Warnings: Language, blood, brief mentions of violence and alcohol
Summary: Upon discovering the unconscious body of a woman floating in the water, you rush to provide aid. Little do you know her people are searching for her, bringing a mysterious man to your door.
A/N: Still very new to writing fanfic (this is literally post number two), but couldn’t get this drabble out of my brain for a week so here it is. Please be kind!
***I do not give permission to copy, plagiarize, or repost my work as your own in any form!
It’s close to dusk when you make your way from town back to your home on the secluded shoreline. With food and supplies in a bag slung over your shoulder, it will be another two or three days before you head back to restock. Although a fair distance, you have come to cherish the 5-mile trek into town. Walking along less traveled paths, visiting with the locals, and admiring the breathtaking nature around you have become some of your favorite things about living on the island.
As the sun steals its last glimpse over the horizon, the vibrant orange and purple hues stretching across the sky begin to dim. The outline of a small bungalow comes into view about a hundred meters down the way. The warm glow of lanterns you hung before you left shines from the front porch, welcoming your return.
You stumbled across this place two years ago, abandoned and needing major repair. Maybe it was just your nature to see the beauty and potential in broken things, but as soon as you laid eyes on the residence, your heart was set on it. Wrapped around the front is a porch with stairs that lead down onto a stone path, eventually making its way to the sand. Through the front door, an open entryway and a small kitchen are situated to the left accompanied by a simple sitting area. To the right is a doorway that leads to your bedroom and bathroom. It's a humble home, but you've worked hard to make it comfortable.
As you walk the familiar pathway toward the bungalow, you look out at the ocean. You watch as the water dances its way up the beach with every push and pull of the tide, waves gently lapping their way up onto the sand to make a melodic rhythm. You breathe in the salty air and revel in the beauty the island so generously offers.
The moment of serenity is interrupted when, out of the corner of your eye, you notice something just past the wave breaks. You squint as you try to focus your gaze to ensure the evening shadows aren't playing tricks on you. A shiver shoots down your spine.
There's something floating in the water. Only, it's not something. It's someone.
"Oh my god," you say in disbelief, your eyes widening as you feel the air rush from your lungs.
You react on pure instinct, immediately dropping your bag to the ground and sprinting into the water. Taking a deep breath, you plunge straight into the waves, pumping your arms and kicking your legs until they burn. You swim as hard as you can toward the body as it floats face down.
When you reach it, you fear the worst. Quickly you turn it over to check for a pulse and discover it is a woman. Her frame is small, but she's solid and muscular. Body adorned with beautiful gold and jade trinkets, she appears to be wearing some sort of woven armor. You also notice her raven-black hair tied in a knot on top of her head, and a mesh-like apparatus covering her nose and mouth.
You carefully cradle the woman's head, lifting it out of the water.
"What the hell??" You mutter in shock.
Right before your eyes, part of the woman’s face that is now exposed to the air turns a pale pigment of blue. She seems human enough, yet the way the blueness of her skin contrasts with its golden tones underneath the ocean surface makes you question what she might be instead.
All thoughts are pushed aside, however, the moment your attention is drawn to the sight of blood. Two gouges, a laceration across her shoulder, and a wound to her abdomen are seeping red into the salt water. She’s in poor condition and time is not on your side.
Doing your best to grapple her body, you kick your feet and pull the woman back to shore. The tide's added assistance gives you both the momentum needed to propel you toward the beach. As soon as you are able to stand, you turn and haul her body the rest of the way out of the ocean.
Gently you lay her on a patch of dry sand as you take a moment to catch your breath. Your chest repeatedly rises and falls, your lungs straining for more oxygen. Staring at her now, you feel your heart nearly pounding out of your chest as the rest of her body turns the same shade of blue as her face. You shake your head as you fight back both your fear and curiosity. Whatever the woman's origins, tending to her wounds is your main priority. Help her now, and ask questions later.
Still unconscious, you reach up to remove the apparatus over her face, preparing to administer CPR. Suddenly, her arm shoots out and grasps your wrist, scaring the shit out of you. With unbelievable strength, she restrains any movement your hand could possibly make. Her eyes are wide and intense, pupils dilated.
"Okay, okay, I won't mess with it!" You promise. Her grip slackens as her eyes roll to the back of her head, losing consciousness again.
You rub your wrist, the bruise already forming. Deciding it would be best to move her from behind, you link yourself under her arms and pull her towards your home, unwittingly leaving a trail of sand and blood behind you.
Making it to the bungalow, you manage to get the woman inside and onto your kitchen table. She's breathing, but it's shallow. Quickly, you grab all the first aid and sewing supplies you can scrounge out of the cabinets. You swipe a bottle of tequila from the shelf above the sink for good measure. Then you get to work to patch her up the best you can.
You clean the wound on her abdomen first, as that's where the bleeding is most prominent. Disinfecting it, applying pressure, then sewing it up, you focus meticulously on the needle in your hand, threading it back and forth through her skin. Once you finish, you fashion a bandage to soak up the excess blood.
The sky is dark as you move on to her shoulder to do the same. It feels like hours have gone by as you continue dressing the woman's wounds. It’s well into the night now, and the only light reflecting off the ocean for miles is from the moon and the lanterns of your home.
That's when he finds you.
A dark figure emerges from the water. He surveys the scene in front of him, eyes filling with rage as his focus dials in on the bloody trail leading up to your door. Spear in hand and body seething with anger, he marches towards your little house.
Just as you clip the thread used to sew up the woman's shoulder and begin to apply another bandage, you're startled by a deafening CRASH!
Behind you, your front door gets obliterated. Through it, storms a man who quickly steps over the wooden debris that now litters the floor. His presence swallows the room as water drips off of his body. His eyes lock on to yours.
"Holy shit!" You exclaim in terror. Before you know what is happening, he has made his way over to you, aggressively backing you up against the kitchen cabinets.
Face-to-face with you now, he holds the tip of his spear to your throat, grazing your skin with it threateningly. He leans in so close you smell the salty ocean spray that covers his dark skin and can practically see your reflection in the cold piece of jade pierced through his septum. His breath is steady, but his glare is wild and ferocious. You raise your hands, attempting to show you mean no harm, only you don't account for the fact that your arms are covered in the woman's blood. His look becomes more menacing.
"What have you done?" He growls, his voice low and dangerous. A fire is burning in his eyes as they widen with rage.
"I'm helping her! I'm helping her!" is all you manage to say as you plead your case to the mysterious, hostile stranger.
His stare remains intense as you feel the growing pressure of the cold metal spear against your throat. Everything inside you is screaming, telling you to close your eyes and that one way or another it will all be over soon. But you don't - you hold your ground and hold his gaze, searching his face for any shred of hope that he will spare your life.
The man's eyes flick over to the woman on the table, taking in more of the scene. As his head turns, you notice his pointed ears and beautifully hand-carved gauges made of jade. He turns his head slowly back to you, looking at you this time as if deliberating in his mind whether or not you are telling the truth.
Again he leans in close, and you hold your breath as you await his final verdict.
"You will speak of this to no one." It's not a question. It's a command.
You nod, willing to agree to anything at this point if it means not having your jugular sliced open.
"You will forget this night, and what you have seen."
Again you nod.
He keeps the spear pointed at your throat while carefully backing away toward the table. Your heart is pounding out of your chest as adrenaline pumps through your veins. You don't dare move a muscle.
The man retreats, withdrawing his spear and scooping up the woman who looks so petite in his arms. He carries her through the doorway but stops to look back at you. He says nothing, but his eyes are deadlocked on yours. You can’t describe or decipher the electric sensation that runs through your body at that moment, so you chalk it up to being in shock.
Finally, he turns to leave, seemingly floating down to the shoreline with the woman securely in his arms. You watch as they disappear into the ocean and the night.
Left alone, surrounded only by silence, the stinging memory of a blade against your neck, and a buzzing in your chest, you look around the empty kitchen. Blood and first aid supplies cover your table; debris that was once your front door now lays scattered across the floor, a draft gliding its way through your home.
Your mind is still processing everything that has happened. Physically and emotionally, you are exhausted.
"Screw it," you say out loud, grabbing the tequila still on the table and taking a swig straight from the bottle. "I'm going to bed."
--
You wake up the next morning as the sun is starting to rise and feel just as exhausted as when you had fallen asleep. Your mind is hazy. Your body is sore. You get up and pull on a fresh shirt and some shorts before making your way out of your bedroom. Groggily you shuffle through the entryway and into the kitchen to greet last night's mess.
Only a few steps into the kitchen, however, you stop. Blinking a few times, you rub your eyes. On the table, where bloodied gauze, cloths, sewing needles, and the works had been scattered, now sits your bag next to a neat pile of the food and supplies you had gathered from yesterday's trip into town. You look down at your feet to discover a clean, debris-less floor. Moving in reverse, you pace a few steps back into the entryway and turn your head. Stunned, you see a new, beautifully carved wooden door in place of where your old one had been kicked down the night before.
You pinch your temples as you try to convince yourself you're not losing your mind. You move closer to inspect the door. Eyes full of wonder and amazement, you run your fingers down its wooden grooves. The surface is smooth as stone, yet the grain in it gives the material a richness that makes your jaw drop as you admire it.
Before you can even ask yourself how it was possible, you open the door and your breath catches in your throat. The man from last night is sitting there on your front porch, legs hanging off the edge of it, looking out at the softly illuminated horizon.
"I apologize about the door." He says, still facing the ocean.
Fear takes over as you find yourself frozen in his presence. He senses your uneasiness and, still seated on the edge of the porch, turns toward you. He raises one hand to the air as a sign of his peaceful intention.
"I promise I am not here to bring harm to you... or your home," he adds, his eyes trailing toward the doorway. You say nothing, equally stunned and confused by his being there.
"I am sorry for threatening you," he says, his voice turning somber. "I didn't know what you were doing to her."
"Is she okay?" You ask, finally finding your voice. "Your wife?"
He lets out a sharp chuckle.
"Namora isn't my wife, she's one of my generals -- my best, in fact. And yes, she is okay, thanks to you."
A general. You avert your gaze, feeling foolish for assuming incorrectly. Suddenly the events of last night take on a different tone than what you had perceived.
"We had been searching for her for two days." The man continues to explain, "When I finally traced her whereabouts here and found her with you, I assumed the worst." He looks back out toward the ocean. "History has not typically been kind to my people in these types of situations."
You feel your chest tighten as the weight of his words sinks in. Your eyes wander from the ground up to the stranger. You watch as beads of salt water forge paths on his skin, rolling from his dark slick hair down the toned muscles of his back.
"Who... are your people, exactly? Who are you?" You find the courage to ask.
He turns back to look at you, raising an eyebrow in your direction as he considers his answers.
"There are some who know me as K’uk’ulkan." He says thoughtfully. "But most know me as Namor." Pushing himself up to a stand, he continues, "As for my people, that is a discussion for another time."
Namor walks up to you, and once again you find yourself face-to-face with him. Only this time his presence is not menacing, it's hypnotizing.
"Thank you," he says softly, "for what you did. It will not be forgotten."
There's a rich sincerity in his voice. Mesmerized by it, all you can muster in response is a nod of your head. A slight smile pulls at the corners of Namor's mouth as he closely studies your face. The light of the morning sun reflects in his eyes, and where you had only seen brooding darkness before, you now see shimmering flecks of gold. Everything about him is beautiful.
"You are not what I expected." He says warmly, leaning in closer as if the two of you are sharing a secret. He lingers there a moment longer. Then, all too soon, he nods and turns to head down the stairs of your front porch. As he reaches the end of the stone walkway, he stops before stepping out onto the sand.
"Remember," he says, repeating his instructions from your encounter last night, only gentler. "Speak of this to no one."
