#and I'm not saying that Erik Killmonger was RIGHT i am just saying that he was actually probably right and there is a reason that the film

[migosis]

One story, six prompts (erik killmonger x reader short)

i came out of retirement and challenged myself using prompts from @eye-raq's post here.

Synopsis: Erik is getting serious with a girl who is scared to love him b/c of past trauma. What happens when he breaks her trust?

masterlist

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You were in the kitchen preparing a snack before you sat down to watch television. The distraction of being entertained by drama that wasn’t yours was exactly what you needed this evening. Even though this was your second time watching Insecure, you still couldn’t decide if you were Team Issa or Team Molly. Your phone chimed, notifying you there was motion detected on your front door step and moments later you heard a few knocks. You scoffed once you saw the footage of Erik waiting impatiently, checking to see if there was a key under a planter nearby. You barely cracked the door open before walking back in the house towards the kitchen. You heard him smack his lips, but you were genuinely unconcerned in the moment about his frustration. He was hot on your tail following you into the kitchen where you faced away from him and continued cutting your pineapple.

“I don’t like being hung up on, that’s some grimy shit.” He declared.

“Unfortunately for you Erik, I dont really give a fuck about what you like right now. I told you I wanted space so I’m not sure why you’re here.”

“Y/n, that was 4 days ago. I'm tired of this, all you do is shut down. It would be one thing if you actually moved on, but you're still mad about the same shit four days later. Like where does that leave me?"

"I don't know." You said nonchalantly. 

"See this what the fuck I be talking about. Is this a relationship or not?"

"Erik, I don't know what you want from me.”

"I want you to stop fucking running and talk to me so we can get past this. I want more than this, I’m tired of playing games."

"I don't want to get past it. I just want to be heard. And clearly you couldn't do that so I hung up."

"Babe, I heard you. I told you I was sorry and I even understood where you was coming from. I told you how I could’ve handled it better, but why am I the only one that has to be accountable? You went thru my phone and found something you shouldn't have been looking for in the first place. Why you can't admit that? Why you can't admit that you didn't trust me in the first place?"

"Erik, stop. I really don't wanna do this." Here you were trying to stave off the immense emotion you felt in that moment. You could place it, but your chest was tight, palms hot, and you used the back of your hand to stave off tears that threatened to fall. 

Erik's chest ached when he heard your voice crack. He hated to see you cry, and even more for him to be at the source of it. He was truly apprehensive in trying to soothe you. He knew you were asking for space, but who else was going to do the work of soothing you and earning your trust back. In a group chat, his friends commented on y/n’s “standoff-ish” demeanor and implying that she was insecure in her looks and suggested that he could do better. Y/n’s heart sank when Erik did not defend her, but only replied insisting they mind their business and making several jokes about their failed relationships. 

He stepped closer from behind. He placed his hand over yours gently, prying the knife out of her and sitting it down.

"Listen y/n, this love shit is scary as hell but I'm willing to accept it. Are you?"

Love? You questioned internally, had he meant to say that. It felt unreal, but not unreal enough for you to deny it. When you thought about how Erik treated you, you could tell he loved you. And even though you had labeled the relationship you and him had kindled everything else under the sun it was only in this moment you realized what you two had cultivated was love. 

Even despite this realization, some wounded part in you needed to push back. "Erik, I don't think you know what you're saying." You shook your head. You could feel his hands around your waist now, making you tense up. But when he rested his head on your shoulder, you began to breathe again. If you could so casually let him in, it also meant that letting him go wouldn’t be so easy. You needed to make a fight, construct walls, not allow yourself to get used to his love because the love you were used to was unstable, unreliable, and unsafe. In reality Erik had been the opposite of all of those things to you, so this was the moment you understood the problem all along was not that you needed to let him in like he’d been pleading for. You needed to let you out. This solitary confinement was making your love for Erik complicated. It was making his love for you hard, while it could be so easy. His love truly swept you up and held you tight. It was hard to breathe his air, but with all of these realizations flooding your mind, you know you could not keep suffocating yourself with burdens of the past or concerns of the future.

His lips found your neck and he promptly turned you around to face him. Gently, he brushed away the tears that spilled down your cheeks.

"You know how I feel about you, it's already apparent. Please don’t cry baby."

