Went For Aesthetic, Ended Up Looking Like Something Else . . . . . . . . . . . . . . #warm #selfie #ballerina

Went for 🩰 aesthetic, ended up looking like something else 🤦‍♀️ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . #warm #selfie #ballerina #fashionweek #fashionista #bestofbothworlds #influencer #blogger #fashionstyle #fashionblogger #photooftheday #follow #photogram #photographer #photography #photoshoot #mondaymotivation #redhead #ginger #aesthetic #blackwidow #contentcreator #reelsinstagram #REELSINSTAGRAM #abg #softaesthetic #fall #autumn #halloween #pumpkin (at Witch's Lair) https://www.instagram.com/p/CkBRKqwpE_N/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

Training for WINTER SOLDIER.

Pftt .. that aint true love... true love my arse

Never forget 🥹

The Artist and the Sea (Namor x f!Reader)

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAGLIST

Requests are open - slowing working my way through them!

A/N: Hello Nonnie! Thank you for requesting! It inspired me, and I couldn’t not write it as soon as I saw it. Also, let's pretend we can't see the spears being pointed at Namor in this gif lol. (Again, if any of the Yucatec Maya to English translations are off, please let me know!)

Request: tbh it's my first time requesting something regarding the marvel fandom but can i request a namor x fem reader where they meet at the beach when the reader is painting the landscape of the ocean? if you don't understand or don't want to write this, it's okay <333

Summary: You meet a stranger on the beach who takes an interest in your paintings, which somehow puts you in the position of painting the King of Talokan’s portrait. 

(Warnings: not a lot?, the kisses gets a little steamy, Namor is a little touch starved, WING TOUCHING!!!!!, no smut (nonnie didn’t specify and I didn’t want to deliver hardcore smut to someone who didn’t want it lol), reader doesn’t speak Namor’s language but loves the nicknames anyways, I think that’s it???) 

Translations:  

ki'ichpam artista – beautiful artist 

pétalo – petal 

ch'ujuk ch'úupalo' – sweet girl 

princesa – princess

The light reflecting off the ocean was a blinding blue, and you had been trying to blend your paint together to mimic the color for 15 minutes already. You grunted with displeasure as your paintbrush stained three shades too dark. Today was a day for painting. The wind wasn’t blowing too hard, the weather was the perfect mix of cool, but not too cold, and the tides were relatively consistent. When you’d walked out onto your back porch earlier this morning and laid your eyes on the little slice of the beach you owned, it almost felt like an invitation.  

Now, you were regretting your decision to lug all of your paint supplies out of your tiny studio and down the beach. You rolled your eyes, tossing the palette down onto the old blanket you used to keep any stray paint from spilling onto the beach. You dipped a clean brush into the tan color you had mixed earlier and began working on creating the right texture for the sand.  

The beach was mostly empty today, but even during tourist season, there wasn’t much foot traffic this far down the beach. Your grandmother’s house was a small, but cozy cabin-like home, nestled in a small cove that only locals knew about. You had spent many summers here, tucked away in your little slice of heaven, painting anything and everything you saw. When your grandmother had passed away, the deed of the house was transferred to you, and suddenly you were a homeowner.  

You had transformed the inside after moving in, turning the office into an art studio, and transforming the bedroom into a library. Your bedroom, if you could call it that, was actually the living room with tapestries hung up as makeshift walls. You didn’t mind, and neither did anyone else. Or they wouldn’t, you thought, if anyone happened to come by.  

You sat back on your stool, looking between the sand around you and your canvas. The texture was coming along nicely, and you grinned at your work. Landscapes had never been your forte – most of your commissions were oil portraits – but you had been working on expanding your skills over the last few months.  

“You are an artist?”  

An unfamiliar voice startled you from your concentration, and you furrowed your brow at the intrusion. You weren’t one to hog the beach, but you’re clearly a busy woman that didn’t want to be bothered. You leaned around the canvas, intent on staying silent and ignoring the man, but did a double take when you made eye contact with the man.  

He was undoubtably beautiful, and definitely not a local. His body was adorned with beautifully carved artifacts draping across his chest and shoulders, and the only actual article of clothing he wore was a pair of green shorts. You glanced down at the light flutter at his ankles, which had small wings sprouting from the sides of them. You brought your eyes back up, not wanting him to catch you staring, but the stranger hadn’t taken his eyes off you since you’d acknowledged him.  