"Will you be back?" You ask earnestly. You don't know what prompts your question, other than the thought of his departure suddenly pulling at your soul in a way you can't explain.
He turns back to look at you and smiles. You return it with a smile of your own. No words are needed for you to know that somehow, someday, you would see him again.
You watch from the porch as Namor strides out into the water and disappears below the surface. The sun glimmers brilliantly across the waves as they engulf him in their deep abyss.
Warnings: Language, Violence, Depictions of drowning, Fluff
Summary: Delivered to safety following the battle on the beach, you are left reeling as you grapple with nightmares and questions about an uncertain future. But as you come to know more about the Talokanil people and grow closer to their king, Namor is faced with a question of his own -- what does he do with this stranger from the surface?
A/N: It’s heeeeeere!! As always, thank you so much for your patience, for being here, and for reading! And a BIG thank you just for taking the time to engage with and be a part of this story. You all have been so encouraging to me as new writer, and I love being able to create something around characters that so many hold so dear. Comments and reblogs make my heart happy, so please show some love, share the joy, and be kind!
***I do not give permission to copy, plagiarize, or repost my work as your own in any form!
Bullets fly as bodies hit the ground in front of you. There on the open beach, spears soar high above your head. Your gaze is drawn to the heavens as a chopper falls from the night sky. It crashes onto the shore below, an intense heat flashing against you as you shield your face from the explosion.
Suddenly, the sounds of dying men and burning metal fade as you lower your hand. You look down to find yourself waist-deep in a raging sea, the battle on the sand becoming a distant memory as waves beat harshly against you, unrelenting and unforgiving. A deafening melody accompanies each swell of the tide. It consumes your mind with pain and serenity as you are pulled further out into the ocean’s depths, following its call. The chorus grows louder as the water rises to your chest, building with intensity. Then, suddenly, all is quiet.
And there he is.
Hovering just above the water’s surface, his winged ankles carry him effortlessly. His reflection glistens perfectly against the water, now calm and smooth as glass. Illuminated by the full moon behind him, his body is covered in beautiful armor made of gold, jade, and other metals. A finely crafted serpent headpiece with bright feathers crowns his head, resting just above his brow.
Namor.
Wordlessly, Namor stretches out his hand, beckoning you to come to him. You reach out as if your very being is at his command. But, before you can grasp hold of him, the chorus of voices returns with a vengeance. A violent tide drags you under, swallowing you beneath the waves. Further and further down you are pulled as darkness surrounds you. Looking up toward the fading light, Namor’s silhouette above the surface dissolves from view. Your lungs burn as you begin to drown.
You jolt awake, your body shooting up in a cold sweat.
Chest heaving, your mind desperately claws its way back to reality. You quickly scan your surroundings, clinging to any detail that will anchor your consciousness and keep you from slipping back into that nightmare.
Gripping the stone surface beneath you, you take in every porous curve your fingertips graze over. Looking upward at the high rocky ceiling, you study the patterns of limestone stalactites that hang like icicles. Droplets of water run down a few of them, their melodious drips echoing in small pools below, falling like a gentle, rhythmic rain.
This is the place Namor had spoken of the last time you saw him. The one where he promised you would be safe. And for good reason — here in this cavern, you were well below the ocean’s surface and out of range of any agents who might come searching for you.
By your best guess, you figure you have been down here about two days. It’s hard to be sure without the reference to natural light. The cavern itself is beautiful, though. Illuminated by pockets of glow worms that drape down from the ceiling, their soft luminescence casts gorgeous green and blue hues across each surface their light touches.
As your heart rate begins to even out, you continue to survey the cave. You look over at your belongings, bag laying on the ground, clothes hanging on a line to dry. Your heart drops a bit when you see your little leather-bound book, its pages separated and spread out across the rocks. Ink bleeding. Pages ruined. You had made your best attempt to salvage what you could. Perhaps if you had asked Namora how the two of you would be traveling to this safe haven, you wouldn’t have brought a damn book with you.
The dissonance of the Talokan melody still rings in the back of your mind. You cradle your head between your knees, rubbing your temples with your thumbs when you hear light footsteps approach.
Looking up, you find a familiar face entering the cavern. No longer geared up for battle, Namora dawns a lovely dress that gathers over one shoulder and flows down to the floor. It moves like waves with each step she takes toward you. Instead of a spear in her hand, she now carries a small tray with a medley of food.
“Eat," Namora says, placing the tray on a small end table beside you. She then moves gracefully over to your draped belongings, removing them one by one from the line and folding them into a neat pile.
“Can I ask you a question?” You inquire as you begin to nibble on a piece of food.
Namora shoots a skeptical look over her shoulder but says nothing, so you ask anyway.
“Have you always been a warrior?”
Unresponsive, she keeps her attention on one of your shirts which she has just pulled from the line, tucking it into itself and placing it with the others.
“It's just, I mean the way you fought those agents on the beach, you are — you are very good at, you know—” you should have given more thought to what you were going to say before opening your mouth because as you reach the end of your sentence all that comes out is, “—killing people."
Nice.
You cringe at your comment. It hangs in the air, practically mocking you.
“I’m just saying," you add, trying to recover, "you obviously know what you’re doing. It was impressive. Me on the other hand…” Your voice trails as you raise your bandaged hand, recalling how your first instinct in a fight was to block a fucking knife with your open palm. Next to Namora, your combat skills pale by comparison.
Halting her task, Namora finally turns to face you in one calculated motion. She stares for a moment then her eyes quickly dart toward the side entrance of the cavern where she had come through only minutes ago. The entryway is empty. When her eyes settle back on you, there is resolve in them.
“Up.” She says, walking toward you with purpose.
“What?” You reply in a tone that matches the confused look on your face.
“Up.”
You do as you are told, hastily pushing yourself to your feet. Namora steps in close and then taps your elbows.
“Up.” She orders a third time, only now she seems to be referring specifically to your arms. You follow her instruction, raising them awkwardly out in front of your body. You can almost hear the sigh of hopelessness when Namora, her brow furrowed, grabs your arms and positions each one in a fighting stance. Slipping a hand up to your left wrist, she grips it firmly while tapping your exposed forearm with the palm of her other hand.
“Shield.” She says with emphasis. Her eyebrows raise, looking for any indication that you comprehend what she is trying to explain. When you nod, Namora moves her hand from your wrist up to your fingers, balling them into a fist and tucking your thumb on the outside.
“Weapon.”
Namora then steps back from you, putting her own arms up to mirror your stance.
“Shield, weapon,” she repeats, patting her forearm and waving her closed fist.
“Shield, weapon,” you echo back to her, nodding your head again as you begin to understand more fully.
Just as she begins to step back toward you, a deep voice calls from behind.
“Namora.”
You both look up to see the large man who wears the hammerhead skull standing in the entry of the cavern. Attuma is his name, as you have come to learn. Namora straightens her posture as she turns to face him, her hands behind her back as she squares her shoulders in a commanding stance.
Attuma saunters a few more feet into the cavern, then speaks to her in their native tongue, a language still unfamiliar to you. The two of them converse back and forth for a few moments. You may not know what they are saying, but you can tell they disagree about something — whether with each other or someone else, you are not sure.
Namora swiftly turns back to you, her face serious again and her brows pinched together.
Fighting lessons must be over.
“Come,” she says.
Without any further instruction, she pivots back toward Attuma, who also turns to leave. You quickly grab your belongings which Namora had folded for you, stuffing them into your bag. You sling it around your shoulder as you exit the cavern.
Following the two generals into a tunneled hallway, you find yourself moving through a network of caves, each tunnel connecting to a series of other openings and pools. Soon, Attuma splits off into one of these open caverns, nodding to Namora as he does so. Your eyes trail him as he joins with more Talokan warriors, and just as you stare at them, they stare at you.
You continue walking behind Namora past them, their whispers reverberating through the tunnels.
“When was the last time someone… not Talokanil came here?” You ask. In typical Namora fashion, she remains silent and unresponsive to your question.
“Sorry,” you say apologetically, “back there it just seemed like they hadn’t seen someone new in a while.”
The two of you walk, furthering yourself from the turnoff where Attuma parted ways. Cautiously, you step around the uneven surfaces of the rocky ground. You can feel yourself being led deeper into the maze of caverns. If Namora decided to up and ditch you right now, you are certain you would be lost in this labyrinth forever.
“You are the first,” Namora says rather abruptly, catching you off guard. Not only does her response come well after your question was asked, but it is also the most she has ever said to you at one given time.
“The first?” You ask, perplexed. “What do you mean?”
“To come here,” Namora answers. “The first surface dweller to receive Talokan’s aid. The first the king has ever…” she pauses a moment, searching for the right word, “tolerated.”
The influx of her voice is not lost on you.
“And you don’t approve?”
“It is not my place to approve, " Namora clarifies as she leads you around a bend and past several open pools of water. "I am… concerned. When it comes to you, I fear he is blind.”
Silence befalls you both again as you enter another cavern, this one much larger and more spacious than any others you have seen. Within it are several large pools, glistening with light reflected from more glow worms above. Their tendrils hang from the high vaulted ceiling like sparkling chandeliers.
In the center of it all stands a large hut enclosed by beautifully woven fabrics. You follow Namora shoulder to shoulder up the stone-carved steps to it until you nearly reach the side.
“We’re here,” Namora says, coming to a dead stop. She then takes a step back from you.
Still unsure of where “here” is exactly, you glance over your shoulder, looking to her for further instruction or explanation. But Namora gives you nothing. The moment you begin to take a step backward as well, her hand shoots out, holding the back of your shoulder in position with a firm grip.
Ah. Don't move. Got it.
Subconsciously you begin to hold your breath, bracing yourself for the unknown.
Then, there he is.
From around the corner of the hut comes Namor. Immediately you are taken aback by his appearance. Up to this point, you have only seen him suited for battle. Now he stands before you dawning a beautifully woven cape plated with gold and draped across his broad shoulders. His hair is slicked back and his arms are adorned with various metal cuffs. Truly a wardrobe fit for a king.
A single nod of his head and Namora is dismissed. You hear her small footsteps fade as she leaves the two of you alone.
“How is your hand?”
Namor’s question snaps you out of your daze.
“Oh,” you raise your hand, glancing at the worn bandage. "It’s fine, thank you.”
Staring at the gauze, you can almost hear the lullaby Namor hummed as he gently tended to your wounded palm the night of the battle. Something flutters inside you as you touch the corner of the fabric. Realizing your mind has drifted again, you bring yourself back to reality by following up with your own question.
"Are we in..." you stop to rephrase, shifting your weight from side to side as you look around the cavern, “Is this… Talokan?"
If it is, it's very different from what you pictured.
Your question brings a smile to Namor’s face.
"No," he answers with a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "Talokan is far beyond this place. I assure you, your body would not survive the journey to its depths. But these caverns are safe, I promise you.”
Namor then shifts the topic of conversation.
“I am told some of your belongings were ruined on your traveling here, including your book. I apologize. I had hoped to make up for it.”
With one arm, Namor ushers you around the corner to the entrance of his quarters, inviting you inside.
Intrigued and eager to see what awaits, you accept his invitation. As you enter, you find yourself in a study of sorts. Lit by several lanterns, the room is warm and bright. Within it sits a small table, a prominent desk full of scrolls and artifacts, and a cozy hammock hung in the corner. But what catches your eye most of all are the walls.
All around you hang gorgeous tapestry walls with breathtaking murals that stretch from floor to ceiling.
“Did you do all of these?” You ask in disbelief as you move to one at the far end of the room. Your eyes widen as you gaze in admiration at the beautiful artistry.