He kissed you again and your hand grabbed onto the front of his shirt holding him there. You pulled him deeper into your mouth. Tasting him again felt amazing and the way his hands grazed your hips made you want him in other ways. You hummed into his mouth out of pure impulse. When you pulled away, you turned leaning over the counter and pressed your backside into him. You grinded against him, tempting him to palm your ass. His hand continued up your back, grabbing you up against his chest by your ponytail. She quickly went to untie the elastic on her pajama shorts and pull them down but Erik's hand stopped her. 

"Wait."

"What?" She questioned as he stepped back from her painstakingly slow.

"Erik c’mooon." She whined at him. Once she actually looked back at him, she could see the pensive look he had on his face which made her fill with concern.

"Sex isn't going to make this go away.”

"I know that, Erik." She nearly rolled her eyes, but she was trying her best to be earnest.

"I want you to talk to someone baby.”

Off rip, you were immediately embarrassed at the thought of him telling you that you needed some type of help. 

“I’m not ready for that yet.”

“Well you’re not talking to me and I’m trying to stay together, so am I worthy enough to change your mind?”

“Can you be flexible? How about we talk to someone?”

“Couples therapy? I never thought I’d need that corny ass shit.” He muttered the last part quietly. “But I love you and I know you do too, so you’re really gonna have to convince me otherwise.”

It was hard to bring yourself to say those words so you simply stated. "I do." He smirked and lifted you on the counter. He looked you over and told you how much he missed you. He kissed you, his tongue delving into your mouth. You held his scruffy jaw, beckoning him closer to you. You barely flinched when his hand crept around your neck, and finally found home grasping your chest.

"I thought you said no sex." You said breathlessly.

"That was before, now I'm about to make love to you."

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taglist: @hearteyes-for-killmonger @loveeeeandaffection @iamrheaspeaks @adasosweet @goddessofthundathighs @thiccdaddy-mbaku @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @eye-raq @madamslayyy @sweeter-thejuice @wawakanda-btch @theunsweetenedtruth @wokeblock @smutty-smut-smuty @wakandamaybe @stainontheground  @killmongerkink @soufcakmistress

[giantkillerjack]

Me, an American, researching the fall of the Roman Republic and noticing some... parallels:

Image description: a gif from what looks like a 90s anime film, showing a woman leaning in to look at a computer and seeing that it is glitching and repeating itself. She looks at it wide-eyed in concern and fascination.

[veliseraptor]

if no one has asked about the MCU... how bout the MCU...

bold move! no one had at the time (though an anon cruised in after you to do the same) so here goes. of course this did kind of rely on me remembering what it was like to have strong feelings about the MCU (womp womp) which took a bit of doing but I think I did all right

though what I realized here is that a lot of my character feelings about MCU folks don't actually fit these categories very well! interesting.

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most): I have written over 1 million words of fanfiction about Loki so I feel like that answers this question.

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped): I don't actually think I have one of these??? unless maybe blue-haired tomboy Natasha who does kind of give me cuteness aggression regardless of the fact that she has definitely already killed somebody. but as we've established that's not a disqualifying factor here.

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave): she might be a main character but the fact that she didn't get a funeral means that I'm putting Natasha here anyway.

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week): I feel like anything I said here would be doing my friends with truly obscure MCU faves a disservice, so I'll just say that I think I've probably spent more brainspace thinking about Jane Foster than is in any way reasonable, and I am not sorry about it.

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave): almost to a one any character in the MCU that could be described as a poor little meow meow is probably one of mine but, like, top five:

Loki

Nebula

Erik/N'Jadaka/Killmonger

Sylvie

Yelena Belova

I almost put Xu Wenwu on here but that feels insulting to him. but also. kind of. also considered Xu Xialing but I feel like the fact that I just want her to be worse puts her in a different category

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason): I practically built my MCU fandom career on tormenting Loki for fun.

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell): I almost said Thanos but ultimately he just bores me too much to care, so I'm just gonna go ahead and say I would send Tony Stark to superhell at this point. it's not entirely his fault but I stand by it.

[omegas-spaghettios]

I want to talk about shipping/fandom issues that I see, specifically through the lens of the ship of Tony and Killmonger from What If...?

Feel free to leave notes discussing with me, I'm open to new ideas. But I suspect I'll just piss people off, they'll get inflammatory, then block me. I'm not asking you to agree, I'm asking you to actually consider what I'm talking about.