“I’m a...what?” You asked, blinking. You’d been so distracted by his sudden appearance that you’d forgotten the question he’d asked.  

“You are an,” he nodded to the canvas in front of you, “artist. Yes?”  

“Yes.” You nodded, standing from your stool. “But I am not very good at landscapes.”  

He walked around you, facing the canvas and looking over it with a prompt shake of his head.  

“This is beautiful. You are very good.”  

“Oh.” You mumbled, ringing your hands together. “Thanks.”  

You could feel your cheeks heating at his compliment, and you didn’t want to know why his compliments were getting such a rise out of you. This man was a complete stranger, and his opinions on your art should not have gotten that reaction out of you.  

“You are not reacting to me the way I thought you would.”  

You stared at your half-finished canvas harder, refusing to look in his eyes again, as you mulled over his statement. Yes, this was definitely the strangest encounter you’d ever experienced, but you lived in a universe where Avengers seemed to be popping up in every city, so the idea of a man from the sea appearing on your beach wasn’t as farfetched as it sounded. He was clearly a powerful being, but you weren’t afraid of him, or his power for that matter.  

“How did you think I would react?” You finally asked, peaking at him in your peripheral.  

“I am not sure. This is my first time approaching a surface dweller like this.”  

“Surface dweller?” You scoffed, finally meeting his gaze.  

He had a small smile on his face. “You dwell...amongst the surface. Do you not?”  

“I’m assuming you dwell amongst something else?” Your eyes flicked towards the sea and then back at him. 

“You assume correctly.” He dipped his head in a nod, adjusting his stance to face you. “I am Namor.”  

You tested the name on your tongue, repeating it under your breath. Your gaze ran across his broad chest, trying to gauge the colors of paint you would mix to paint the golden-brown hues of his skin. 

“Can I paint you, Namor?”  

The words were out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. He was just so pretty, and the artist in you couldn’t deny how beautiful the painting would turn out.  

“You want to paint me?” He furrowed his brows, but the grin on his face grew slightly.  

“Yes,” you responded quickly, nodding your head with vigor, “I would like to paint you.”  

He was silent for a few moments, before shrugging his shoulders in a very human motion. “Okay, ki'ichpam artista. You may paint me.”  

- 

Your portrait of Namor would take you a few weeks, maybe even a month to complete. You wanted to highlight his strength and the unbridled power he possessed, but you also wanted to emphasize his beauty. Namor would have to visit you many times for you to get every detail just right, and the thought of that sent an excited flurry of butterflies through your stomach. You thought about taking a photo of him, to speed the process along, but quickly decided against it. It’s not every day that a girl gets to sit with a God, let alone paint one. 

The first visit was mostly a sketch session, and you spent the vast majority of the time studying Namor’s features, sketching a few lines, and then erratically erasing different areas of the canvas. Namor sat patiently, watching you mumble under your breath as you captured the angles of his face. He wasn’t used to being studied so closely but being under your careful eye didn’t make him uncomfortable.  

“Why did you become an artist?” Namor asked as you looked between your canvas and his face.  

“Because I love art.” You murmured, squinting at the line you’d just drawn. 

Namor smiled, and you ignored the fluttery feeling in your chest.  

“I know that pétalo. I meant, why do you love art?” 

You glanced up at him, studying the way his lips curled when he smiled. You began sketching again before you answered him.  

“Art brings people together, you know? That’s super cliché, but I guess it’s true.” You shrugged. “Languages are complex. They cause confusion and barrier us from other cultures. But art is a form of communication that doesn’t have those boundaries. Everyone can look at a painting and understand it at its very core, even if they interpret it differently.”  

Namor nodded, leaning back on his hands in the sand. You had a sneaky feeling that not many people got to see Namor in this relaxed state and took a mental picture of it so you could sketch it later.  

“You have a very pretty way of saying things pétalo.”  

You blushed, focusing on the angle of his pointed ears on your canvas.  