“Yes,” Namor answers humbly, following behind you. “I think you will find a more accurate depiction of my history here.”
“I don’t know,” you say with playful skepticism in your voice as you inspect the artwork closer, “always be weary of your authors, right?” You smirk as you shift your glance sideways to Namor, echoing his words back to him in jest. His face is serious at first but quickly turns to amusement.
“You remembered,” he says nodding his head, an impressed grin now stretching at the corners of his mouth, “that is good.”
You return your attention to the paintings. What a gift it is to be standing here in front of them. Full of stories, full of history. And to be accompanied by the man who created them himself — who lived them himself. It is all a far cry from the vague glyphs you tried so hard to decipher in your book.
"They're amazing." You say in awe, following along the panels as you trace the line work delicately with your fingertip.
Immersed in the murals, you are too busy to notice Namor's softening gaze as he watches you study his work so intently. Here you are, an outsider who he has welcomed into his space. It is not like him to be so open, especially not with a stranger from the surface — never someone from the surface — yet, something about you causes a stirring inside of him. Perhaps it is your enthusiasm and wonders for his culture or your refreshing dose of humanity towards his people that compels his desire to be close to you.
As you follow the artwork from panel to panel across the walls, you arrive at a scene that suddenly makes you freeze. Your wrist snaps your finger back as if repelled by the paint itself. In front of you is a large image of Namor dawning a serpent headpiece as he hovers above the water. You are immediately back in your nightmare, your mind flashing to Namor’s outstretched hand then the darkness that closes in around you as you start to drown. You can almost feel the fire in your lungs as they grow desperate for air.
“What troubles you?” Namor asks with genuine traces of concern in his voice. Your sudden silence has not gone unnoticed. He moves to stand shoulder to shoulder with you now, looking up to analyze the same part of the mural.
"Nothing," you lie, shaking your head while your hand drops to your side. You withdraw from the painting, taking a few steps back from it and Namor.
“Your people," you say to change the subject, pointing your thumb to the rest of the artwork in the room, "they honor you. It's admirable, what you've done for them. To keep them safe all this time."
“But?” He senses there is more on your mind.
You stare at him, then turn your focus back to the tapestries surrounding you. Scanning them from wall to wall, you notice a pattern in the stories shown.
“It’s just,” you begin with uncertainty in your voice “for someone who has spent his whole life bringing peace to his people, I wonder how much of it you have experienced for yourself?”
Namor is quiet for a moment.
"And why do you wonder this?" He finally replies, turning to face you fully.
“I guess I look at these and I’m curious… how? How can you do that without completely breaking under the weight of it all? Even with—” you begin gesturing to his body and suddenly become desperate to come up with the right words in time, “superhuman strength.” Thank god.
“Hmmm,” Namor exhales, thoughtfully nodding as his gaze drops to the floor. He folds his arms over his chest, the golden band around his exposed bicep reflecting the light that softly glows from a nearby lantern. Taking a few steps toward you, he lifts his eyes to yours.
“It is true,” he says, “the burden I carry for the sake of my people does not always permit me the personal luxury of peace. It… can be difficult.” His tone shifts from diplomatic to vulnerable. “And who is to say I have not broken under it? It is that brokenness that has made me the leader I am.”
Turning his head toward the mural, he looks at it carefully before speaking again. His chiseled jawline accentuates the exposed veins protruding from his neck.
"To your question,” he continues, “I believe how is never as important as why. Why would someone fight to bring others peace when they themselves cannot have it?” Namor takes another step closer and lifts his hand to your chin, delicately angling your face upward toward his own. "Because we sacrifice to protect what we love.”
His eyes search yours earnestly. After a moment, Namor quickly drops his hand from your chin and you watch as he moves towards his desk, shuffling a few scrolls around before looking back up at you again.
“I love my people,” he says, planting his hand firmly on the desk, “and I have seen evil, what it is capable of. I watch as the rest of the world grows desperate in their greed and ambition, their desire for power. They are becoming more dangerous by the day."
"You mean — surface dwellers?" You ask.
Namor raises his brow at you knowingly.
"Yes,” he answers cooly.
"I'm a surface dweller. Am I...dangerous?"
Namor sighs with a small smile.
“Yes. Though not in the way you may think.”
He moves from out behind his desk and back over in your direction.
“Now I have a question for you,” he says in a low voice, approaching you with a dark look looming over his face. “Please consider your answer carefully.”
The silence is intense. Your heart feels like it is going to jump out of your throat as you anticipate what damning question the king of Talokan has in store for you.
Namor’s expression changes on a dime, and he suddenly asks in a lighthearted tone,
“Are you up for a swim?”
—
You follow Namor out of his quarters and into the large open cavern. As you pass by several beautiful pools of water, you are enchanted by how the light dances across the rich tones of Namor's skin. The same light casts dazzling hues of aquamarine and cerulean across the surface of the pools, reflected onto the rocks surrounding them.
Namor approaches one of the bigger pools and removes the cape from his shoulder, exposing his bare chest underneath. Here is the Namor you recognize - prominent necklace, bare chest, emerald green shorts. Before dropping his cape to the ground, however, he pulls out a Talokan mask from the fabric like the ones Namora and the other warriors wear.
“Take a deep breath,” Namor says as he turns to you. He pushes your hair back from your cheek delicately as he applies the apparatus to your face. Doing as you are told, you inhale deeply as the mask fastens over your nose and mouth.
“Stay close,” he instructs. You nod, and Namor steps to the edge of the closest pool. He looks back at you with a hint of a smile on his face. Then, with all the strength and grace of a god, he dives perfectly into the water and disappears under the surface.
You step closer to the pool. The faint rhythm of droplets falling from the ceiling rings throughout the cavern. You glance behind you toward the entrance, but there isn't a soul in sight. Namora’s words echo through your mind.
When it comes to you, he is blind.
You dive in, following Namor.
Once in the water, you quickly orient yourself. Looking around, you see the outline of Namor, his silhouette waiting for you in the distance. As you swim closer, he gestures for you to follow him. You kick your feet to propel yourself further downward, ears popping as you equalize to the increasing pressure.
You swim until you are clear of the caves. Though your muscles ache, there is something serene about being beneath the water; the quiet, the weightlessness, everything drifting harmoniously in rhythm with the current. For the first time since you can remember, your mind feels still. Free from the chaos. Somehow, the vast open sea does not frighten you with its deep blue void as it did in your dream. Not even a little. Instead, you feel a calmness in your soul as you lose track of time entirely, trailing Namor as you move through the ocean’s depths.
Quite literally in his element, you watch in awe as Namor swims so effortlessly. To him, it must be as easy as breathing. He looks more relaxed than you have seen him. Perhaps even enjoying himself?
You continue to swim, the water getting lighter as the visibility becomes clearer. A school of fish rushes past, their scales glimmering with each flick of a fin or contour of their bodies. Countless numbers weave around you in sync as if part of the same carefully choreographed ballet. You can’t help but smile as you watch them move so freely, and Namor can't help but smile as he watches you.
Suddenly the fish rapidly disperse and within seconds a huge mass flashes past you with incredible speed and agility. Your eyes widen and adrenaline rushes through you as you witness a killer whale chase the school, its size completely dwarfing your mere human frame. Involuntarily, you begin hyperventilating as you watch the giant creature swim off into the distance. When you feel a touch against your arm, you turn to find Namor next to you. His hand rises and falls in front of his torso, gesturing for you to take deep breaths. In, out. In, out.
The two of you remain suspended in the endless ocean blue as you your breath slows and your muscles recover. Namor looks upward, and as you savor the moment of rest you follow his gaze. You can tell by the light above that you are getting close to the surface, which must mean you are nearing your destination. When he nods, you know it is time to move. Slowly the two of you start your ascent and the ocean becomes warmer as you gradually near the top.
When you arise from the water, the sound of the rushing wind, the rolling waves, and birds flying overhead rush into your ears. Less than a hundred meters from you stretches a beautiful coastline covered in soft white sand and lined by rich green foliage.
You make your way towards it. Soon you are walking knee-deep in the waves, the tide splashing against the back of your legs as you near the shore. Removing the mask from your face, the sweet breeze of the island races by, rustling your wet hair and filling your nostrils with the earthy aroma of some nearby palm trees.
Namor has already reached the sand. He stands tall, water still running down his body. Staring out at the horizon, he runs his hand over his face and pushes his hair back, inadvertently flexing his bicep as he does so. The sun slowly begins its descent toward the Earth, its warm rays casting brilliant tones of red and orange across Namor’s exposed skin. It contrasts the deep blues and greens that illuminated him in the caverns, and at this point, you are confident he looks devastatingly beautiful in any light.
As you reach the shore, you take your place next to him and stare out at the skyline.
“Hard to beat a view like that,” you say breathlessly.
“My mother would always describe to me the beauty of the setting sun,” Namor responds. “I have no love for the surface world, but from time to time I visit this island. See what she saw.”
“Is this—?” You begin to ask.
“Where she is buried.” Namor answers before you finish your question. His eyes drop as he reflects, “I am not sure what I expected to see the day I came to lay her body to rest. I suppose the beauty of an island she spoke of so fondly. Instead, I found my brothers and sisters enslaved by men who took life without a second thought.” His jaw clenches as he recalls the bitter memory. “But I saw to it the favor was returned.”
His meaning is clear. You are not sure which makes you more nervous — the calm and cool way he says it, or the menacing smile that accompanies his statement. Either way, his smile disappears as quickly as it comes. You have seen Namor’s ferocity firsthand and know what he is capable of, especially when it comes to protecting his people. A nervous feeling grows in the pit of your stomach as you begin questioning his purpose in bringing you here.
You consider the facts:
You are a surface dweller.
He did call you dangerous.
Oh shit.
Anxiously you glance at him, then redirect your gaze back to the horizon to maintain your composure. The soft waves break along the shore, racing up to your ankles. As the sand beneath your feet gets pulled out by the tide, you wish with all your might you could be pulled away with it. Instead, you sink deeper into the ground, more immovable than before.
“Are you going to kill me?” The words come out blunter than you intend, but you stand by them despite the quiver in your voice.
The question pulls Namor out of his thoughts as he turns to you, eyebrows raised. He studies your face carefully before answering.
“I probably should," he says. There is no malice in his words, only honesty. “The knowledge you have of me and my people... it puts me in a difficult position.” His eyes are solemn. "But I have lived a long time, and in that time I have witnessed many in their final moments before death when one truly reveals themself. That night on the beach, in what you believed were your final moments, you kept your word to me and my people. You said nothing to those men, even with your life on the line. There is no truer test of loyalty.”
Without a word, he reaches his hand out for the mask you still carry. You cautiously hand it over.
"There is a village eastward,” Namor continues, “you will find everything you need there, and the means to leave this place."
You feel his palm slip under your fingers to receive the mask. He takes a deep breath, then purses his lips in the direction behind you.
“Or, just up the way beyond those trees is a house. It is not much, but comfortable. It is yours to use... if you wish. You would be safe here.”
The offer catches you off guard.
“I… I don't understand." You mutter in slight confusion.
With a deep inhale, Namor squints back at the setting sun to collect his thoughts. Then, taking another step closer, he eliminates virtually any remaining space between you. His eyes are deep and mesmerizing as ever. Your heart races from his sudden proximity and you find yourself holding your breath as you wait for him to speak again. He peers down at you, so impossibly close that you can sense the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.
"You are no enemy of mine," he says with authority, "and no prisoner of Talokan. You have my trust. And because of that trust, I will not order you to stay." Namor then drops the mask into the sand like it is worthless and gently slides his hands underneath your jawline, cradling your face in both of his palms. “But I am asking you to.”
