare. She would have wished for us to celebrate in her absence for the birth of our child—Talokan's first heir.”

 The you who had been presented with a crown and a scepter of your kingdom's rule since your birth inherited your father's features; the ears that pointed to the heavens as a sign of the divine blood that flowed through your veins, the golden skin that the sun had seemed to kiss in great exhalation to your birth, and the wings of heaven bestowed upon your ankles.

 You were undoubtedly his child. The heir to K’uk’ulkan’s great nation. 

 You were loved by both land and sea, perhaps a gift from your late grandmother's love for the surface, for when you visit the land and take gulps of air do you stay breathing and when you step into the rocks of your father's study do you remain kissed by the sun. You did not change into the color of the sea like the maids that have cared for you, instead, you remained the same color as your own father when he sits idly on dry land. 

 At the tender age of seven did you realize the weight of the name of your father. You aspired to become like him, to fly like him, to lead the people like he did in childish wonder. He showed you the land that your ancestors once owned, the burial sight of your late grandmother, Fen, and the beauty that came with your motherland.

 You yearned for the sights of the surface world, craved for the sun that illuminated the sky—not the one that your father had curated all those years ago, but the one that sits amongst the clouds of the surface—and you whispered wistful wishes to walk into the luscious green of the land that was unknown to you.

 But your father forbids you to go further than the coves of Talokan's entrance. The sole heir to the throne of your nation should be safe. Protected. You were only allowed to go up into the surface every three months, a leniency that your father had so mercifully given you, and stare at the land dwelling wildlife that would so cross your vision. 

 You were merely stuck in the watchful eyes of your guards as you gazed with great longing at the mountains so far from your reach and the forests that would call your name. 

 Despite the love that you had for the beauties of the surface world, you loved your people and your great nation of the deep sea. You loved your father and tried your best to live up to the name of K'uk'ulkan. At the age of eleven you were made aware of your duties to your people. You had made sure that those duties were fulfilled despite the protests of your elders for being so young; that the beloved princess of Talokan need not to carry on the mantle of her royal duties just yet. But you worked hard to outshine your peers to preserve the honor of your father. 

 K’uk’ulkan could not be any prouder than he is now. 

 But the pedestal that you stood on was lonely. You did not have many friends, not because your father was protective of you and had guards at your beck and call, but because you were always so nervous to converse with the other Talokanil children.

 What if they didn’t like you? What if they decided that your status as a princess would hinder their relationship with you? What if they didn’t see you as a prospect to rule them in the future when your father passes the baton of his majesty to you?

 How ironic must it be for the princess of a great nation cower before the idea of friendship to her own people.

 But that had changed when your father let you meet two Talokanil children; Namora and Attuma.

 You knew Namora as your relative—your father’s cousin, to be exact—and sometimes came and went into the palace when you studied. But you never did get the chance to talk to her. You were far too anxious to try and talk to someone whose aura was as intense as hers, even when she’s just a few years older than you.

 “They said they wanted to be your friend, in waal.” my child, he said. Both of them shifted nervously from where they stood, toy spears hidden behind their backs as they fidgeted in place. You noticed how Namora elbowed the boy Attuma on the ribs. He glared at her albeit playfully and said nothing as he behaved.

 You have always noticed the two of them from afar when you studied near your father's throne. They were always rowdy, always hitting each other with their spears clumsily. Despite this, they always laughed and took everything in a merry stride. They never ceased to amaze you.

 Even though Namora was far smaller than Attuma (or any other Talokanil child your age, really), she always won their little play-fights. Their roughhousing caused other children to stay clear of them, but you always found them fascinating. You never knew they wanted to be your friends. You have never as much as held a proper conversation with them except for a few nervous waves and panicked scrambling on your part when they caught you staring.

 “My…friends?” It was your turn to fidget nervously, your hands clasping together and your thumbs twiddling against each other whilst you looked down. You felt the water shift as your father swam towards you, his tender gaze calming you down when his figure covered you from the curious eyes of the Talokanil children.

 “That's right. They want to play with you. I'm sure you were wishing for the same, no?” He chuckled knowingly. You felt heat rise from the back of your neck and crawl up your cheeks—your father had seen you staring at them while they were playing almost everyday!

 Nervously, you nodded ever slowly. There was no lie to his claims. You truly did wish for them to become your friends.

 Attuma's patience must have run out when you were taking your time to reply to your father. You shrieked in surprise when you met the biggest grin you had seen in your life from just above you, an incisor clearly missing in the front of his mouth. K'uk'ulkan laughed and gently coaxed the boy down to your level, his hair flowing gracefully with the water as your father grabbed his ankles and lowered him in front of you. 

 “Wanna play with us?” You blinked at his straightforwardness. You glanced at your father for help, but he merely chuckled and gestured for you to answer. 

 “I—well—um…” He was too close to you that you felt like fainting from your own nerves.

 “Attuma, don't be rude,” Attuma grunted when Namora appeared by his side and delivered a firm whack to his head with a toy spear. You breathed out a centering exhale before shooting Namora a thankful look. She huffed at Attuma, “you might scare her. And you just swam over the king!”

 “I do not mind. But be more mindful next time, Attuma. You must not swim over your elders.” K'uk'ulkan chuckled endearingly at the children's antics. He already knew how rambunctious they would be whenever he passed by them play-fighting.

 Attuma nodded with a gapped-tooth grin but K'uk'ulkan doubts he would really listen to him. But that was alright—he has plenty of time to learn respect. The king of Talokan wishes for these children to be their mischievous selves a little while longer and enjoy their carefree lives as young Talokanil. 

 K'uk'ulkan notices you fidget once again when Namora turns her attention to you, just as eager to make you their new friend. You try to make out words with broken sentences, yet there was no right greeting that would come. You would deflate when Namora would hold the reins of the conversation again. You failed to introduce yourself proudly and your embarrassment made K'uk'ulkan coo—how precious could his princess be?

 He chuckles and patted Namora and Attuma on the crowns of their heads, successfully diverting their attention away from you and into his benevolent smile.

 “She's a little nervous, but she has a good heart. She also wishes to become your friend. But remember that you have to listen; it is the makings of a great warrior.”

 “A great warrior?” Namor's eyes sparkled. Attuma stared at his king with wonder similar to the spark of Namora's eyes.

 K'uk'ulkan chuckled and nodded. You chose this moment to swim to your father's side, hiding half of your body behind his own. You looked at Attuma and Namora curiously while they waited for their king's next words. 

 “A great warrior not only takes a spear and protects their people, but they listen as well. They listen to their people's cries and act upon their needs. It is also your duty to listen to your leaders—for they hold the burden of choice. Never forget that, my young warriors.”

 Your father rubbed your back soothingly and pushed you gently forward. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest as soon as you were in close proximity with the two Talokanil children. 

 “Now this is your first task your king asks of you; listen to what the princess has to say, understood?”

 They were eagerly waiting for your next words, their bodies barely holding in their excitement. You would have swam away right then and there, but you steeled your resolve and took a deep breath.

 You said your name with a stutter, but that did not deter you. Your father gave you a reassuring pat to your shoulder. It filled you with more confidence to look them straight into the eye and say;

 “I—I wish to be your friend, Namora. Attuma.”

 The children gleamed happily, the water shifting as they circled you in excitement. Attuma had it in himself to wrap his arms around you and giggle with such carefree mirth that it covered you in a sense of welcome. Of belonging. 

 “You don’t know how long we wanted to become your friend, princesa!” He exclaimed, his arms still wrapped around you firmly. His toy spear now lay discarded on the ocean floor but he didn’t seem to mind.

 Overwhelmed with the attention, you stuttered and twitched in his embrace. But you didn’t feel uncomfortable; it was a pleasant feeling to finally have a friend. But you weren’t used to physical touches just yet.

 A large hand pried you off of Attuma, your hair whipping around you as you were now brought back to your father’s side. You saw him smile cordially at the boy, albeit strained, as his eyes twitched ever so slightly.

 “Now, we have to be gentle with the princess. There shall be no sudden touches in her presence, especially with you, Attuma.”

 Attuma blinked and cocked his head to the side, but he didn’t question his king’s instructions. 

Years have passed since you have befriended the rowdy young warriors that K’uk’ulkan looked upon with great fondness. You, along with Namora and Attuma, have trained under the wing of your father in the ways of the spear much to your new friends’ joy.

 As the next heir to the throne of your nation, you always did your best to meet the expectations that came with the name of the daughter of the feathered serpent god. You would go to the fields of your farmers to oversee harvest, weave baskets with the elderly to help the storage of the new batch of produce, and join the scholars that studied vibranium so you would further verse yourself to the mineral that grew in abundance in your ocean floors. 

 They were once such a tedious task for you; something that you did out of necessity. But Namora and Attuma made it a point to follow you everywhere you go, help you with the work and doubling the yields of your effort, and they made you smile when you were far too tired after your duties. 

 Attuma had made it a habit to make you cling on his back as you swam back home. There was no reason for you to get more exhausted than you already were, he told you. And despite your initial reluctance, you found yourself falling into a habit as well.

 You found your royal duties far more enjoyable with them by your side, and you absolutely awaited the time of the day where you were relieved of your duties to go and spend your time with them. 

 “Don’t you find studying boring?”  Attuma asked you one day, his meticulous hands polishing his training spear near the drop of the deep trenches. You tilted your head as soon as you seated yourself beside him, your legs dangling on the steep edge.

 “I don’t think so…the language of the surface dwellers is fascinating. I find it enjoyable to learn.”

 “You’re better off not knowing their language,” Namora huffed as she emerged from the bottom of the trench, a small lamp containing bright vibranium sustaining you with much needed light. She held her training spear proudly by her side, freshly decorated with shells that she found down below, “you know what they did to our grandmothers and grandfathers. I don’t see why you want to learn so much about them.”

 “It is my duty, Namora. Once I take the throne I might need to talk with the surface dwellers one day,” you looked down on your lap and fiddled with the jade bracelet your father had gifted you on your fifteenth birthday—one that once belonged to your grandmother, “and I’m just preparing…just in case.”

 “We’d be dead before we let any of those surface dwellers see you, princesa,” Attuma nudged his shoulders against yours and grinned, “we’ll make sure you don’t even have to talk to them as long as we’re there to protect you.”

 “Did father tell you to say that?”

 “What? No!” You gave Attuma a squinted eye stare and hummed. He averted his eyes nervously, his hands now working on his spear with more fervor than before. You and Namora snickered at his plight. 

 “He did.” Namora confirmed your suspicions. You sighed but left it be. You knew your father was just trying to protect you, so you let him do as he pleases. Although you did not fully understand the depth of the weight of his responsibilities, you could still recognize the great sorrow that came with his hate for the surface world.

 And you had kept quiet about your longing to go up into the land; for you knew how it would pain him to know that you bore as much love for the surface as you did for the love you had for your nation. 

 Attuma cleared his throat and straightened his back, the spear he had decorated with the teeth of hammerheads now lay by his side. He stared at you with such conviction that rendered you speechless in his presence, and the light from the faux sun that your father had created casted him in a glorious light that made your breath hitch in your throat and the feathers on your ankles bristle in anticipation. 

 “I’ll do my best to train hard, princesa. I’ll become strong enough to protect Talokan—to protect you—so that you won’t even have to worry about any surface dwellers by the time you will inherit the throne.”

 You felt more heat rush from your neck and now up to your eyes, his words giving you so much joy that you could possibly even imagine.

 You had a friend far more loyal than any of your own guards from your father’s command. And if there was one thing you had learned from your duties as princess, that was the honor that came with a loyal subject.

 Your flustered surprise was eventually replaced with giggles when Namora hit Attuma on the head with the brunt side of her spear, her face contorting to one of lighthearted teasing. 

 “Do you really think you’re the only one training to be by the princess’ side? You’ll have to go through me first.”

 “Then I’ll just have to train harder to beat you, Namora,” Attuma glanced at you and gave you a grin, “I’ll be the one to stand by the princess’ side.”

 “You’ve never even beaten me once.” “There’s a first time for everything.”

 She scoffed. “In your dreams.”

 You stopped their little play-fight before it got too heated by pulling them closer to your side, your arms around their necks and laughing with such elation. You were thankful that they came into your lives and became your closest friends, and you would not ever want to see them change as you slowly aged with the sea. 

 “While the both of you train to become warriors, I’ll study even harder so I could be a queen that both of you will be proud to serve under. I don’t want your efforts to go to waste and serve a leader that’s incompetent.”

 “You don’t have to do that, princesa. We shall follow you through the ends of the earth if need be. We already know that you outshine any ruler that came before and will come after you.”

 “My father would not be too pleased if he heard you say that, Attuma.”

 “He feels the same way, don’t worry.” Namora spoke in turn for the boy. You giggled when Attuma gave you a cheeky grin. 

 The three of you laughed with glee, unspoken promises now drifting with the currents of the outskirts of the capital city of your great nation.

It’s almost been a century since you have befriended them. A century since you have made your closest friends and aides. Namora and Attuma were always stuck by your side even when there were calls from their king to gather his strongest men. They gave you counsel, they gave you peace, they gave you protection in your times of need.

 Nowadays, though, Namora has frequented your father’s side more likely than not—mostly because she was his cousin and his most exemplary warrior. Attuma was only second in skill compared to Namora, but he was still powerful in his own right.

 You wondered when would your father hail them as generals; they deserve to be given the title for their service and their wit. You, as the princess of Talokan, can vouch for their competence. 

 “Where shall we go today, princesa?” Attuma asked you, his gait slowly inching closer to your own.

 The boy you once knew had grown into a fine man. He had honed his body to withstand the greatest blows, turned himself into a living shield for your purpose and disposal. You did not want him to go into such extremities, but he always insisted. He even went as far as to hunt hammerhead sharks on his own and nearly killed himself in the process. The bites of hostiles were lodged firmly into his stomach, and the scars that littered his skin became trophies of his successful exploits. 

 You cried and cried beside him as you told him how stupid he was, how foolish he was to do everything in your name. How could he throw himself into danger just to train himself for your sake? It did not make sense to you, and you reckon that you will never understand the mind of a great warrior like Attuma. 

 Despite this, he comforted you and held you close to him; told you that he would welcome any sort of pain just so he could protect you from harm's way. You cried again and punched him in his abdomen—you were sure to tell your healers that you would be the one to patch up your reckless guard as an apology. 

 You felt his warmth from the water that surrounded you as it shifted when he tucked a strand of hair behind your pointed ears. You smiled.

 “You can call me by my name, Attuma. You know that.”

 “How dare I ever utter your name so casually?” He asked you almost incredulously. You sighed.

 “We have been friends for over a century. You can be comfortable with me,” you turned to him with a pout, “please?”

 “Is that an order?” He asked you, a trace of amusement from his quirked lip. You huffed and crossed your arms.

 “You know I don't like giving orders, Attuma.”

 “Then I shall continue calling you by your title, princesa.”

 “And what if I ask you this as a request?” You swam closer to him, your pout breaking out into a knowing grin.

 Attuma stayed silent, his head turned to avoid your piercing gaze. He felt heat from the back of his neck at your proximity, but he didn't dare move away from you.  

 You huffed.

 “You're no fun.” 

 Attuma resisted the urge to chuckle. You looked at him in the corner of your eyes and smiled; you knew he couldn't resist it when you tried to make him laugh.

 “And what of your errands today?” He asked you, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. You blinked and swam towards him, pling his large bicep into the direction of your father's study.

 “We've wasted much time, Attuma. Now come, we are going to the surface.” He nodded in affirmation and led you towards the entrance of the underwater cave systems your father introduced you to as a child. It was one of your favorite places, but your duties called you to the deeper parts of the sea to tend to your people.

 As soon as you ascended, you saw the figure of your father dressed in his cloak as he painted murals upon the walls. Beside him was Namora, her mask on her face and her pallor now blue for being in land. You regarded your father with a bow, gestured him with the sign of your people’s respect, and slowly ascended into his study. 

 “Father.” you called out to him. He paused from his painting and smiled at you, his eyes filling with so much love that it was unlike the name the surface dwellers cursed him to be. 

 “In princesa,” my princess, he greeted you, reaching out to wipe the saltwater away from your eyes, “what brings you here?”

 “It is the time of the year to visit the surface, father. I was just here to let you know before I went.” His face steeled much like the other months across the century you had told him. But it was not in a place of anger—it was in a place of worry for your well-being.

 “I trust you to remember all that I have taught you. Return as soon as possible, understood?” You nodded and grabbed his hands, squeezing them tight in assurance.

 “You do not have to worry. You have taught me well. And Attuma will be with me while I am out, so I shall be safe in his hands.” 

 K’uk’ulkan glanced behind you, now regarding Attuma with a nod of acknowledgement as he placed his mask on his face. Attuma bowed his head in respect and tightened the hold on his spear. The king’s brows furrowed.

 “If you bring Namora with you—”

 “Father,”  you cut him off, “I will be alright. I will not do anything to endanger myself nor Attuma. I will merely visit the borders of the reef, is all. I’m sure our warriors have already scouted the area before they were called back.”

 “In waal…”

 “We always go through this every three months. I do not doubt your worries, but place your trust in me and the warrior I have chosen.”

 Attuma straightened his back a tad bit, his chest rising in pride. He met eyes with Namora and grinned behind his mask. Namora simply replied with a silent roll of her eyes. 

 K’uk’ulkan swallowed a lump on his throat and sighed. He knew you were right. He trusted you enough that you would be safe, especially when someone as skilled as Attuma were to be by your side. It was the surface that he did not trust. It took so much from him and his forefathers even before Talokan came to be. He did not want to lose you to the claws of the surface world.

 He would have volunteered to come with you, to make sure you were safe, but one look from Namora was all he needed to know that he was needed in the council in just a few moments.

 He sighed. There was no stopping you when you had your mind set on a task.

 “Stay safe.” He gently held the back of your head and ducked down to meet your forehead. You hummed and closed your eyes, squeezing his hand in assurance.

 “You sound as if I am going to war,” you joked, “I shall return safe. I promise. It is not something that I have not done before.”

 “You know your strengths, my daughter. But be wary, still. Negligence is the first sign of weakness,” he separated himself from you and turned towards the wall mounted with spears. He took one of his own and gave it to you, the vibranium of the weapon shimmering under the light of the luminescent algae. It felt balanced. Powerful. He then smiled, “and never forget your weapon.”

 You chuckled and bowed your head in respect, the spear now by your side.

 “Yes, father.”

 K’uk’ulkan turns to Attuma and beckons him forth. The warrior obeyed with no hesitance and bowed before his king. You watched as your father nodded to himself and placed a hand on Attuma’s shoulder.

 “She’s a bit of a handful, so look after her, Attuma.” You gawked at him.

 “Father!” 

 “I will do as you say, in ajawo,” my king, he said. The warrior dared to look up and showed his conviction to his king, “I will keep her safe—even when she is a handful.”

 “You did not have to agree with everything my father says!”

 Namora cleared her throat and cheekily chimed in. “K'uk'ulkan is our king. Whatever he says we agree to, princesa.”

 K’uk’ulkan ignored your huffs of protest and Namora’s silent laughter as he squinted at the man, the hand that lay on his shoulder now tightening in warning. Attuma held his ground and did not yield to his king’s hold. He knew the reason for his king’s aggression; it came from a place of protectiveness. You were his only daughter after all.

 And Attuma was a man who held a century-long love for you, something that K’uk’ulkan wasn’t particularly fond of.

 But you were too stubbornly attached to him that no scheme that K’uk’uklan thought of would separate the two of you. He was far too wrapped around your fingers to fully say no to your whims. The king’s only saving grace is the fact that you were far too oblivious to notice the affections of your own guard.

 K’uk’ulkan felt a sliver of sympathy for Attuma. Just a tad bit.

 He narrowed his eyes. “And there shall be no…detours along the way, understood? Keep the princess safe, no more than that.”

 “Yes, in ajawo.” With a final nod, K'uk'ulkan released his grip from his warrior's soldiers and bid a final farewell before being led out by Namora to the depths of Talokan. She gave Attuma a knowing glance and bowed her head before you. 

 “Be careful, princesa. The world will incur K'uk'ulkan's wrath if you return scathed.” She joked. But knowing your father, you did not doubt that he would burn the world if you would come back harmed in any way; more reasons for you to stay careful for your visit.

 You smiled. “I will be careful, Namora. Do not worry. I have Attuma with me as well.”

 She nodded and followed after her king to the water, now disappearing into your view. You faced Attuma and gave him a grin.

 “Let's go visit the surface.”

 You knew the underwater caves like the back of your hand. You weaved through the dark waters, greeting the guards hidden by the rocks. They bowed their heads and regarded you with the gesture of your people, a courtesy fit only for the daughter of their god and king.

 You smiled to yourself when Attuma swam forward when sunlight peeked through the entrance of the surface, his spear drawn and ready by his side. He looked so focused and attentive, his whole body on high alert. You giggled as you reached him and held his hand, squeezing it tightly while looking into his eyes. 

 “You are too stiff. Nothing will harm us here.” You told him. He furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head. 

 “I am your aide. It is only natural for me, in princesa.”

 “I only wish for you to be at ease, Attuma,” you tugged him to the direction of the light, the sun now making itself known to the both of you. Attuma squinted at the sudden brightness; he wasn’t used to seeing something as intense as the real sun, after all. It was his first time visiting the surface world, “you will love the sights, I promise you.”

 Attuma felt wrong to be swimming beside you like you were equals. No aide of the high blood of Talokan should even dare to swim in stride beside a warrior who bore no rank. But by your side, he felt safe and welcomed.

 He did not feel fear despite it being the first time he had ever visited the surface world. Rather, he felt it to be…intimate, in a way. You trusted him wholeheartedly, put your safety in his hands as you ventured outside the safety of your own kingdom, and shared the experience that he knew to be significant to you even if you did not tell anyone your sentiments.

 But he knew. He always knew. 

 And he would protect you in great fealty as you explore the land that you so loved, even though he knew it would anger his own king to grant your taboo affection for the surface world.

 Away from the prying eyes of the other Talokanil, he allowed himself to indulge in his selfish desires and swam closer to you; your shoulders almost touching, hands tightly intertwined, and his heart finally free of the formalities that came with being your guard.

 He let himself become a man whose soul reached out to you in longing. 

 Your heads broke through the water and were hit by the rays of the golden sun. You let Attuma adjust to the light for a few moments, his hands shielding his eyes as he tried to view the sun from between his fingers. You watched his skin slowly turn blue as the air hit his skin, and you had to smile ever so slightly as you watched him marvel at the green forests just across the beach. 

