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mrs-lockley · 1 year

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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.

#namor x reader #namor x fem!reader #k'uk'ulkan x reader #namor x filipino!reader #namor x filipina!reader #namor x woc!reader #namor x asian!reader #namor imagine #namor x you #the amount of research i poured into this to make sure i did it right- if there are any errors please let me know #please be gentle with your feedback too #I'm sorry for using emojis but i do not know HOW to make a nice banner like some y'all between paragraphs

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artaxerxesthegreat · 1 year

Text

Secrets and Trust

A/N: This is my first ‘song fic’, and boy was it a rollercoaster of emotions. Not sure why I wrote this, and I’ll probably delete it later, but for now I’ll share it with the masses. Please note, this is kind of sad and horribly written.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only, reader is the middle sibling of T'Challa and Shuri, Song fic [Lift me up], not alpha/beta read, angst, a lot of angst, sadness, so much sadness, in universe death, BPWF spoilers, non-gender specific, one curse word, mild gaslighting (?), alludes to drowning, implied smut, T’Challa might be OOC, K’uk’ulkan might be OOC, family hurt, slice of life (?), enemies to lovers to enemies to lovers. Again(?), I used the original script for some parts

A/N2: If I missed anything, just let me know. I usually write WOC fics, so this is my first non-gendered fic, I hope I did alright.

A/N3: All rights to Ryan Coogler and everyone that helped him make this wonderful movie. Song credit to Rihanna and co.

K'uk'ulkan/Namor x POC!Sibling!Reader

“No matter what happens, I will always be with you.”

That’s what my brother said— that’s what he’s said since the day I was born. A promise he has kept, no matter what.

Lift me up

Hold me down

“Come, jump in! I will catch you, I promise!”

His smile— bright, shining, radiant, warm… full of mischievousness.

“You are lying, T’Challa!” I shout back, a smile ever present on my face.

“Aye, what are you talking about? I would never, scout's honor.” He salutes me, standing up straight, but I just shake my head.

“You have never been a boy scout, T’Challa!”

The river we were swimming in was full of joy and laughter.

My heart never felt so full.

Keep me close

Safe and sound

“It’s okay, it’s alright.” My brother holds me closely as the realization of our Baba’s death finally takes its toll on me. I was so strong for so long, fighting the pain I felt— being the emotional rock for our baby sister, but seeing his sarcophagus being taken from us to the Hall of the Kings, sent me over the edge.

I cried for days.

Burning in a hopeless dream

Hold me when you go to sleep

Keep me in the warmth of your love

When you depart, keep me safe

Safe and sound

“Are you alright?” T’Challa’s soft voice breaks the silence that I’ve been trying to hide in. When I don’t answer him, he turns me over to look at him. Tears, still running down my face, tell him all he needs to know. Wrapping me in a tight hug, he lets me cry until I can’t cry anymore.

It feels like hours go by before I finally speak.

“Is it really true?” My voice is hoarse, tears dried on my face.

“… It is.” His voice is as soft as ever.

“And you are sure there is no cure?”

He doesn’t answer right away, only sighs, staring up at the ceiling as we lay side-by-side. That’s all I need to know, I can feel the tears beginning to form in my eyes again.

But I fight them, clearing my throat, I ask the question that tips the scales.

“And you want me to keep it a secret?”

Now he looks at me, sadness in his eyes, regret in his body language.

“It is wrong for me to put such a burden on you, but mother and Shuri are not ready for this. They will never rest to fight this illness, and I will not live the rest of my days in a bed. I am the Black Panther— and I will be the Black Panther until I cannot. My duty is to my country, my people, and my family. One little illness— curable or not— will not change that fact.”

My lip quivers, as a tear rolls by, wiping it away fiercely I ask, “How… how long?”

“About a year.”

The tears all but gushed out my eyes as I hugged him tightly, all the jokes we’ve made about him losing weight, being the skinniest Black Panther to have ever lived. Even about M’Baku using him as a toothpick after he is done eating his vegetables, all came rushing back as the news of his illness hits me twice over.

“I am so sorry, my brother.”

“What for?” He pulls back with a confused smile.