You are speechless. The way he is holding your gaze, the tenderness of his thumb brushing against the apple of your cheek, the fluttering of his lashes as his eyes flick down to your mouth.
"Stay," Namor says fervently in one final clarifying word. It is not a command, but an invitation. Perhaps even a plea. But most importantly, it is a choice. Your choice.
His eyes quickly dart back up to yours as he awaits an answer, but even Namor is not strong enough to keep his attention from dropping back down to your lips. He is clearly focused on more than just the words he hopes to hear come out of them.
In an overwhelming wave of boldness, you allow instinct to take over. No lives at stake, no siren’s song — it is only the burning desire within your very soul for him that compels you. You close your eyes and melt into Namor’s touch, pressing your lips to his.
The moment you do so, it is as if a surge of energy courses through your veins, electrifying your entire body. Namor immediately welcomes your advance, molding his lips to your own. The smooth piece of jade that pierces his septum presses cooly above your lip, contrasting the heat of his skin to ignite your senses. As he slides a hand around to the back of your neck, his fingers curl into your hair to bring you in even closer.
A small moan escapes you as the tip of his tongue traces along your bottom lip. You can feel his smile against your mouth, then a tug at the same lip with his teeth. Another invitation, to which you gladly accept. You part your mouth open to let Namor inside. Both of your tongues dance together as your kisses become deeper and more indulgent.
Consumed by his taste and his touch, you slide your hands up his bare chest, desperate for more of him. Without missing a beat, Namor responds by running his arms down your body and hoisting you up off the sand with ease. You wrap your legs around him tightly and take full advantage of this new, higher angle. Moving your mouth in tandem with his, you savor the richness of his lips and entangling your fingers in his dark locks of hair.
The two of you ebb and flow just like the rolling ocean waves, losing yourselves in each other. It’s not until you feel a faint burning in your lungs that you face the harsh reality of having to break away for air. Everything inside you fights it. If Namor were the sea, you would gladly let yourself drown in this moment.
But Namor, also sensing your need for oxygen, begins to slow down. He lowers you gently to the ground, though he is careful not to let you slip too far away from him. The two of you breathe heavily as the sun begins to dip below the horizon. Namor gives you another passionate kiss, this one slow and deep. His lips then move to the corner of your mouth and trail up to your ear, the heat of his breath spreading like wildfire across your skin. You can feel your heart beating out of your chest. Holding you close, Namor leans his forehead against your temple and presses his lips against your ear.
“Please," he whispers. "Stay with me.”
--------
Tag List! (I think I got everyone who requested to be included!)
@looneylikesbooks @omgsuperstarg @chixkencxrry @vainillasmil157 @demoiseller @sodonuthideout @shoutaaizawas @stany0url0calwh0res111 @hjjks @duckwithsunglasses @jamesbarnesbestgirl @nellycanwrite @namorlover @queenofthekill @uhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmm @cosmic-lavender @fckwritersblock @doimakeyounervous-blog @viktoryn @bontensbabygirl @lokidbadguy @sammi-doll483 @violet-19999 @artaxerxesthegreat @zeeader @star-dusst @hawkins-2000 @madsothree @takeheartyall @slytherheign @agustdboyoongie @nightingal3-tales @psamathegoesrawr @myotakureprieve @spideyworldsposts @ginger-swag-rapunzel @jurneesjourney @kpopgirlbtssvt @commondazy @vicky-8426 @05-redacted @boredoutofmydamnmind @h34rtsformilli @adoiescents @ari-fay @daddyslittlevillain @namorswhore @loversjoy
I am in love with your "The Stranger" story. How do I join the taglist?
Thank you for the love!! 🥰 Great Q - if you would like to join the tag list for The Stranger: Part 3 (COMING SOON!!!!), let me know in the comments on Part 1 or Part 2, here, or you can message me directly!!
(PS - anyone who has already done this, you have been added!)
I apologize for it taking so long, life has been crazy and I haven't been able to dedicate as much time as I would like to writing. But yes - Part 3 is in the works and I'm so excited to share it with you all. (This story has literally kept me up at night as I've thought about where to take it!)
You each have my sincerest gratitude for your support and patience!
Ps - anyone who has specifically asked to be tagged will be!!
I LOVE YOUR WRITING. I was completely immersed in the story. I was able to vividly see in my head the story you were describing. This last chapter + music from the film was an EXPERIENCE. Reading through the fight scene I played ‘Sirens’ from the film. The moment with Namor wrapping the main characters palm I imagined his humming being the song “árboles bajo el mar.” Can’t wait to see where the story goes but I trust it will be awesome!!!
OMG STAHP IT I freaking LOVE this!! Yes yes YES, the 'Sirens' track from the film is exactly what I was listening to when I wrote that scene, I'm so happy you matched it with your read through and that it added to the experience!
And holy moly - I love how you imagined Namor's humming. 🥰 Thank you so much for reading and for your kind words!!
Hello, I’m sorry but Sir, Ma’am whatever the hell you go by, what gave you right to make me feel things. I just read the stranger and pt.2 and it was one of the best things I’ve ever read. Please tell me your thinking of a pt.3 cause that was amazing.
OMG this message is making ME FEEL THINGS. Literally giggling while doing a happy dance. Thank you for not only taking the time to read my story, but for sharing your incredibly kind words with me!
Everyone, everyone - I can't describe how insane this has been. I literally wrote The Stranger Pt. 1 as just a drabble one shot. Never did I imagine it becoming as popular as it has. I was SO NERVOUS to post it, and debated whether or not I even should because 1) these characters are so loved and mean so much that I wanted to make sure they were given the proper respect and treatment they deserve, and 2) putting my writing out into the universe was incredibly intimidating! But I am blown away by the reactions it has gotten - when the response came back so overwhelmingly positive, it prompted me to write Part 2, and I am OVER THE DAMN MOON that people are continuing to enjoy and connect with it!!
I am excited to say that there WILL be a Part 3 to the story!! There are a few different directions I am exploring at the moment, but I promise to let you know when it is ready and posted!
Thanks again to everyone for your kindness - don't mind me as I continue my happy dance over here! 🙃
Summary: Namor isn’t the only one who has been searching for his general. Thanks to you, Namora’s life was saved – but when your connection to the two strangers brings you face to face with a hostile group of government agents, you find yourself in the crossfire of a much bigger conflict.
A/N: OMG first and foremost thank you for being here, thank your for coming back, and thank you for reading. This has taken me a bit longer to post because I’ve been pouring over it every day for a month, trying to get it just right. Comments, feedback and reblogs mean THE WORLD to me, so feel free to show some love and as always please be kind!
***I do not give permission to copy, plagiarize, or repost my work as your own in any form!
OMGosh I absolutely adore the way you write Namora!! 🥰🥰🥰 I’m so happy she plays a major/important part in the story!! We definitely deserved more of her in the movie!! And the intensity between Namor and the reader??!! It’s insane!!
Our badass warrior Namora deserves ALL THE PRAISE!! That's why I chose to make her such an integral part of this story and really wanted to give her a chance to shine - these events literally couldn't have played out without her!
As for the reader and Namor? Let's just say that intensity isn't going anywhere 😉
Omg, I just read ‘the stranger’ and I absolutely love it! Thank you for sharing your writing, count me as a follower of this beautiful story 🫶🏼
Okay, wow, ummm thank YOU!! All the happy tears happening over here! Thank you for reading my work and for taking time to share your kind thoughts about it. It seriously means the world to me and I hope you enjoy where the story goes next!
Summary: Namor isn’t the only one who has been searching for his general. Thanks to you, Namora’s life was saved -- but when your connection to the two strangers brings you face to face with a hostile group of government agents, you find yourself in the crossfire of a much bigger conflict.
A/N: OMG first and foremost thank you for being here, thank your for coming back, and thank you for reading. This has taken me a bit longer to post because I’ve been pouring over it every day for a month, trying to get it just right. Comments, feedback and reblogs mean THE WORLD to me, so feel free to show some love and as always please be kind!
***I do not give permission to copy, plagiarize, or repost my work as your own in any form!
There is a growing unrest inside you.
Days have passed since your encounter with Namor after saving the life of his general, Namora. Two mysterious strangers who have left your mind reeling with questions, unrelenting and unquenchable as a flame that dares to spread like wildfire, consuming your thoughts entirely.
You repeatedly play the memory over in your head with no rational way to explain what you witnessed; her blue skin, his superhuman strength; the curious metal that outfitted both of their armor; how they disappeared into the vast open ocean.
"Something on your mind?" A fruit vendor asks, snapping you back to reality. You stand in the middle of the bustling village marketplace, doing your best to orient yourself quickly.
“Your head is — how you say…? — in the clouds, yes?” The vendor asks in her best English, smiling politely at you as she stands next to her cart, eager for you to buy something.
"Is it that obvious?" You joke with a tired laugh. "Two, please."
You scoop up a pair of fresh mangos and hand the woman some change from your pocket. She kindly accepts it with a nod of appreciation. Carefully sliding the fruit into your bag, you return a nod of your own.
You continue to walk through the market, the damp air carrying an aroma of local cuisine and sweat fills your lungs. Weaving your way in and out of aisles created by vendor carts, you feel a sense of calm as you watch the locals interacting with one another. There's beauty to be found in their sense of community.
Typically, you would gather your needed food and supplies and then be on your way back home, but today as your mind wanders, so do your feet.
Meandering down another aisle, your thoughts drift back to Namor, specifically the morning you found him on your front porch. You can practically feel the warmth of that sunrise as you imagine its light illuminating his dark eyes. You picture the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth when you asked him if he would come back, a moment you hold onto tightly. The memory gives you optimism that you will see him again someday and hopefully have the opportunity to ask him more questions.
Lost in thought, you hardly notice a small crate sticking out a few inches further than other accompanying carts in the aisle. Tripping your foot as you walk by, it nearly tumbles you to the ground. You manage to catch your balance and your breath before face-planting into the dirt. Immediately turning to apologize, you find an elderly man seated behind the crate, his back leaning against the wagon behind him and his eyes shut.
The man is slender and his head bald, save for a few wisps of hair above his ears. Most of his body is covered by a knitted green poncho, well-worn and fraying along the hem. To both your relief and surprise, he seems completely undisturbed by your clumsy collision with his crate of goods. Unsure if he’s even awake, you reach down to help reset any items on the crate you may have displaced.
Your jaw drops slightly as you see the contents on display. Spread out on a velvet brown tablecloth sits a small assortment of beautiful books, scrolls, and other documents. Admiring them, you reach out and push back one of the scrolls, revealing a gorgeous hand-sketched portrait of the island.
“Did you draw this?” You ask, impressed by the skill of it.
“Mmm,” He hums, shaking his head, "But I made very good trade with the man who did.”
You find his answer odd, though slightly amusing, considering he never opened his eyes to see which piece you were referring to. As you browse the rest of the items, a particular book stands out to you. It’s different from the rest of the collection — small and bound in leather, although the leather itself is worn and brittle-looking. You pick it up and inspect it closer. The binding is loose, the pages aged and tattered.
“Careful with that one. Very old.” The elderly man says, his eyes remaining shut. “Nearly 400 years. Got it in a trade with a visiting merchant from our southeastern sister islands."
How does he even do that? You wonder as you start delicately flipping through the pages of the book. You make it about midway through when you open to a particular page that makes you freeze, your heart nearly jumping out of your throat. Your eyes widen as you bring the page closer to your face.
It’s a crude drawing — basic, two-dimensional, and very old like the man said, but the likeness is undeniable. Depicted is the figure of a man. He dawns a grand snake-like headpiece and is grasping a spear. His body is adorned with jade and other metals. Sharp ears. Winged ankles.