 “Your mask.” You reminded him, the hand that was intertwined with his tightening in your hold. He nodded albeit meekly, seemingly embarrassed to have forgotten to equip himself in the midst of his awe, and let go of your hand to make sure his mask was secure.

 Attuma already missed the warmth as soon as he willed himself to part from you in a respectful distance, now aware how shameless he was to have succumbed to his own desires.

 You guided him to the rocks that overlooked the beach, just by the edge of the corals that your people have grown to create a border for those who visited the surface. It was a reminder on how you were never truly free to roam the surface and discover the riches beyond your own kingdom.

 The stories your father had told you plagued your mind, but beyond the violence that your forefathers have witnessed, robbed of the land that was yours by birthright, you wanted to see for yourself the motherland that your grandmother loved. You were angry at the surface dwellers, yes. You raged at the thought of the conquistadors that tainted your ancestral home. 

 But you never did loathe the surface. You just wanted to connect to the land of your ancestors that you were stripped of. 

 You were broken from your thoughts when you heard the squelch of water on rock. You looked beside you to see Attuma in full attention, his visage that of a man in full guard. You would have laughed if you saw him so serious in the midst of such a peaceful afternoon, but you knew how much his duty to you and your king meant to him.

 Attuma stood by your side whilst you leaned back and rested your feet on the water. You patted the space beside you, but he shook his head. You pouted. 

 “Join me to rest. You are not bound by the rules of my father here,” you told him, your face cracking into a mischievous smile, “be at ease, Attuma.”

 “Is that an order?” He gave you a glance, his eyes twinkling under the sun. Only now did you appreciate his dark gaze. It was as intense as it was full of life. You giggled and patted the empty space beside you once again. 

 “A request.”

 He stared at you for a few moments, his eyes locking into yours and sending shivers down your spine. You held his gaze, the water on your skin turning cold when the breeze hit your flesh. With a huff, he put down his spear and sat next to you, his hand dangerously close to your own. 

 “If you’ll allow me.”

 In silence did you bask in the beauty of the faraway beach that should have been inherited to you by your ancestors. The lands that stretched across the plains and the jungles of vivid colors would have been yours to rule by your father’s side. It pained you to know that you cannot even set foot on those beaches.

 It was the order of your father. The order of your king.

 An order to protect you from the surface dwellers that took your grandmother from him.

 It only served to remind you that—despite the feathered ankles that promised you freedom—you were caged in this lonely corner of the earth, away from the adventures that you wanted to experience in full. 

 “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” You asked your guard, your eyes following the birds that idly preened themselves on the branches. Attuma stared at you from the corner of his eyes, his lips turning into a smile as you leaned forward in interest. 

 “Quite so.” His heart skipped a beat when your eyes twinkled in amazement, your gaze never wandering from the land. 

 “Would it be shameless of me to long for the surface?” You asked him suddenly. Attuma shook his head quickly. 

 “Never.”

 “Speak your mind. I did not ask you to indulge me and curry my favor,” you sighed and wrought your fingers together, your hand now leaving the proximity of your guard’s own, “I ask you for counsel, Attuma. You are one of the few people that I trust.”

 Attuma was silent as he mulled over your question. An aide to the heir of the throne must only listen and follow their whims. The will of their masters were the will of their followers; he dare not disobey such courtesy.

 But in the freedom of the duty that binded him to such rules by your order, he granted himself full autonomy. 

 “It might be so, in princesa,” you looked at him curiously. He held the urge to submit to you, to take back the words of his own opinion, and continued on, “you are the heir to Talokan, the nation built on the suffering of our ancestors who fled the land to hide in the sea. To long for the surface is a defiance to their dying will.”

 “But we were robbed of our ancestral lands. What if I long to get it back? To let our people walk in the motherland that we once came from? To let them see this; the beauty that they were deprived of when we were chased off our own inheritance?” “Then you should be prepared for war.” 

 He looked directly into your eyes, ones that held such young wisdom and hope. But he knew from the countless battles he fought that to reclaim the stolen land you wished to rule is to declare a fight that you were far too merciful to lead.

 “To reclaim the right that we once owned…you must be ready to shed blood; both the blood of the surface and the blood of your people. But to declare battle you must reveal our nation. Our king’s will shall not allow such a thing.”

 Attuma watched as you lowered your head, trapped in the swirl of your thoughts as you continued to deliberate the weight of his words. He flagrantly allowed himself to reach for your hand first, draw circles on the back of your hand tenderly, and scooted himself closer so his hulking gait would protect you from the prying eyes of the world. 

 You squeezed his hand with yours, your breath stuttering at your next words.

 “And what if I still desire to reclaim our land back, Attuma?” You looked up and held his gaze, your eyes now steeling itself to one of conviction.

 He smiled.

 “Then I shall shed blood for your will, in princesa.”

 You searched for any sort of hesitation in his strong features, to try and coax out any sort of loose ends of his loyalty. But you saw nothing of such sort; there only lay pure faith to your very existence, one that you recognize as unyielding. 

 You stared at him right in the eye. It was piercing, cold. One that beckoned utmost honesty from your aide. It was not a simple decision to make—even the words you have uttered this very moment would be considered blasphemous. Outright treacherous.

 “Even if it means to defy the orders of your king?”

 He did not waver as he replied.

 “You are the one that I serve. My loyalty lies with you.” He took his spear and knelt before you, his one knee digging into the rock in which you lay. He pierced his weapon down into the earth, took your hand to rest upon his cheek, and presented himself to the utmost fidelity.

 “Have you not sworn your service under the name of my father?”

 “I have sworn nothing,” he practically growled, his grip on his spear tightening, “I long for nothing more than to swear my piety to you. I am indebted to K’uk’ulkan; I revere him as my god and king. Yet I cannot stand the thought of offering my loyalties to anyone else but you.”

 You felt your heart throb against your chest, your eyes stinging with wet tears. It was a feeling foreign to you. The waves usually wipe your tears away at the bottom of the sea. But here on land, you wore your heart on your sleeve. It was an overwhelming feeling, one that urged you to cover your mouth to stifle your joyous sobs.

 In the face of the man you had grown up with, in the presence of such undying loyalty did you fail to mask your elation. Yet your head was muddled with confusion—why was he always so devoted to you? Why would he risk being cast out when your father still sits on the throne and swears his loyalties to you? Why was he so willing to defy the orders of his king for your selfish whims?

 You knew the weight of a warrior's oath. It was not something to be taken lightly. Warriors would swear upon the names of leaders who have fought countless battles, led the charge to warfare, and those who were considered gods like your father.

 You were none of those.

 You were not your father.

 “Why?” You asked him, your hands trembling against his cheek. “Compared to my father, I am nothing. Why would you swear your loyalty to me when I have nothing to give you in return? It will still be years—centuries, even—before I could inherit the throne and bear the title of queen mother. So why?”

 Silence fell between the two of you, the waves of the high afternoon playing the symphonies of its motherlands. You felt like you were suffocating despite the beauty that surrounded you while you waited for him to speak.

 Finally, Attuma slowly raised his head and kissed the palm of your hand. It brought a wave of heat from the back of your neck to your cheeks, and even the tips of your pointed ears warmed at the gesture. 

 “Will you allow me to speak out of turn?” He asked you, his voice uncharacteristically soft. You blinked back the tears that obscured your vision and nodded.

 “Speak your mind, Attuma.”

 He breathed in a stuttering breath, the hand that held yours tightening and trembling. It made you nervous; a warrior such as he, the embodiment of a shield that protects his nation, stuttered and shook in your hold. He could overpower you at any second, purge the world of your existence, but here he was, weak and vulnerable in your presence. 

 He locked eyes with you, those gorgeous oaken eyes stared deep into your very being without reservation. You found yourself feeling faint, as if you have fallen into a pleasant trap that you weren’t too keen on getting out of. 

 And with a steady voice he said;

 “I love you, in princesa. I always have since we were children. I only breathe to serve you, only live to please you. If you so asked me to burn the world and slay your enemies, then I will show you the ashes of their bones on a jaden chest. If you asked me to become your shield, then I shall parry every blade for you and protect you with my last breath. If you asked me to become your spear, then the blood of your foes shall dye the sea in red…” 

 He paused as he drew closer, the heat of his body enveloping you in a sensation of great adoration. He gripped your hand tighter, his lips lingering on your palms as he leaned further into your touch. 

 “...and if you asked me to become your beloved, then I will become the most faithful man you would ever lay your eyes upon—for your joys are my joys, and your sorrows are mine to bear.”

 You felt your throat constrict, the heat from your face now traveling down to the tips of your fingers down to the very ends of your feathered ankles. Your wings bristled and shook, your breath hitching at every breath, and you felt the sudden urge to look away from those unwavering eyes. But the gravity of his own magnetism was enough to drive you back in; to never tear your gaze away from the man that confessed his love for you.

 Though this begs the question; did you love him back?

 Attuma must have misunderstood your silence for rejection, so he slowly removed your hands from his cheeks and bowed his head in shame.

 “I have spoken out of turn. I apologize,” he held his spear tightly, but he never removed himself from his bow—a sign of his submission to you, “whether or not you accept my feelings, I will still stay by your side. I will serve under you, make my oath in the witness of K’uk’ulkan of my loyalty to you. I will ask for nothing more.”

 Your heart broke at how easily it was for him to apologize. No person should ever apologize for the feelings that they bear. It only proved how devoted the great warrior was to you; for him to present his feelings of love to you and still offer his loyalty in the face of rejection. 

 You recounted the days of your youth down to the decades worth of memories with him. How could you have been so blind to have ignored the signs of his affections? How blinded were you with your duties that you allowed yourself to turn away from the subtle declarations of his feelings for you?

 How foolish were you to actually dismiss your own feelings for him? You love Attuma. You always have.

 “Why have you not said anything in the century we have been together?” You asked him, your voice low and meek. You did not want to lose the warmth of his skin, so you gently lifted his head with both of your hands and let him meet your eyes. 

 You saw the gaze of your warrior waver.

 “My duty is to protect you. How dare I be so impertinent as to bear feelings for the daughter of my own king?”

 You shook your head and leaned in to rest your forehead against his. You heard the clatter of his vibranium spear on the rocks and into the water below. But you simply did not care at that moment. 

 “You are never impertinent, not when I bear the same love for you as you have for me.”

 You heard his breath hitch. The hands that lay dutifully to his side now flying up to your face and hold your cheeks so delicately. In the large and dependable hands of your warrior did you feel safe and loved. It was unlike the other times that he had shown you affection when you were merely just friends.

 What were you now, you wondered, now that you and him share the same feelings.

 In that moment of solace did Attuma realize his place, but he did not dare remove his hands from you. He ghosted his fingers over your pointed ears, tangled his hands with your wet hair, and held you tight like you were the most precious thing in the sea. 

 He was but a mere warrior—a shameless peasant whose hands had brazenly touched the skin of his master. 

 “I am just a warrior without a title. You cannot possibly love me as I am.”

 “But I do. I just have never realized it sooner, in yakunaj.” My love, an endearment that made Attuma’s heart flutter and weak against your hands. 

 “And when we are in the eyes of scrutiny, what then should you do?”

“It matters not, my dear warrior.” 

 “But your majesty—!”

 “Am I not the heir to the throne of Talokan? Am I not the princess whose rule is imminent in the witness of your king? Of whom I shall love is a matter of my own choice that not even the feathered serpent god could refute.”

 You drew in closer and wrapped your arms around him. He was strong and powerful, but in your arms did he surrender himself. He was not the warrior you knew him to be. In your arms, he was just a man who held a century worth of ardor.

 “I dare not disgrace you, in princesa. I have nothing in my name but the battles that I have fought as a mere soldier.”

 He removed himself from you and held you tenderly by the cheeks. You leaned against his touch, completely surrendering to the feelings that you have long since ignored since the beginning. He inched himself closer and continued to speak with great affection.

 “But if I would be so bold to ask for you to wait; wait for me to garner titles of my own, build the foundations of my exploits, and ask you again to become mine, would you be so merciful as to grant such a plea?”

 You stared at his resolve, the gaze of the man you have realized you have loved now asking you for the mercy to wait. You cupped his strong jaw and caressed his cheek with your thumb as you said;

 “I will grant you mercy, in yakunaj, only if you fulfill my wish.”

 He became alert, his body ready to grant your desires.

 “Anything, in princesa. Anything for your majesty.”

 “Then I wish for you to call me by my name, I beg you. We bear more than just pleasantries of warrior and royal.”

 He gave you a smile, one that even his mask could not hide, and leaned in to touch his forehead against yours.

 “Is that an order?”

 You smiled. 

 “A request.”

It was merely a few decades later that the great capital city of Talokan was abuzz with the whispers of a great blessing bestowed upon their royal heir. It lit the fire of pride within the citizens of the hidden nation, a pride that K’uk’ulkan wore with high regard as he descended to present himself on the forefront of his throne. 

 Their darling princess, the radiant pearl of the deep sea, was ready to assume the throne of K’uk’ulkan’s legacy. 

 As your citizens have revered your father as the god king of your people, they have revered you as the same; a deity whose hands extended to the waters to create a shield of protection, a divine being whose mercy radiates the warmth of a thousand suns, the daughter of the feathered serpent god whose wings carried you through the winds of battle through the century. Your chest bloomed with unending bliss when you realized you've lived up to the name of your father—an entity that you've molded yourself into the likeness of.

 You had held the expectations of the name of K’uk’ulkan to your very heart, and you were thrilled at the fact that your father had acknowledged your efforts in the witness of your people.

 Your kingdom cheered and praised your name as you descended into the throne room from above, the feathered headpiece similar to your father’s symbolizing your authority as heir apparent of Talokan. Your father extended his hand for you to take, and you had done so with such grace befitting of your title as radiant pearl of the sea.

 And there he had presented you with a throne of your own, just below the teeth of the monster of the deep oceans that he had slain many years ago. It was decorated with the finest of jade, vibranium, and gold with the likeness of an open shell. Compared to his throne that was decorated with the splendor of his long battles, yours was the embodiment of the abundant riches of your nation. 

 It was a symbol, perhaps, that the toil of your father’s work had borne fruit of great wealth to Talokan and passed down to the generations that would come next.

 The radiant pearl of the sea had finally assumed her reign as heir apparent after a century of her rule by the feathered serpent god’s side, and there was no one in the kingdom who would oppose to the majesty of K’uk’ulkan’s daughter—not because she had the blood of their king in her veins and the feathered ankles that proved her divine lineage—but because of her love for her people and the duties that she had so diligently carried with grace.

 K’uk’ulkan swam to your side and guided you to rest upon your new throne. It was a new feeling for you, one that could not compare to the childish wonder that you had just sitting on the lap of your father when you were still a wee babe. In the high seat of your throne did you overlook the citizens that had adored you, watched as they bowed their heads and put their hands in the likeness of a serpent’s mouth as respect to your inauguration.

 As much as you loved to see your people acknowledge you, you could not find a glimpse of your best friend and secret lover. To you, their opinions were the only ones that mattered. It would not feel as joyous as it is if they were not to witness your greatest achievements. 

 Where were they, you wondered. They promised to be here in time for your ceremony.

 “Something troubles you, in waal.” your father beside you, the feathers from his headpiece tickling the sides of your cheek. You gave him a smile, one that masked your worries, and found comfort in the hands that gripped yours reassuringly.

 “Namora and Attuma are not here,” you supplied him, your eyes scanning the crowd of your people, “I worry for them. They promised they would come.”

 K’uk’ulkan smiles and brings his hand to caress the base of your neck tenderly and rest his decorated forehead on your own. Your breath, which you didn’t realize had become labored, instantly calmed at the mere comfort of your father.

 “Quell your nerves, my daughter. They will come.” With a knowing smile, your father separated himself from you and swam up to sit in the jaws of his own throne. The people all cheered while chanting the words of praise to Talokan’s honor.

 K’uk’ulkan puts his hand up slowly and everyone falls into a hush. The air was still buzzing, the water under your command feeling the energy of everyone’s bated breaths as they awaited the words of their king.

 “We honor the place of my only child as the rightful heir of Talokan. She has proven herself worthy of such a title for a century, and the seas have blessed us with such excellence that no one could dare defy. The future of Talokan is bright.” 

 Your people cheered and hollered, yet your eyes still strain to find your best friend and lover. You tried your best not to feel upset, but you felt a painful twist on your heart.

 Where were they? It was unlike them to break their promises, especially your beloved warrior, Attuma.

 “Not only do we celebrate the coronation of my daughter’s place in my council, but we celebrate the oath of our two new generals.” your father continued, your head snapping up at the familiar silhouette of your secret lover up the grand entrance of your underwater throne room. Your heart settled and you smiled in great pride as your father presented them at last.

 “Namora and Attuma, the new grand generals of Talokan.”

 They extruded such power as they descended ever so slowly, the light of the vibranium sun creating a halo of light around their bodies. They wore new armor that suited their character; the likeness of the spines of a lionfish adorned the body of your best friend, Namora, and the skull of a hammerhead shark and the spikes of its teeth littering every crevice of Attuma’s plated armor. Both of them held their respective weapons made of vibranium, and you could only smile at how proud you were for them.

 You couldn't help but ogle at the sight of your warrior. You had kept your word and waited for him to finally gather his own accomplishments before asking for your hand. But that did not stop you from sneaking off and relishing yourselves in each other’s company. No one had ever suspected anything yet, but you gathered that your people were still under the impression that Attuma only bears one-sided love for you. 

 Oh your poor love, you didn’t mean to make him wait for so long.

 You wondered when he would finally ask for your hand, to finally make your blooming romance known to your father and your citizens. It filled you with warmth just thinking about the possibilities.

 You and Attuma locked eyes as soon as they had finished their descent, his eyes raking across your figure sat on your jeweled throne. He felt the need to kiss you right then and there, a privilege he had not yet taken across the decades of your secret romance in respect to his promise. He dared not touch you so inappropriately when you were not yet his, but he was sure to finally claim you as his own.

 You were a jewel in Attuma’s eyes. A gem fit to be heralded around in great praise to your charm. Although your beauty spoke wonders of your outward appearance, you were a strong warrior, maybe even as strong as Namora. You are wise like your father, and you cared for your kingdom in the ways that a mother would.

 You were crowned princess of Talokan, heir to the throne of K’uk’ulkan’s majesty, and the future queen mother of your nation. 

 Attuma could not even begin to describe in words such a blessing that fell into his hands so tenderly. 

 As soon as they were done taking their oath, bowed before you and K’uk’ulkan to swear their undying fidelity to your nation of Talokan, Attuma and Namora shared one look before your warrior ascended alone, careful to keep his gait below your eyes and on the feet of your throne. Your people fell into a hush, the momentary celebration ceasing to wait for Attuma’s next words.

 “In princesa,” he started, his eyes looking up to lock eyes with your father, “K’uk’ulkan. If I may speak.”

 “Attuma,” he regarded the warrior, his head held high in authority, “what do you wish to say?”

 “My fealty lies with no one but the princess,” he bowed low and presented presented his spear by the jewels that adorned your throne, “the oath I shall take is one reserved to be of service of her, and if she wills me to serve under you, K’uk’ulkan, then I shall do so with no question.”

 You waited with bated breath as your father stood from his throne and descended to stand in front of your warrior. Your heart thumped in your chest as you saw your father inch closer to him, his hand now resting on his shoulders and urging Attuma to rise. 

 “You have done a great deal for the name of my daughter, but the decision is hers to make.” K’uk’ulkan started, his voice carrying nothing but tender command. He turned towards you and beckoned you forward. You did so without question and swam beside your father.

 “Do you accept his oath, in waal?”

 There was no other answer for such a question. It was something that you had dreamed of since the beginning of your blossoming romance, the fantasy that you had always dreamed to come into fruition.

 With a smile that would outshine the stars of the night, you eagerly replied. 

 “I shall accept your oath with open arms, Attuma. My dear warrior.”

 Your people broke into joyous cheers as Attuma rose from his bow. You turned to pick the spear by the feet of your throne and presented it to him with a proud grin. He replied in kind, kissing the vibranium shaft that touched your hand as soon as he had received it. Heat traveled up your neck and into the tips of your pointed ears at the gesture, your fingers wringing together in bashful fluster.

 K’uk’ulkan smiled at the exchange, but he could not help but urge you away from the warrior and back to your throne. He could not help himself—you were far too precious to be in the presence of a man who fancied you all his life.

 The king turned to Attuma and regarded him with a nod and gesture of Talokan’s respect, the warrior replying in kind.

 “Serve her well, Attuma.”

 Before K’uk’ulkan could return to his throne, Attuma rose high and proud, brandishing his weapon only he could ever wield with such power. A show of strength, if you will, that left the people at awe at the display of his prowess.

 “My king! If I may be so bold, I have something to ask of you.” He declared, his voice loud and strong. Your brows furrowed in confusion at such a statement; what else did Attuma need when he had already pledged his service to you?

 You held the urge to giggle when your father turned with an amused chuckle of his own.

 “What is it?”

 Attuma turned towards you, the both of you locking eyes. And in that moment, he sent you an affectionate grin.

 And then realization hit you.

 He wasn’t going to—!

 “I wish for your permission to court your daughter, the princess.” Murmurs and excited gasps spread across the hall. You see Namora grinning to herself staring at Attuma, impressed. Your cheeks burned with heat, your chest pounding at how incredibly mad Attuma was for declaring something as bold as a courting during your coronation as crown heir. 

 But it was something that you absolutely loved about your warrior, no matter how insane he was to declare his desire to court you in front of the entire kingdom.

 Your father stiffened, his eyes steeled and ready to pounce at Attuma. He had to hold himself back—there was no reason for him to needlessly attack his finest warrior just because he expressed his desire to court you. He could not even dismiss such thought; the titles and the achievements of Attuma held far more worth than any man in Talokan. 

 From where it stands, and with your close relationship with the warrior, he was by far the only man worthy of your affection.

 And so, with a reluctance that held every possible threat in the world, K’uk’ulkan replied. 

 “Prove to me your worth, Attuma, for the radiant pearl of the sea does not need an incompetent suitor to court her.”

 “Father!” You hissed quietly. You felt your father’s animosity course through you in waves. You had to resist the urge to groan and sigh; he was so protective of you.

 But Attuma did not seem phased as he spoke steadily.

 “By your will, K’uk’ulkan.”