I really dislike this ship. A lot. In order to ship it you have to blatantly ignore Erik's character and change it in favor of Tony. Erik throughout this entire episode is using Tony, he isn't genuine. Sure they act buddy buddy, and I personally can 1000% see that Tony would love him, but to ship them as a couple you have to ignore Erik as a character. Erik hates a lot of what Tony is, a white man who benefits and profits off of causing pain to others. Erik believes that the system of government in the US is fundamentally broken, it is actively oppressing black people, and Tony legitimately creates the war machine to keep that government's power. Tony is everything Erik wants to tear down, and we see that. He uses Stark Industries and Tony as a means to an end, and you can bet that his plan, once he held Wakanda's power, was to destroy the entire company.

Even from Tony's side you are ignoring HIS character. Erik actively murdered Rhodey, that happens and Tony catches him. To ship these two and NOT change Erik, you have to accept that Tony would love someone who would murder his best friend, which, uh, is not Tony.

Erik even blatantly says to Tony that the difference between the two is that Tony cannot see the difference, yet people seem to ship them anyway. This feels very pacifying of BIPOC anger to me.

Now I am a white idiot, so I want to clarify: I am NOT speaking to BIPOC people, you know more than I, it is not my place to talk down to you about race issues and I am not pretending to. I am talking to other white people who ship these two. And if I am wrong, I give BIPOC people an open invitation to tell me and I will take this down or change it, whatever extent you want to be involved. If you want to put in effort to explain where I am wrong and help me fix it it would be greatly appreciated, but it is not your responsibility and if you just want to tell me "you're wrong, take it down", that is okay.

To ship Erik with romantic feelings with Tony you have to completely ignore the point of his character. You have to pacify his voice in favor of him pleasing a white man. Now also remember, there is a power imbalance. Erik works FOR Tony, they are not partners. Tony gives him a LOT of reach, but Erik is still his employee. To ship them you not only pacify Erik's anger, you ALSO make him fall in love with a very person that he hates that he actively works for. It completely destroys his character to me.

I want to clarify, you are not an inherently shitty person if you ship this. It COULD indicate you are, but even if it did, everyone has the capacity to learn and reject what they said before. I used to ship some pretty bad ships and say shitty things, that doesn't mean I have been awful to my core, we all have the ability to grow.

Now to the issues of fandom at large. I made a post earlier and I got flooded with "let people ship what they want, stop policing", "have you heard of a hate fuck", etc. and this mentality of whatever you post on the internet can be free of criticism is ridiculous.

You DO have the right to post what you want within Tumblr's boundaries, and Erik/Tony does not violate them. You are right. That is not a violation of any rights here. But you do NOT have a right to be free of criticism. Freedom to say what you want is NOT freedom to be free of criticism. If you post a shitty take, you have the right to, but others have the right to tell you that they think what you said is damaging, stupid, ridiculous, whatever.

The idea of shipping ANYTHING as long as it's enemies/lovers and you can't get backlash is legitametly just hiding. If shipping Erik and Tony should be okay because it's enemies to lovers then why not ship Tony/Thanos? Palpatine/Anakin? Obadiah/Tony? Sam/Rumlow? Dreykov/Natasha? Now, reasonably you'll see red flags in at least some of those on why morally you shouldn't, but this idea that only the shipper can pick what red flags can and can't be accepted is ridiculous. If you believe you can ship your problematic ship without criticism, then anyone can ship anything, and while some reading this may want that, I doubt everyone would.

This has nothing to do with AU's. I personally like AU's because it gives you that space to explore people like Erik and Tony in different contexts, you get to mess with traits of the characters. I like AU's because it acknowledges it isn't a canon desire, an AU fic of Tony and Thanos isn't my cup of tea but frankly I wouldn't care much because the author is not saying that this should happen or they see this working in current canon.

This idea of you should be able to go online and see and participate as you want without any criticism or negative interaction is both purposefully putting yourself in an echo chamber as well as not realistic, the internet has never functioned this way and it almost certainly never will.

Feel free to interact, leave notes, etc. I want to discuss this and I'm open to new ideas. I said before but I will say it again: doing these things do not mean you are inherently a bad person or that I believe I am better than you. Just, talk, please.