- 

It wasn’t until your third session with Namor that he began opening up about his home in Talokan. He told you about his people, and how most of the world didn’t know of their existence due to his vigorous efforts to protect them. You had an overwhelming sense that Namor’s pride lay in the ruling of his people, and that he would do anything to protect them.  

While he described his homelands to you, you snuck another peek at his ankles. You’d have to ask him for a closer look eventually. The only way you could do them justice in your painting was by touching them, but you didn’t know how to ask. 

“You can...touch them, if you need to, pétalo.” 

You looked up, stiffening with guilt. You didn’t know what to say to that.  

“You cannot hurt me. I promise.” He nudged his foot out, urging you to touch them. 

You nodded slowly, softly setting your paintbrush down and standing from your seat. You kneeled down beside him, leaving a trail of featherlight touches along the inside of one of the wings. The texture was unlike anything you’d ever felt before, and you couldn’t help the second stroke you left across the back of the wing.  

Namor inhaled sharply and you pulled your hand away, looking up at him with concern.  

“Did I hurt you?” you asked, squeezing your hands together. 

“No, ch'ujuk ch'úupalo'. They are very...sensitive.”  

“Oh. Oh.” You stood up, swiftly turning to walk back towards your canvas, when his hand lightly wrapped around your wrist, stopping you.  

“It’s okay, pétalo. No one has touched them in many years. It was a feeling I had forgotten, that’s all.” His eyes shone bright with ease, and the soft smile on his lips was comforting.  

You nodded, returning his smile. You noticed that he hadn’t let go of your wrist, even though it was clear you weren’t moving away from him anytime soon.  

“Were you born with them?” You asked, looking up at his tall frame.  

“Yes. And these, too.” He pointed at his ears, and you couldn’t help it when you reached forward, running a fingertip along their edge.  

“Beautiful.” You murmured under your breath, leaning in to get a closer look. Everything about him was beautiful, and you were finding it harder and harder to breathe when you were this close to him. 

Namor stumbled back, facing the ocean with such speed that you stumbled forward in his absence.  

“I must go. Something is not right at home. I am sorry to leave so quickly. It was just getting good. I will see you again, next week, pétalo.” 

You watched him walk back into the water, washing away with the tide, and just like that, he was gone.  

- 

The fourth session you were supposed to have with Namor was nearly ruined by a terrible storm brewing on the coast. You’d startled awake to the loud clap of thunder and watched through your window as the ocean violently responded. The rain came soon after, and just as you convinced yourself you wouldn’t be seeing Namor today, his powerful body trudged out of the water and onto the beach.  

You met him at your front door, ushering him inside as the storm raged above his head. He stood in your foyer/living room/bedroom and looked around. You froze with the realization that this was the first time he had entered your house. It was strange, you thought, seeing someone so ethereal surrounded by the familiar, but common, walls of your home. You hadn’t done the dishes the night before, and your bed was unmade, but his attention had been snagged by the light coming from your makeshift studio.  

“In here, then?” He pointed, gaze returning to you. 

“Yeah. I’ll be in there in a minute. I just have to get my sketches.”  

As soon as he rounded the corner, you bolted forward, straightening the covers on your messy bed and throwing dirty laundry into a pile in the corner. You ran your fingers through your hair, and finally joined him in the room a few moments later.  

He was hunched over, looking at the dozens of sketches you’d drawn of him. You face palmed and internally groaned as you realized that you hadn’t put them away before inviting him inside. This was an embarrassing secret, to say the least, but you couldn’t stop drawing him. Every time he sent you a new look or moved his body in a way that captured your attention, the urge to draw it in your sketchbook wouldn’t leave your mind until you finally gave in and sketched it out.  

“You are very talented, ch'ujuk ch'úupalo'.” he said, standing to his full height. 

“Thanks.” You mumbled through your hands, trying to hide the fact that you were blushing, again. You shifted your focus to the painting, which was nearing its completion. “I’m almost done with the painting. I think after today I’ll just have to do minor touchups.” 

“That is...wonderful, pétalo.” He plopped into one of the chairs you had set up around the room. You moved toward him and reached your hands out, intending to turn his head the way you needed it to finish the painting, but you hesitated. Your arms were frozen, stretched out in front of you as you met his heated gaze.  