 In the eyes of your people did you swim beside your father and held his arm reassuringly. His steely gaze finally fell as he looked at you, and you allowed yourself to swim to the level of his ears and whisper, “Please be gentle with Attuma, father. I also bear feelings for him.”

 He looked at you like he was betrayed, but he was not surprised. How could you not have told him about your budding feelings for the warrior?

 Then again, he knew the throes of a woman when it came to sharing their romantic feelings, so he did not blame you for keeping it a secret from him, your own father.

 “How long have you known?”

 “A few decades,” you smiled sheepishly, “do not be so hard on the warrior that I have chosen. He means it in good faith, and he has done nothing to cross any boundaries set by your command.”

 “Are you sure?”

 “I swear it upon my name and crown, father.”

 Your father pondered on your words for a little while longer and resigned with a sigh. You pressed your forehead against your father’s and giggled.

 “Thank you for your leniency, my king.”

 You separated yourself from your father and swam forward to Attuma. He gave you a cheeky grin, one that screamed unapologetic mischief. You shook your head, amused as his antics, as you raised your hand to cup his cheek.

 “My father has given his word; prove to him that you are worthy of my hand so we will be together, my dear warrior.”

 He dared cup your hands that feathered along his strong jaw and leaned into your touch. You could feel your father’s piercing stare, but the both of you ignored it, too engrossed in your own little world in the watchful eyes of your nation.

 “Is that an order?” He asked you, his eyes boring into yours with such intensity that would have sent you immediately to your knees.

 You leaned in close until your lips met the base of his mighty headpiece, the jagged teeth of the hammerhead shark that he had slain digging firmly into the skin of his forehead. When you parted, you stared into his eyes; the eyes that held nothing but veneration to your glorious name. 

 And with a tender whisper to your beloved, you replied.

 “A request.”

Anyone up for a Part 2? >:))

Taglist: @haideehaids  @xnodamsel

[talonabraxas]

Ehecatl : God of Winds

Ehecatl: Ignite your Passion

Ehecatl-Quetzalcoal (Ehecat) is the Aztec God of invisibility and intangibility who oversees the mysteries of passion and love.

In order to fully understand adult love one must experience loss in a personal manner. This takes place at all levels in our life. Last week the day Winds of Spirit arrived by UPS, I experienced a few losses as well: the front gates which house my former Healing Arts Center were stolen; my boss who provided the space to write the book took a new job at another company; and a tenant is leaving. Winds seek balance, and intensity will always swing towards disappointment or lethargy, then back again.

Seeds of passion sometimes grow in the ashes of disappointment, and later blossom into fragrant spring lilies. Like the wind, love, passion and relationships are also mysterious forces.

Aztec cosmology is built on the framework that there are five suns. Each sun represents a creation story in which humans are born, sustained and destroyed by the elements of nature; earth, wind, fire, water, and earthquake respectively. Ehecatl is one of the many faces of the Quetzalcoatl, the famed feathered serpent deity. In Nahuatl, Ehecatl means four winds, referring to the four cardinal directions.

Ehecatl presided over the second sun of creation that was called, “4 Wind.” During this period, human beings fell from the grace of the Gods and were destroyed by a hurricane. As Ehecatl blew, it swept away the debris, and those who survived were transformed into monkeys. Ehecatl reappeared in the Fifth Sun after the world was destroyed by fire.

Ehecatl traveled deep into the underworld and persuaded Mictlantecuhtili, the God of Death, to give back some ashes and bone. Ehectal mixed the bone with blood from the Gods and created humanity.

According to Aztec legend, Ehecatl snuck into the lower world, abducted the maiden Mayahuel, and brought her to the middle world. Their passion was so great that they became one and merged into a tree. Upon awaking from sleep Tzetzimutl journeyed to the middle world, pulled the lovers apart, shredded her grand daughter Mayahuel into pulp, and then returned Ehecatl to his rightful place in the wind.

”Whenever the wind blows, the Aztec believes it is an expression of Ehecatl’s desire.”

If Ehecatl appears as a longing East wind, it is time to listen closely to your heart.

East

If Ehecatl appears as a longing East wind, it is time to listen closely to your heart. New projects, new lovers, art and/or music will ignite your passion.

As a contrary wind, Ehecatl can remove worn-out love stories and soured memories that are preventing you from experiencing a new cosmic order in your life. It is time to examine your beliefs regarding love.

South

Ehecatl is fanning the flames of your innermost feelings and hidden desires. A willingness to love again will arise from the ashes. You are worthy of love and passion. Allow the mysterious thread of the universe to carry you into the next cycle.

Unlike Ehecatl, who was molded from a stone knife, you are an emotional being who thrives on love. In the contrary position, a howling Ehecatl is prompting you to open your heart to love. There is a wind-stirring deep within asking you to soften your heart in order to forgive those who have harmed you. Now is the time to heal the emotional scars left behind by abuse, loss, or abandonment.

West

Ehecatl brings the rains to nourish your crops, signaling the end of the dry season. Wash away your inhibitions, and rejuvenate your body with physical activity. Celebrate by dancing, hiking, gardening, swimming or sex.

When Ehecatl appears in the reverse position you are being offered forbidden fruit, so be alert and cautious. The sun may set on your goals if you merge with the wrong energies, as in the tale of Ehectal and Mayahuel.

Misguided passion and intrigue might pull you from your true path if you do not establish clear boundaries. Ask Ehecatl to help you to sweep away any blocks that stand between you and a bountiful harvest.

North

When Ehecatl blows in from the North, it is a sign that invisible forces are at work in your life. A soul mate isn’t necessarily your lover; it might be someone who has your back, no matter what troubles you may be facing. Enrich your life by connecting deeply with the people you love, and with those who have your best interests at heart.

In the contrary position Ehecatl points out that you are neglecting certain daily rituals which prevent you from keeping your spiritual life in order. Ask Ehecatl to help you understand the deeper aspects of your true self. It might be something as simple as rearranging your altar, planning a vacation or going on a spiritual retreat. Ehecatl : God of Winds ART: Corazon Mexica @MiCorazonMexica

The creation of bats. This is a new painting, which is part of a cycle of paintings that tell the story of the birth of flowers. It begins with Quetzalcoatl, who is the wind and creation, pleasuring himself on the banks of a river. His seed falls upon a stone, and from the stone is born the first bat. When the bat emerges from the stone, he asks it to go to Tamoanchan, the 12th heaven, and bring him back the “flower” of Xochiquetzal, who is love and flowers. The bat is thus the child of the wind and of the earth, and the story goes on to describe this theft, and describe the origin of flowers and menstruation.

[nayziiz]

Shadows | LN4

Summary: [Mafia] In the face of dire financial troubles, Lando receives a desperate plea from his father to unearth a lucrative solution within the family business. Fueled by the pressure to rescue his family from ruin, Lando stumbles upon a seemingly perfect venture—using luxury cars as a facade for the clandestine world of drug trafficking. With the unexpected partnership of Amelia Rossi, his father's best friend's daughter, Lando believes he has found the ideal accomplice. However, as the Norris family collides with the ambitious Russells in a ruthless bid to establish their dominance, the perilous path Lando has chosen places not only his newfound enterprise at stake but also entangles Amelia in the dangerous crossfire that unfolds.

Warning: Violence, drugs, blood, smut, fluff, guns

Pairing: Lando Norris x OC (Amelia Rossi) - appearances from other drivers

Masterlist

Chapter 10

In the quiet of the morning, with the first light filtering through the curtains of Lando's room, he found himself wrestling with a maelstrom of emotions. His anger simmered beneath the surface, a coiled serpent ready to strike at any moment. How could George have sunk so low, manipulating Amelia with such cruelty? The thought gnawed at him, festering like a wound that refused to heal.

As Amelia slept peacefully beside him, her features softened in the gentle embrace of slumber, Lando's gaze lingered on her face. She looked vulnerable yet resolute, a paradox that echoed the complexity of her character. He reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead, his touch feather-light against her skin.

But beneath the tenderness of his gesture lay a steely resolve. George's betrayal had ignited a fire within him, a fierce determination to protect Amelia at all costs. He couldn't bear to see her hurt, to witness the scars left by George's deceit etched upon her heart.

Rising from the bed with quiet determination, Lando moved with purpose, his steps measured and deliberate. He knew what needed to be done, what battles needed to be fought. George may have wielded his manipulative tactics like weapons, but Lando refused to be a pawn in his twisted game.

With each passing moment, his fury grew, a tempest raging within him. But tempered by his love for Amelia, it became a driving force, a beacon guiding him through the storm. As he prepared to face the challenges ahead, Lando vowed to stand by her side, to be her unwavering support in the face of adversity.

For George may have thought himself clever, but he had underestimated the depth of Lando's devotion. And as the first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of gold and amber, Lando's resolve burned brighter than ever before, a beacon of hope in the darkness.

In the dim light of the morning, Lando paced back and forth in the living room, his footsteps echoing against the hardwood floor like the steady beat of a war drum. With each step, his anger smoldered, a relentless blaze fueled by the betrayal of his oldest friend.

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Lando retrieved his phone from his pocket and dialed George's number. The device hummed softly in his hand as it connected, each ring a countdown to the confrontation that awaited.

Finally, on the fourth ring, George answered, his voice smooth and composed, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within Lando's chest.

“George.” Lando's voice was clipped, a tightness betraying the fury simmering beneath the surface.

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, a pregnant silence pregnant with tension.

“Lando, my friend, what a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?” George spoke, his tone casual yet tinged with a hint of apprehension.

“I was wondering if you'd like to meet up for a paddle session? I have a proposition I think you might be interested in.” Lando lied, his plan slowly falling into place.

Lando's words were a calculated deception, a carefully constructed facade masking the true purpose of their meeting. As he spoke, his mind raced with the intricate details of his plan, each piece falling into place with precision.

“A paddle session, you say? What kind of proposition are we talking about here, Lando?” George's response was guarded, his tone betraying a hint of curiosity mixed with caution.

“Oh, just a little business venture I've been considering. Nothing too serious, of course. But I thought you might be interested in hearing the details.” Lando's lips curled into a sly smile, hidden from George's view but dripping with cunning nonetheless.

There was a pause as George considered Lando's offer, weighing the potential benefits against the risks.

“Alright, Lando. I'll bite. Where and when do you want to meet?” Finally, he spoke, his voice betraying a hint of intrigue. 

Lando's smile widened at George's acquiescence, his plan inching closer to fruition with each passing moment.

“How about tomorrow morning, bright and early? I know a spot down by the river.” Lando suggested, pleased with George’s willingness.

“Sounds good. I'll see you there.” George hesitated for a moment, as if considering the proposal, before finally agreeing.

With a satisfied nod, Lando ended the call, his mind already racing ahead to the next phase of his plan. As he prepared to confront George head-on, he knew that their meeting by the river would be the first step towards unraveling the web of deceit that had ensnared them both.

“Hey, Lando.” George greeted Lando as he arrived at the paddle court. “Been a while since we've done this.”

“Yeah, it has.” Lando nodded in acknowledgment, his expression neutral as he approached George at the paddle court.

Lando couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that gnawed at him, knowing that Amelia had been through so much because of George's manipulation.

As they entered the locker room after their paddle match, Lando's mind raced with anticipation. This was the moment he had been waiting for, the opportunity to confront George and put an end to his manipulation once and for all.

“So, what's this proposition you wanted to discuss?” George asked, tossing his paddle into his locker.

“It's about Amelia.” Lando took a deep breath, steeling himself for the confrontation.

“What about her?” George raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence.

“You know exactly what I'm talking about.” Lando replied, his voice low and steady. “The video.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about, mate.” George's expression faltered for a brief moment before he regained his composure. 

“Don't play dumb with me, George. I know about the video you have of me and Amelia. And I know you've been using it to manipulate her.” Lando retorted, his frustration mounting.

“And what if I have? What's it to you?” George's facade crumbled, replaced by a cold, calculating glare.

“It ends now.” Lando declared, his tone firm. “You're not going to use Amelia anymore. I won't let you.”

“And what are you going to do about it, Norris? You think you can stop me?” George's lips curled into a sneer.

“Try me.” Lando met his gaze with steely determination. Lando was undeterred, his resolve unwavering as he stared down his former friend. “You can blackmail me all you want, but no one will ever see that video, that will destroy her career and all her credibility. Now, I know she always meant a lot to you, George, so do you really want to be the person she hates for the rest of her life?”

George's expression softened slightly at Lando's words, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. He knew that Lando was right, that releasing the video would irreparably damage Amelia's reputation and career. And despite his ruthless nature, he couldn't bring himself to be the cause of her downfall.

“I said try me.” Lando challenged, his gaze unwavering.

For a tense moment, the two men locked eyes, the weight of their confrontation hanging heavily in the air. Finally, George let out a resigned sigh, his resolve crumbling under Lando's unwavering gaze.

“Fine.” He relented, reaching for his phone. “I'll delete the damn video.”

Lando watched as George deleted the incriminating video from his phone and cloud storage, a sense of relief washing over Lando as he watched the footage disappear.

“Thank you for making the right decision for once.” Lando's voice was laced with a hint of sarcasm as he spoke, unable to resist a jab at George's expense.

George turned to leave the locker room and paused, turning back to face Lando.

“She likes bravado.” Georges observed catching Lando’s attention.

“Excuse me?” Lando's retort was sharp, his tone defensive as George's words struck a nerve.

“Amelia. With Daniel, it was fun and adventures. With Charles, it was all about worklife balance, finding someone who shared her passion for their work. With you, it's about her being taken care of instead of having to take care of herself. She'll never admit it, but she likes to be out of control, have someone else tell her what to do, be cared for.” George explained his analysis.

“You have no idea what you're talking about.” Lando quickly countered, refusing to acknowledge the truth coming from George. 

“You know, I have spent probably as much time as you trying to protect her.” George admitted.

“Protect her? You blackmailed her. How is that protecting her?” Lando retorted, scoffing at George’s audacity.

“She has no business being involved in underground business. The faster she got out of it, the better. She isn’t like the rest of us.” George argued back. There was a palpable tension in the air, a silent standoff between two former friends turned adversaries.

“What do you mean by that?” Lando wondered, his interest piqued.

“Do you love her, Lando?” George asked, evaluating the situation before explaining himself further.

“Of course, I do. I wouldn’t be doing any of this if I didn’t.” Lando responded, unsure of where George was going.

“Her name isn't really Amelia Rossi.” George started, his voice soft as he spoke.

“George, cut the bullshit already.” Lando sighed, already over the conversation.

“When Marilyn was pregnant, she suffered trauma to her abdomen late in the pregnancy following a car accident. Harold sent her up to the country to give birth and a few weeks later, the Rossi's returned with a beautiful baby girl.” George continued, ignoring Lando’s dismissive attitude.

“I know the story.” Lando retorted. He had heard the story told hundreds of times from birthdays to anniversaries to the holidays.

“Except there's a lot more to it. What no one knows is that Marilyn had a stillbirth. Their baby girl was buried outside Sussex - the real Amelia Rossi. At the time, Harold was adamant to have a child he could raise to take over his business. They had also learnt that Marilyn wouldn’t be able to conceive again. So, he orchestrated a kidnapping of a baby girl born just a few days earlier in a town up the road.” Georges further explained, and as he did, Lando’s demeanour softened as he listened.

“There's no way.” Lando breathed, taking a step back and sitting down on one of the benches in the locker room.

“Her name was Catherine Mitchells. She disappeared out of her crib in the middle of the night and was never seen again. Clyde, her father, spent every last dime tracing down every possible lead and it somehow led him to Harold Rossi. Of course, Harold didn't want to get his hands dirty, so he summoned my father to help... Clear up the mess.” George added, also taking a seat next to Lando on the bench.

“What does that even mean?” Lando asked, a bewildered look lurking in his eyes.

“My father killed Clyde Mitchells in the woods one night when we were teenagers. No one ever looked for him. Sadly, his wife died shortly after the kidnapping from broken heart syndrome, so he had no other family who would notice him missing.” George answered, leaning against the locker behind him.

“You realise how crazy this sounds, George.” Lando shook his head, unable to comprehend the information laid before him.

“It's true, Lando. I have the paper trail to prove it. My father keeps exceptional written records for these types of reasons.” George answered, aware that it might be a lot to process. “So when I say she isn’t like us and deserves better, that’s why. Her father was a good man, and she seems to be just like him.”

“What woods was he killed in?” Lando asked, his brows furrowed in confusion as the information rippled through his mind.

“Does it matter?” George asked, almost chuckling at the questions.

“Yeah, it does.” Lando insisted.

“Off Canterbury towards the old abbatoirs.” George answered, nodding his head in the direction of the old abbatoirs.

“When?” Lando continued to ask.

“Eight years ago, around her seventeenth birthday.” George clarified.

“Are you certain it was in those woods?” Lando queried, desparate for a different answer.

“I’m certain. Why does it matter?” George repeated his earlier question.

Lando's mind raced as he tried to piece together the significance of George's revelation. The mention of the woods near Canterbury triggered memories he had long tried to bury, memories of a tragic event that had haunted him for years.

“It matters because... because that's where…” Lando's voice trailed off, his thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of emotions and memories. 

George watched Lando closely, sensing the turmoil brewing beneath his composed exterior.

“Do you remember a party at Susie Hopkins' house probably around the same time? The one Amelia and I were late to and you then told everyone we hooked up, that’s why we were supposedly late.” Lando finally whispered, his voice heavy with the weight of the revelation.

“I remember.” George nodded in acknowledgement.

“We were late to the party because we got lost. We drove down Canterbury and stopped because we had no signal to call for help. We walked for a bit and stumbled upon a group of men in the woods. It was quite dark, but they shot someone.” Lando's revelation hung heavy in the air, the weight of its implications settling like a leaden shroud over the conversation.

George's eyes widened in shock, his features contorted with disbelief as he struggled to process the gravity of Lando's words.

“You're joking, right?” George asked, his voice strained with disbelief.

“I wish I was.” Lando replied, his tone grave. “We stumbled upon them by accident. It was dark, and we couldn't see much, but... we heard the gunshot and saw him fall to the ground. All I remember seeing was his glasses falling to the ground before he did.”

“Lando, that was probably Clyde.” George stated, bringing the unknown into the spotlight and for the first time, Lando had some clarity on what happened that night in the woods.

“She saw her own father get murdered and didn't even know.” Lando grunted, unable to process the news and the possible ramifications thereof.

“Lando, you might kick the hornet's nest if you do anything with this information. My father will kill me for saying anything.” George pleaded.

George's plea resonated with Lando, the weight of their shared history and the potential consequences of their actions bearing down on him. He understood the gravity of the situation and the risks involved, but he couldn't turn a blind eye to the truth any longer.

“Then we're even. You leave Amelia alone and I won't implicate you or your father if I go to Harold.” Lando conceded with a shrug.

George nodded in reluctant agreement, his expression reflecting a mixture of apprehension and determination.

“Just promise me you'll be careful and keep her safe.” He said earnestly. “I don't want to see anyone else get hurt because of this.”

As Lando contemplated the weight of the information George had just disclosed, his mind became a whirlwind of plans and strategies. He knew that navigating the treacherous territory ahead would require careful consideration and meticulous planning.

First and foremost, Lando recognized the need for discretion. The implications of confronting Harold about his involvement in Clyde’s murder were staggering, and any misstep could have dire consequences. He couldn't afford to rush into action without fully assessing the risks and potential ramifications.

Drawing on his experience and resourcefulness, Lando began to map out a plan of action. He considered the key players involved, from Harold to Steve and even his own father, possibly, and the other witnesses present at the party. Each individual brought their own motivations and vulnerabilities to the table, and Lando knew that leveraging this knowledge would be crucial in unraveling the truth.

At the same time, Lando recognized the importance of gathering evidence to support their claims. While George's testimony provided a valuable starting point, they would need concrete proof to corroborate their story and hold up in court. This meant conducting thorough investigations, collecting witness statements, and perhaps even obtaining physical evidence from the scene of the crime.

As he delved deeper into his plans, Lando remained acutely aware of the dangers that lay ahead. The Norris family's reputation and his own safety were on the line, and any misstep could have devastating consequences, especially for Amelia who would get caught in the middle regardless. Yet, despite the risks, Lando was determined to uncover the truth and bring justice to those who had been wronged.

With his mind buzzing with ideas and strategies, Lando knew that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges and obstacles. But armed with determination and a sense of purpose, he was ready to face whatever lay ahead in his quest for the truth. If it meant protecting Amelia, he would have done anything.