“All the insensitive jokes we’ve made. They were wrong, uncalled-for, and I am sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His smile— as bright as the sun, as calm as the sea.

“… We only have a year?”

“Yes.”

Nodding my head, I look at him with conviction, “Then let’s make the most of it.”

Lift me up

Hold me down

Keep me close

“You should be resting!” I hiss at him, but he just smiles, leading me to a small house.

“There will be plenty of time for that, but first you must meet someone— someone important to me.” Again with that warm smile, I simply smile back as we walk into this unknown house, “What does a man have to do around here to be welcomed?”

“T’Challa, what are you—” I start to chide my brother, when the sound of running feet and a child’s voice interrupt me.

“Baba!”

A small boy runs into my brother’s arms, hugging him tightly. Shocked, I simply stare at the two, and when they look at me… it’s the same smile, the same eyes, the same warmth.

“Oh… T’Challa.”

Safe and sound

…“You said, ‘no matter what happens, you’ll always be with me’… but I can’t feel you anymore, brother. Your warmth is gone, your family is lost without you, your mother and baby sister are full of regret and guilt because of your secret. Your smile is gone, your soul is gone, and I don’t know what to do. How am I supposed to go on, when you never told me what to do when you are gone?! How am I supposed to be strong?! That was you, I, I can’t do this on my own… I need help, T’Challa. Please, bring me a sign— a sign that tells me you are here with me, guiding and helping me. I beg you, brother, do not abandon me.”…

The cool night air hits me, making me shiver as my small fire has died down. I made my way to a secluded part of the river tribe, trying to understand why my brother did things the way he did; from keeping his illness a secret, to his son.

I know why, but… why?

Why have me keep all these secrets, why put that much faith and trust in me? Why leave me so soon? Why couldn’t we have more time?! Why was he taken from us?!

“WHY?!” My scream travels across the water, my knees give out as I sob on the shore.

Then there’s a sound.

Fluttering.

Bird wings…

“…what…” Looking up, I see the bird—well, it's not a bird. It’s a man… a man with wings on his ankles, “What…?”

I should be worried, I should be terrified, I should be calling for the Dora Milaje, but I don’t. I stare at this man, this otherworldly being, with confusion and wonder. Who is he? Where did he come from? — He’s wet, did he swim here? Is he a fish? —A fish with wings? Are there others like him? Is he alone? Why are his clothes so ancient looking?

Then he laughs.

Realization sets in, I’ve said all this out loud.

Embarrassment takes hold of me, I cast my eyes to the sand beneath me, “I am sorry, stranger.”

“You are not at fault, Querido.” (Dear one) His voice is a calm baritone, his eyes as dark as onyx, his smile… as radiant as the sun.

Awestruck, I simply stare up at his man. His smile widens, and I have to look away, remembering myself.

“I’m sorry.” Bashful, I cover my face.

“Again, you did nothing wrong.”

A sense of peace fills my spirit, one I haven’t felt in a long time; all thanks to this stranger, I finally feel safe.

Drowning in an endless sea

Take some time and stay with me

Keep me in the strength of your arms

Keep me safe

“Really?! Threats! That’s how you introduce yourself to my mother, are you crazy?!” My voice echoes off of the cave walls. I know full well that Attuma and Namora are standing right outside his hut, but I couldn't care less, “My mother, my sister– hell, even the council are losing their minds on what to do about you!”

He had been silent the whole time I was ranting— a good 5 minutes— but at the mention of the council, his eyes burn.

“My instructions were simple.” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it that angers me further, “This proves that Wakanda cannot be trusted.”

“Trust?!” My anger spills over, “How can you speak of trust when YOU threatened MY family, and my country?! How can you sit here, in your hidden little hut, painting your little pictures, living in your perfect little world when you barely give my family time to process the existence of a whole civilization living underwater?! You speak of trust, but show none— you haven’t given us a reason to trust you?!”

Not missing a bit, he replies, “Have I not trusted you? Did I not bring you here, to my people, my kingdom, my home— treated you with the utmost respect, deserving of a god, sheltered you when you needed an escape from your ‘home’? Tell me, In yakunaj.” (My love)

I see red, “This coming from the man who still has not told me his name.”