He shifted forward, keeping his gaze on you as he slowly leaned into your outstretched palms. Your hands curled into hair, and he shuttered, eyes closing as he forcefully pushed his head further into your hold. You tried to ignore the butterflies his slight movement had spurred in your stomach, but the soft groan he let out as you ran your fingers through his hair ruined any chance you had of controlling your blood pressure. 

“It has been...a very long time since I’ve been touched so gently, princesa.” 

You swallowed, unsure what to do next, but he was quick to hoist you into his lap. You traced his jaw and couldn’t help but glance at his lips as you met his gaze. He wrapped his arms around your waist and tugged you closer to his body.  

“I did not mean to fall for you so entirely, ch'ujuk ch'úupalo', but you have not left my mind since I saw you painting on the beach.” 

His voice was soft, but his hands tightened around your waist as he spoke. He had to physically restrain himself from pulling your lips down to meet his. But he would wait, a lifetime if he had to, for a sign of consent from you before crushing his lips against yours.  

“I finished the painting last night.” You revealed, choking out a laugh. “I just wanted one more day with you before you left.”  

Namor let out a deep laugh, throwing his head back against the back of his chair. “What were you planning on doing all day, princesa?” 

You groaned, resting your forehead on his shoulder. “I was going to pretend to paint for a few hours before showing it to you.”  

“If you wanted to spend more time with me, princesa, you only had to ask.” Namor was grinning wide, running his fingers along the curve of your waist.  

“Don’t you have important kingly things to attend to?”  

“Yes, but nothing that can’t be rearranged, ch'ujuk ch'úupalo'. You are also important to me.” 

You smiled, cradling his face between your hands. His expression turned molten as you leaned into him, parting your lips in anticipation. He cupped the back of your head, pulling you the rest of the way down to meet his lips. The kiss was both sweet and lustful. His tongue dominated yours, begging for more as he ran his hands over your waist.  

He pulled away from you abruptly, squeezing your waist. You were about to crawl off of his lap and begin profusely apologizing to him, but his words stopped you.  

“You said you finished the painting. Can I see it?”  

“Of course.” You jumped off of his lap and ran to the closet you’d hidden it in, suddenly excited to reveal it to him. You’d been keeping it a secret until it was finished, and to say you were eager to hear his thoughts on it was an understatement.  

You set it on your canvas stand and stepped back, allowing him to fully see the painting. It had come out better than you’d hoped, and you’d known by the time you were halfway finished that it would be your best portrait yet.  

He leaned in, marking the tiny details you’d spent hours polishing, and smiled.  

“Ch'ujuk ch'úupalo', I have seen many paintings of me over the years, but none come close to this. You are so talented, princesa.”  

“Do you really like it?” You asked, clutching your hands into your chest.  

“I love it, my ki'ichpam artista. If I could take it with me and hang it for all my people to see, I would.” 

“Really?” You squeaked, trying not to tear up at his declaration.  

“Do you like it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“I think it’s my favorite painting I’ve ever done.” You breathed, glancing at it. 

“You should keep it, ch'ujuk ch'úupalo'. Hang it in your home as a reminder of me, for when I have to attend to those kingly duties.”  

You thought it over for a moment, and then smiled. “Okay.”  

Parting with that painting was something you’d been dreading since you’d started it, along with the idea of not seeing Namor on a regular basis, but he’d just relieved your doubts in one sentence. You got to keep the painting and you’d be seeing him again. 

“Okay.” He repeated, pulling at your waist until you were situated in front of him. He leaned down, planting a soft kiss on your lips, and you finally gave into those damned butterflies, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for another kiss. 

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I am the anon who mentioned this isn't PR, wouldn't be good PR , Backgrid, how the fandom wondered why Chris doesn't have the same career as his peers, and wasted potential. I'm going to get into observations I've made since coming to the fandom in 2020 after watching Snowpiercer.

I feel further validated by the latest events.

What we're seeing is the Chris before Marvel PR cleaned him up. He was always a fuckboi pre Marvel. He hasn't changed or evolved. He surrounds himself with yes people who never challenge him or encourage him to level up because they know if he did they would get left behind and lose the freebies he gives them. The saying "You're the average of the 5 people you surround yourself with" applies here. His friend group appears to be immature, thirsty, and too overly involved in his life. Just because they knew him before fame doesn't mean anything. I think there have been quality women he dated who were turned off by his clique of friends always in their business and face. Not to mention the same vacations, the same restaurants, the same everything. Groundhog Day. Who wants to date someone like that?