[sapphicreadsdb]

Hi do you by chance have any sapphic fantasy recs? preferably adult fantasy but YA is fine too

sure! tho this could will get quite long... no links, sorry!, bc it was kicking up a fuss with those for some reason

+ = ya

pennyblade by j.l. worrad

lady hotspur by tessa gratton

sofi and the bone song by adrienne tooley (+)

she who became the sun by shelley parker chan

the scapegracers by h.a. clarke (+)

the third daughter by adrienne tooley (+)

the daughters of izdihar by hadeer elsbai

the malevolent seven by sebastien de castell

blackheart knights by laure eve

the warden by daniel m. ford

the unbroken by c.l. clark

dark earth by rebecca stott

witch king by martha wells

scorpica by g.r. macallister

the mirror empire by kameron hurley

now she is witch by kirsty logan

silverglass by j.f. rivkin

the woman who loved the moon and other stories by elizabeth a. lynn

...(this answer is how i discover there's a character limit per block so. doing this in chunks.)

fire logic by laurie j. marks

a restless truth by freya marske

when angels left the old country by sacha lamb (+)

the traitor baru cormorant by seth dickinson

an archive of brightness by kelsey socha

the bladed faith by david dalglish

the winged histories by sofia samatar

dragonoak by sam farren

the forever sea by joshua phillip johnson

into the broken lands by tanya huff

the jasmine throne by tasha suri

daughter of redwinter by ed mcdonald

the last magician by lisa maxwell (+)

the fire opal mechanism by fran wilde

...

the black coast by mike brooks

high times in the low parliament by kelly robson

foundryside by robert jackson bennett

the enterprise of death by jesse bullington

mamo by sas milledge (+)

from dust, a flame by rebecca podos (+)

uncommon charm by emily bergslien & kat weaver

wild and wicked things by francesca may

the unspoken name by a.k. larkwood

brother red by adrian selby

the final strife by saara el-arifi

way of the argosi by sebastien de castell (+)

the bone shard daughter by andrea stewart

ghost wood song by erica waters (+)

into the crooked place by alexandra christo (+)

ashes of the sun by django wexler

the midnight girls by alicia jasinska (+)

the midnight lie by marie rutkoski (+)

the never tilting world by rin chupeco (+)

water horse by melissa scott

...

a master of djinn by p. djeli clark

the good luck girls by charlotte nicole davis (+)

among thieves by m.j. kuhn

black water sister by zen cho

the velocity of revolution by marshall ryan maresca

sweet & bitter magic by adrienne tooley (+)

the dark tide by alicia jasinska (+)

the library of the unwritten by a.j. hackwith

a dark and hollow star by ashley shuttleworth (+)

the chosen and the beautiful by nghi vo

the councillor by e.j. beaton

these feathered flames by alexandra overy (+)

the factory witches of lowell by c.s. malerich

fireheart tiger by aliette de bodard

...

city of lies by sam hawke

bestiary by k-ming chang

the raven and the reindeer by t. kingfisher

the winter duke by claire eliza bartlett (+)

master of poisons by andrea hairston

the empress of salt and fortune by nghi vo

night flowers shirking from the light of the sun by li xing

down comes the night by allison saft (+)

wench by maxine kaplan (+)

girls made of snow and glass by melissa bashardoust (+)

girls of paper and fire by natasha ngan (+)

the impossible contract by k.a. doore

burning roses by s.l. huang

the house of shattered wings by aliette de bodard

not for use in navigation by iona datt sharma

weak heart by ban gilmartin

girl, serpent, thorn by melissa bashardoust (+)

the devil's blade by mark alder

...

we set the dark on fire by tehlor kay mejia (+)

the true queen by zen cho

moontangled by stephanie burgis

a portable shelter by kirsty logan

sing the four quarters by tanya huff

all the bad apples by moira fowley doyle (+)

the drowning eyes by emily foster

the priory of the orange tree by samantha shannon

miranda in milan by katharine duckett

the afterward by e.k. johnston (+)

thorn by anna burke

penhallow amid passing things by iona datt sharma

in the vanishers' palace by aliette de bodard

summer of salt by katrina leno (+)

the gracekeepers by kirsty logan

out of the blue by sophie cameron (+)

black wolves by kate elliott

the circle by sara b. elfgren & mats strandberg (+)

unspoken by sarah rees brennan (+)

thistlefoot by gennarose nethercott

passing strange by ellen klages

(and breathe)

[mrs-lockley]

where the spirit meets the bones

Summary: Above, a merciful Sirena roams the seas of the East. Below, a lonely king seeks retribution. Your paths cross one war-torn night when you save the life of a man from the sea with feathered wings on his ankles and ears that point to the sky. Enchanted by your siren song, the feathered serpent king becomes determined to find you, even if he must wait for half a century. 

Posted on AO3 here.

Pairing: Namor (K’uk’ulkan) x Filipina (Kapampangan)!Fem!Sirena!Reader 

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: Mentions of colonization (burning of a Spanish flag in a sea storm but nothing graphic), mentions of drowning and burning (nothing explicit), slow burn (pun not intended), mutual yearning and pining, mentions of death and the afterlife. Physical descriptions of the reader include dark hair and eyes

Tagging: @justrunamok @artsynellyyy @theatreslave @musing-magpie​ @lostfleurs @alathan13 @velvetmel0n​ @mattmurdockswife​ @ameliachastain​​​

Author’s Notes: Hello my darlings! After nearly two years, I have written my first fic. Please be gentle when giving feedback and I apologize if my writing is a bit rusty. But this fic is very loosely based on the Little Mermaid with some Philippine and Maya mythology. 

The reader is Filipina, but from an unidentified region from the province of Pampanga, Philippines. Kapampangan is also the reader’s first language (and my second language) and does not speak Tagalog. This is the first part of a trilogy.

Translations: Kapampangan, Yucatec Mayan, and some Tagalog is used in the fic. For smaller phrases, translations are found throughout the fic in italics. For longer sentences in Kapampangan and Yucatec Mayan, translations are found at the end of the fic (with additional author’s notes). 

Namor’s monologue is in italics in respect to his language. An online translating generator was used. If there are any errors in Kapampangan and/or Yucatec Mayan, please let me know and I will correct it. 

How’s one to know I’d meet you where the spirit meets the bones in a faith forgotten land?

Lubao, Pampanga, June 1827

The moon was full when you rose to the surface, the night quieter than usual. Rain clouds begin to depart as the rain lightens into a steady downpour over the calming sea. The quiet after the storm, but your burning skin and aching bones say otherwise.

On the beach, a mother cries in relief as her daughter clears the water from her lungs, her arms immediately circling around her as she thanks Apong Díos and the angels above. Beside her, the father embraces his family with a joyous shout. 

You had caught the girl wandering the beach earlier that evening at the peak of the rainstorm. It was high tide then, the water lapping too close and too angry as she ran along the shore. One moment she was playing on the sand, and the next, the ocean had tried to swallow her whole.

You fought against the current in search for her, your lungs aching for air as the water screamed in defiance. Your tail cramped as you dove beneath the surface, narrowly fitting between the crevices of the sharp rocks and stones. Only slivers of moonlight guided your path through the dark stormy waters.

But you found her a moment later with her head barely above water, her arms and legs thrashing to stay afloat. Her pleas for help were drowned over the sound of the beating ocean and pouring rain, falling deaf on human ears. The girl’s panicked movements only propelled her deeper into the sea, and it was a matter of seconds before she would draw her last breath.

Softly, you began to sing to her. At the sound of your voice, the girl began to still, her movements drawing to a halt as you approached her. Her eyes fluttered shut, but her breathing slowed as her body was calmed by your song. The water around you began to bend to your will the louder you sang, enchanting the creatures and tides around you into submission. 

With ease, you wrapped your arms around the child and held them in a tight embrace as you swam to the shore. Her head on your shoulder, you continued to sing softly to her to quiet her mind and relax her body. 

You returned her to the surface as you gently laid her body on the sand, your hand cradling the back of her head. In the distance, the yellow lights of a nearby village hut began to flicker with shadows racing across the window. Quickly, you brushed her hair out of her face and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, your hand squeezing hers. 

“Gumising na.” Wake up.

At the sound of approaching voices, you released her hand and returned to the sea. 

The little girl stands and holds onto her mother’s hands as they depart from the shore, but she hesitates. You watch as she tugs on her mother’s hands and turns to her, urgently pleading for her mother to listen. The mother gazes at the sea, her expression unreadable as her eyes search for answers. The girl turns and points, but her mother shakes her head and carries her in her arms as the father shields them both from the rain, retreating into the safety of their hut.

You ignore the sharp pang splintering in your chest before you turn, floating on your back with your arms outstretched and offering yourself to the sky. Up above, the clouds continue to depart as the rain slows into a whispering shower kissing your skin.

As you bask in the moonlight, you run your fingers over the curved surface of the golden pendant resting on your chest. It was the last relic of your past life, the only physical memory of who you were before the ocean had claimed you as its own. Tonight was far different than the last night you walked on land, but it was quieter nights like these where your mind wandered into the past. One by one, it all came back to you. 

A gentle mother’s touch on your hand during a monsoon. A sister braiding your hair by the window. A father teaching you how to sail. A lover sneaking a kiss between dances. 

The heaviness in your chest deepens, spreading to your neck and to your eyes as they sting with tears. With pieces of your past echoing in your mind, you look up to the night sky and beg for comfort. One hundred years you have served the ocean. One hundred years you have saved your people from drowning. One hundred years of protecting the secrets of the sea. 

But it has also been one hundred years of loneliness. 

You were unlike the other creatures who dwelled in the sea. While the sirenas feasted on men and dragged them to their deaths, you rescued them and returned them to the shore. The kataws walked on land and were mistaken for humans as they manipulated the water to their will, while you tamed the water to save the innocent. Siyokoys devoured mortals, but you loved your people who walked on the land and found beauty in their world. While you have the sea turtles and dolphins at your side, your heart remains heavy as they whisper behind you. You were not their kind, why would the ocean choose to have mercy on you?

Gazing at the moon with the water holding you close, you stretch your hands and pray. Why did save me? Must I always bear this loneliness?

The only answer you receive is the pause of rainfall and a full moon sighing in the sky. 

Mérida, Yucatán Peninsula, July 1858

By the time you open your eyes, the last of the sun’s rays had settled under the sea with the cool ocean breeze tickling your skin. The dolphin who carried you whistles softly as you wake, its tail brushing against yours as it waits for your command.

“Dakal a salamat,” you whisper. Many thanks. 

With a soft smile, you affectionately run your hands over the dolphin’s back as it clicks before disappearing into the sea. 

You do not know how long or far you have traveled, but as you take in your surroundings, you realize that you have wandered into foreign territory. As the sky darkens into the blues, violets, and greens of the night, the ocean welcomes you into its soft embrace. Around you, the waves fall into a steady calmness. Just as you enchant humans with your voice, this new ocean comforts you in a strange way you could not quite understand, almost as if it were welcoming you home. 

For a brief moment, you allow yourself to relax in these new waters by diving into its arms. As you swim beneath the surface, you find yourself finally able to breathe for the first time. You were far from your home in the Pacific, and you were far from the angry voices of the merfolk who haunted you. 

“Alang cuenta,” the sirenas sneered at you when you had rescued stray fishermen from falling into their trap. Furious at your intrusion, your sisters lunged for you and tore at your tail and skin with their webbed claws and bared teeth. You screamed for mercy as you fought back, but their teeth and nails were stronger as they dragged you deeper into the darkness of the sea.

Either out of boredom or mercy, your sisters finished their prey upon you and left you in the cold depths of the ocean where the light of the sun did not reach. Hours passed before you were able to move and swim to the coral reefs where the dolphins and sea turtles found you nursing your wounds. With your arms covered in bites and your chest and tail in cuts, you found refuge in the dolphins and allowed them to carry you far away from your tormentors. 

Rising to the surface, you push your hair back and run your hands over your face, suppressing a childish giggle at the realization of your newfound freedom. For weeks you traveled with the dolphins to escape their persecution. Despite spending the past one hundred years alone, for the first time in over a century, you feel nothing but relief. You were never welcomed by the creatures of the ocean back at home. Perhaps you could find a new home here. 

You pause. Around you, the ocean suddenly grows cold as ripples slowly reverberate throughout the surface of the water. A chill descends your spine as you suddenly become breathless and frozen.

On the seashore, a man slowly rises from the water, holding a scepter adorned in engravings in one hand with his back turned to you. A golden plate rests on the back of his neck with matching cuffs on his arms, wrists, and legs reflecting the glow of the rising moon. A similar belt rests on his hips and above a pair of dark green shorts, the only article of clothing he wears. In the dim light, your eyes trace the broad expanse of his shoulders and the thick muscles of his back, arms, and legs. An air of regality surrounds him as he fully emerges from the water and stands in his full form. 

This man is not human, you realize as he walks along the beach, the water yielding to his presence. He is a man of the sea. 

Your brows furrow in confusion as he kneels on the sand. 

Wings. There were wings on his ankles.

Something inside of you whispers to swim closer to the shore. With the waves beckoning towards you, you have no choice but to obey.

Holding your breath, you submerge yourself deeper into the water and hide behind a rock to avoid being seen. On the sand, the man with the winged ankles speaks softly in a language you don’t recognize.

“Jach tak in wilech,” he whispers and lowers his head. I miss you. 

His movements and words are gentle as he places a white flower on the sand, his voice soft and low as he continues to speak. Your heart pounds in realization as you watch him revere someone who could not be seen. This was a grave. 

Guilt consumes you as memories of your past life flood to the surface, your pendant weighing heavily on your chest. Turning away from the shore, you close your eyes to force down the tears that threaten to spill. How silly of you to think you could run away when your family rests at home across the ocean. Here, the water belongs to another. Who were you to leave your home behind and reside in a place as sacred as this?

Wiping at your eyes, you turn back to the shore and find the man speaking to the spirits. Even in the dim moonlight, you catch a glimpse of his face, his dark eyes full of emotion and grief.

Slowly, you reach for the sampaguita flowers in your hair and cradle them in your hands. One by one, you sing quietly to yourself as you place the flowers in the water. You linger for a few moments, your fingers running over the pendant on your chest as the water guides them to the beach. 

“Patawad na,” you breathe. I’m sorry.

With a final prayer, you return to the sea. 

On the beach, a soft hand reaches for the jasmine flowers. Dark eyes look to the horizon in search of the one who brought them, but the only answer given were the quiet waves lapping at the shore. 

Gently, the man with the winged ankles places the white flowers on the sand, creating a trail from the grave and towards the spirit’s old home before disappearing into the water.

The only evidence of his arrival is soon washed away by the rising tide of the ocean.

Philippine Sea, near Manila, August 1894

Tonight was much like the last night you walked on land.

The air was laden with tension and uncertainty. Word from the fishermen and villagers had gone around that the conquistadors were having trouble with their colonies in the West. On the surface, you often found the land-dwellers running through the shadows of the trees in the jungle. The islands seemed to hum in anticipation at the whispers of a possible revolution.

In times like these, you turned a blind eye to your sisters drowning the oppressors on the beach. But your hands weren’t clean and bloodless either. As your sisters feasted on their flesh, you were the one to sing to them, distracting them with your sweet voice and innocent smile. 

(You would do it again in a heartbeat, you soon realize. With each conquistador that steps into the water, another revolutionary returns safely home.)

But tonight was different from those quiet nights of revolutionaries lurking in the shadows of the jungle. Tonight was a war.

Lightning strikes through the stormy sky and fuels the flames licking at the near abandoned trade ship drowning in the fury of the summer typhoon. The white sails darken into ash as the Spanish flags fade into dust. 

Around you, your sisters call to them with outstretched arms, promising to save them from a violent death. You do not sing to invite them further in, nor do you move when your sisters feed on their flesh. You watch silently as your enemies fall and drown to their death, your skin heated by the scorching fires of their sinking ships. With memories of your last night flashing through your mind, you gaze at the burning flags in contempt. It is only fitting that the last thing they see is your face before falling to their demise. 

Suddenly, one of your sisters screams and points to the sky. 

Aswang!*

The sirenas shriek and recede into the water as the remaining men on deck scream in terror. Lightning illuminates the sky once more and reveals the silhouette of the figure flying in the air. 

Your breath stops in your throat as you glimpse at the figure, your eyes falling to their feet. 

The man with the feathered wings on his ankles.

You look up at him, your heartbeat mirroring the resounding claps of thunder. The man with the wings pays no heed to your sisters retreating into the safety of the water. Instead, his gaze is focused on the colonizers clinging onto the debris of their sinking ships.

He raises his spear and strikes. 

The ocean thirsts for violence as crimson stains its waters. With each strike of lightning and roar of thunder, the further the Spanish ships sink to the bottom of the sea. Screams and gunshots plague the night as the monsoon beats its anger onto the surface world. One by one, the colonizers perish by the sea, the bloodthirst of your sisters, or the man exacting his vengeance from above. 

Your eyes widen. On the deck of the last ship sailing, a colonizer opens fire and aims his weapon at the sky.

“Saguli-!” You shout. Wait!

Everything moves in slow motion. Before the trigger is pulled, bursts of red, orange, and yellow blinds your vision. Your ears ring from the explosion as your left shoulder is consumed by a sharp pain that resembles shark teeth digging into your bones. 

As your vision begins to clear, the rain continues to pour. Furls of silver smoke surround you as the burning fires devour the last wooden planks of the sunken ship. Despite the rumble of thunder and cries of the sea, the night is suddenly quiet with only the low crackle of flickering flames filling the silence. Your sisters have disappeared. The colonizers have perished. 

In the sky, the man from the sea burns before falling into the water. 

Without hesitation, you dive into the sea to search for him with the flickers of the dying flames guiding your path underwater. In the distance, the glint of his spear reflects the light of the surface fires with its owner sinking beside him, his eyes closed and his back covered in black ash. 

Ignoring the pain in your shoulder, you wrap your arms around his torso and hold him close as you swim towards the surface.

Please be alive, you pray as you break through the water, your lungs aching as you carry the man in your arms. Please.

...

The monsoon begins to falter when dusk brightens the sky. The rain slows into a steady downpour and the wind turns from a thunderous gust and into a whispering breeze. Gray storm clouds weigh heavily in the sky, but cracks of sunlight peek through the horizon. 

Tears burn your eyes as your cries echo in the cove. Pain engulfs your left shoulder and your body screams in agony from fighting against the violence of the waves and the rage from the skies. With a cry of pain, you push yourself up and untangle your arms from the body of the man you rescued. The man from the sea with feathered wings on his ankles. 

A gasp of relief escapes your lips the moment you feel the steady drumming of his heartbeat underneath your trembling fingertips. 

“Salamat,” you breathe, a childish laugh rumbling in your chest as you wipe at your eyes. “You’re alive.”

With a gentle hand, you brush his dark hair back. The dusky rays of sunlight kiss his tanned skin, casting shadows of the planes and contours of his peppered cheeks. Drops of jade sit beneath his pointed ears and mirror the jewel on his nose. Beads of white pearls and golden rings adorn his neck. A large plate rests on his chest with two deep blue serpents meeting in the middle, a large pearl sitting in the center. 

In the dim light of the early morning, you cannot help but gaze in awe at the beautiful man laying in your arms. 

Who is he? You wonder as you softly trail your hand from his hair and down his arm, a frown settling on your lips at the sight of dried blood and deep bruises at his side. 

You glance back at his face once more. You should be afraid of him, a stranger from a foreign land who showed no mercy to his enemies. But despite the violence of the previous night, you remember the first night you saw him on the beach in the Atlantic. You remember his dark eyes full of grief, his gentle hands cradling the flowers, and his soft voice whispering in the wind.

The man sleeping before you now was not the same man that tormented his enemies at sea, but the man you met on that summer seashore.

Gently, you lean forward to caress his cheek and sing.

“Potang paintunan mu ku, lumwal ka, talanga ka. Akit me ing bulan a masala karin mikit kata. E na ka matakut, e na ku naman migaganaka, uling balu ku balang beni mikikit ka king laman ning bulan a masala.”

As you sing the last note, the man begins to stir. 

Panic floods through you as you look down to find his hand wrapped around your right wrist. His grip is firm but gentle, with the heat of his skin warm against yours. 

Swallowing the ache in your chest, you lean forward to cup his face with both of your hands, your thumbs stroking his cheeks as you gently press your lips to his forehead. 

“Mikit tána pasibáyo,” you whisper. We will meet again. 

With one last look, you squeeze his hand and retreat into the water. 

…

Whispers of a man from the sea with feathered wings on his ankles spread across the surface. From the villagers and fishermen to the convoys and rulers, people spoke of his existence in hushed tones, afraid that speaking his name would incur his wrath. Parents passed his story to their children as folklore, but those who were old enough remembered seeing him walk along the beach before his footprints were washed away by the waves of the ocean. 

K’uk’ulkan, they called him. The feathered serpent god. 

The King of Talokan prided himself as a benevolent ruler and a protector of his people. For three hundred years, K’uk’ulkan kept their kingdom a secret under the sea. He lived, breathed, and bled for them, enduring the pain from the surface world to protect the Talokanil from the violence of the land-dwellers. For this, K’uk’ulkan reigned as their king, their feathered serpent ruler. 

While tales of the feathered serpent were considered myths to the tribes on the beach, another name was whispered across the seven seas. From the clergy and the admirals, no one dared to speak the moniker out loud. 

El niño sin amor, the Spanish priests warned. The child without love. 

“Namor,” his enemies gasped as they looked up at him, their eyes wide with fear. 

It had been five weeks since the Spanish ships departed from the Atlantic. Five weeks before he finally found the ships that had stolen the resources from his kingdom. As the monsoonal rain raged its wrath over the blazing fires of the splintering ships on a foreign sea he was not familiar with, Namor raised his spear and struck with no mercy. 

It all unraveled so fast. One moment he vanquished his enemies, and the next he was swallowed by flames.

He vaguely remembered the ocean welcoming him as he fell from the sky. In the dark stillness of the water, Namor could only watch a dark shadow pass above him. Three hundred years he served his people as their king. Three hundred years he fought, protected, and bled for his kingdom. Maybe just this once, he could overcome the trials in Metnal* and leave the crown behind.

But the gods had other plans for the King of Talokan. Behind the dark veil of his eyes, a soft voice called out to him. The voice was different from the songs of the Talokanil and sung in a language he did not recognize. Her voice was lower, deeper, but sweet and comforting. 

A siren song. 

With eyes as heavy as stone, Namor willed his body to move, his hands grasping at rough skin. It was a song that willed him to return to the land of the living, willing him to carry the crown and breathe. 

For a brief moment, he felt the ghost of her hands stroking his face and her lips on his skin. But when he opened his eyes, he found himself alone in a cove with the monsoon slowing into a whisper. 

Running a tired hand over his face, Namor sits up and breathes a deep sigh. His lungs ache from the sharp exhale as he takes in his surroundings. Straight ahead, the wide entrance of the cove welcomes the quiet low tides of the sea. Despite the storm clouds, the horizon brightened into hues of deep blues and violets with the distant call of songbirds singing in the distance. 

In the calmness of dawn, the King of Talokan could still hear the soft whispers of the siren song singing to him in the cove. Like a fog, his senses were enveloped by her, his skin prickling at the memory of her touch and his ears mistaking the sound of songbirds to the likeliness of her voice.

As he stands, his eyes flicker to the reflection of the rising sun in the water, a small burst of light catching his gaze. Ignoring the pain in his back, Namor rushes to where the edge of the rock meets the sea. 

His heart pounds and his head spins as he cradles the item in his hand, his breath halting in his throat.

In his hand was a golden necklace with its delicate chain torn in two, a pendant of a small flower resting in the center. 

The same flower he found on the Yucatán seashore. 

“Yaan in kaxtikech,” he breathes. “Ma importa u tojol.”

I will find you, no matter the cost.

Philippine Sea, December 1910

It had been sixteen years since Namor heard you last.

The skies disagreed with him when he returned to the sea where you rescued him. For several months, the monsoons raged throughout the region. Time to time, he encountered trade ships from the North, South, East, and West sailing through the merciless monsoons. Other times, he found war on the sea with different flags flying through the wind and crimson being spilt on the waters. Echoes of gunshots, fire cannons, and war cries sounded throughout the night with the tumultuous tidal waves consuming everything in its path. 