"Excuse me!” you ask the elderly man with an exasperated breath, practically jumping over the crate as you lean forward and shout, “These!" You flip the book around to show him the open page, pointing excessively at the picture and the glyphs below it. "What do these say?!"
Your voice is eager and desperate, emotions you hardly try to hide.
The man's left eye slowly squints open.
“Only few are still legible.” He says, shrugging.
“Okay, yes, but the ones you can read, what do they say?!” You plead.
He sighs, opening his other eye and leaning forward slightly to get a better look. After a moment, he leans back against the wagon and closes his eyes again.
"King. Serpent. God. Monster."
You hang on to each word he tells you. Turning the book back around, you bring it back up to your face for another closer inspection.
"How much?" You ask, ready to make a deal.
The elderly man cracks one eye open to look at you for a moment as he considers his price, then wordlessly points to your arm with a feeble finger. You follow his gaze down to the small beaded bracelet around your wrist — the last reminder of your life before coming to the island. You hold your arm up to him, making sure you understand correctly. He nods politely, and without hesitation, you untie the bracelet and toss it to him.
"Nice doing business!" He says with a wide grin as he holds up the bracelet. You are already nose-deep in the book as you turn on your heels, quickening your pace as you head home where you can study more carefully.
Maneuvering your way out of the market to the outskirts of the village, you hardly need your eyes to guide your feet home. You take advantage of the remaining daylight to examine the pages as you walk, turning page after page and scanning for any information about Namor and his people. There’s little there, the book seeming to be a very old, mingled account of island history and lore. Seeing as you are not a historian and certainly not a linguist, it’s difficult to decipher. Still, you do your best to piece together what you can from the pictures.
King. Serpent. God. Monster.
The sky begins to dim. You can hear the faint roar of waves as you near the coastline. It’s too dark to see much detail on the pages now, so you carefully tuck the book into your bag as you step over the trunks of palm trees. The path beneath your feet gradually turns from brush to sand, and soon you find yourself walking along the familiar stretch of beach that leads you home. You stare out into the darkness, listening to the rhythmic pattern of ocean waves and breathing in the salty evening air. The moon hovers above the water, burning brightly as countless stars paint the sky behind it.
You continue walking in the darkness, but there’s an uneasiness building in your gut the further you go. You should be nearing home by now, but no lanterns have come into view. You always light lanterns before heading into town. They burn for hours in your absence so, by the time you return, you have light to guide you. All you see now are shadows and silhouettes that dance against the tree line, and every sound and indiscernible movement has you on edge.
It’s not until you are nearly a stone's throw away that the bungalow materializes in the night. Your stomach twists as the wind blows by you, rustling your hair and causing the snuffed-out lanterns hanging from your porch to creak as they swing back and forth. You hear shuffling, and small beams of light sporadically shine through the cracks of lumber that make up the walls of your home.
There is someone inside.
An alarm goes off in your head, screaming at you to get out. As quietly as possible, you begin backing away. Eyes fixed on the bungalow, you take one step back. Then another. Then another. Then — thud.
Your stomach flips and your throat tightens. While you pray you’ve miscalculated and miraculously made it to the tree line in three short steps instead of thirty, you feel the unmistakable presence of a body directly behind you.
“Going somewhere?” A deep voice growls menacingly. It belongs to a man, his tone gruff, although you can’t quite make out his accent. You do, however, feel the blood drain from your face as you slowly turn your head, finding what is quite possibly the largest human being you have ever seen. Dressed in black military-grade tactical gear and armed with enough ammo and firepower to take on a small army, you know there is no fucking way you are getting away from this guy.
The man grabs your arm and forcefully drags you toward the bungalow. Once up the stairs, he pushes you inside and releases his grasp. You rub your arm and look up to find another man standing in your kitchen, his back turned away from you as he stands hunched over your table. He’s dressed in similar tactical gear and has a walkie-talkie hooked to his belt. A lantern burns next to him as he seems to be pouring over some sort of map.
“Sir,” the man behind you bellows.
The man at the table straightens his posture and turns around to face you both. His hair is buzzed and his face is stubbly, with a thick prominent mustache that stretches across his upper lip. He seems a bit older, and by the ‘sir’ formality, you are fairly confident he is in charge.
“Ah, we were wondering when you would be back.” He says in a sly tone, his accent American.
“Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house?” You respond in anger to the unwelcome visitor.
The man takes a sweeping look around the place, then his eyes come back to you.
“I think we can agree that “house” is a bit of a loose term.” He responds with sarcasm, a knowing look on his face. You continue to stare him down, unresponsive to his quip. The man loosens his shoulders and smiles at you. “Where are my manners? Agent Barrett.” He reaches his hand out, offering to shake yours.
You don’t move a muscle.
There is an awkward moment of silence, then Agent Barrett’s hand retreats. He turns, beginning to pace around your tiny kitchen. The room is in rougher shape than usual, clearly ransacked by whatever search was conducted before your arrival. The agent picks up a small roll of gauze from off the counter and holds it up.
“Tell me,” he says, inspecting the bandage material closely, “have you had any visitors recently?” His gaze quickly flicks over to you, an eyebrow raised.
Your pulse quickens as your blood turns to ice. Your mind immediately flashes to Namora floating wounded in the water; to Namor breaking down your door; to the two of them disappearing into the night. You put on your best poker face and shake your head.
“There’s no one around here for miles,” you explain, trying to be as convincing as possible. “You should try more inland towards the village. Most tourists, if any, stick closer to town or retreat to the far side of the island where—“
“Oh, she’s no tourist.” Agent Barrett chuckles, cutting you off. It feels insulting as if your suggestion were so preposterous it was borderline humorous.
She. He is looking for Namora.
Setting the gauze down next to the sink, Agent Barrett turns and walks over to you.
“You’re certain you haven’t seen anybody unusual around here in the past few days?”
He’s standing much closer now. Something about him makes your skin crawl. You eye the gun strapped to his hip and doubt it is for self-defense. Again, you shake your head.
Barrett sighs and gives you a disappointed smile.
“Okay.” He says softly while nodding his head. He backs away from you as the room lingers in silence. You allow yourself to take a breath, but the relief is short-lived. “Looks like we’re doing this the hard way.”
On Barrett’s cue, the large man behind you grabs your shoulder and kicks the back of your legs, dropping you hard to your knees. With his free hand, he yanks the bag off your other shoulder and tosses it to another man who emerges from the doorway to your bedroom. He catches the bag and immediately starts rummaging through it.
“Hey—HEY!” You shout, “What the hell are you—“
“A woman!” Barrett yells. “Pale blue skin. Very skilled swimmer. Four days ago, she single-handedly took down three UN-sanctioned vessels in the middle of the goddamn Atlantic! Three! Now where I’m from,” he crouches down to your level, aggressively getting in your face as he drops his voice lower, “that’s what we call an act of terrorism.”
Adrenaline overtakes your body as you feel your heart beat so intensely it threatens to break right out of your chest. From the corner of your eye, you watch as Barrett’s henchman searches your bag. He pulls out the mangos and tosses them on the floor. Then, he grabs the old leather-bound book. Turning it over in his hand, he looks at it for a moment and tucks it into his belt.
“She was wounded,” Barrett continues, calling your attention back to him, “and our intelligence indicates she washed up somewhere along this shoreline. That's where her trail goes cold. And as you said, there's no one around here for miles. No one, except you."
His implication is obvious.
“This woman, where is she?” He makes a last-ditch effort to convey a friendly tone, but you can hear his patience dwindling. "And please don't make me ask again."
You stare at him coldly, lips sealed together. You’re not telling this man a damn thing.
"Mmmm," is all he grunts, his eyes dropping to the ground. He heaves a heavy sigh as he pushes against his knees to stand up. Once on his feet, Agent Barrett stares at you for another moment before nodding his head to the agent behind you. The next thing you know, you are suddenly being pulled up by your hair, the man’s grip tight against the back of your neck as he turns and pushes you out the door.
Your hands clamor to his as you struggle against him to relieve the painful tension pulling on your scalp, attempting to release his grip on you. But the man is too strong and drags you down the stairs of your porch with ease. You make it a few meters down the shore when he shoves you down to your knees. Your legs make divots in the sand as your hands catch the rest of your body’s momentum. Hunched over, your knees and palms sting from the sand's friction.
You immediately tense up as you feel a gun press against your head, the cool metal barrel hungry to fire. Hearing footsteps approaching behind, you quickly swallow your fear to maintain composure. Agent Barrett walks past, turning to position himself directly in front of you again — only this time, he doesn’t crouch down to your level.
“Look at me.” He demands as he towers over you. His body language makes it clear who is in control. In the only act of defiance you have left in your arsenal, you keep your gaze laser-focused on the water straight ahead of you, refusing to give in to his instruction. Growing impatient, Barrett roughly grabs your chin. He clasps it tightly as he yanks your jaw upward, forcing you to make eye contact with him.
“You’re going to tell me about your friend, and you’re going to tell me where she is, right now," he growls.
You stare at him, disdain in your eyes. You momentarily scan your surroundings and count nearly twenty other men on the beach now. It’s enough to make your gaze and your heart sink straight to the ground.
Even if you wanted to tell him, you don't have the answers Barrett is looking for. His face hardens as your lack of cooperation and unwillingness to talk becomes clearer and clearer. Loosening his grip and dropping your chin, Agent Barrett looks at the agent next to you.
“Do it,” he orders, leaving you without another word as he walks back up the beach toward the bungalow.
The gun presses even harder against your temple and you hear the irrefutable sound of it being cocked as a bullet rolls into the chamber. Your heart is heavy as your eyes begin to well with tears. You stare out at the ocean, the night swallowing the horizon save it for the piercing glow of the moon that cuts its way through the sky down to Earth. It’s a better view than most get in their final moments, you suppose. For that, you consider yourself lucky.
Time seems suspended as you feel the ocean breeze blow past you, pouring over your skin and filling your lungs as you deeply inhale these final moments. You savor the way the salty air envelops you like the comforting embrace of an old friend. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try fighting back the tears. Despite your best efforts, one single drop escapes, racing down your cheek as you accept your fate.
Zzzzziiinnng!
Where you expect to hear the split-second ring of a gun firing before getting your brain blasted out the side of your skull, you instead hear a high-pitched whistling through the air and the unmistakable slice of a blade penetrating flesh. The weight of the gun barrel against your head slides limply away, followed by the thud of a body hitting the ground next to you.
Your eyes shoot open. You turn to see your executioner now lying dead on his back with a spear pelted through his chest. Your eyes widen in fear, then settle on the spear itself. A spear you recognize — because it’s the same one that was held to your throat only a few days earlier.
Namor.
He's here. Desperately your eyes search the ocean line, scouring the darkness for him.
"We're under attack!" Someone yells frantically from behind you. It is one of Barrett’s men.
"Open Fire! Open fire!" Another one shouts.
You immediately abandon your search for Namor, hitting the deck and covering your head as dueling bullets and spears fly over you. Hearing anguished cries from both sides, you peek out from over your arm and watch in horror as an agent a few meters away looks down at their dart-ridden chest. They drop to their knees, then fall forward onto their face.
Your head whirls around at the sound of another spear making contact with a body and dropping it to the ground. This agent is about ten meters away from you, and while your first instinct is to get the hell out of there — run as far as you can as fast as you can — you notice your little leather-bound book tucked into the belt of the lifeless body.
You tell yourself to leave it. You plead with yourself to leave it.
“Damn it,” you mutter in frustration to yourself. You are getting that book.
Before you can give it another thought, you are already army-crawling through the sand. The sound of gunfire rings in your ears as more weapons return their fire. You scramble to the body, staying low to the ground on your chest and abdomen. Once there, you reach out and grab the book, wrangling it free from the deceased man's belt. You shove it into your waistband when something behind you explodes, causing you to duck your head and shield yourself with your arms.