I didn't realize Jim Toth use to be his agent. Look at what he did for his wife Reese Witherspoon. Reese gave an interview explaining that she had aged out and was unhappy with her career. She said Jim pushed her to create her production company which she did. She also used Jim's connections to launch Draper James, her book club, podcast, and other ventures. Jim also helped rebrand Matthew McConaughey. He had the Golden Year for Dallas Buyer's Club and True Detective. He turned down the Wolf of Wall Street that got Jonah Hill an Academy Award nomination because of money. I'm sure Jim tried to get him to the next level.

Chris directed one movie. It didn't get the response he wanted yet he didn't seek directing gigs on television to hone his skills. Denzel Washington directed episodes of Grey's Anatomy. Other actors and actresses have done the same. Defending Jacob didn't get awards recognition so he returns to comfort zone of romantic comedies and action films instead of trying again with the drama genre. Look at his ex Jessica. She created her production company when she didn't get the roles she wanted. The Sinner and Candy changed her career for the better. Chris is capable of so much more with his career. He gives up after one try.

The latest mess is just his immaturity and wanting to be a rebel. He'll retreat when he becomes a punchline while being compared to Dane Cook and John Mayer. That's where this train is headed if this goes public. He has coasted off his reputation for being kind to fans, crew members, and staff. That gets celebrities a lot of leeway with fans when we have other celebrities who make staff and fans miserable.

His messiness is more on display due to social media and not having Marvel backing him. Studios heavily invested in certain actors and actresses always keep their PR image intact.

He will either become a cliched joke or find his own version of Amal Clooney.

Yes, yes, a thousand times yes, Anon. (BTW, would you like to pick an emoji for future use as an ask tag?)

I do think people don't understand how much benefit he got from having two PR teams, Disney and Megan, cleaning up behind him from 2011-2019. We've already seen the "oopsies" that have started happening once Disney/Marvel dipped out. And now that he's full-blown in the messiness of a mid-life crisis, who knows what else we'll see.

But, I'm not seeing anything over the last couple of days that changed my mind from "situationship" that has PR angles unfortunately attached. I don't think it makes it somehow more special that he coasted up in NYC for some Broadway shows when he's got some filming downtime. If nothing else, to me it just makes it look even more like an arranged meet-up.

Ughh it's so fluffy my heart can't take it 😭😭

amor ; namor mckenzie.

pairing ; namor x mutant!gn!reader

synopsis ; we know what it’s like to be punished for love.

words ; 1.1k

themes ; angst, fluff, mutant au, married au

warnings / includes ; no black panther: wakanda forever spoilers, reader is a mutant and can transform into a creature known as the mishipeshu, brief mentions of a conquistador and mutant bigotry, you and namor bicker like an old married couple <3

part two. main masterlist.

The feathered serpent god—K’uk’ulkan. Leader, savior, ruler.

That’s what your people called him. But not you.

“Mi amor,” you called out, a small crease of worry divoting between your brows. You rose from the waters and into the expansive cave, glowing a faint green from the bioluminescent sea lanterns, striding up to your husband. “You have yet to eat today. I’m worried about you.”

He glanced towards you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His arms extended to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and roping you closer. “I’m sorry—I’ll be down shortly. There’s just a lot on my mind right now.” 

Humming in response, you placed a soft kiss to his cheek, then another to the side of his nose. A satisfied rumble thundered within his chest. With his free hand, he gestured to the rocky wall you were facing. 

You tilted your head upwards, observing his handiwork. It was a grand mural, painted with bright coral pigments and sponge-tipped brushes. Every stroke held a thousand memories, every color a symbolic tale. It was no wonder Namor spent hours upon hours here.

“That’s me,” you whispered, stepping closer to the wall. It wasn’t you in your human form—it was an intricate drawing of Mishipeshu, as the land-dwellers called you when you transformed. There were about a couple dozen humans with spears pointed towards the creature. A lump formed in your throat. You could feel a tar-like darkness stain your insides at the memory. The surface-people were once your friends, but that was a lifetime ago. 