[blackpantherismyish]

Teacher’s Pet

Chapter 1

Paring: Greek!Erik “Killmoger” Stevens x Chiron “Black” Harris

Word Count: almost 1.3K

Warning(s): None

A/N: I have been on a writing drought for Idk how long to be honest. But I finally got some shit done.. This is that. This is loosely based off of a story by the same name that i wrote YEARS ago (Don’t go look for it, it’s alotta cringe in that shit. But enjoy

Shoutout to @goddessofthundathighs cause without her, I woulda sounded reeeal stoopid.

...

Chiron put the last of the grocery bags on the floor. He had transferred to a new university in the middle of his fall semester meaning he had to restock all of his favorite goodies.  

“Fuck,” he huffed as he dropped the bag of canned goods on the floor with the rest of his haul. 

Using the leftover money he had from his tuition check, he moved into a small two-bedroom apartment a short distance from campus, which he shared with his roommate Taylor. The two had met at an off-campus frat party at his previous school last fall. They immediately clicked in a drunken stupor and had been inseparable ever since. Like brothers almost. 

“Yo Chi!” Taylor yelled from his room, his voice followed by the faint sound of rapid shooting.

Call of Duty, Chiron thought to himself as he walked around the island and towards the bedroom. 

“Wassuh Tay?” he called, stepping towards cracked door where the shooting had gotten so loud that explosions could now be heard. 

“Did you get more Hot Pockets?” Taylor sat shirtless in his gaming chair with his ΚΑΨ branded shorts and a PS4 controller in his hand. 

“Yes. Steak and cheddar cause yo fat ass ate the last box in 4 days.” Chiron rolled his eyes and folded his arms as he watched Taylor lean on his knees and squint his eyes to focus on the game. 

“Man… You still on that?” Taylor groaned as his fingers danced over the controller.

“Uh...Nigga YES! That was a 24 pack of Hot Pockets. Do you know how many Hot Pockets you’d have to eat in a day for that to even be possible?” Chiron stood off the doorframe and walked further into the room. 

“Si-,” Taylor started.

“6 gahdamn Hot Pockets nigga!” Chiron clapped to emphasize each word.

“Man I was lazy and I ain’t feel like cookin’.” Tay shook his head and scooted closer to the flatscreen TV. 

“Keep playin’. Yo belly gon be so big you won’t be able to shimmy right.” Chiron turned and made his way out of the room and walked back to the kitchen. He opted to put the groceries away himself since someone was preoccupied. It worked in his favor, giving him the advantage of knowing where everything was.

"You just hatin' cause I get all the hoes!" Taylor yelled from his room. 

"Nah I'm good. I'm allergic to fish" Chiron yelled back.

…

It was now a few weeks into the spring semester and Chiron was finally getting into the flow of his new college home. He woke early, not wanting to be late for his first class of the day: General Psychology. Footsteps and elevator dings invaded his senses as students began filing into the classroom filling it to capacity. Chiron chose a middle seat, not too close to the front and not to far back that he’d have to squint to see. He pulled out the notebook that he’d designated for this class and flipped through the first few pages. When he looked up again, his eyes fell on a man that he hadn’t noticed before. The man wore a black fitted t-shirt that hugged his body like a fat kid hugs the ice cream man when they get extra sprinkles. The veins that ran down his arms looked like an IV technician’s dream and gold rimmed glasses framed his face while two thick Cuban link chains rested on his neck. As Chiron’s gaze traveled lower, he praised the Lord above for the invention of fitted slacks because they were hugging the hips of this Adonis in all the right places. As his gaze made his way back up, Chiron’s eyes landed on a set of lips that looked like they could swallow him whole, not that he was complaining. As the mystery man talked with the professor, hints of gold reflected off of his teeth. Chiron leaned forward to get a better look at the beautiful mystery.

“Who are you and can I have your number, cause gahdamn you fine,” Chiron whispered to himself. Just as his lust was beginning to get the best of him, Chiron was snapped out of his appreciation by the voice of the young white male at the front of the class.

“Good morning class, I am Professor Wayne and I’ll be your instructor this semester. And this,” he gestures to the Adonis to his right, “is my graduate assistant, Erik Stevens.”

Erik can assist me in taking off his pants.. Chiron thought to himself as he chewed the tip of his pen. His focus on whatever Professor Wayne was babbling about was long gone as more and more lewd thoughts of Erik crossed his mind. Erik stepped in front of Professor Wayne, licking his lips slowly before addressing the class.