With each passing ship, Namor heard the distant sound of the siren songs calling to the unsuspecting sailors and soldiers. With their heads barely above water, he watched the sirens bewitch their prey, their eyes glassy and unseeing before falling to their death. More than once, he found himself entranced by their voices. But each time his ears registered their harmonies, he turned away. 

Their voices were beautiful, but they were not you. They were not his sirena. 

Only you were the one to enchant the feathered serpent king. 

Tonight was different from that summer night, for it was the start of the dry season. Up above, the moon glowed brightly in the night sky without a single cloud in sight. The luminous glow of the moon reflected on the surface of the water, but its reflection was distorted by the growing ripples and the quiet tide of the sea. 

The air cooled his skin as Namor reached the surface, his back turned to the full moon. It was almost as if no time had passed since the last time he was in the cove. Although the tides were lower, Namor could still hear the distant melody of your song echoing throughout the cove. It was as if he were drowning in you all over again. 

Sixteen years ago, he first heard your siren song. But it had been fifty-two years since he first met you. 

A deep ache ate at his chest that particular night. After distracting his generals and evading their watchful eyes, Namor sought refuge on the sand. For three hundred years, he reigned as the King of Talokan. When the crown became heavy to bear, he would slip away from his advisors and find solace in visiting his mother on the surface. He carried the souls of the departed in his heart and their memories in his mind, but sometimes the water suffocated him. Nearly two centuries have passed since he last laid his mother to rest and cleaned her bones, but her memory was clear as day in his mind. He may have been born in the water, but his mother had walked on land - it was all in his blood.

“The Talokanil look to me as their King, their God. I would do anything for them,” K’uk’ulkan whispered as he gently placed the water lilies on her grave. “Just as you did everything to protect me.”

He loved his people just as they loved him. He did not regret taking the throne at a young age and the responsibility of leading and protecting them, but there was a heaviness growing deep inside his chest. An emptiness that he often ignored, but was constantly consumed by its hand.

He remembered watching her hair turn silver and the fine lines settling on her skin as he remained young. In the eyes of many, he was still a child. Yet, he carried the years inside him as centuries passed, watching the people he loved age before they breathed their last breath.

“Every day I see our people grow old, but I remain young and know one day I will mourn and miss them as much as I miss you, na’*.”

The only memories K’uk’ulkan had of his father were the stories recounted to him by his mother. When he sat on her knee, he remembered the smile on her face as she showed him the bracelet she wore on her wrist. Tracing the pearls with his fingers, he could feel his father’s love radiating from each bead. Despite their circumstances, he admired the love his father had for his mother, the same love that he carried in his veins. 

“I may be King, but I stand at the throne with no one to share it with, and sleep with no one to hold at my side,” K’uk’ulkan whispered. “I am lonely, na’. So incredibly lonely.”

He wondered what it would be like to love just as his parents did. To have someone to wake up next to, and to fall asleep with every night. To hold and be held by the arms of someone who loves you.

The King of Talokan did not expect an answer, nor did he expect to see white jasmine flowers drifting towards him on the seashore.

The very same flower that rests in his hands now.

The petals are soft in his hands as he places it on the quiet whispers of water. In the beginning, Namor thought of the flowers as a strange coincidence. He knew that such flowers were native to the lands in the East, but he had seen trade ships sail across oceans and between continents. It was possible that cargo could have fallen through the cracks. 

Initially, Namor tried to ignore it and stop himself from jumping to conclusions, but something foreign gripped his heart. A small glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was someone out there meant for him to love and be loved.

It had all come together when he found your necklace on the rocks. 

For sixteen years, your siren song haunted Namor. He had met sirens and other merfolk throughout his lifetime, but there was something different about your song that called to him. Other siren songs were meant to hypnotize their prey before they drowned or were sacrificed to water deities. Their songs meant destruction to anyone who heard their voice, but your song was sweeter, more gentle. Rather than death, your song brought him back to life. 

That was something he still did not understand. Why would you save him? 

With the jasmine flowers as an offering, the King of Talokan begins to sing.

“X ciih x ciichpan u tz’ u likil yook kaax; tu bin u hopbal tu chumuc can caan tux cu ch’uuytal u zazicunz yookol cab tu lacal kaax chen cici u tal iik u utz’ben booc.”

As he sings, the tidal waves begin to slow into a lull. The ocean did not dare to drown his melody. 

“Pitah nookeex luuz u kaxil a holex ba teneex hee cohiceex uay yokol cabile x zuhuyex x chupalelex hel u.”

The water stills on his last note, but the ocean breeze carries his lullaby throughout the cove. His heart beats heavily, his grip tightening on the necklace as he turns. Dark brown eyes flicker to every corner and crevice of the cove and his ears strain to hear any sudden sounds that could indicate your presence. 

It is not often that the feathered serpent god sings. Rare and far in between, the only times he ever sang with his heart was with his mother. She taught him the songs she learned when she was a child on the surface, especially this song. 

“When I was young, my friends and I would gather and sing this song to keep and bring back a lover.”

“Did it work?”

His mother smiled sweetly at him and playfully poked the tip of his nose. She could not help but laugh when he scrunched his face. “It did. This song was how I met your father. It is the reason you are here.”

He holds his breath as he waits for your arrival in the cove. With each heartbeat echoing in his ears, a heaviness begins to settle in chest. Hope turns to fear, its icy hands crawling at his skin as the waves rise with the tide. 

Shadows of the waves dance across the dimly lit walls. Above, the stars whisper to the moon as the celestial beings await your arrival.

Swallowing the growing ache in his heart, Namor turns his back to the moon and starts his way towards the darkness of the cove. 

A small splash disturbs the silence.

“Maryu ka man kabug ning salu mu, saingsing mu panamdaman ku.”

The King stops in his tracks.

“Balu ku, atindian ku.”

It is you. His sirena.

“Akit me ing bulan a masala, karin mikit kata.”

Like ivy growing around a stone, your song ensnares him. 

“E na ka tumakut, e na ku naman migaganaka.”

Slowly, he turns around. Underneath the silver halo of the bright moon, you rise to the surface. 

“Uling balu ku balang bengi mikikit kata king lalam ning bulan a masala.”

Hanging onto each word, Namor walks towards the edge, his senses enveloped by you. Your voice is soft and deep, comforting and captivating as you swim closer to meet him.

“Parati mu sa’ng tandanan, muran man atiu ya ing bulan.”

Your dark eyes meet his gaze as you look up at him. His eyes never leave yours as you sing the final note with a small smile gracing your lips. Time seems to still, his heart skipping a beat as you finally meet where the land meets the sea.

You are more beautiful than he could have imagined. White jasmine flowers adorn your dark hair like little stars shining in the night sky. In the moonlight, he catches a glimpse of your dark green tail, its scales reflecting the glow of the moon beneath the surface of the water. 

His sirena, his lool.*

He finally found you.

The feathered serpent god slowly falls to his knees right in front of you, his head bowed in respect.

“Because of you, my people still have a King,” his voice is gentle as he speaks. “You saved my life, and I will forever thank you.” 

He still remembers that morning when he returned to his kingdom. For almost a week, Namor had left Talokan in search of the Spanish ships across the Pacific and placed his leadership into his advisors and top generals. This was not the first time he left to protect the borders and identity of Talokan, but it was the first time he did not come back on the day he promised.

Fear flooded his mind when he fell through the sky. He was always strong enough to destroy his enemies, but he was never this defenseless when his unconscious body hit the water. Any remaining survivors could have exploited his lack of defenses, but he was stunned to wake up in a sea cove with his wounds nearly healed. 

You reach for him, your gentle hands cradling his face as you silently plead for him to look at you. Almost hesitantly, he follows your command.

“Who are you?”

He has many names, but he wishes for you to call him only by one name. 

“My people call me K’uk’ulkan.”

K’uk’ulkan closes his eyes and leans into your touch as your fingers delicately trace his face, your voice enchanting him once more as you repeat his name. 

He remembered your palm caressing his cheek and your lips on his skin. As King of Talokan, he often hid this soft side of himself away from his people. But with you, his walls crumbled like tidal waves dissolving castles in the sand. 

Pulling himself out of his trance, he opens his eyes and covers your hand with his own, his thumb lightly tracing over your knuckles. 

“What is your name?”

Your voice is quiet as you speak, almost as if you are hesitant to reveal yourself. 

“Y/N.”

A beautiful name for a beautiful soul.

K’uk’ulkan repeats your name as he grasps your hand and gently raises it to his lips. 

For a brief moment, the King catches a flicker of sadness in your eyes, but it vanishes as you conceal it with a small smile. 

Little did he know that he is the first person to call you by your real name and touch you with such care in two hundred years.

Not wanting to frighten you, K’uk’ulkan softens his voice as he speaks. “I believe I have something that belongs to you.”

Confusion passes over your face, your brows furrowed and your lips parted in a silent question. 

Although he did not know the importance of your necklace, he noticed the rust and scratches that eroded at the delicate metals. The necklace was worn with love, but it was crafted by human hands and not intended to withstand the cruelty of the ocean. With care, he brought the necklace to his jewelers to restore it to its former glory with the addition of two pearls and the revived jasmine pendant in the center. 

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as he presents your necklace to you, your eyes wide as they brim with tears. 

“May I?” He asks quietly.

You nod and bow your head.

With soft hands, the feathered serpent god leans forward and places it over your head. Once it settles over you, you cradle the pendant and pearls in your palms in awe. 

“I thought that this was gone forever,” you whisper as you look up at him, a stray tear streaming down your cheek. “Thank you for bringing it back to me.”

“Nothing is gone forever, only lost until it is found.” K’uk’ulkan cups your face gently, his warm hand brushing away the tears that had fallen down your cheeks. 

His heart warms at the sound of your soft laughter and the sight of your smile. How true his words were. In the fifty-two years he had met you, he thought you were a dream, a possible figment of his imagination that his mind created to cope with the growing emptiness in his bones. But you were real. You were the one watching over him when he found the flowers on the seashore and rescued him from the scorching fires that raged across the sea. He vowed to find you, but he had gotten it wrong. 

Each time, you were the one to find him. 

Looking into your eyes now, he finds himself drowning in them. Dark, deep, and inviting, a silent storm brewing inside of them. The King of Talokan had seen eyes like yours before– eyes that look young, but have seen years of pain, heartbreak, loss, and grief– yet, there was a vulnerability to them. Despite the centuries you carried in your heart, he knew and understood the violence you endured to be this kind. 

You thread your fingers with his, your hands locked in a delicate embrace as you begin to pull yourself away from the rocks and swim closer to the waves. 

You call his name tenderly, your voice a soft plea. “K’uk’ulkan.”

With a gentle tug on his hand, the feathered serpent god descends into the water. 

Come with me. 

There is no song to entice him. It is only you.

Long ago, K’uk’ulkan heard tales of a red string of fate that tied two soulmates together from the Far East. Perhaps it is the red string that pulls him closer to you now as you guide him deeper into the water, your hands entwined together, your lips whispering against his and your tail curling around his legs. With your dark eyes and gentle voice, he has no choice but to follow. 

Only the bright full moon bears witness to the reunion of the sirena and her feathered serpent king disappearing into the sea.

Translations

Alang cuenta (Kapampangan) - Useless, no meaning

Aswang (Tagalog) - Monster

Potang paintunan mu ku, lumwal ka, talanga ka (Kapampangan) - When you look for me, go outside, look up

Akit me ing bulan a masala karin mikit kata (Kapampangan) - We will see each other when there is a bright moon.

E na ka matakut, e na ku naman migaganaka (Kapampangan) - Do not be afraid, do not worry.

Uling balu ku balang beni mikikit ka king laman ning bulan a masala (Kapampangan) - I know one night we will meet underneath a bright moon.

Na’ (Yucatec Mayan) - Mother

Metnal (Yucatec Mayan) - The Yucatec Mayan term for the Underworld. Not to be confused with Xibalba, “the Place of Fright.”

The Flower Song (Yucatec Mayan) - 1, 2

The Flower Song is originally ancient Maya lyrical poetry from the Songs of Dzitbalche. According to John Curl, the Flower Song was a “rite” to keep a lover that was traditionally sung by a group of women–typically under the supervision of an older woman– and performed under the moonlight. Later parts of the poem mention offering plumeria flowers to create a love potion. 

For the purpose of this fic, K’uk’ulkan learned the song from his mother. 

X ciih x ciichpan u tz’ u likil yook kaax; tu bin u hopbal tu chumuc can caan tux cu ch’uuytal u zazicunz yookol cab tu lacal kaax chen cici u tal iik u utz’ben booc - The most alluring moon has risen over the forest; it is going to burn suspended in the center of the sky to lighten all the earth, all the woods, all the lights shining on it all. 

Pitah nookeex luuz u kaxil a holex ba teneex hee cohiceex uay yokol cabile x zuhuyex x chupalelex hel u - Take off your clothes, let down your hair, become as you were when you arrived here on Earth. 

Maryu ka man kabug ning salu mu, saingsing mu panamdaman ku (Kapampangan) - Your chest/heart will feel heavy when we are apart

Parati mu sa’ng tandanan, muran man atiu ya ing bulan (Kapampangan) - Do not forget that the moon will be there when it rains.

For the complete lyrics and song, please refer to the YouTube link here. 

[tomionefinds]

Can you recommend some Hogwarts fics where Hermione and Tom go to school together? I mean AU fics, set in whatever time I don't really care, but them kind of growing up in Hogwarts together?

Hey Anon:

Here are some. Hope you enjoy! - Haus

*****

Birds of a Feather by Babylonsheep

M | WIP | 518k

In 1935, Hermione Granger meets a boy in an orphanage who despises fairy stories, liars, and mediocrity. He offers her a deal of mutual convenience, and soon a tentative friendship forms between them—if Tom would ever lower himself to call anyone a "friend". But whatever they have, it's something special, and if there's anyone who can appreciate Specialness, it's Tom Riddle. 1930's-40's Childhood Friends AU.

Nothing Like the Sun by Orphanaccount

(abandoned but well worth it)

E | Abandoned | 118k

There’s something unnerving about Tom Riddle. Hermione’s never quite been able to articulate just what it is about him that unsettles her so: after all, Riddle’s popular and charming and adored by Hogwarts staff and students alike. Still, she’d swear that there’s something lurking beneath that warmly polite veneer of his, something that lies in wait like a serpent in the dark. But it’s not until her sixth year at Hogwarts, when she rashly confronts him over an unprecedented act of violence, that the full force of Riddle’s chilling regard is abruptly and wholly turned on her.

Serpentine Moves by betagyre

E | Complete | 357k

Medieval Norman Conquest AU. Fourteen years after eloping with a Muggle, Merope Riddle, of an English wizarding noble family, discovers that she and her son are the last of the line, so she petitions for her title and fiefdom back. Meanwhile Lord and Lady Granger are minor nobility who want their daughter taught magic, but Lord Malfoy, appointed by William the Conqueror to rule English wizards, won’t allow an unattached Muggle-born to study alongside young purebloods at Hogwarts. Merope and the Grangers make common cause and betroth their children, thwarting him for now. But war is coming, and a long, dark path lies ahead.

D'Enigmes et Guerre by macsmack

E | Complete | 146k

Tom re-read the letter twice more to make sure he was not hallucinating before refolding it and returning it to its envelope. Strangely, the first emotion he felt was not fury, at the absolute audacity of the woman, but rather, he felt hollow. There wasn’t the longing that he would have once felt as a child, wishing to be adopted; there was just...nothing. He did not feel sadness, anger, joy or even confusion. It’s 1943, Grindelwald’s war rages on, and Tom Riddle discovers that there is more to the Riddle family than he'd originally anticipated.

Gryffindor Red by foolishlywandwaving

M | WIP | 71k

"How - how dare you?" She stammers, pushing him away with both hands. Riddle backs away as though she is brandishing a hot poker, a horrible little smile on his face. Her thighs burn white hot from where his hands have been trailing up. Hermione yanks her dress down and continues, finding her voice through the fog of insanity that has clouded her judgement. "How dare you just show up to my house and threaten me, then kiss me!" "In my defence," Riddle says mildly, with a strange expression. "I only planned on the first." "That is a dreadful defence!" --- Or, Tom and Hermione start their sixth year of Hogwarts entirely off on the wrong foot.

[evita-shelby]

Prove it

Version of my only other Namor x reader one shot with the dialogue in English.(spanish dialogue)

Gif by @unicornspwnall

You weren’t born yesterday.

There was no possible way for this fucking historical hotel was truly haunted.

There was no cool poltergeist, no ghost ladies giggling in the floral room where the hacienda’s owner’s daughter died suddenly in the eighties, and there was no fucking way there were Mayan Warriors with blue skin led by fucking K’uk’ulkan himself to pay homage to the big rock in the garden.

That had to be some idiot they had hired from town.

You bet your shitty paycheck you knew that dumbass in the slutty green shorts.

“How much are the paying you to do this bullshit every December?” you ask as the man stares at you in horror.

“What?” the man asks before cursing you in Yucatec Mayan, an older type with like no Spanish in it whatsoever.

But it’s still the same language, so you insult him back, which makes it worse.

Especially when you slip back into Spanish and he acts like you just spat in his face.

“This is my mother’s sacred grave!” he shouts at you in Spanish, but you don’t buy it. He is too real looking to be a ghost, that vein popping out on his forehead and the way he gets close enough for you to feel the warmth of a human being lecturing you on your rudeness.

“Yes, I know that is the grave of a woman, but I seriously doubt a woman in the 16th century has a , I don’t know, thirty year old son in the year 2020.” You cross your arms and stand your ground.

Would he be offended if you ask him out for drinks at the shitty hotel cantina once you two get over this?

“And if I told you I am over five hundred years old?” he continues with the farce, and you wonder if its worth it to have another wannabe actor fuck buddy here.

“I’d say you look pretty fit for a five-hundred-year-old geezer, but I’d sooner believe that you get five hundred pesos to show up in such little clothing every fucking winter.” You answer with a scoff, five hundred pesos was a shit rate, that was barely fifty dollars. The cute girl from the local University got paid twice that to do her fake shaman tarot reader bullshit every month.

This fucker should ask Rigo the Owner for more.

He laughs, a slightly bitter thing that tells you he is this close to just killing you outright.

He is handsome, you give him that. And well endowed, which is probably why Rigo’s slutty much younger wife chose him.

The feathers and his outfit look legit, too real, especially the fake jade jewelry. You had to hand it to him, the nose plug and the earrings looked pretty fucking good.

“I would kill you, but I wouldn’t dishonor my mother’s grave with the blood of an idiot who can’t see the difference between a human man and the god, K’uk’ulkan!” he exclaims and you think he may be right.

If the Norse had sexy Thor and whatever his goth brother was, if the Americans can defrost Captain America like frozen meat, maybe, just maybe the weirdo standing here was the Serpent God of Mesoamerica.

Could explain why he looked the same in all the photos since cameras were invented.

Could the man you’ve infuriated so much that he stands there breathing hard and clenching his fists to avoid hitting you be the god, K’uk’ulkan?

“If you really are a god… then prove it.” You say goading him into proving he was fraud. If he is a fraud, he will do anything to make you forget it, like kiss you in anger and get the two of you fired for hate fucking where some of the guests can see you.

You hope he is a fraud; it has been so long since you’ve had a good fuck.

He smiles, one that makes you shake in your metaphorical boots, as he took you by the waist and flew with the weird little wings on his ankles.

“Holy fuck.” You utter as he flies you to the beach.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Soon come... "The Feathered Serpent's Daughter"

Author's Note: I wanted to create a bridge story prior to my "King Killmonger: The Golden Jaguar" fic coming out next month. This story will take place a year before Namor shows up to confront N'Jadaka about RiRi's vibranium detector. You will need to read my 3-part Namor fic "The Offering" to know what is going on when this drops.

Summary:

Namor's oldest daughter, Lewatle, has grown up a bit. Although she is all of twenty-one in human years, her slowed down mutant age progression has her looking like a fourteen-year-old child. Her close friends in Talokan are moving on to marriage and creating families of their own, and she's stuck being the pampered princess of the Talokan king and his Wakandan wife, Queen, Lebadi.

Bored and a bit curious about the surface world of her mother, Lewatle slips out of Talokan to travel thousands of miles away for a secret peek into the world of Wakanda.

[somethingclevermahogony]

WIP Excerpt: The Myth of Tilyua

This is a response to a question asked by @patternwelded-quill pertaining to myths within my WIP and actual events that they are based on.

Excerpt

"It is said that the first snow fell from the heavens to mourn the death of the great serpent, Tiluya.” As Jani paused his story the only sound was the soft sound of the snow as it crunched beneath his and Ninma's feet. “She was the first and greatest of the beasts, beloved by the gods. When Re first placed her on the surface of the world it was flat, without valley or hill, only lifeless stone. But as she grew her body carved mountains, her shining scales ground stone to sand, her breath birthed the winds, and from her spittle and blood was born water and from that all mortal life, which the gods sent the spirits to steward. First came the green grasses, the trees, and the flowers. Then came those things that crawl and creep, than those which run and fly, and finally there came those who walk and speak; the awakened peoples those that were gifted knowledge, and the promise of the rebirth.”

Ninma listened silently, she had heard the tale before, recited by tutors and poets, but it had been long long ago. Her belt clicked and jingled as she walked.

“These first people sailed on boats of skin and leaf and built towns from bone and mud. But in time they grew strong and wise, and numerous. The spirits were kind, and made their crops blossom and the game docile. They say that men could live to see a thousand years, women two thousand. There was no sickness or disease, death was kind and soft. All peoples could see and converse with the spirits.”

“The Age of Woolen Spears.” Ninma interjected.

“Woolen Spears?” Jani asked, eye-brow cocked.

“That’s what my father called it, no money, no war, no sickness, no one going hungry, there was no need for blades, so you know, woolen spears.”

“Huh, we called it the Age of Full Bellies in my village. In any case, where was I?”

“All people could talk with spirits.”

“Oh right. All peoples could see and converse with the spirits. One day a girl called Hadi, was walking in the forest when she found a man dressed in a robe woven from fig leaves.”

“I was always told she was named Daruni and the man was wearing cedar bark.”

“Really? Strange little differences, anyway, as I was saying, Hadi or Daruni, came upon a man dressed in robe of leaves or bark in the forest. They began to talk, talking with strangers in the forest back in that age wasn’t such a stupid idea back then I suppose. She soon fell deeply in love with the man who called himself, Ayush. She laid with him, and afterwards she fell asleep there in the moss. When she awoke he was gone, and all that was left of him was a single fig leaf and a hoopoe feather. What she didn’t know was that he was a spirit, the Hoopoe King.”