The battle is deafening and disorienting. The mix of adrenaline and shock threatens to override your entire system as you try to maintain your focus.
Keep moving, you tell yourself.
You lift your head, ready to run, but your breath catches and you freeze. Mere inches from your face, you find yourself staring at someone’s feet and feel the presence of their body hovering over you. You brush the stinging sand out of your eyes, pleading in your mind that this is not the end. Not now. As your vision sharpens, you feel a surge of hope. There in front of you are two winged ankles.
Your eyes shoot up. Standing above you, illuminated by the light of the moon and the rapid sparks of machine guns firing, is Namor.
He looks down at you, his stare intense as his nostrils flare and his chest rises and falls with each breath. Gripping the hilt of the spear, he effortlessly removes it from the body next to you with one pull, his eyes never leaving yours. The ongoing battle on the beach doesn’t deter his attention from you in the slightest. From behind him, a handful of armed warriors with pale blue skin come storming out of the ocean.
“Namora!” He calls, and one warrior immediately splits off from the group. While the others continue to push the team of agents to the far side of the beach, the general comes to Namor’s side and your eyes widen as you take her in. Almost unrecognizable from when you first met her, Namora is a sight to behold. Instead of weak and wounded, she now stands strong and commanding, fully outfitted in her armor of woven jade and metal. Dazzling lionfish spines adorn her head and neck, and she wears the same mesh apparatus over her nose and mouth as before. You are astounded when you squint and barely see a seam remaining where you had stitched her up.
“K'uk'ulkan.” She answers, standing at attention.
Namor’s eyes are still fixed on you. He hands the retrieved spear to Namora and then nods in your direction.
You become nervous, suddenly uncertain if the pair of them have come to you as friend or foe, watching as Namora tightens her grip around the weapon.
“Go.” Namor urges, and a wave of relief washes over you. Friend.
“Where are my goddamn reinforcements?!!” You hear someone shout into a walkie-talkie. You recognize the voice as Agent Barrett's.
“Go NOW,” Namor commands, his eyes flicking up in Barrett’s direction. The expression on his face becomes menacing as he strides past you, his muscles rigid and his pace purposeful. He pulls his own spear out of the larger agent who nearly executed you as he walks past the body, arming himself.
Without hesitation, Namora strides forward and links her arm under your shoulder, pulling you up to your feet and yanking you quickly toward the trees. Before you can reach them, however, more men dressed in black combat gear come pouring out of the thick foliage, ready to attack.
Three surround you as the others rush to provide relief further down the beach. Instead of guns, these agents come armed with batons and other blunt weapons. Namora whips you back behind her, placing herself between you and the approaching enemy. She walks toward the agents, rotating her spear in her hand. You’re surprised by how relaxed her posture is as she waits for the men, each one at least twice her size, to make the first move.
The agent to her right makes the first advance, lunging forward at Namora. She meets him with speed and ferocity, quickly sidestepping him only to grab hold of his shoulders. She uses them as an anchor to whirl herself around him, gracefully landing and her feet and then lodging her spear into his back. The man cries out in pain, but Namora quickly delivers the final blow as she twists the spear in deeper and shoves it upward toward his lungs.
No sooner does his body hit the ground when the two other men charge at her. Like a beautifully choreographed dance, Namora drops to her knees, sliding across the sand between them to duck under their attacks. As she does so, she nimbly summersaults back onto her feet and turns one hundred and eighty degrees. Back on the attack, she runs hard at them. You watch as Namora delivers a combination of charged punches to one agent, then springs back to avoid the swing of the baton from the other. To counter the move, she kicks the man above the kneecap with so much power it sends his whole leg backward and brings him to his knees. She grabs the sides of his head with both of her hands, thrusting it down hard against her knee. You feel the grisly sound of blunt broken bone deep in your core as his skull makes contact.
As the man’s head reels backward, blood pouring from his face, Namora seamlessly transitions between her two opponents, avoiding another attack from the third agent she had previously deflected with punches. Her attention back on him, she trades blows as they fight in more hand-to-hand combat. Between kicks, punches, and counter-punches, Namora strategically inches herself backward until she’s practically standing on top of the first body she dropped. Baiting her current opponent forward, she taunts him with the tilt of her head, exaggerated by her headpiece. It works like a charm. He charges at her, and swooping under him, she wraps around his chest and pulls him over the top of her, flipping him onto his back. In one calculated motion, she pulls her spear from the body of the first agent which is now easily within reaching distance, and drives it into the second.
It all plays out in front of you so quickly when the third agent with the broken nose — well, broken face, really — groans as he gets himself up, ready to have another go at Namora. She engages, but as she moves towards him you see a fourth man emerge from the trees, raising a gun to shoot.
“LOOK OUT!” You yell to warn her, but pure instinct has your feet sprinting forward to stop him.
You don’t process any thought or consider any tactic, you just hurl yourself at him. The two of you collide, crashing to the ground with all the power and momentum you can muster. You scramble for his gun and manage to knock it away, but he barrels you over him and slams your back against the ground. The impact forces the air out of your lungs, temporarily paralyzing you as you struggle for breath. The agent straddles your body, putting more pressure on your chest as he pulls a knife from his hip. With all your strength, you fight to hold his arm back. He breaks through your grasp and takes a swipe at you, but reflexively you deflect it away with your hand. The knife slices open your palm and you cry out as you try to continue pushing his arms back.
When he raises his blade again, a blur of orange lionfish spines come streaking across as Namora flies over the back of the agent and yanks him off of you. They tumble across the sand, but she quickly gains the upper hand by entangling him in a headlock. Clutching your injured hand and still struggling for oxygen, you look on as she tightens her grip around the man’s neck and then abruptly cracks it to the side.
The sound makes you sick to your stomach, but you also feel a sense of relief. And gratitude. Your chest heaves as you finally start to catch your breath, your entire body buzzing. You turn to see the dead agents Namora has so quickly disposed of, their bodies dispersed across the sand. She unwraps herself from her most recent kill and makes her way to you with haste.
As she reaches you, you hear the chaos and fighting continue further down the beach. Then, the faint sound of a helicopter approaching. Barrett’s reinforcements.
“There are too many of them,” you say in distress as you witness more agents pour out onto the sand to fight Namor’s warriors. Even if each one had Namora’s four-to-one kill ratio, they are still outnumbered. As the chopper blades get louder, Namora looks at you intensely, reaching out her hand.
“Come,” she insists.
She’s gotten you this far. You grasp her hand without hesitation and she pulls you to your feet. You edge closer to the tree line where you hope safety and concealment await you, but as you reach the lush landscape something pricks your ears. It’s not gunfire. It’s not the chopper.
Namora tugs your arm as she tries to usher you into the trees, but your focus is elsewhere. A faint, melodic breeze moves past you like a ghost, causing your mind to become hazy. As the sound grows louder, an indescribable melody rings in your ears that is both euphoric and dreadful. You don’t even notice the tension of Namora’s grip on your hand increase as your feet redirect you toward the water, compelled by its call.
“No!” Namora yells at you as she yanks your arm. The force of it snaps your attention back for a moment, and you watch as the agents who line the beach suddenly cease fighting and instead walk undeterred paths straight into the water. Terror fills you as they wade further and further out, the water coming up to their knees, then their hips, then their chests, until they are completely submerged underneath.
You shoot a glance to Namora, petrified and confused. Whatever is happening, she seems unaffected. Your thoughts and vision begin to cloud again, and you feel like someone else is controlling your body as the ocean summons you along with the others. Every part of you feels entranced by the chorus of voices in the air as their notes overwhelm your senses and leave you disoriented. Namora grabs you, practically throwing you over her shoulder as she runs into the trees. You become hard to carry, so she pulls you both into the cove of a sheltered root system at the edge of the foliage. Huddling next to you, Namora tightly wraps her arms around your head to cover your ears with her hands.
Pupils dilated, you desperately try to hold onto any shred of active consciousness before giving in entirely to the song. Your mind becomes infiltrated by it and begins to process what you see in pieces; men in the water, drowning themselves; gunfire raining down from the night sky; Namor, spear in hand, leaping into the air, taking impossible strides toward a chopper; the chopper spinning out of control.
You feel the heat against your face as the chopper crashes to the ground, exploding on impact. The last thing you remember seeing is Namor in the distance, standing on the sand. Illuminated by the raging inferno that burns behind him from the destroyed chopper, he is fierce, incredible, and terrifying.
A god. A monster.
The haunting chorus melody continues to consume your mind. Even with Namora’s help, you feel your body shift as it involuntarily attempts to get up. Namora squeezes her palms over your ears with even more strength and restrains your movements.
"No." She whispers fiercely.
You squeeze your eyes shut, covering your hands over Namora's as tightly as possible. Blood pours from your hand down hers, trickling onto your shoulder. The noise is too much, and as you feel yourself begin to scream, everything goes black.
——
Your feet drag through the cool sand.
That’s the first thing you see when you finally become conscious again. Your head hangs low in front of you, pounding as it bobs up and down. It’s still dark out, but you find your home lit up by more lanterns as you approach the pathway to your porch.
You glance to your right and left, discovering you are being assisted by two people on either side of you — Namora on your right and a much taller blue-skinned man on your left. His shoulders are wide and his head is outfitted with an armored hammerhead skull. Arms slung around both of their necks, your body is in a state of pure exhaustion as they get you up the stairs to the door.
As you start to step with your own feet, they are alerted by your recovered consciousness. Quickly, the man unhooks your arm from around him, steadying you against Namora. He retreats as you find yourself gaining feeling back in your body. Namora patiently waits for you to get your bearings, and when you do she opens the front door for you, ushering you to go inside. You follow her instruction, and there waiting for you in the bungalow is Namor.
Namor stands against your kitchen counter, the same place you stood when he first came crashing into your home. His arms are folded across his broad chest. Although his head is down, his eyes are flicked upward toward you, watching your every move. The flame of a lantern on the table glints off his irises, illuminating the dark stare that hovers just below his furrowed brow.
“Please, sit.” He says with a stern voice, his open palm gesturing toward a chair at the table.
As you sit down, you hear the front door close behind you.
Silence.
"Those men," he finally says, pushing himself away from the counter as he stands up straighter, “they were seeking information?"
You only nod, afraid to say too much.
“It’s safe to speak here. I’ve made sure of it.” He promises, sensing your reluctance to engage in conversation.
“They wanted to know about Namora." You answer cautiously.
Namor's expression grows even more serious. He subtly shifts his weight from side to side before settling back into the center of his powerful stance.
"And even with your life on the line, you said nothing."
You are unsure if he is making a statement or a question.
"Why?" He asks through a clenched jaw.
"Why?" You repeat back to him, caught off guard by the question. "Does it matter why?"
"Yes,” Namor says directly, raising his eyebrows. “Because I need to know if I put my spear through the right person.”
The seriousness of his statement hits you like a brick. Your mind flashes back to the beach, you on your knees with a gun to your head as Namor’s spear plows its way through the man next to you. How easily, you wonder, could he have changed his aim by just a few degrees if you had decided to open your mouth and spill what little information you did know to those men?
As you think about it, you also begin to ask yourself why. Why did you keep your mouth shut? Why did you help Namor and his people?
You take a deep breath as you consider your reasons, then lift your gaze to him.
“You barged into my home, broke down my door, and threatened my life. But even then, the motives behind your actions were clear — the love and concern for your people. These men,” your eyes trail away as you feel a wave of anger build up inside, "these men were driven by self-interest and self-preservation. It wasn’t hard to choose a side.”
His face is stoic as he listens to your answer.
“Plus,” you add, “I promised you I wouldn’t say anything. Twice.”