“I have told you—”

“—No,” I hold up my finger, stopping any more words from falling from his lips, “No, you told me what your people call you, what your enemies call, but never have you told me what your friends call you— what your mother called you.”

My voice grows soft towards the end, but where I’ve calmed down, he’s picked up; a blind man can see the anger in his face. I’ve stepped too far over the line, and the caves are quiet, too quiet. No one says anything, no one breathes too loudly. As time stretches on, it dawns on me that I was never meant to know his name.

Casting my eyes to the ground, I nod in understanding, walking to the hut opening. Looking over my shoulder, I hold my head up high, fighting tears.

“I’m sorry.”

This time, he didn’t forgive me, this time he didn’t stop me.

This time he didn’t save me.

Safe and sound

… Sirens, singing, floods, screams, pain, panic, death— all of it surrounds me, all of it chases me.

There is no escaping it.

No Black Panther.

No warriors.

No winged god to take me away.

Just fear, snaking round my throat, closing tightly around me until I can’t breathe.

Right when I think I’m going to pass out from the shock of it all, he shows up.

Still as breathtaking as the day I met him— still as deadly.

And his eyes.

Vengeance, revenge and… regret…?

My mother stands tall, Riri is scared, I… I don’t know what to feel.

… Water, screams, broken glass, cold water, no air… it’s too much

And yet.

Not enough…

… Opening my eyes, I cough, spitting out copious amounts of water. It burns so much, my eyes are stinging, my ears are ringing. I hear Shuri screaming, but I’m too dazed to process it; until my vision clears, landing on our mother.

“You did this!”

“It could have been different.”

“Bury your dead, mourn your losses. In one week’s time, I will return with my entire army.”

…

“Where are you, T’Challa?”

…

Lift me up

Hold me down

Keep me safe

Safe and sound

“Wakanda only needs one Black Panther, and you made it, Shuri.” My sister looks at me shocked, “If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have this, you take it.”

“But… but how can I be… You are next in line.”

“And as the next in line, I am telling you to take the herb, take up the mantle of the Black Panther, protect our people because I cannot.” Fighting tears, I push the herb in her hands closer to her, “There is too much— too much you do not know, and I cannot with good conscience take this herb. Please, sister, do not make me take it.”

Shuri can see how difficult this is for me, and nods, assuring me that she will do her best.

“That is all I ask for, my dear sister.”

Burning in a hopeless dream

Hold me when you go to sleep

Keep me safe

We need light, we need love

The sound of the battlefield was all I could hear; that and the pumping of my blood in my ears. I’ve always known the Talokanil were skilled fighters, but never did I think I’d be fighting against them. Many I’ve clashed my blade with were friends of mine, but in war, there are none.

We are enemies… oh how I wish it were different. This is not how it should be.

Then my sister’s Sunbird comes by, her helmet is off, her stance is strong.

And next to her… is him.

“Talokan, retírar a! Volvamos tin wotoch. K ba'ate'lo' waye' ts'o'ok u beetik.” (Talokan, stand down! Let us return home. Our fight here is done.)

A feeling of relief washes over me, I look at my sister as she salutes us, “WAKANDA FOREVER!”

“WAKANDA FOREVER!!” We echo back victorious. Our enemies— no, our new allies make their way back home, and I’m left feeling empty. Their king is the last to leave, our eyes never meeting, words never exchanged. My sister knows something is wrong, even when we get back home.

Then I tell her.

I tell her everything.

From T’Challa’s secrets, to my affair with the underwater king.

She leaves… angry, confused, sad, and feeling very much alone.

I thought it best that I leave Wakanda for a bit, but where would I go? My life is here, and yet… it doesn’t feel like home anymore.

Nakia offered me a room in her house in Haiti, but I couldn’t go there, not while my sister is clearing her head there.

So I begin walking along the riverbank, I watch the sunset, feeling a rush of emotions— good and bad.

…“Brother…” My eyes are closed as I feel a breeze blow by, “Thank you. Thank you for your protection, your love, and for keeping your word… I was too focused on my anger and pain to realize that you were here the whole time. You have guided me, challenged me, and made me strong— stronger than I could ever imagine, and for that I thank you.”