Ninma nodded, the Hoopoe King, a trickster spirit of sorts, was a common visitor in many a Kishic bedtime story.

“When she returned to her village, she soon became pregnant, and when she gave birth the baby girl had hair the color of a hoopoe’s crest. Hadi named her daughter Biya, and she was the first spiritblood. She grew tall and strong, and was beloved by the people of her village. But all was not peaceful. For though the great Serpent Tiluya was called the Mother of the People and had given the fields full of wheat and the seas full of fish, she was restless and in her rumblings and writhings her great body crushed many villages, and the people of Biya's village feared that Tiluya would crush them as well.” 

Ninma smiled, she had vague memories of men dressed in bites of shiny glass and stone, meany to imitate the scales of the serpent, rolling and stomping on little houses of mud and twigs. 

“And so Biya set forth from her village with a plan to stop the serpent. She spoke with many people but none knew how she could stop the serpent. One day she came to the top of a great mountain and wrapped round its peak she found the dragon Ilhumba, eldest and greatest of Tiluya’s children. Though Biya did not know it, the dragon was jealous of his mother, and so when the demigod pleaded that the dragon show her the way to stop the serpent, he pulled from sky, lightning and entrapped it in a stalk of fennel. He told Biya that should she strike the serpent with the lightning it would have no choice but to heed her words. And so, with many of the great sages of old at her back, she traveled on sea and land to the head of the serpent. There she threw the fennel, and only then did the Dragon’s deceit become evident. The lightning struck and killed the serpent, when it fell the oceans rose up and swallowed many villages.”

Ninma looked back towards the sea, and imagined a great wave that would swallowed up Nituru.

“From the body of the serpent came evil things; monsters and beasts, from its rotting stench came disease and sickness. And so today Biya is called the Plague-Bringer. When the Sun God saw that their favorite creature had died they wept. To both honor Tiluya and to enact revenge on the people, the gods of the sky and sea created water that falls like petals from the sky but whose chill, kills the green and good, and so was born snow. Beautiful but cruel.” Jani said as he lifted his hand to catch a single falling flake.

Ninma waited to see if would continue the story, to tell how in revenge the people had used the teeth of the serpent to craft great weapons, how they would use these weapons to enact their vengeance and rage on Biya, Mother of Disease, Hunger, and War.

Continues below the cut!

The Truth

Tiluya (This is strictly the Kishic name for this being, and all cultures have their own), was indeed a real being, and was indeed the first living thing placed on the surface of the then desolate planet by the Heavenly Deities. The purpose of the "Serpent" was both to mold the planet and to seed it with the components necessary for the establishment of life alongside the Dragon, Ilhumba. Of course the myth vastly simplifies this concept as the initial introduction of biological components and the genesis of the first single celled organisms all the way to the development of the humans and the other sapient beings, was a process which took billions of years. Biya (Once again this is merely a Kishic name for this individual) was most certainly not the first Spiritblood, as humans and the other awakened races had already existed for tens of thousands of years before that time, when agriculture and even basic metallurgy had already been discovered. Though Biya was a real individual, and their father was indeed the famed Hoopoe King. These people, now living a sedentary lifestyle in cities and with fields, could no longer move on a whim to accommodate the movements of the massive Serpent. Thus Tiluya, once praised, became an object of fear and resentment. Biya, likely a warlord, joined by a number of sages and perhaps other Spiritbloods, did confront the Dragon, Ilhumba, demanding a way to stop the Serpent's continued destruction. While Ilhumba did not give Biya lightning, he instead gave humans knowledge of a certain kind of metal, crafted from the scales shed by Tiluya herself. This metal had the capability of attracting, containing, and subsequently releasing massive amounts of magical energy.

Using this new technology, whether intentional or not, Biya and her companions would slay the massive creature.Disease, War, and Snow were certainly not new to Kobani. However the murder of Tiluya would have disastrous effects on the planet. New deadly pathogens were released from the decomposing body, wild magic exuded from the corpse was responsible for creation of many species of monster and forestfolk, and its thrashings caused untold seismic damage, completely destroying entire landmasses and triggering the hundred of volcanic eruptions. It was the second most destructive event in the history of Kobani, only topped by the Calamity. To further add to this destruction, the heavy concentration of smoke in the atmosphere, blotting out the sun, produced a miniature Ice Age, thus destroying most of the world's agricultural cultures and plunging the awakened races back into the Stone Age. The technology used to kill Tiluya was lost, though it would later be rediscovered during the age of Metal and Glass. During this era, the remains of the Serpent, the likely origin of the story about Tiluya’s teeth being used to craft weapons, were combined with a number of other substances and materials, to create Ekatsim, the same technology which would lead to the destruction of civilization during the Calamity at the hands of the God. A part of the process would be accidentally and unknowingly rediscovered yet again thousands of years after the Calamity in the furnaces of Arkodai, thus allowing for the creation of the magical metal, Arkodian Bronze. Arkodian Bronze retains the ability to harm spirits and to temporarily trap magical energies, however it differs from Ekatism in its inability to absorb magical energies of its own accord and to subsequently render magical energy or even souls into other forms of energy.

@patternwelded-quill @flaneurarbiter @skyderman @blackblooms @roach-pizza @illarian-rambling @dezerex @theocticscribe @axl-ul, @persnickety-peahen, @surroundedbypearls

[nellycanwrite]

An Order

Part 2 of “A Request”  ||  Attuma x Talokanil!Princess!Reader

Summary: Your kingdom was at stake. Your thoughts are conflicted, your duties now weigh heavily on your shoulders, and the expectations of being K’uk’ulkan’s daughter puts you at risk as you try to talk with Princess Shuri of Wakanda. But you never had to worry—not when your lover, Attuma, was by your side to give you counsel.

Or, in which Attuma would soon realize that his own counsel would put you in jeopardy—bloodied and near death in his arms as you gave him your first order as princess.

Rating: 16+ || Viewer Discretion is Advised.

Word Count: 11.4K

Warnings: A very very angry Attuma and Namor. Heavy angst (oomph). Mentions of violence and near death experiences. Some bits are suggestive if you squint hard enough. Allusions of death. And if it’s any kind of consolation then tooth-rotting fluff too. 

Note: It is worthy to note that I have not included any deep Yucatec Maya phrases (besides the terms of endearment) despite the Talokanil speaking in their native tongue as respect to their language. Therefore their mother tongue shall be labeled with italics.

Part 1  ||  Part 2  || Part 3

As the daughter of the feathered serpent god, king of the great nation of Talokan, there were many things expected of you; the wisdom to rule with both mercy and hardened fists, the knowledge and wit that could challenge that of a merchant to negotiate terms to benefit your kingdom, and the grace befitting that of both nobility and divinity.

 Of course, you were also expected to be as strong as your father. So strong, in fact, that they had compared the ire of the king to a great catastrophe that equaled the eruptions from the Pacific Ring of Fire.

 It was impossible for you to achieve such a level of skill.

 But that is why you train.

 “Your attacks are still weak, in yakunaj.” My love, he said with an amused smirk. Even with a mask did he extrude such sly confidence that made you weak to your knees. 

 Attuma made a show of twisting his spear, droplets of sea water splashing across the walls that glowed with luminescent algae. You huffed and poised yourself to attack, your own vibranium spear pointed towards him in warning. 

 “You forget yourself, Attuma.” With the speed comparable to that of a great missile, you launched yourself forward with a beat of your feathered ankles. You heard him grunt when he put his spear up in defense, the clashing of vibranium creating an unpleasant screech as it collided with each other. 

 Despite you pushing against his weapon with your enhanced strength, Attuma far overwhelmed you with raw power. He slowly pushed you away and dove down to miss your incoming swing, taking your hips and slamming you into the ground. You felt the air escape from your lungs at the force, the grip of your weapon now long gone and away from your hands. 

 Attuma took your wrists in his large hand and pinned you against the floor, his masked lips dangerously close to yours. You used this time to catch your breath, your eyes boring into his own.

 “Do you yield?” He asked. The blade of his spear had now lodged itself beside your head. You gave him an amused chuckle. 

 “Never.”

 With a beat of your winged ankles, you tucked your knees in and kicked his stomach until he lost his balance. You wiggled your wrists out of his hand and flipped you over, the spear that was once beside you now thrown into the shallows of the underwater cave.

 His sheer size required the aid of your two hands, your fingers dwarfed in comparison to his wrists. You leaned forward as you breathed hard, your legs locking his hips into place.

 You stayed there for a while; your chests heaving in and out, your breaths falling into sync with each other, the drops of sweat and saltwater mixing together as you gazed into each other's eyes. There were unspoken words of ardor, the promises of a lifetime, and unwavering stubbornness that the both of you possessed in your mock fight.

 “Yield.” You gasped out, your hands tightening around his wrists. He chuckled.

 “Is that an order?” He cheekily asked. You playfully glared at him.

 “I would very much appreciate it if you finally admit the better fighter between the two of us, my love,” you leaned in closer and ghosted your lips over his mask, “now yield.”

 “What shame if her majesty's guard was weaker than she, no?” 

 You yelped when his hulking gait now rose and trapped you in his arms. He slammed you back into the rocks, this time pinning both of your wrists with both of his hands. His powerful legs secured yours in place, and the amused smirk still never left his lips behind that mask. His chuckle was low and sensual, a shiver running up your spine as he leaned in closer to you. 

 “I would not dare overpower her highness, but I have honor to uphold as your aide.”

 You struggled against him, your wings fluttering and aiding your movements. But he held you with all his might—a being such as you had to be held with such great strength that it needed all of his attention. And he was the strongest man in Talokan besides your father.

 “You dare pin your princess down?” You asked him with a smirk. His voice was gruff as he hummed, the gritted but silken sound sending heat to the tips of your pointed ears.

 “Forgive me for being so shameless.” He did not sound apologetic, rather, he found the situation amusing. The oaken sheen of his eyes held a mischievous glint that made you become hyper aware of the warmth that somehow sent a shiver up your spine.

 You found yourself becoming bolder under the influence of his own mischief. 

 “What punishment do you fancy, oh shameless warrior?” You challenged him while leaning up to press your lips against his mask. You heard the ever so subtle hitch from his breath and felt the grip of his hands tightened around your wrists. “Whatever shall I do to you for this treachery?”

 “Yield and I shall let you do your bidding, in princesa. Anything you want.” His voice dropped and made your thoughts hazy; you would have mistaken him for using his hypnotic melody to control you to his bidding.

 You bat your lashes at him in faux admiration, over acting the delightful gasp that came from your mouth. You pressed your chest against his, the jewels that adorned your neck making it impossible to satisfy the itch that you desperately wanted to satiate.

 “Anything?”

 Attuma tightened the hold on your wrists and licked his lips behind his mask, his piercing eyes darkening as he slowly lowered himself against you.

 “Anything.”

 “Ehem.”

 Namora stood by the water's edge, one hand planted firmly in her waist and the other carrying the spear you gifted her for her achievements as the new general. She gave both of you a pointed look and groaned in mock disgust. 

 “Must you always do that when you train?”

 Attuma removed himself from you slowly, careful not to hurt you in any way. He helped you up to your feet and kissed the side of your head as you finally stood. You smiled.

 “Whatever do you mean, Namora? The General and I are merely sparring.”

 “Don't play coy with me, princess,” she groaned, “you know fully what I mean. And Attuma, have some shame. You're training her, not winning her affections.”

 “Everyday is a quest to win my beloved's affections, no?” Attuma made his point by taking your hand and kissing the healing scars from your earlier spar. You felt heat crawl from your neck as he did so.

 Namora's face contorted to one of incredulousness. 

 “Unbelievable,” she almost laughed at the absurdity of it all, but she meant it in good faith, “ever since you have asked for her hand you have been quite bold. Whatever happened to the oh, so patient Attuma who was willing to wait three centuries before confessing to the princess, hm?”

 “He could not wait any longer, I suppose.” You laughed when Attuma hissed at your best friend and relative, your hand now resting in his plated chest to calm him. You felt him shiver under your touch.

 Attuma rolled his eyes at the both of you. “You speak as if I am not here.”

 “And what of it?” Namora challenged playfully. Attuma kicked his spear up from the ground and caught it mid air, pounding it against the rocks as a declaration.

 “I'll let you know that I am not to be ignored, especially if it's concerning my love for the princess.” He pounded the brunt of his spear to the floor again, but this time with much more strength that left dents on its wake.

 “You dare challenge me? Oh, how frightening.” she twirled her spear around her head and poised it to attack.

 “Can we please not do this today?” You groaned. Attuma and Namora always found a way to initiate a mock battle between the two of them. Although the show was impressive in its right, they would often make it more of a spar for endurance; their fights lasting half a day if left unsupervised.

 But you had to admit, their battles—especially ones that concerned you or your father—is their little show of friendship. And it was their way to stay in their peak conditions as warriors. 

 “Is that an order, in princesa?” Attuma turned to you with a wide grin. You sighed. 

 “It's a request, my love. You know I don't like giving orders.”

 “Then consider it fulfilled.” Attuma lowered his spear and stood in attention by your side as if nothing happened. Namora followed suit and cleared her throat, the playful disposition both of them had now fading. 

 “Thank you, my Generals. Although your love for battle is admirable, I think we have more pressing matters to attend to, no?” You looked at Namora in question. She straightened up and pounded her spear on the ground, the sea water splashing to your feathered ankles.

 “K'uk'ulkan wishes all of his fighters to gather, in princesa,” she glanced at Attuma and shifted her eyes back to you, “and your presence is needed as well.”

 “Whatever for?” You asked her, your head cocked to the side. Attuma used this opportunity to pick up your spear from the shallows and handed it to you, his fingers brushing over your own. You smiled at him thankfully, your body gravitating towards his out of habit.

 “There have been…reports about the surface. I have been spared the details until all of us are present.”

 You and Attuma looked at each other in question, but you followed Namora into the water to meet with your king.

 Compared to the last few decades that you and Attuma have been together, he now had it in him to swim in stride with you. He didn't lower himself so far down to match the decorum of his nameless self, instead, he could now stand by your side as if you were equals, the titles he had garnered for himself speaking volumes of his place by your side. 

 He still submitted to you, his oath of piety resounding loud and clear through both words and actions. But you never really did find it in yourself to use your authority to such an extent. He would still follow your words as if they were the Word of truth, and he would still do your bidding even if you didn't ask him to. 

 Truly, no other man beside him could match the splendor that came with your name, and you had fallen harder for your warrior as soon as you learned that he had done all of this for your sake; so that he could stand by your side without anyone questioning your choice.

 You had arrived at the bottom of the underwater coves that led to the entrance of your great city, your Generals now swimming back in respect. You nodded at them as you put your hand through the rock as a key, of some sort, that responded to the vibranium from your decorated vambrace.

 Not a second later, a current formed in front of you that pulsed with the energy to propel you forward. You turned to your Generals and grinned. 

 “Shall we?”

 You smiled bashfully when Attuma took your hand in yours as Namora swam forward to guide you. The strong current pushed you forward in speeds that only K'uk'ulkan could even fathom to achieve with his winged ankles. Although you bore the same likeness as him, you never did achieve his speed no matter how much you trained.

 As soon as the rapid currents stopped, you waved by passing sea-life and greeted the whales that swam overhead with a joyous laugh as you approached the capital city of Talokan, the rays of the underwater sun now drawing closer as you approached.  

 “My daughter.” K'uk'ulkan greeted you with a soft smile as soon as you had arrived the throne room. You swam up to him as your Generals stayed behind, your father eyeing the lingering touch of your fingers on Attuma's bicep. 

 “I hope you are well, father,” you rested your forehead against his, his hands finding purchase on the back of your neck, “Namora told me you wanted to see us.”

 “Yes. It is an urgent matter, my child.” His eyes flickered to that of a dark hatred that you could only remember him showing to surface-dwellers. You couldn't help but slowly pull back, your hands holding his and rubbing circles on the back of his own to somehow calm him. You resisted the urge to show fear—fear of such raw emotion that was but a fraction of a second from your own father.

 “Then we mustn't waste a second longer.”

 You took your place on your throne as a steady stream of other generals, warriors, and council members alike gathered below to wait for K'uk'ulkan's next words, murmurs erupting from your subjects about the possibilities of such a gathering of strong fighters. You had to wonder as well—why did your father call you all here? What had happened on the surface for this to be such an urgent matter?

 In the middle of your own thoughts, Attuma swam forward to drape you in your royal robe and rested his forehead against yours.

 “Your thoughts are loud, in yakunaj. Your people are worried.”

 Your face broke into a grin. 

 “You mean you are worried.”

 “How can I not? I worry for you everyday, my love. Especially after…” You silenced him by putting your pointed finger to his lips. 

 “It was six years ago, Attuma. I am well and alive. I will not disappear again, I assure you.”

 Six years ago the ocean shook with Talokan's grief and rage when you, their darling princess, had suddenly disappeared and turned to dust along with half of your citizens. When you had magically appeared again, materializing on the same spot on your throne, Attuma was the first to cradle you and hold you tight—as if you were to become dust again if he did not hold you any tighter.

 He never left your side since, and he constantly doted on you.

 “You cannot blame me, my love,” he clasped the gold and jaden pins together and leaned into your ear so only you could hear, “I fear for what is to come. I have a bad feeling.”

 “Purge your worries, my darling. Whatever may come we shall resolve together. Now swim back down before father decides to fight you again.”

 You smiled and gave him a chaste kiss to the cheek before he descended down to join his ranks with an amused smile, but his worry lingered on his brow, still.

 K'uk'ulkan put his hand up to silence his subjects. Not a moment later, the throne room fell into a hush. The water felt still and tense, tension practically surrounding all of you as you waited for your king's next words.

 “There are whispers amongst the sea about the surface dwellers' activities. We had let them do as they wished far from our home, deterring them in utmost secrecy of our location. Although Talokan has remained safe, I'm afraid their next mission might compromise our well kept secret for centuries…”

 Your father proceeded to tell you all about the vein of vibranium found in the Pacific and the intentions of surface dwellers to mine them dry. Reports from your scouts say of a machine that could detect vibranium—something that filled your subjects with great worry. If that machine could detect the smallest vein of vibranium on the bottom of the deep Pacific, who was to say that they would not find your kingdom rich in the precious metal as well?

 Panicked murmurs coursed through the throne room, the voices of your worried citizens reaching a peak that buzzed the waters with anxiety. Fear. 

 You slammed your spear beside your throne, the vibranium reverberating and beckoning everyone to quiet down. You saw Attuma smirk—what great power you hold to silence warriors of great renown to your beck and call.

 “Let the king speak, my brothers and sisters. Do not let your fear consume you. We are Talokan; we do not yield under the threat of surface dwellers.”

 “The princess is correct,” your father rose from his throne and held his head up high, “there is no need to worry. We shall attack their base at night, covering ourselves in the darkness of the new moon. We shall eliminate the threat swiftly and disappear as we always have.”

 “And what if we are to be discovered, in ajawo?” My king. An old council member voiced his thoughts, “their technologies have grown. There is no guarantee we can hide our attack.”

 “The Wakandans will take the blame,” he said darkly, his voice sure and his strategies thought out, “they have so foolishly revealed themselves to the world and given the surface dwellers the opportunity to discover us. It is the consequence of their own actions. And Talokan will remain hidden. I shall discuss our course of action to your Generals—until then, you must prepare for battle.”

 You stood and bowed your head before your father and king, putting your hands in the likeness of a serpent's mouth. Your subjects followed suit in reverence to their ruler. 

 “Líik’ik Talokan!”

Attuma was a man of few words, his actions spoke louder than his verbal promises. Yet in your presence did he always find his tongue spilling with praises for you, vows of his loyalty, and the whispers of his unending love for you at every moment that you were together. 

 He often told you that you were the very sea that sustained him—gave him life—whilst you placed your forehead unto his. He would pick up his spear and tell you that he was yours to use as you wished; but you never did use such authority.

 He was enough. His love was always more than enough.

 He told you that you were a strong woman. So strong, in fact, that he would often tell you that you would make a greater ruler than K'uk'ulkan (such a thought would have been treacherous, but he found comfort in voicing his deepest thoughts to you no matter how audacious it would be in the ears of the council.)

 But in the face of a great threat, where your father had given you a task that far towered over you in dangerous foreboding, did you doubt those very same words that he would whisper against your skin.

 “Are you alright, in yakunaj?” Attuma asked you, his hand caressing your waist as you sat by the rocks of the surface. You leaned into his shoulder—now stripped of the spiked armor that he always wore—and sighed. 

 “I'm alright. Just…nervous,” you intertwined your hands with his as you watched the stars that littered the sky, “father gave me such a big responsibility. I have never even set foot outside the reef but he expects me to lead a platoon of our finest sirens to initiate the strike. What if I fail? What if I start on the wrong note? What if I disappoint my father? What if—”

 “And what if you don't?” He asked you, his thumb painting circles on your sun-kissed skin. “No one doubts your abilities. You will do just fine.”

 Attuma watched as your eyes glazed with unshed tears. They were magnificent in every way; even in your sorrow did you outshine the moon that graced the sea. 

 He caught the saltine gems of your despair on his thumb, wiped it clean from your cheek, and brought his masked lips to kiss the trail that it left in its wake—just below your eyes that fluttered close as he drew near.

 “And what if you are wrong?” You asked him, your voice cracking and stuttering.

 His brows furrowed.

 “Have I ever lied to you? Have I ever been wrong?”

 “Well, consider this, what if—”

 He silenced you with a thumb to your lips, grazing the supple flesh as he cooed for you to hush. For you to lay your worries at ease.

 “What if I kiss you right now to silence your thoughts, my love?” 

 You blinked in surprise. Only have you noticed the proximity of your lips, of your eyes, of the touches of his fingers across your damp skin. 

 But you did not pull away.

 He ghosted his fingers down to your neck, his touch lingering on the base of your pointed ears. You felt heat crawl up to your cheeks as he did so. 

 Attuma stared into your eyes, waiting for your response. Your eyes flickered to his lips, then back to his earthen gaze, and then back to his lips.

 You burst into fits of laughter.

 “...Your mask, my dear,” you giggled, “you cannot possibly kiss me when your lips are sealed in land.”

 He pressed his forehead against yours and laughed with you. 

 “But have I not calmed the storm of your thoughts?” He inquired cheekily. You laughed in disbelief and rested your hands on his barren chest. 

 “You are an insufferable man, Attuma.”