Namor looks at you the same way he did the night you met him. The look that tells you he is debating whether or not you are telling the truth. You are a witness testifying on the stand, and Namor is your judge and jury.
“Well, that is twice now you have saved my people. Again you have my gratitude." He says with a sigh, his expression softening.
You give a small smile, but it disappears when an unrelenting ache pounds inside your head, pulling you out of the moment. You reach up to rub your temple and suddenly feel a surge of pain coming from your hand, instantly reminding you of the injury you sustained from your face off against one of the agents on the beach.
“Shit,” You exclaim, pulling your cut, bloodied palm away from your face and looking at it.
"Here," Namor says, grabbing the roll of gauze off your kitchen counter as he moves in your direction. Pulling up a chair, he sits down directly in front of you so your knees are practically touching. He gestures for your hand. “May I?"
You consider his offer as you stare at the thick veins protruding from his forearm, binding themselves to his defined muscles like vines around a tree. Eyes darting back up to his, you cautiously nod your head to accept his help while simultaneously extending your arm to him.
Namor takes your injured hand gently in his own, cradling it as if it could shatter into a million pieces. Amazed by how his hand dwarfs yours, you feel a surge of energy in your chest when his thumb begins to rub along your wrist. He takes the roll of gauze and begins carefully wrapping it around your palm.
Calmly maneuvering each layer of the bandage, Namor's brow furrows ever so slightly as he slips deeper into a state of concentration. His grasp is firm but gentle, rotating your hand in tandem with the bandage and you take comfort in his touch.
Studying his face, you admire each feature and detail closely. You see the traces of salt against the rich tones of his skin, and soon your willpower gives way to a desire slowly being coaxed inside you as you allow your eyes to trail from his face to his broad shoulders, down his muscular biceps, and finally to his strong hands as they work to take care of you.
Namor begins humming softly as he continues wrapping your hand. There's a warm timbre in his voice that resonates in your ears, drawing your gaze back up to his face.
"That song..." your voice trails off as you grow more entranced by it, unable to find the words to describe its intoxicating melody. But a surge of fear runs through you as you recall another tune, the one from the beach, its haunting cadence prickling the back of your mind.
"My people have many songs," Namor says in a tone equally rich to his humming, calming you instantly. "Each one with a meaning and purpose."
"What is the purpose of that one?" You ask quietly.
Namor’s hands stop as his eyes wander up to yours.
"It's a lullaby, meant to bring the soul peace." His eyes flutter back down as he resumes wrapping the bandage around your hand. "My mother would sing it to me when I was a child."
"It's beautiful." You say reverently.
A smile spreads across Namor's face, but there's a hint of sadness in it. He leans down to your hand and you can feel your heart beat faster as his mouth hovers mere inches above your skin. The warmth of his breath rushes against your wrist, sending shivers through you. With great care, he tears the gauze with his teeth before tucking the loose end into a fold of the bandage.
"It is," he agrees, staring down at your hand which he now holds carefully between his own. "Especially in a world where peace is scarcely found."
His voice is gentle, but there is a bitterness brewing beneath the statement.
"I have spent my life ensuring peace for my people. Protecting it. Preserving it."
Namor looks back up at you, letting go of your hand as he sits up straighter in his chair. The room is quiet as his words sink in and you drop your gaze to think. As you do so, your good free hand migrates to the leather book still tucked in your waistband, your fingers fiddling with the binding.
“What is it?” Namor asks, snapping your eyes back up to his. You swallow nervously, unsure if you should share what is on your mind. Then again, you may not get another opportunity.
Slowly, you pull the book out from against your side, opening it to its marked page before pushing it across the table to him.
“You say you’ve spent your entire life protecting your people.” You preface, hesitating a moment before asking your question. “Is that... you?"
Namor stares at the book in front of him, tracing the outline of his likeness delicately on the open page with his fingertips.
"A version of me." He answers.
"How...." you rub your temple as you do the unnecessary math in your head, already knowing the hundreds of years difference between the book and the man in front of you doesn't add up. "How is that even possible? That book is centuries old, I mean," you are at a loss trying to wrap your head around it all, coming up short with any logical explanation, “who are you?"
Namor looks up at you, then his gaze descends back onto the open book. He gives a sad smirk.
“You are one of very few to ever ask who I am instead of what I am." He strokes his jaw with his thumb and forefinger. "The answer to neither of which will be found in your book." He says, shutting it and sliding it back toward you. You reach for it, only he doesn’t take his hand off the leather cover right away.
"You must always be weary of your authors.” He warns. “The preservation of one's opinion over time does not make it fact, no matter how long ago it was written."
He relinquishes his hold, you finish sliding the book back to your side of the table. Namor searches your face as his eyebrows pull closer together, a rare look of vulnerability in his eyes.
"I wear the mantle of king and am the protector of my people.” He begins. “They are my responsibility by birthright, a charge I’ve dedicated my entire life to upholding.”
Namor proceeds to tell you the story of his people — how they were driven from their home by Spanish conquistadors, and how their gods provided a remedy for a foreign disease that led them to seek sanctuary in the ocean itself. He explains that his mother was among them, pregnant with Namor at the time, and how the remedy herb altered his very being in the womb. Mutant is the word he uses, the reason for his strength and abilities, as well as his slow aging. He then describes the horrors he had seen upon returning his mother’s body to the surface world after her death, and the vow he took to keep outsiders away from his people and his beloved city he calls Talokan.
"So you see," he says leaning forward as he places his forearms on his knees, his face even closer to yours now, "I am no god. Nor am I a man. What I am is a leader who loves his people. If that makes me a monster, so be it. I will see the world burn before I subject my people to its sins and savagery.”
It’s a lot to take in. You study Namor’s expression as his stare now lingers away from you, his mind somewhere in the past. You can’t even begin to comprehend all that he has seen or experienced, but you do feel a clearer understanding of why he is the way he is. Filled with compassion for him, you cautiously reach up and cradle his face with your non-bandaged hand.
"You're not a monster." You reassure him gently.
This brings Namor’s attention back to you immediately, his dark eyes searching your face earnestly as he takes a deep breath through his nose. The bristles of his scruff are rough against your palm, creating a warm friction when he leans into your touch. Namor closes his eyes and lets out a sigh so deep it's as if he's releasing a weight from his shoulders, one that he has been carrying for far too long. His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing it deeper against his cheek.
“K’uk’ulkan,” a voice calls from behind you. You drop your hand back down to your lap as Namor glances over your shoulder. The man with the metal hammerhead skull stands at attention in the front doorway, his body so large it consumes the space entirely. Namor nods at him, then looks back at you.
"It's time," he says, pushing himself up to his feet. “More men will be coming. Namora is outside — collect what you need quickly, she will take you to a safe place.”
The realization sets in, and your heart sinks. Your home is no longer safe and you can’t stay here.
Namor offers you his hand, helping you out of your chair and onto your feet. In doing so, he pulls you into him and tucks his hand delicately under your chin. He’s impossibly close as he tilts your face upward toward his own.
"I am sorry." He whispers, a soft and apologetic tone in his voice. He gives you a remorseful look, but all you can think about is how little space currently exists between his lips and yours. Namor’s gaze flutters down from your eyes to your mouth, but the moment is fleeting as he drops his hand from your chin and takes a step back.
“Go.” He says, encouraging you to get your things. It’s his last word before walking past you and exiting out the front door.
Left alone in the empty bungalow, you make your way over to your bag still on the floor from earlier that evening. You take it and march into your room, grabbing some clothes, your toothbrush, and other small essentials. You don't have much in terms of possessions in the first place, so it doesn’t take long for you to collect what you need.
As you exit your bedroom, you get ready to leave when you look over at the small book on your table. Namor insisted it held no answers for you, but you go to retrieve it anyway, stuffing it in your bag along with the rest of your belongings.
You take one last look around your home, once an unfamiliar broken place that over time became your haven and sanctuary. It breaks your heart to leave, but you know you must.
“Thank you,” you quietly whisper to the room, hoping in some way its energy or spirit or anything can hear you. You make your final exit, walking out to the front porch just as the dawn is starting to break over the horizon. Warm hues cast shadows of orange and red across the island, and you breathe in the early morning air. As you look out across the beach, you are surprised by what little evidence remains of the night’s events. No bodies. No fires. Just large divots in the sand and some smoke along the tree line from a few singed palms.
Namora is standing at the edge of the pathway leading to your porch, waiting for you. Descending the stairs, nerves prompt you to tighten your grip on the shoulder strap of your bag as you brace yourself for the unknown.
“I’m ready,” you say when you reach her.
Namora looks at you seriously, then nods her head. Reaching up to her face, she carefully removes the apparatus from over her nose and mouth. It is the first time you have seen her whole face, unobstructed by the peculiar covering. She’s just as striking without it, and you notice a beautiful jade ring pierced through her septum, echoing Namor’s. She turns the mask in her hand and guides it onto your face, sealing it against your skin.
“Come,” she tells you, turning toward the ocean.
You take one last look back at your home, then fall into stride behind Namora as the two of you walk into the water.
-- -- --
Tag List (I think this is how you do it? Sorry if not, still figuring this whole Tumblr-thing out): @looneylikesbooks @omgsuperstarg @chixkencxrry @vainillasmil157 @demoiseller @sodonuthideout @shoutaaizawas @stany0url0calwh0res111 @hjjks @duckwithsunglasses
When do you think stranger part two will be out in dyinggg to read :)))
First and foremost, thank you so much! ☺️
So, THE STRANGER PT 2 IS COMING!! I promise, promise, promise! I apologize for the delay, I took a last minute trip to visit family and literally while on the plane decided to scrap what I had written and took a 180 with the story, but I feel like it's going in a MUCH better direction now. I seriously hope y'all love it. My goal is to have it posted by next week!
THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR YOUR PATIENCE, KINDNESS AND SUPPORT!!!
Warnings: Language, blood, brief mentions of violence and alcohol
Summary: Upon discovering the unconscious body of a woman floating in the water, you rush to provide aid. Little do you know her people are searching for her, bringing a mysterious man to your door.
A/N: Still very new to writing fanfic (this is literally post number two), but couldn’t get this drabble out of my brain for a week so here it is. Please be kind!
I loved how delicate this was. You have a balance between the rage and uneasy peace, and I loved everything about it. Namor’s lovely - not that I expected anything less from the sea serpent.
Hi! I just found your account and I just wanted to tell you that I loved your Namor Stranger story. I can't wait for part two and whatever else you have planned
Thank you sooo much! Both for reading my story AND for taking the time to tell me how much you loved it! Still wrapping my head around the fact that people are actually reading (and enjoying) what I've written. 🤯 (Side note: not only am I new to writing fanfic, but I'm also new to posting on tumblr in general so I'm still trying to learn the ropes and etiquette with replies/reblogs/follows/etc - if I miss something from you, my apologies!!)
I am very excited by what Part 2 is becoming, and hope in my heart of hearts it does justice to its predecessor. Stay tuned!!
Hi! This isn’t an ask, but I read your Namor Stranger fic and it was amazing! Also a brilliant idea! I know the reader is from the surface but I think you captured his reaction brilliantly.
The Stranger
Ahhh thank you so much! I really had fun creating this story. I wanted to take special care in finding ways to plug in familiar, more canon elements that stay true to the characters we have come to love and do them justice, while also bringing the reader into this world in a believable, relatable way.
Like I said in my A/N, this is my second fanfic ever and my first time writing for Namor, so I was pretty nervous posting it. I have been blown away by the positive reception it's gotten. While I originally wrote this as a one shot, part 2 is now currently in the works and I'm looking forward to sharing it soon!
Warnings: Meet-cute fluff, some light swearing, but that’s it!