“Wassuh y’all. Welcome back to school.” He paused briefly before continuing. “As you heard Mr. W say, I’m the graduate assistant. Some days I’ll be teaching and helping with any questions you may have during my lessons as well as Mr. Wayne’s.” As his speech came to a close, Erik leaned back against the wooden table, surveying all of the fresh faces in front of him.

“I have some meetings to attend so in my absence, Mr. Stevens will go over the syllabus and answer any first day questions you may have. I look forward to getting to know all of you. Have a great first day.” With that, Mr. Wayne grabbed his black leather bag and headed out the door. 

Erik took off the gold rimmed glasses and sat them on the table next to him and grabbed a clipboard. 

“I’m about to go through roll. Just raise your hand and say ‘here’. Pretty simple procedure, right?” Erik looked around for confirmation. He got head nods and soft mummers in agreement as he scanned the classroom. Chiron had since went back to flipping through his notebook, highlighting things that he would need for the class.

“Chiron Harris?” His voice sounded like the smoothest bourbon you could possibly get your hands on.

“Here,” Chiron spoke, lifting his head and hand simultaneously. Erik gave him a sly smirk before calling the remaining names on the list. Chiron smiled to himself before busying himself with his notebook once more. This was definitely going to be an interesting semester.

…

As he made his way down the hall after his classes, Chiron could hear commotion coming from his apartment. Several voices mixed as Chi unlocked the door and stepped inside. Taylor sat on the couch with his line brothers. The one on the left, Nico, wore a crimson colored dad hat that read Pretty Komplicated in cream letters while the one on the right, Xavier, wore a black basketball jersey that read Kryptonite across the back of it in red letters.

“I’m about to start charging you niggas rent,” Chi called from the doorway as he put his lanyard on the key holder.

“Maaan, I’ma need a room if I pay rent,” Nico called over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving the TV screen. Chiron grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge before walking back to the unoccupied loveseat. 

“Woooow,” Xavier spoke from the far end of the couch. “He did you dirty, dawg,” he snickered as he leaned on his knees, fully immersed in the video game.

“What?” Chiron shrugged as Nico pulled his attention from the tv and blinked in confusion.

“You said a room,” he reminded.

“The box that I’m referring to has enough room for you inside. It’s a pretty big box.” Nico groaned and turned back to the tv, causing Chiron to chuckle to himself.

“Listen, I already live with one of you niggas. I don’t need anymore.”

...

Taglist: @goddessofthundathighs @princessstevens @maya-leche @panthergoddessbast @chaneajoyyy @hearteyes-for-killmonger @purple-apricots @thehomierobbstark @amethyst1993 @iamrheaspeaks @blktinkerbell @theogbadbitch

Let me know if you wanna be tagged. 

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

HI!!! so i noticed a little star next to T'Challa and I saw Black Panther tonight and guess who's craving so black panther sickfic? I so bad at prompts so here's me hoping you already have some or make one up because I'm sure anything you come up with will be better than mine so consider this an if you find yourself deciding between some prompts, choose a Black Panther! lol i hope this made sense aha

(Okay so I do have another T'Challa prompt which I will 100% write in the not so distant future; but I’ve had this idea in my head since I watched the film and I really want to write it, so due to the free nature of this prompt I’ve used it as an excuse that write this fic! Hope that’s ok!!)

T'Challa sees him every night.

He is not a monster. He is not a storm that will ravage Wakanda.

He is a boy.

He’s seen those eyes. So heavy. He’s seen the anger, the fire. Tell tale signs that he is not completely broken. That there’s still something in him that hasn’t been demolished by the sins of his nation. He’s angry because he has been belittled far too long. He has been outcasted too long, left in the cold. So he craves flame, and for that flame to destroy them. Bask in their warmth. It’s not right, T'Challa knows, but deep within him he understands. And in a sad, twisted way, he is right.

Because he’s seen the fear. He’s seen the flickering remnants of a boy who once was. T'Challa’s seen the innocent delight of a boy watching an astonishing sunset. He’s seen the glee of a father’s promise fulfilled. Just a boy.

T'Challa’s seen that sadness. That somber mourning for a life that could’ve been. He sees in his eyes that twinkle of regret, or the twinkle of nostalgia for a home he’s never had. T'Challa feels it too. In his dreams he stands next to him in battle. He is strong. He is brave. He is mighty.