 “And you are simply exquisite, my princess.” He drew himself closer, your bodies sharing what little heat the both of you had from the cool, night air. You felt him playing with the ends of your hair as he continued to dig deep into your very soul with his piercing eyes. He continued.

 “You are the darling pearl of the sea. Your wisdom equals that of the king. Your subjects adore you, your warriors revere you, and the council already see you as a prospect to rule in the foreseeable future. K'uk'ulkan assigned you to lead your own platoon outside of Talokan for he knows you are ready. Prove to him that you are worthy of the responsibility he entrusted you with, just like how I had proven to you that I am worthy to be by your side.”

 Your breath stuttered as you felt his heart thump in his chest. He chased your hand and held it tightly, as if to tell you that his heart only beats for you. That it would bleed and cease and skip only for your majesty.

 What such blessing fell into your hands, you wonder, to grace you with the magnificence of a man such as Attuma? 

 “...How did I ever become so fortunate to have been given a lover such as you?”

 “I am hardly worthy, in princesa. I should be the one to ask that of you,” Attuma tightened his hold, “and I have not become your lover just yet—not when I have yet to prove myself to K'uk'ulkan.”

 “Forget what my father thinks, Attuma,” you brushed away strands of wet hair that stuck to his face and gazed lovingly into his eyes, “you have proven more than enough to me that you are worthy to be by my side. He is simply stubborn.”

 He scoffed as if he was amused.

 “And rightfully so. No one should be able to win your hand without great deliberation.”

 “And yet here you are.” You cheekily cooed. His chest rumbled as he chuckled merrily. 

 “I have not officially won your hand yet.”

 You brought his hand to your lips and kissed the knuckles that were littered with scars from his battles.

 “Hush now. You have won my hand the moment you have made your vow. I simply cannot think of anyone else to love this much other than you,” Attuma's heart blossomed with pride and adoration as you continued, “and you would make a great king someday. You are perfect.”

 “That is for K'uk'ulkan to decide.” You gave him a pointed look.

 “That is for me to decide. I will not allow anyone to sit on that throne unless it was you, in yakunaj.”

 What such bliss does Attuma feel, you wonder, as soon as you witness his very being light up with such love for you as he hears those words come out of your mouth?

 What such contentment did you bring him for the warrior you so loved to laugh in earnest for the joys that you had given him?

 Under the witness of the full moon, free of the prying eyes of both land and sea, Attuma grabbed you by the waist and plunged into the shallows of the reef, his mask now discarded with such haste, and his hands tracing your features with such tender adulation that made your heart soar into the heavens.

 You were a sight to behold—a goddess, that you were. Basked in beaming light of the late night, fractals of lustrous gems dancing across your skin, and oh, what to say about your twinkling eyes that the stars of the Atlantic would pale in comparison to? 

 “I love you.”

 And with those words of pure ardor, Attuma planted his lips on yours.

 And you love him too, you wanted the words to fall in pure ecstasy. But you settled with wrapping your arms around his neck and deepening the kiss.

 For your lips were enough to tell him all he needed to know.

The sea was quiet, darkness surrounding you and your platoon as you watched two surface dwellers probe with the machine that connected itself with the veins of vibranium that throbbed on the seafloor. It wasn't much, barely a morsel compared to Talokan's own mines, but in the wrong hands it would cause catastrophic damage.

 You resisted the urge to call off the attack—they were still living beings, ones that have family, friends, even lovers. But you gritted your teeth and strengthened your resolve. There was no time for mercy when your nation was so close to its discovery.

 “Attuma. Namora.” You called out. They nodded and stood in attention, spears ready and poised.

 “Yes, princess.” They replied. You nodded, satisfied with their attentiveness. 

 “Leave one alive. The man. Father needs information.”

 You turned to the platoon under your command, all women whose voice exceeded anyone else's. Their voices reigned supreme in every aspect, their enchanting melodies the testament to the many legends surface dwellers passed on to their kin as bedtime stories. 

 And you were their leader, the forefront to the hymns of your people. 

 Attuma resisted the urge to follow after you as you swam forward under the guise of the inky depths. As if sensing the imminent danger the divers are under, they looked around in haste, their nerves up high. He positioned his spear to attack when needed—he was not going to let you get hurt. 

 You focused your gaze on the man, his eyes flickering with fear. He talked into his comms in panic, his mission now long abandoned as his adrenaline peaked.

 And then you started to hum.

 It was an enthralling sound, one that your father had taught you when you were younger. It would lead surface dwellers into your arms, charmed by the promises that lay in each note. One of the divers looked around, trying to find the voice that called out to him so warmly—like a mother would to her children.

 And you swam forward, just in the line of his sight and away from his partner's eyes, and beckoned him forward with a smile.

 “Come to me, child. Come to me.”

 Dazed and enamored, he took a step forward. He could not hear the calls of his superiors nor the worried cries of his crewmate. He just had to sink into your arms; mission be damned. 

 With a speed comparable to the fastest of missiles, you cut the cord that connected him to the surface and dragged him away into the inky depths. You made sure to give the diver a charming smile before you smashed his helmet open—cutting any sort of communication that he previously had—and replaced his supply of air with the mask your people used. 

 “Breathe, child. You may close your eyes and dream.”

 Warriors came to take the surface dweller away upon Namora's instructions. You felt Attuma's hand on your shoulder, his lips landing on your cheek so tenderly. 

 “You have done well, my love.” He whispered. You gave him a grateful smile before turning to Namora.

 “You may do as you wish with the other surface dweller. K'uk'ulkan has no use for them.”

 Namora nodded and did her bidding with the other diver, beckoning her squad to wreck the machine as she stabbed the surface dweller and dragged them into the depths of the ruthless ocean. 

 You could only look away. 

 “Sisters,” you turned to your platoon and held your spear up high, “it is time. Let the surface dwellers hear the hymns of our people and guide them into the sea. There shall be no mercy for them.”

 Attuma joined you as your group ascended to the surface, his hand holding on to your own tightly. You knew he was to rejoin his ranks, so you savored his comfort a little while longer as you started the first notes of your siren's song.

 With one last squeeze to his hand, you used your feathered ankles to finally surface in full.

 Attuma could not hold back the awe from his face—you were ethereal in every way, ascending into the air like a deity of the sea. The jewels that adorned your body glistened under the artificial lights of the ocean rig, your hands extended out to call forth the charmed souls into your waiting arms. 

 An enchantress.

 Your group of singers eventually followed your melodies, the haunting tunes now taking full effect. Not even a few seconds later, splashes reverberated from the sides of the rig, all reaching out to you and clawing at the air in hopes to get to you; to touch you, to worship you.

 Their last sights were that of a goddess, an angel, their deliverance. You had smiled upon them with pity as you sang the hymns of your people.

 How these woeful souls longed to even touch your feet and kiss it in full before they succumbed to the frigid waters and met their demise

 Their ends were silent. They showed no signs of struggle and surrendered to the arms of sweet death.

 At least you had given them sympathy in their last breaths, even if it was in the influence of your hypnotic voice. 

 But you knew it was just an excuse to justify your guilt. 

 You closed your eyes as soon as you heard the gunshots from the rig, the company under your father's command now boarding the infrastructure and attacking any leftover surface dwellers that remained. You slowly descended into the water and dove into the awaiting arms of Attuma, your breath hitching as you calmed your racing heart. 

 “I am still weak.” You whispered, the songs of your people drowning your own voice. But Attuma still heard. 

 “It is okay, my love,” he caressed your back and placed a kiss on your forehead, “you have done your part beautifully.”

 “Must there be death in every battle? In every war?” The answer was obvious, but Attuma still took the time to humor you.

 “It is inevitable.”

Following your successful attack on the facility, you had coaxed your surface dwelling captive to tell you everything about the machine they had used to find the smallest hint of vibranium in the Pacific. You had used your voice to allure him into your bidding, and with a simple caress to his cheek and hypnotizing hum against his ear, he had submitted to you and forgot his loyalties.

 When the surface dweller finally cracked under your fake attention, there you found the information of the young female scientist who created the whole machine. 

 Attuma wasn't so happy that you had to use such tactics, but it was the most effective. You made sure that he watched the whole exchange to ease his mind—but it only ended up with you being pinned to the wall and being winded by his lips.

 It was to claim you, he insisted. He will allow no man to receive the feathered touches that you gave him, to hum against their ear with your allure whilst he watched. 

 Your dear warrior was just possessive, you thought in amusement. 

 Your father was satisfied with your findings. It was added to his already growing pride for your successful first mission away from Talokan. K'uk'ulkan was sure that the kingdom will be left in good hands once he passes his title to you. 

 And your heart swelled when your father praised you for your exploits and gave you access to explore beyond the reefs of the surface—you were now free to fly wherever you wished so long as you were careful (and of you will be careful. You didn't want this opportunity taken away from you).

 Your father had taken it upon himself to go to Wakanda and demanded their queen mother for the scientist. He had deployed his soldiers (including Namora and Attuma) to be wary of the movements of the princess and her warrior aide, the Dora Milaje's general.

 “I want to fight that warrior. The female general.” He told you as soon as he came back, his arms wrapping around your waist as he buried his face on your shoulder from behind. You cocked a curious brow.

 “Oh? Pray tell, do you fancy them?” He huffed.

 “Not as much as I fancy you, my love,” he peppered kisses on the jewelry upon your skin, “I simply admire their skill as a warrior—but you far outshine them in every aspect.”

 “Ever the charmer I see.” You laughed. He grabbed your hips to turn and face him and pressed himself closer, your arms wrapping themselves around his neck.

 He smirked.

 “For you? I’ll always be.”

 After they had fought near the waters of the Western surface dwellers, Namora and Attuma had brought home the princess of Wakanda and the scientist that you had sought out for their brilliant minds. 

 Only, you did not expect the scientist to be a child.

 Your father had gone to talk to Shuri, a diplomatic way of coaxing her into a more peaceful negotiation, you gathered. You were left to sit on your throne and rule in your father's stead. 

 “What is on your mind, in yakunaj?” Attuma asked beside you. You sighed and fiddled with your grandmother's bracelet, the jade from the jewelry shining brightly under the underwater sun. 

 “Nothing, really. I was just hoping that the talks would go well. There's no reason for this to escalate further than it should.” You urged Attuma to stand closer to you.

 He did so without question.

 When he finally placed himself by the seat of your throne, you leaned your head against his waist and just surrendered yourself to the safety of his presence. He held you closer to his side, his hands now drawing comforting circles on your shoulders as you overlooked your kingdom.

 From the corner of your eye you could see your father talking to Princess Shuri, her being clothed in a suit that could protect her from the pressures underwater. 

 You watched them attentively.

 “Do you think father will allow me to talk to her?” The hands that drew circles around your shoulder ceased.

 “There will be no such thing,” he chided, “what if she will hurt you?”

 “Do you really think a lone surface dweller, of all things, is enough to hurt me?” You joked lightheartedly. But Attuma did not take it well. 

 “I promised you that no surface dweller shall ever rest their eyes on you without meeting their death. That will not change now.” Your heart pounded against your chest at your lover's protectiveness. But you just needed to find a way to convince him somehow.

 “Maybe I can help my father with the negotiations. From where it stands, I doubt the Wakandan princess will even agree to father's terms.” You tore your eyes away from the Princess of Wakanda and your father as they swam away. Your eyes furrowed when you saw the downcasted look on K'uk'ulkan's face—you took note to approach him about it later.

 “A foolish decision, truly.”

 “And I understand her sentiments,” Attuma looked at you in question, his head cocking to the side. You continued, “that scientist is merely a child. People stole her inventions and took credit for themselves while she received our ire. And to declare war on the surface…even I could not fathom such scale.”

 “The surface dwellers' shortcomings come from their own negligence. If they were to be more careful—”

 “I do not wish to kill the scientist, Attuma, nor do I wish for war.”

 He paused, the only sound from the throne room were the hums of the vibranium sun and the slow moving currents from the tide. You looked up to him as he shifted ever so slightly, the grip on your shoulder only tightening.

 And after a few beats of silence, he asked.

 “Why?”

 Why indeed, you wondered.

 You were sure you were prepared for war. You were sure you were ready to fight for your nation and reclaim the land that you rightfully owned.

 But something was holding you back.

 “I do not wish for violence. And I pity her, that is all. She is a child whose work was stolen and discredited for. Her mind is great, but she is unaware of the damages she would have caused. And…and I do not wish for more deaths, especially one that is as young as her.” You glanced at your hands—the hands that held blood of countless surface-dwellers. A necessary sacrifice, but it did not mean it felt right.

 “Your mercy is worthy of praise, my love. But one wrong move will lead to our discovery. It will lead to war. One surface dweller's life for the life of your kingdom—those are the options you have to choose from.” 

 He swam in front of you and knelt before your feet, his headpiece now lay discarded beside him as he rested his head on your lap. You wove your fingers through his dark tresses; they were soft as silk.

 “Is there no other way?” You asked him. He trailed his fingers up your lap and took hold of your hands, his lips lazily kissing your knuckles.

 “Perhaps not. But the king sees this as the best course of action. Believe in his plans; believe in your father.”

 Your head dove down into deep thought, your hands mindlessly playing with Attuma's long hair. He leaned into your touch as you massaged his scalp, the delightful rumble from his chest giving you enough motivation to continue.

 “...If that is what you think, then I shall listen.” He peered up to you with those fierce eyes that only softened for you. 

 “And what have you chosen?”

 You swallowed the lump on your throat, the decision weighing heavily on your shoulders.

 “I choose to trust you and my father. It might be against my heart, but if it is for Talokan, if war is necessary for our people, then it shall be done.”

 He slowly rose and took your cheeks into his hands, his forehead now pressing against yours. In those moments did you relish the assurances from his touches, his thumbs unraveling the lines of worry from your troubled brow.

 “There is no need for you to spill blood. You only need to give the order and I will do it for you. This is why I am here; it is my purpose.”

 You shook your head and placed a chaste kiss on the side of his lips. He chased you as you retreated, your hands now finding purchase on his strong jaw.

 “Thank you, Attuma. But I need to do this on my own.” He snapped his eyes to yours indignantly.

 “In princesa—”

 “I can't keep depending on you, my love. I want to become a better partner for you, to become strong and protect you as well. What kind of a queen would I be if I can't protect my future king?”

 Attuma felt a thousand sparks lifting him up to the heavens as you said so. You were strong, stronger than you would admit to yourself. But you always doubted yourself; doubted your abilities, your choices, your authority. 

 But now, he was honored to witness the paradigm shift of your conviction. It was like the embers he had heard stories of in his time on water—where it was hotter than the vibranium sun that shone, more persistent and brighter than the light from the luminescent algae of your father's hut, and it burned so elegantly while still maintaining its power.

 You were beautiful. Strong.

 How could he ever say no to you?

 “Then let me have the honor to witness your first steps of your will. I want to see you shine, my love. My queen.”

 You laughed and drew him closer to you, his body now suspended into the water until his eyes were level with yours, and his lips now mere inches away from you. His arms trapped you in your throne—but you were more willing to submit to him and held prisoner to his affections if it meant you'd spend a lifetime in his arms.

 “I am not queen yet.”

 He smirked, his leg snaking between yours; anything to be closer to you. 

 “In my heart, you already are.”

Your father called Attuma and Namora to join him to meet Queen Romanda. You had assured him that you will be alright, that meeting with the Wakandan princess will not harm you in any way. You already had K’uk’ulkan’s permission to talk to the surface dwellers—he trusted that you could protect yourself whenever the need arises (not that you needed much protection. They could not even put a scratch on you even if they tried). 

 “Be careful,” Attuma told you as he caressed your cheek, his mask covering the purse of his lips as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your pointed ears, “I will not be there to protect you when anything happens.”

 “You worry too much, my love. I’ll simply talk to the princess, nothing more.” You cupped his strong jaw and placed a lingering kiss to his cheek.

 You heard the sound of splashing beside you, your father and Namora now ready to dive into the water to meet with the Queen of Wakanda. You stepped back and bowed your head low to your king and generals.

 “Please return safely.” K’uk’ulkan gave you a nod. 

 “We will.” 

 And before Attuma could even hug you goodbye in front of your father, Namora dragged him by the back of his spiked armor and plunged deep into the water. You couldn’t help but laugh when Attuma huffed indignantly, but he obeyed Namora nonetheless.

 You took your time to change into far less intimidating garb—one that is free of your armor and only left jewels around your neck, ears, and wrists to show your authority. Beautiful articles of your traditional clothing wrapped you in the finest material that your people could provide. Only the best for their princess, they always told you, wrapped in jades, gold, and pearls.

 You brought a basket full of corn and fresh fruits from the surface to offer your visitors something to eat whilst you spoke with them, waving to some of the nearby guards who stood in attention around the frightened women. Their hushed whispers soon come to a halt when they finally see you enter the caves they were held in, the warriors and the attending maid present all bowing their heads in respect.

 “Be at ease.” You called out to them. Although your people understood and resumed their positions, the surface dwellers cocked their heads in confusion. You cleared your throat. 

 “I am not here to harm you.” You spoke in a tongue they would most likely understand. They straightened up and watched you cautiously.

 “You speak English.” The Wakandan princess, Shuri, said. You nodded.

 “English…yes, that is what you call this language,” you slowly set your basket down and gave them a smile, “I have always been fascinated with the way surface dwellers speak amongst each other. It is diverse.”

 “You and Namor are related.” Princess Shuri put the scientist behind her and tried to put as much distance as she could between you. Both their eyes shifted to your pointed ears and the wings upon your ankles that fluttered as it landed on them. The girl, Riri, could only look at you warily.

“Fear not. I swear I bring no harm to you nor your people. And I apologize for not introducing myself,” you bowed your head and stepped back. You wanted to know that you were not a threat, that you could be trusted. You told them your name first, the surface dwellers testing the way it rolled on their tongue. You continued, “my people call me many names, but you are free to choose which name makes you comfortable. Or you can address me by my titles.”

 “And your titles are?”

 “Radiant Pearl of the Sea, Child of the Feathered Serpent God. Or if you'd prefer princesa, or princess, in your language,” you heard their breaths hitch as you continued, “beloved daughter of Talokan’s king, K’uk’ulkan.”

 “So like, what, you’re royalty?” Riri suddenly asked. The bluntness of her question elicited a chuckle from you. It was light, almost enchanting. They couldn’t help but loosen up in your presence. 

 “I suppose so, yes. But I treat my people as my brothers and sisters. And while you are a visitor to our home, I will treat you the same.”

 “And why have you come?” Shuri asked you, her guard still noticeably up. You walked closer to her slowly, your steps deliberate and unthreatening. 

 “I have heard how you had rejected my father’s proposal. You wish not to make an alliance for war, nor do you wish to give up this child’s life in exchange for Wakanda’s safety.” Shuri’s eyes hardened.

 “Either option is out of the question.”

 “And I agree with you, Princess Shuri.” Both of their eyes widened in surprise.

 “Then—”

 “I am not finished,” you put your hand up to silence them. They immediately did so. Riri shrunk down at the sheer power of your words, but Shuri managed to hold her head up high. You sighed, “both choices require sacrifice. Both have consequences. We are both heirs to our kingdoms; we are the same, you and I. Surely you should know this much.”

 Shuri’s jaw tightened. You could see her body tense, and her eyes burned with such hatred that were reminiscent of your father’s own fury. You held your chin up high and held your ground.

 “And I do not accept such terms! If you claim to agree that such choices are madness, then why have you not said anything?”

 You straightened yourself and pursed your lips together. 

 “Because my feelings do not matter when it comes to the betterment of my kingdom. I act upon what is necessary, not what is wanted.” Your heart lurched as you said those words, but you knew it had to be said.

 Your response had left both of them shell-shocked, at least, how could you say that your feelings don’t matter with such a straight face? And follow it up with a formal smile, no less. 

 You turned to the scientist and offered her a sympathetic look. “Your mind is brilliant, child. I cannot deny that. But your surface-dwelling companions have left you to receive the ire of our nation. I do not wish to kill you, nor do I want to wage war. But if you pose a threat to my people then I will not hesitate to end your life.”

 Shuri hid Riri behind her and regarded you with a frown. “Then we are not the same, princess.”

 You sighed.

 You knew the Wakandan princess would not yield to your words so easily. But there was a hope inside of you that she would understand your words, especially when you and her share the same responsibilities as heir (even if the role was forced upon her after the death of her king brother). 

 “Your spirit is strong, Princess Shuri. I admire that about you,” you walked forward and untied the bracelet from your wrist—the same bracelet that your grandmother once owned before she passed it onto your father, “but I must abide by my father’s will. I only hope that you understand his intentions; he only wishes the best for his people, even if it means he needs to force his hand into violence.”

 You gently grabbed her hand and watched her carefully as you lifted it up. She did not do anything to stop you, nor did the scientist who now watched you in curiosity (her eyes were now rid of fear, which you were glad about). You saw this as a signal to continue, to wrap your grandmother’s bracelet on her wrist and secure it tightly. 

 “What is this?” She asked you quietly while admiring the jade on the jewelry. You smiled.

 “An apology, of sorts, for how my warriors and my father had treated you these past few hours. It was my grandmother’s. My father gave it to me as a reminder of our roots,” you caressed the back of her hand with your thumb, the jewels on the bracelet making you smile, “he had seen…many things throughout his life. Things that even I could not comprehend. He protected us all these years and kept us hidden from evil doers and conquistadors of the surface world. He had set aside his own desires to put our people first. All he has done is for the benefit of our nation—of our Talokan...”

 You stepped back and rubbed your bare wrist. It felt odd that your hand was empty of the bracelet that you always wore, but it felt right to give it to her. 

 “I only wish that you reconsider my father’s offer, perhaps reach a compromise. Before he is a man—before he is my father—he is a king. He made sacrifices for our kingdom, and this one is no different. I’m sure you have seen what we are set to protect.”

 For the first time you had seen the princess of Wakanda, she smiled. It was small, barely even there, but it settled the unease that you felt in your heart.

 “...I will try. But I cannot guarantee anything.” She told you. Riri finally eased up when your face broke into a delightful grin—one of genuine joy.

 Hope blossomed in your chest. Maybe things will be different. Maybe you can avoid the dreaded bloodshed once the Wakandan princess and your father find a compromise. 

 “That much is enough for me. Thank you—”

 “Princesa!” 