Summary: When Eddie Munson decided to skip out on the latest Hawkins High student pep rally, the last thing he expected was to meet someone new — you.
A/N: This is my FIRST EVER piece of fanfic and I've been so nervous to share, so please be kind!
The student section erupted as Jason Carver continued his rant into the microphone. It was nauseating how much he loved to hear himself talk. All decked out in his uniform along with the rest of the basketball team, the microphone prickled and popped with each consonant he spat, his voice blaring through the harsh speakers of the old tattered Hawkins High gymnasium.
As his peers hung on every word coming from the team captain's mouth, Eddie Munson stood stoically against the side of the bleachers, completely unimpressed by what was unfolding in front of him. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, fists practically shoved into his armpits as if he were physically trying to contain his disdain for both pep rallies and Carver himself.
Unfortunately, attending this type of student function was a requirement at Hawkins High. (Something about the importance of building school spirit and community or whatever.) Determined to graduate this year, Eddie had sworn he would do whatever it took to get his diploma — even if it meant subjecting himself to soul-sucking assemblies. So there he was, lurking in the shadowy corner of the gymnasium while the theatrics continued to play out at center court.
Something between a yawn and a groan escaped his mouth amongst all the excitement. Each assembly was essentially the same as Eddie had discovered; students gathering, cheerleaders doing their peppy little routines, a faculty member going on about something like lunchroom etiquette, or the latest incident of school vandalism. At least the marching band was decent. Oh, and there was always, of course, the parading of Hawkins’ athletes. Eddie had seen it all, so while Jason Carver's self-indulgent monologuing was nothing new or surprising, it was still a bit much.
Who the hell thought it was a good idea to give this guy a microphone? Eddie thought to himself, now harboring an even more disenchanted look on his face.
"Let's do it for THEM!" Jason shouted, the crowd going wild. It triggered an involuntary roll of Eddie's eyes, accompanied by the dramatic toss of his head backward. In his exaggerated annoyance, he caught a glimpse of a bright neon sign behind him. He turned his head more fully over his shoulder, and there it was; shining as if to signal his salvation, the word 'EXIT' radiated red above the double doors of the gymnasium.
To Eddie's credit, he really had tried. He had tried to follow the rules and stick it out through the entire assembly. But as each segment became more insufferable than the last, the welcoming glow of the exit sign was far too tempting. Teachers and faculty had seen him enter the gymnasium, certainly, they wouldn't notice if he... excused himself a bit early.
The silver lining to Jason's never-ending speech was that it had engrossed the entire Hawkins High staff and student body. That meant all eyes were on the basketball team, allowing Eddie to slip away unnoticed. Eddie was no stranger to maneuvering quietly behind the scenes when he needed to, only drawing attention to himself when the situation called for it. Or when he wanted to make a statement. It depended on how combative he was feeling that day.
Arms still folded, his dark eyes shifted from side to side, carefully surveying the crowd. Keeping his posture casual, he began to take small cautious steps backward toward the exit. Eddie found his situation humorously similar to ones he had often led his friends through during DND campaigns; trapped in a dungeon of sorts, maneuvering the environment and relying on stealth to escape, all without alerting an enemy or any of its minions. From what he could tell, each element seemed pretty on point with his current circumstances.
Eddie inched closer and closer toward the double doors behind him when, finally, his lower back pressed against the cold metal crash bar. The contact drew a sharp inhale from his lungs as a thin sliver of exposed skin between his belt and the hem of his shirt touched the cool aluminum.
Eddie braced himself. Not yet in the clear, he could feel his patience wearing thin as Jason’s voice relentlessly kept grinding through the speakers, waging an assault on Eddie’s ear drums. Fighting the urge to just burst through the doors and break into a sprint, he took a breath and waited for the right moment to present itself. Then, as sure as the sun sets and rises, another bolster of applause exploded from the student section.
The cheering was precisely what Eddie needed. Sweeping his eyes across the scene in front of him one more time, he shifted his weight backward into the doors. The sound of heavy wood and metal scraping together as they opened was entirely drowned out by the crowd.
And just like that, there was one less student in attendance at the Hawkins High student pep rally, and no one had even noticed.
Well, almost no one.
His eyes still focused on the crowded gymnasium in front of him, a cocky, triumphant smirk stretched across Eddie's face as he backed further into the hallway, his steps now swaggering into a strut. Relishing in the pride of his escape, he stretched out his arms in celebration and flipped the bird with both hands at the doors as they began to shut, narrowing his view of the gymnasium until fully closed.
His antics were quickly interrupted, however. Before he could even turn around to head down the hallway, a single solitary voice called from behind him.
Your voice.
"Skipping out on one of Carver's rallying speeches?" You asked nonchalantly.
Eddie froze. Jesus Christ! He thought to himself. Since when did teachers start monitoring the halls during these things??
Smirk gone and eyes wide, Eddie was already coming up with excuses in his head as he whipped around, expecting to see a Hawkins High faculty member. Instead, to his surprise, his eyes fell upon you.
Eddie Munson was taken aback. Directly across the hallway from him, you sat calmly on a wide windowsill, your back wedged into the corner where the glass met the wall. You had your knees propped up to support a notebook, and with a pen in your hand you busily scribbled on the open page. Although your hair was pulled back into a ponytail, several strands had escaped your scrunchy and now hung down, framing your face. Despite Eddie’s presence and your posed question, your gaze remained on the paper in front of you.
Eddie looked around quickly as if to confirm the voice he heard did, in fact, come from you. As he had suspected, it was just the two of you alone in the otherwise empty hallway. Clearing his throat, Eddie approached you with a single cautious step, trying his best to play it cool and totally NOT act as if you had just caught him off guard.
"Oh, you know..." He said, swinging his arms back and forth, clapping his hands behind and in front of him. "One can only be inspired so much."
He gave a half-hearted laugh, not sure how the joke would land.
It hung in the air for a moment as you continued to silently scribble. Your eyes remained fixed on the notebook in front of you, which made Eddie nervous. He squinted, but from where he was standing, he couldn't tell if you were writing or drawing. Heat began radiating from his cheeks as uncertainty built inside him, unable to gauge how you would react to his sarcasm. The possibility that you could easily rat him out for skipping the pep rally added to his anxiety. The last thing Eddie wanted was to spend another afternoon in detention or worse -- be required to attend more student activities. But wait, weren't you skipping too, he wondered? What were you doing outside of the assembly? His thoughts were interrupted when you finally cracked a smile and began to laugh.
"Yeah, I suppose you're right." You nodded in agreement, chuckling as you continued to look down at the spiral-bound page in your lap.
Eddie let out a small sigh of relief, sliding his hands into his back pockets. He glanced down at his shoes, twisting a toe into the ground as he allowed himself to laugh a bit more at his own joke. Whoever you were, you seemed to share his sentiments about Hawkins High's latest golden boy, Jason Carver.
When Eddie’s eyes wandered back up from the floor, he saw that your amused expression had not faded. His heart beat a little faster as a sense of pride swelled inside of him, knowing he was responsible for putting that smile on your face.
Your face. Eddie couldn’t help but stare at it, mesmerized — the way you were sitting in the window, sun rays pouring perfectly through the glass and illuminating the side of your cheek. Shadows cast silhouettes that outlined your lips and delicately traced your chin down to your neck, making you look angelic. Those loose strands of hair that had fallen around your face shimmered brilliantly in the sunlight. On top of all that, your look of concentration gave you an aura that appeared nearly timeless. You were, in a word, beautiful.
A moment passed with neither of you saying anything. You had still yet to look up, and Eddie could sense he was lingering a bit too long. He quickly glanced back down towards his feet, as if the eye contact alone would be enough to convince them to move. It wasn't. It had been so easy walking out of the gymnasium only moments ago - left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot - and backward at that. So why was he having such a hard time with it now?
It wasn't a hard question for him to answer, really. He was intrigued. Who were you? Why hadn't he seen you before? Eddie's hand came up to his mouth, fingers settling against his chin as he thought. His thumb fiddled with the rings on his fingers for a moment, a bit of a habit when he was trying to focus.
Eddie's feet weren't budging, so instead of walking away, he decided to break the silence.
"Do I... know you?" He asked inquisitively, his hand leaving his chin slightly as he pointed at you.
The question stopped your scribbling. You knew the answer, and it was a simple one.
Did he know you? No.
On the other hand, did you know him? Well, not personally, no. But you certainly knew of him. Metalhead. Super Senior. Drug Dealer. Hellfire Club member. Devilishly handsome.
You rested your pen against your notebook, and for the first time since Eddie had backed into the hallway, you looked up to lock eyes with him. Suddenly, Eddie could not remember how to breathe - unprepared for the way his chest quickly tightened when your piercing eyes met his own deep brown ones. Your gaze was soft, yet it seized hold of him as if the Lady of the Lake herself had grabbed him and pulled him under into the cool depths of your irises.
"Probably not.” You said with a sweet smile as you shook your head, pulling Eddie back to reality. “I’m y/n. y/n l/n.”
Y/N. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth upon learning your name. In response to your introduction, Eddie stood up a little straighter, then bent forward into a low bow.
"Eddie Mun--"
"Munson." You blurted out before your brain could stop your mouth. Eddie’s head snapped up to look at you in surprise.
Now you were the one trying to play it cool. Your mind raced as you quickly tried to recover the conversation in a way that didn't make you out to be a stalker. You tilted your head slightly, propping your elbow against your knee as you leaned your face into the palm of your hand in an effort to conceal at least one side of your blushing cheeks.
A beat, then you explained.
"We have third-period math together... Ms. O'Donnell's class? Your name comes up during roll call... a lot."
You gave a playful grimace which caused your nose to scrunch and eyes to squint. Eddie started nodding his head, the tousled curls of his hair gently springing up and down in sync with his jaw. It was true, he couldn't even remember the last time he had attended that class.
"Plus," You added, "you're a bit notorious around here - especially after that little table walk number in the cafeteria, it was easy to put the name to the face."
"Ah, shit," Eddie said, simultaneously nodding and rocking back and forth on his feet. A sheepish smile made its way across his face. Eddie shoved his hands into his front pockets now, scrunching his shoulders up to his ears, "Yeah, that'll do it."
The two of you started to laugh, recalling his theatrics from earlier that day. Your laugh was a new kind of music to Eddie's ears. Melodic and infectious, it filled him with a warmth that made him want to melt right then and there.
Suddenly, a muffled eruption of cheers came from the gymnasium, drawing both of your attention. Eddie quickly glanced down at his watch. The rally was drawing to a close, and his window of time to slip away was getting dangerously small. He turned back toward you, his mouth open as he tried to find the right words to properly excuse himself.
"Go on," you said, beating him to the punch. Smiling and waving your hand in a shooing gesture, you already knew what he was trying to articulate. Bringing his hands together in thanks, Eddie gave you a quick bow of his head, then spun around to head down the hallway. He had only taken a few strides when suddenly he stopped. Pivoting back around, the chain around his belt loop swung against his hip as he turned to face you again, finding you were already looking down at your notebook, scribbling.
"By the way, if anyone asks--" he started to say.
"--I never saw you." You replied without missing a beat, finishing his sentence for him yet again. You raised your head from your notebook, giving him a knowing grin that reassured Eddie he could trust you to keep his secret.
“Y/n L/n,” he said, smiling back and pointing at you with both index fingers. He savored the sweet sound of your name in his mouth. As he turned to leave again, you earnestly interjected one last question.
"Out of curiosity, where are you headed?"
Eddie thought for a moment. Then, with a wicked glint in his eye, a mischievously playful grin spread across his face.
"Hell, most likely."
He gave you a wink, then turned quickly to take off down the hallway.