And then the paradise ends and he sees him again as he is. He sees him crumbling. Trembling. Dying.

T'Challa sees hope in him but he doesn’t. He would much rather die right now. When he bleeds out he is free. And to him it is a better fate than bondage, better than the life he had been living. He didn’t see the hope. He’s been broken too much.

And that’s what keeps T'Challa awake at night. A boy with so much light and destiny stripped away of his grace and shunned. A product of the darkest side of his nation. A boy dead because they refused to let him in.

T'Challa is tired. He’s drained. Too much has happened all at once and everything he once knew has been unravelled before him. He doesn’t sleep. So much so he’s gotten weak. Sick. Fevered.

But he cannot rest. T'Challa cannot rest because every time he closes his eyes the haunting picture of Erik jolts him from sleep. T'Challa cannot rest with the thought that there are so many little boys and girls who may be on the same road. A road so easily diverted if Wakanda emerged from the shadows.

T'Challa is the king. And as king he has no time to rest. He must work. He must please his people. Wakanda must stand strong. And he must show them the way. T'Challa cannot be weak.

And as trained as he is, as educated as he is, as molded as he is to be perfect, he cannot get past Shuri.

She knows him best. She knows when he is not well. She knows the tired glaze over his eyes, and the slightly ashy sheen that paints his face. She knows the slight slouch in his stature. Shuri knows where he would be if he were to stall his own personal welfare.

Shuri finds T'Challa hunched over a collection of documents.

His body is shaking, he feels hot and cold waves pulsate through him in antithetical directions so he feels like he is burning and freezing at the same time. As he tremors his leg rattles against the chair, and his penmanship is wobbling as he signs the document he had just been reading.

“Brother,” She calls out quietly, but apparently not quiet enough as it is loud enough to cause her brother to jolt, and wince slightly as his headache intensifies.

“Sister,” He replies calmly, his voice low and raspy, on the verge of fading away completely. It makes him sound small. And her brother is not small, he is mightier than he will ever know or believe, so she knows something is awry.

“You’re not well,” She comments, approaching him from behind his chair and resting warm hands on his shoulders, circling them in a reassuring manner that is prompting him to rest.

“I’m fine,” He replies hastily, reaching for the next document on his pile and he begins to read. But the words cross fade and it is incomprehensible. His senses seem to heighten in the worst possible way, and there is too much. T'Challa cannot handle it.

Shuri sighs softly, knowing full well what is ailing her brother. It puzzles everyone, but the two of them have this bond that cannot be explained, not even through science, and science is Shuri’s bread and butter. And if she cannot explain it herself, then it is an intangible mystery.

“You should rest now,” Shuri presses further, a little more firm this time.

T'Challa shakes his head adamantly, “I cannot.”

“And why not?”

“Because I am king, I must serve my country,” He proclaims confidently, but Shuri can detect the wavering, the weariness, the fear laced in between his words.

“You cannot do so if you’re incarcerated by illness. You are not at your maximum potential, so therefore you are not performing to your maximum potential,” She argues, although her tone is still sweet and gentle, and very clearly stemming from a place of love.

T'Challa sighs heavily, deflated, stifling a short series of coughs against the cuff of his sleeve, “I must push through. I cannot abandon Wakanda for even a second. They need me.”

Shuri raises an eyebrow, “That is exactly my point.”

T'Challa can’t help the small chuckle that manages to escape him. She had always been smart. She’s always been one step ahead of him, and he could not be prouder.

“You’re good.”

“I know.”

He sighs softly, “I will rest later. You should be on your way.”

Shuri knows when his promises are empty. She is his sibling, after all. But she also knows when it is useless to fight (she can’t waste time, she’s got better things to do) so she just nods and walks away, and goes to seek someone she knows T'Challa cannot resist.

When Nakia finds out that T'Challa is sick she drops everything she’s doing and heads straight for him. She knows him. She knows he’s difficult, that he likes to shut himself away and lock himself behind these high walls he’s built around himself. She would know, any person who had loved him at some point would know.

And she still loves him. T'Challa has built these walls around himself to hide the part of him he doesn’t want the world to see; but that part he hides, she loves very dearly. She loves him, so she would drop anything she was doing for him.