 Just as you were about to turn to your soldier, a stinging pain lodged itself into your abdomen and drew blood. The sheer power sent you flying to the ground, the wings on your ankles trying their best to steady yourself before you fell. You did so with little success, your back now pressed against the damp stone of the alcoves and dyeing it in an eerie scarlet.

 Your eyes caught sight of the lifeless forms of your soldiers just behind the rocks, your heart aching at the glimpse of your unmoving brothers and sisters.

 An unpleasant rage filled you to the brim, all the stories that your father had told you surfacing into the forefront of your mind.

 They were your brothers, your sisters. They stood by you and protected you, always helped you improve the ways of your spear, always teased you when Attuma was near, always the people that you looked upon with favor as your loyal subjects to rule one day.

 And now you didn't even know if they were breathing.

 The attending maid yelled out your name just as the intruder shot your guard. It filled you with an unfathomable anger. Despite your wound, you found the strength to stand straight and glare at the woman with all the hate that your forefathers bore for the surface world.

 A surface dweller dared hurt your people.

 “You dare shoot me and my kin?” You asked in your mother tongue. The intruder, a woman in a green and gold diving suit with Wakandan patterns, gaped at the sight of you, her gun still poised.

 That shot should have killed you at that distance!

 “In princesa!” The attending maid lunged at Shuri and brandished a knife to her neck. You groaned as you put your hand up to the intruder in warning, your other hand pressing against your wound.

 You were proud of your people's initiative—such a feat must be rewarded later, you thought.

 “You wouldn't want your princess to be hurt now, would you?” You asked the intruder, your whole body seething in fury. She diverted her weapon's attention to your attending maid, her finger so dangerously close to the trigger.

 “Drop the weapon and I won’t have to kill you.” She threatened her in your mother tongue. You narrowed your eyes and used your wings to slowly ascend into the air, the wrath that you felt bubbling in the pits of your spirit now overflowing in waves.

 Was this the hate that your father had felt all those centuries ago?

 You felt the hope that settled into your heart slowly crumble into nothing but pure repugnance.

 “You do not speak to my people that way.” 

 You lunged at her at such a speed that left her gasping as soon as she had witnessed it. You were considerably slower, the wound from your abdomen weighing you down like lead. You ignored the pain and the spurts of blood even as the intruder ducked out of the way just in time to dodge your attacks.

 You propelled yourself to twist mid-air, your feet hitting the stalactites on the ceiling and using it to kick yourself forward and into the back of your enemy. You drew your fist back, her body practically open to your strikes—

 “Stop! Don’t hurt her!” You heard Shuri yell. In a moment of hesitance did you slow your ascent and shift yourself to the side, your fist now creating a well-sized crater on the stalagmite just beside the Wakandan intruder as you landed. 

And in that instant of panic—where your back was turned to her—she shot you again at the back, just barely missing your spine.

 You cried out in pain, the stinging sensation pulsing through you tenfold. Whatever hit you had slowed down your enhanced regeneration. In the haze of your thoughts did you hear your attending maid wail and drop her weapon. You felt cold hands cradle your face, shook with great distress, and pressed down your wounds as you heaved in great gulps of air. 

 “Princess!" You heard someone call out your name—your real name. It was slow, almost echoey, lost in a chasm that was your own dwindling consciousness.

 You were getting more and more tired. 

 “Sister,” you called out to nothing, your hands trying to find something, anything, to hold. You felt cold hands finding purchase on your own, grasping you so tightly that it felt almost painful if it weren’t for the existing pain on your back and abdomen, “are you safe? And—and the o-others…”

 “You mustn't speak! In princesa, please, save your strength. K’uk’ulkan will come—the General will come! Until then, you must hold on and heal!”

 You could feel it; your consciousness fading, the darkness that beckoned you forth. You could also feel your body heal. A pitiful attempt, really, but it was something to hold onto whilst you tried to battle life and death. 

 You dangled in the edge of a precipice, desperately grasping what little strings of your life you had left.

 You knew you should be worried about something else, but you could not remember what it was. A person, a princess, maybe, who had escaped under your watch. Or has she been captured again? What of the scientist; that brilliant child who you only got the chance to see smile? How did the intruder get in whilst you were present, to shoot you when your guard was down?

 How disappointed would your father be, you wonder. 

 In such a shroud of your uncertainties did you only have one thought, only one name that continued to echo through the abyss that was sweet slumber. He was your only saving grace, the only man who would ever put your mind to rest.

 You wondered if he would chide you for being careless, gently knocking on your head teasingly while you try to slap his bicep with a pout. You longed to see that insufferable smirk of his whenever he won a petty argument, how you longed for him to kneel before you and swear his oath again and again. You craved for the adrenaline you always got while sparring him, that sweet joy of winning and losing by his hand.

 You missed him, truly, even when you had only parted for a few hours.

 “Attuma…”

 You wondered if it was the delusions of near death that prompted you to conjure the image of your beloved above you, the feeling of his touch far, far away from your skin as he cradled you closely. Was it the heavens that took pity on you? To have summoned the image of your darling warrior whose tears cascaded down his cheeks whilst you chased the last beats of your heart?

 You must have gone mad at this moment—for his lips felt so close to you, his scent almost wrapping you in an embrace, and his fingers held the back of your neck as he spoke to you in great panic. But you were far too gone to make sense of them. You were far too deep into the darkness of sleep to hear his promises, his apologies, his weakness. 

 And maybe you were crazy enough to believe that he was there.

 “In princesa!” You heard him through the fog of your mind. You managed to crack a shaky smile. 

 “What—” your body jerked up at the pain, his hands steadying you as you heaved a great intake of breath, “w-what troubles you, my love?”

 You felt his forehead press against yours, the tremors of his hands going unnoticed as you still writhed from the pain. You felt salves and cold medicine being applied to your wounds—but you did not care at that moment, not when Attuma kept you afloat through the darkness that danced through your vision.

 “Who did this to you?” He growled. His eyes were dark, almost murderous. You felt his anger, his rage, the pure unbridled hunger for vengeance.

 “Are you really here?”  You asked him, your hand now trying to chase the saltine crystals of his misery. You had to make sure that he was truly here; holding you, speaking to you, crying with you. He took his hand in yours and leaned his cheek into your palm. You could feel him—he was real. He was really here.

 His first question was lost as he pressed himself closer to you, careful not to disrupt your wounds. Your vision glossed over, the blankets of darkness now taking hold of you, but you tried and tried to push them away. Anything to see him, anything to burn his very image to your memory before you closed your eyes. 

 “I am here. I—I am here, my love,” he pressed his masked lips on your forehead and rocked you back and forth, “whoever did this will pay.”

 “I was—I was wrong to believe in them. I was wrong to…t-to hold on such hope,” you felt his tears mix with your own, the pictures of your soldier’s unoving forms flashing through your minds’ eye. You hoped they were okay. You hoped that they would still be able to open their eyes and see the kingdom under your reign, “they hurt them, Attuma. They hurt my people.” 

 “And they will pay with their life for their sins threefold.” His anger was apparent again. If you were his enemy, you were sure you were to be buried deep into the earth with his spear plunged into your heart. But his anger calmed you; it was an assurance that your people’s sacrifices would be paid in full.

 “Are they—?” You choked out a sob. Attuma shook his head. 

 “Your soldiers have been caught off guard, but they are fine. They are recovering, my love. And as should you.” 

  You felt yourself slip into the darkness for a short while as you relaxed. Your people were safe. They did not perish like you had feared they had. 

 That was enough for you.

 “Stay awake, in princesa! Stay awake!” You felt Attuma shake you, the feeling of his warm hands now drifting farther and farther away. Your wounds that throbbed suddenly numbed, and your world spun so fast that you eventually felt nausea kick in.

 “Attuma,” you called out, your senses fading in and out. You could feel him any longer, you could not even feel his anger, his love, his worries. You called out to him again, “Attuma…in yakunaj…”

 “Stay strong. Save your strength, please. The healers will come for you. For now you should—!”

 “Burn them.”

 There was a pause, a vacuum of undisturbed silence.

 And then you heard him ask.

 “What?”

 Your breath stuttered. Your voice was raw; harsh. Unforgiving. 

“They hurt my people. They hurt my brothers and my sisters. They—they gave me hope…”

 You felt yourself finally fall into the abyss of your thoughts. It was raging like a hurricane and beat you with the waves of your feelings of betrayal. Treacherous fools who had so dared to harm you, the princess who holds authority over the seas, who so dared strike down your people in your presence, who so dared force your hand to violence for they had so proven that they are willing to strike you down when you were nothing but understanding to their strifes. 

 And you continued. 

 “No one dares enter Talokan, strike down my people, and flee unscathed. This—this is an order, Attuma. Burn them all and let them feel the wrath of Talokan.”

Attuma held you in his arms, all the weight of his rage now pulling him down to the depths of the earth as you finally closed your eyes. The attending maid wailed for their princess to stay strong, for you to keep fighting despite your weakening self. 

 No one could ever match the beauty you possessed despite the scars from your battle and the blood that smeared the gold of your skin. He wondered how much of his wrath would have shook the earth if he didn’t have you in his arms right now; how much blood would have been spilled, both from the enemy and his allies, if your cold hands did not hold him right now? How much destruction would he have caused for this grief if you had not smiled at him when you closed your eyes and given him the orders that he had to fulfill?

 “They will pay,” he found himself gritting his teeth, his jaw tightening, and his body trembling with searing hot fury, “the surface dwellers, the scientist, the whole of Wakanda…they will pay.” 

 He gently wound his arms beneath your legs and hoisted you up, his masked lips kissing your cheek as he let your head rest on the dip of his shoulder. Your breathing was shallow—just barely there. You were in dire need of a healer. 

 He heard the frantic splashes of water from the pools leading to the great city. K’uk’ulkan and Namora emerged from the water, and before they could ask why Attuma had swam off in such a hurry, their eyes widened in horror at the sight of you; bloodied and near death in the arms of your lover whilst your attending maid wailed behind you.

“What happened?” Attuma could practically feel his king’s fury. He pushed forward in long strides and shakily caressed your cold cheek, wiping the blood that was smeared on your lip. “Which fool would dare harm my daughter?”

 “T-the Wakandans, my king,” your attending maid answered for Attuma, her head bowing in fear at the angered visage of the feathered serpent god. She collected herself and dared not to quiver in his presence, “an intruder struck down the guards and shot the princess twice. They have escaped with the princess of Wakanda and the scientist.”

 The room felt heavier now, the ire of the feathered serpent god now shaking the sea with an unsatiated itch for vengeance. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, the grip of his spear tightening, and his eyes darkened viciously. 

 “Namora.” He called out. Namora’s jaw clenched as she hit her spear on the rocks, shockwaves reverberating from the vibranium on her weapon. She will never forgive the surface dwellers for what they have done. She will make sure that every blood spilled will be in honor of your name.

 “In ajawo.” She acknowledged. K’uk’ulkan turned to her, his bloodlust apparent to all his people to see.

 “Gather all our warriors,” he declared, his voice low and deadly, “Wakanda has waged war.”

 Attuma reluctantly handed you to K’uk’ulkan upon his command and lingered his hand on your cheek. The king submerged you down the depths in haste, his godlike speed the only way to bring you to the healers as fast as they could. 

 Namora and Attuma were left in a deafening silence. It was heavy, almost suffocating.

 “We will burn the surface world for their crimes against the princess,” Attuma finally said, kicking his spear up and catching it mid air. He pounded it against the floor, cracks and craters now left in the aftermath of his anger, “they will know suffering. They will know pain.”

 “Of course,” Namora’s eyes narrowed as she slowly stepped into the shallows, “our people will be ready to avenge her.”

 Attuma’s mind flashed to the image of you; your body all bloodied, your hands desperately trying to find him, the way your eyes did not focus on him as if you could not see him crying for you.

 You clung to every bit of hope that you might just avoid war. You were clawing at the loose ends of an alliance without the need for bloodshed. But the surface dwellers shot you down despite your mercy. Despite your kindness.

 Attuma wondered if he were to be blamed—he should have been more stern with his counsel. He should have told you that there was no mercy to beget on the battlefield. He should have joined you to converse with the surface dwellers and protected you when you were attacked.

 He had broken his vow. He did not serve as the shield who would lay its life for you in your times of need. He was not there to keep you safe. 

 But by your orders, he would gladly become your spear. 

 “The surface world will know the wrath of Talokan…” he growled, the hate he once bore for the surface now intensifying a hundredfold. Namora could only watch as he swung his spear at the stalagmites and broke the rocks clean in half, his voice now echoing through the land and the sea with a ferocity of a man who had lost their world.

 Attuma will burn the world down and show the ashes of their bones in a jaden chest for he was your warrior that took oath upon your throne.

 He will dye the sea red with the blood of your enemies for he was the spear that was to be used by your whim. By your beck and call.

 He will serve you until his last breath and follow your will to the ends of the earth for he was your beloved to whom would love you without fear.

 And he will die for you for his life mattered not when you lie by the feet of your deathbed from his own negligence as your guard. As your lover.

 “... for the crimes they have committed against the future queen of Talokan, they will perish by my hand. They will burn down in the name of retribution.”

 He looked down at his hands that were still stained with your blood and clenched it into a fist. Attuma hardened his jaw and growled. 

 “This is an order from the princess.”

Whoops >:))

Taglist: @w0niecult @abbyeliza28 @fckwritersblock @chaoticevilbakugo @cascadingbliss @erisandra-noir @queen-bee-32 @rheannaaaz @antisocial-architect @lunamoonbby @lilchickensworld @kellzsthings @sodonuthideout @vilentia @llamayom  @violet-19999  @f-ergj @daddyslittlevillain​

[rayrayvan]

The great war II

Pairing: Shuri x fem!reader Warning: Spoilers, angst, mentions of drowning

part one

"Shuri stop this" The Queen begged her daughter to stop whatever she was planning to do "Safely escort the Queen back to Jabariland" Was all Shuri could say, ignoring her mother entirely. Two Jabari soldiers and Dora Milage escorted the Queen to an aircraft carrier. Despite her protest, Shuri could only mouth "I'm sorry mother" as Queen Ramonda disappear inside the aircraft.

Shuri fidgets a necklace you gave to her. She kissed the necklace and turned around to walk toward the lab. Nakia and Riri were trailing behind her. She was trying to recreate the heart-shaped herb. "She treated me like a sister, even if we only met yesterday, she treated me like family" Riri gently spoke once they were inside the lab. Shuri turned around to face her and smiled sadly. "She has always been that way," Shuri said and patted Riri's shoulder.

"Let us begin" Shuri announced and just like clockwork, the two of them returned to what they were previously doing.

Shuri can't help but think if this was right but for you, she was willing to kill anybody who tried to hurt you.

=====∞=====∞=====∞=====∞=====∞=====∞=====

When Shuri finally took the herb, she thought it wasn't working. "Who did you see?" Nakia asked. Shuri was far too angry to answer and then punched the nearest mannequin. It went straight to the wall and made a dent.

The three of them were shocked that Riri uttered "Can I get some of that?" This made Shuri and Nakia look at her and back at each other. Nakia slowly approached Shuri and hugged her tightly. 'The Black Panther lives' was all she thought.

Shuri began to make her suit, adding improvements to her past designs.

When she lifted the Black Panther helmet she whispered "All this for you, my Y/N" and tried activating her suit.

=====∞=====∞=====∞=====∞=====∞=====∞=====

The council was discussing possible strategies for the upcoming war. Suddenly an aircraft was hovering above them. It opened and released the Black Panther. Shuri gracefully landed at the center and then finally revealed herself.

She showed everyone who she's become and Queen Ramonda slowly approached her daughter. "My Shuri," She said and placed both her hands on either side of her daughter's cheek, caressing them softly then she hugged her tightly, remembering her son. "Show them who you are" The Queen whispered and Shuri nodded slowly.

M'baku approached her and stood in front of her, head held high. She does the same and they began to arm wrestle.

M'baku was defeated by the challenge. He clasps her hand and raises it high shouting"The Black Panther lives!" And the council chanted in celebration at their new protector.

"Namor thinks Wakanda is in a weak state, our queen almost getting killed and with our capital destroyed. He believes we have no protector, but now. Now is the time we strike" Shuri said to the elders.

An elder asked, "How, when we don't even know how to find him."

"we'll bring Namor to us" Shuri answered. Her mother wasn't interfering anymore, confident that her daughter could speak for herself.

"Here again?" asked the leader of the water tribe

“no”, Shuri answered "But a distant location in the sea"

Alright, M'baku said "Let's say this does work"He paused "assuming we can kill this guy, who can fly and is as strong as Hulk" HE added.

he looked around before continuing "Is murdering this guy the right solution?"

"You are calling for his death when his only crime was intimidation, "The leader of the water tribe said

"What has changed, Lord M'Baku?" Asked the leader of the mining tribe asked

"His soldiers, do not call him General or King, they call him Ku'kul'kan," M'baku said

"What is that?" Asked the water tribe leader again

"Feather serpent God" M'Baku replied which made the elder scratch his forehead "What?" M'Baku begins "You think because we live in the mountains we do not have access to books?" M'Baku asked again

"Elders" Shuri said "With your permission, I would like to talk to Lord M'baku alone," Shuri asked and all the elders, including the Queen, agreed. The Queen was the last one to exit and when she reached her daughter, she gave her a tight squeeze on her hand, a way of saying "Do what you need to do" And walked out to maybe retire in her temporary quarters.

"Namor's not finished," Shuri said "He promised to destroy the surface world. Now is our opportunity to take him, What are you afraid of?" Shuri asked angrily

"War" M'baku said "If Namor is indeed a God to his people, killing him will risk eternal war," M'baku explained

"And so what?" Shuri asked, "Wasn't my wife's life deserving of eternal war?" She added

"Of it was," M'baku wavered "Of course. she. was" And he continued. You were a big help in Wakanda. For a girl who's been through a lot, you still found it in your heart to help others. "But it is not what she have wanted for you" M'baku and Shuri held their gazes "It is not what I want for my people," M'baku said.

Shuri stood there and was deep in her thought., perhaps, rethinking about initiating war. But she recalled how both you and her mother suffered from the attack.

"You speak of my wife as if she's still here," Shuri said which cause M'baku's face to morph with confusion "Of what she wanted for me." The image of you smiling appeared in her mind "Her hopes and her dreams" And she paused. She winced about the thought of seeing you being saved by Nakia, not breathing replaying in her mind "But she's fighting for her life. In that bed, laying and fighting for her life!" Shuri shouted "Namor drowned her right in front of me" Shuri cried out. M'baku's face was saddened again "So her dreams, her goals, her hopes for me" Shuri paused to keep her emotions controlled "It doesn't exist, it doesn't matter anymore. What matters is what I want and what I want is Namor dead" She pointed at him "And you are going to help me get it" She continued and M'baku only hummed in agreement. "Good we leave in the morning" Shuri walked away, leaving M'Baku deep in his thought.

Shuri was walking to where her mother was staying. When she located it, she knocked and opened the door. Her mother was sitting beside you. She has been taking care of you since Shuri couldn’t.

You were in a coma since you received the toughest blow from the attack. Shuri and her team did everything that they could to save you, but here you are, laying and fighting for your life. Shuri approached you and leaned to kiss you on your forehead. You were stable for now, no one knows when you'll wake up. "Sthandwa I'm here now" Shuri whispered "I'm the Black Panther now" She proudly said in your ear.

Her mother could only watch her daughter long for someone she truly love. She stayed beside you and caress your hand, just enough to feel you. "Are you sure about this?" Queen Ramonda asked. Shuri looked up and said " For her, for you, for all of Wakanda, I will fight for it," Shuri said. Queen Ramonda couldn't help but reach out for her daughter and embrace her "Be careful, Show them who we are" She reminded her and Shuri nodded.

=====∞=====∞=====∞=====∞=====∞=====∞=====

When Shuri and the others departure to fight and lure Namor into their trap. Back in Jabariland, people were managing you while the Queen said her goodbyes to her daughter. When a Jabari Woman cleaned your arm you moved and clasp her hand, which made the woman scream. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to startle you but where are we?" You asked while looking around at your surroundings "We are at Jabariland my lady" She replied.

'Why are we at Jaba- That's right Namor attacked the capital' You thought while remembering the events. When you were about to get up, the Queen arrived.

As she opened the door, she saw you sitting upward and when you saw her, you smiled genuinely. She ran to you and hugged you tight "Thank Bast your back" She said. You hugged her back. When you look around, you couldn’t find your wife so you had to ask where she is "Where is Shuri, my Queen?" And when she pulled away, she downcast her head and explained to you that Shuri was at war, fighting against Namor.

You were shocked at how Shuri handled the situation. "How long was I out?" You asked the Queen "Four days" The Queen replied. You nodded. However, your mind couldn't help but spiral into a whirlwind of bad images of Shuri getting hurt or even worse, her dying. You winced at the image of her death and when the Queen saw you visibly winced, she assured you everything would be fine and all they could do is wait for their safe return, hopefully.

@ziayamikaelson

[thefairestfacts]

Simbolism from the disney's movie:

Snowhite. bonus part.

Lesgooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

A billion esoteric symbols. It's embarrassing how much detail this woman's throne has.

First, the peacock feather's represents two things: the thousand eyes (keeping eyes on the kingdom)and the PEACOCK, preening, because she consideres herself beautiful.

Second, behind her there is a heraldic symbol, namely the royal family. It is not very clear what the two circles represents, but the other one is the very famous snake,an it represents represent: The serpent of Eden. I would like to remind you that this is the woman who will later give a cursed apple to Snow White, and will tempt her with the apple that will actually harm her. The connection between Snow White and Adam and Eve is very strong, the Grim brothers didn't write apple by random.

but i want you to think about this:

the relationship between Grimhilde and Snow White.

they are princess and queen, not mother and daughter.

If I tell you that they are mother and daughter, you don't think about it. if I tell you that she is queen, that is, that she is in power, and princess, that she will be in power in the queen's place. We have queen Grimhilde who is realizing that Snow White will take her place because she is growing up and more beautiful than her. At the beginning, if Disney wanted to represent a bad relative he would made it a step-parent, because he didn't want the children to doubt about their parents' protection and care. This is also why they are not mother and daughter.

The evil queen calls for the hunter, she wants what? Kill snow white.But how?As proof of the killing of Snow White, the queen wants her heart. The box is the color of the heart and it has one pierced with a knife, try guessing what she is asking for since the hunter has a knife on his hand.

but why the heart? Because that's the purest part of Snow White. Someone made a theory about the queen asking for her heart because she would eat it,hoping to become the fairest of them all.