Sitting down in the sand, I dig my toes in it, drawing nonsensical patterns, “My days seemed so grim and dark without you here, but I finally am starting to feel the sun again. It’s light, finally making these bones warm again… I do hope you forgive me for telling Shuri everything, she was less than pleased, and rightfully so. I wish you could have met… him, though. If you were here, there may not have been a war to begin with… I miss you, T’Challa, and I miss him.”

Bringing my knees to my chest, I cry.

I’ve been doing so much of that lately, it’s annoying, it makes me angry— it makes me feel weak.

And yet I cannot stop.

I’ve heard that crying is supposed to be therapeutic, that it makes you feel better afterward, but I only feel sad and foolish.

Only my brother wiping away my tears, telling me everything is going to be alright made me feel better, but he isn’t here anymore.

So I cry more.

“I-I know… I have to move on, I have to let you go but—” The warmth of the sun is gone, and back is the darkness that has had a hold on me creeps in, “I need help, I need strength… and forgiveness.”

…

“You have done nothing that requires forgiveness, Ch'ujuk.” (Sweet one)

My head snaps up at the voice, the voice I’ve heard more times than I should have. The voice that made me cry with laughter, and cry with anger and hate.

He sits next to me, staring out at the water; his clothes are that of a poor man, bandage on his foot from where my sister clipped him.

“My, how the mighty have fallen…” I couldn't help myself, and he doesn’t say anything. Just glances at me, giving me a weak laugh, “… I’m—”

“I swear, if you apologize one more time, I—” Now he turns to me, annoyance in his features as I snap back, because I want him to finish his sentence.

“—You’ll what, fishman?”

A challenge is what I’ve presented him with, one he’s faced many times before, all ending the same way.

Me beneath him, in the best of ways… but that was before.

Now we stare at each other, debating on what to do next. Do we give in? Do we act as if that war from a few weeks ago never happened? The words that were said… the actions, and consequences of those actions.

No.

It won’t ever be the same.

And it will only get harder.

“… I should have listened to you.” His voice and words catch me off guard, “There was a better way to make myself known to your people and your family. It never should have gotten that far, and I…”

I watch him closely, waiting to hear the words, so I can tell him to fuck off and dry out on a beach somewhere, but as the seconds tick on it gets suffocating.

Tears are in his eyes, “I am sorry, U Majestad (Your majesty). I was scared, rash, and reckless. I should have consulted you— shown you trust…”

lift me up in your arms

“It doesn’t matter now, does it… Namor?”

The pain etched on his face at the use of that name riddles me with guilt. But he deserves it, and he knows it.

(Hold me down) I need love, I need love, I need love

Lifting an arm out to me, he watches me with bated breath, hoping I’ll accept his side hug.

And against my better judgment, I do.

(Keep me close) hold me, hold me

Warmth, safety, sunshine— sunrise and sunset.

(Safe and sound) hold me, hold me, hold me, hold me

More tears. More crying.

But this time… comfort.

(Lift me up) hold me, hold me, hold me, hold me

“You can hate me for all eternity. I deserve that, and more— but please… do not call me that name.”

I nod, trying not to sob uncontrollably, “What should I—”

I’m silenced with a kiss, a soft one that turns mournful and needy rather quickly. He kisses the air out of my lungs, and I have to push him back to take a much-needed breath.

A sound of discontent leaves him, but he kisses the tip of my nose, resting his forehead against mine.

“Ch’ah Toh Almehen.”

(Hold me down) hold me, hold me

“What?” I say breathlessly.

“My name.” He runs his thumb across my cheek, “Ch’ah Toh Almehen.”

I place my hand over his, pull my head back, staring at him, completely beside myself. After a year of being with him, telling him my heart's desires, my hopes and dreams, never did I think I’d hear him tell me his name.

His name.

Smiling, tears run down my face again as I hug and kiss him.

“I like it…”

His smile is bashful, warm and inviting. Leaning in to kiss him again, I whisper.

(Keep me safe) we need light, we need love

“Ch’ah Toh Almehen.”

-----

The end (Horrible, I know)

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