He is difficult. He’s hard to find. But she has known him so long. She finds him.

She finds him watching the sunset. A glorious sunset that sweeps across the country, its warm blaze glowing upon the evergreen grass of their nation. She knows he loves the sunset. Every citizen of Wakanda does. It reminds them of their strength. It is the symbol of their nation.

“T'Challa,” She starts softly, her steps towards him nimble and gentle. She assumes a seat next to him, and she gazes out to the horizon with him.

“Nakia,” He replies tiredly, his eyes glazed. He seems distant.

Before she can speak he chuckles softly, “Shuri sent you, didn’t she?”

“Of course she did, I wouldn’t come after you if I had the choice,” She jokes lightly. But they both know they’re lies. She would stand by his side for as long as she possibly could.

There is a short silence that ensues. But it’s not uncomfortable. It’s sweet.

“You haven’t been sleeping. You’re not well,” She says, breaking the silence. She is not accusing.

He exhales, “I see him every night.”

“Killmonger?”

“No, Erik.”

Nakia tenses a little and sighs, “I think about him all the time too.”

“He was a child,” T'Challa breathes, “And he was abandoned.”

“We outcasted him. He had no home. He was alone,” He whispered.

She nodded, “He was not a good person. But..if we had never left him alone..I like to think he would’ve been different.”

“I saw his eyes, Nakia. There was still a little bit of light. But he wanted to be free. He could’ve been free, Nakia. He needed us. We’ve spent so long hiding in the shadows. When we have so much. How many other kids are out there suffering? How many more Eriks?”

“I am so ashamed, Nakia. When I looked at him, there was so much pain. He was so broken. He thought there was nothing left inside of him. He crumbled and we watched. We didn’t do anything.”

“We can now,” Nakia says suddenly.

“But my father–”

“You are not your father. You are king of Wakanda. You have spent your whole life training to make sure Wakanda is alive. But is Wakanda really alive if we hide? Stay in the shadows? What if Wakanda were to emerge into the light and glow just like this sunset before us? Wouldn’t we then be alive?”

“We cannot reverse what has been done. The dead have been laid to rest. You cannot bring him back, T'Challa. But you can make sure that nobody else breaks like that ever again.”

“Wakanda is mighty. But we are not the only mighty ones. United we must be. We cannot sit and watch as the world falls into barbarian ways, we must stand together. It is the only way we as a human race can truly progress. It is our  responsibility, T'Challa. It is now we must stand. You must lead us. I know you can.”

A silence falls between them.

“Wakanda has spent too long in the shadows,” T'Challa says quietly, but not weakly. He is strong. He looks off into the sunset and a smile creeps onto his face.

“It is time we step into the light.”

Nakia smiles. She knows they will. She believes in her leader.

But it is then when she realises how unwell he is.

She quickly places a hand on his forehead, and the surface her hand lies overtop sizzles, “T'Challa, you’re burning up!”

He merely grunts before she’s yanking him up to his feet, slinging his arm over her shoulder and drags him away, “You need rest.”

The next minutes go in a flurry, she is dragging him to his bed and is rushing for a cloth. She dampens it with cold water and places it over his forehead, trying to get his fever down.

“T'Challa, you are an idiot,” She hisses, but there is a fondness to her voice.

“Your idiot,” He grins cheekily. She rolls her eyes at him.

“Unfortunately so.”

He looks at her with such a loving gaze she wants to melt, but she holds herself together. He is so ridiculously goofy in the most endearing way, and the next second he is her stoic and mighty king. She likes both versions.

“What?” She asks, unable to disguise the fondness in her voice, unable to disguise her smile.

“You’re just so wonderful.”

She scoffs.

“You inspire me every day. You inspire me to be a better king, better person. Your work has opened my eyes. Our country will be better because of you. The world will be better because of you.”

She tries to hide her smile, “Your fever is talking.”

“No, my heart is.”

She whacks him playfully on the arm, “Shut up!”

“We’re ready to stop hiding. We’re going to reveal ourselves at last,” T'Challa says softly, but surely.

“I am ready,” She says with a smile so bright.

“You need to get better first. Rest, then you can show the world how much we kick ass.”

“We’ll show the world what Wakanda really is.”

And after they do, T'Challa can rest again. He still sees Erik every night. But every night Erik’s eyes seem to get a little bit lighter.