“It was the day we met,” Namor susurrated, vibranium jewelry jingling as he strode towards the other side of the cave, where another painting resided. “When I found out you were not like the other Talokans—a mutant, like me.”

“That was not a pleasant memory. The humans I once trusted, betrayed me. They were hurting me and I… I thought you were going to do the same. I nearly killed you,” you sighed wistfully.

At that, Namor whirled around, arching a brow as he stalked back to you. “If I remember correctly, I almost killed you.” He leaned closer with a smug look etched over his features, only mirroring your steps every time you shuffled back. 

“I am nearly sure I was winning that fight.”

His low chuckle reverberated through the cave. “I beg to differ.”

“I broke your arm!”

“I cut your tail off.”

“And then I married you not long after,” you gruffed with a scowl, gently shoving his face away when he backed you into a corner. “Besides, my tail grew back a month later—no thanks to you.”

“And who was the one that proposed marriage?” Namor leered, grabbing your wrists to keep you from swatting him.

A low growl caught in your throat. “You are insufferable, my love.”

He barked out a laugh. “As are you, mi vida.”

Then, he kissed you. It was a kiss of contrasts—his cold jewelry pressing flush against your sweltering skin, and his lips rough as his nose softly slotted against yours. The silence was loud, nearly deafening, only thickening as he crowded you against the wall, the damp stone scratching almost painfully against the bare skin of your back. But you didn’t care.

“Amor,” you croaked, when his lips left yours, trailing down your jaw, to your quivering throat, to your heaving cleavage. He hummed in question, wordlessly asking you what was on your mind. “Why me? Why did you choose to save me?”

“Because I saw myself in you,” he replied easily, letting go of your wrists so he could press a frigid palm flat over your sternum. He could feel the frantic thumping over your heart pulse, only seeming to quicken the longer he stared at you. “Because you’re the only one that can truly understand me.”

“Because we’re mutants?”

Namor regarded you silently, before dipping his head to kiss you, much slower this time. When he pulled away, he whispered, “Because we know what it’s like to be punished for love.”

You studied him with wide eyes—the emerald luminescence cast arching shadows over his face, and for a moment you understood just why everybody called him a god. He certainly looked like one. 

But your love was not a god. He was a man—a man that lived through repeated nightmare after nightmare. A man who’d seen too much for a single lifetime. A man left with a legacy that he never asked for. 

A man with mutant powers—like yours.

Did that make you a god?

To the surface-dwellers, that made you a monster.

“I love you,” he muttered into you, lifting his head to meet your eyes steadily. They were narrowed, dark and observant, as if searching you for any sign of regret. He uttered those words very sparsely, usually in the dead of night when you were already sound asleep, or when one of you had to leave Talokan for a long period of time.

The land-roamers called him Namor, a man without love—but he had so much to give to you. The love he harbored for you laid heavy and stagnant within his chest, clinging to every bone of his ribcage, to every pump of his heart. It was tricky and unfamiliar to deal with at first—because the only time he’d ever loved someone this much was for his mother. He was not talented in the art of love, that was certain.

He was never one to be insecure. But with a name such as Namor so deeply ingrained into his being, he could only wonder if that was perhaps true. A Spanish conquistador used his dying breath to call him devil-born, undeserving of love. 

Was there truth to his words? Did he have your love in return? And if he did, would he deserve such love?

“You think so loudly,” you said, tilting your head. You kissed the corner of his mouth. Once, twice, thrice. He would do anything for a fourth. “I love you, amor. It’s like you said before—I was the one that wanted to marry you, remember?”

Your husband huffed, smiling fondly at the memory. “Mmh, very adamant about it, as well—”

“It’d be wise if you didn’t finish that thought, K’uk’ulkan.” 

Playfully, he narrowed his eyes. “You’ll have to make me, Mishipeshu.”

You surged forward and slanted your lips against his once more, and Namor reciprocated with an equally passionate vigor.

Yes, he thought, as your muffled laughter rang through the cave whilst you kissed him, throwing your arms over his neck, he had your love. And he most definitely deserved it, too.