Last song: I thought it was Espionage by Rainbow Kitten Suprise, but it was actually I See You by Luke Bryan,
Currently watching: Show-wise is High-Potential and 9-1-1 but I watch SMOSH and jacksepticeye on YouTube more often. Because it's free and I don't need to risk my privacy to watch it
Currently obsessed with: AKOTSK (Dunk and Daeron, and Egg mainly) 9-1-1, Deltarune and Avatar (the big blue people)
Currently reading: I don't really read 'real books', my PJO books have been in limbo since i was in 7th grade, but I'm trying to start the Dunk & Egg series
Currently working on: artfight(!!) And a bunch of dreamerknight aus, like making them mermaids and na'vi
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
I've got other's planned out, but I'm gonna have to rest a bit before artfightâčïž watch my rendering style change again after it's over
Rambling:
Dunk is blind and is ironically more spatially aware than canon Dunk. And Egg looks like an asshole for swindling a blind hedge knight into his antics
The Avatar either wouldn't exist or wouldn't be a known thing at this time. The first one is born after the last dragon dies. But they probably hid it in fear of being cast out. The next one did as well, until it got to Aegon, who has to figure this all out on his own while dealing his family's overbearing-ness
ă The most powerful being since the dragons died is just born as a Targaryen ? Oh buddy. He's obviously trained rigorously as well as paraded around as a warning to Blackfyre supporters. Is it really a surprise that he runs away ?
ă or maybe Daeron runs away with him in order for Egg to learn all the elements (he dreamt it đ ) and picks up Dunk, Rafe or Raymun, and Lyonel for his Avatar team
I also wanted to make Aerion a waterbender for the irony, but the thought of him even having the possibility to bloodbend makes me wanna shoot myself. Maybe he chills out a bit with the firebending fueling his dragon delusion ? Doubt it
Daeron is a waterbender and isn't the most skilled fighter, but he can make intricate scenes very easily, usually for his younger siblings while he's reading, but sometimes he mindlessly remakes his dreams with his wine
If Maekar is a bender, he's an FB, but Baelor is where I'm having issues. Dorne is basically the Earth Kingdom, and he's more Dornish looking than Targaryen, so earthbender ? Lavabender ? My first thought was metal bender, but that doesn't exist yet (neither does lightning bending. I think that would bring on an industrial revolution, and Westeros isn't ready for that)
The Stormlands and the Vale are the Air Temples. I don't think the noble houses would be monks, but they'd still keep some fundamentals the same. Maybe there are a few nomadic groups out there
ă Baratheon's get their antlers added to the mastery tattoos, and Arryns get wings. And anyone else gets the normal arrows
ă Lyonel's specialty is storms, creating and chasing them away by messing with the currents and temperatures
FB used to be a only Valyrian thing, until they started spreading their dragonseed everywhere like whoring dandelions. King's Landing has a bunch of fire spitting children that people have to ignore
ă Which means Dunk could've been one, firebending was a very close second for him. His bending would be relatively weak, maybe from malnourishment or the fact that FB needs strong emotions to produce their fire or both
ă So, he learns how to use it in other ways. He's warmer by nature and can keep the other kids warm as well. He's able to hold a light on his fingers as a lamp. Food is easily cooked. He can make his touch scalding and sometimes can send fireballs to ward off anyone. And he quickly learns to caurterize wounds, which unfortunately comes in handy plenty of times. (Rafe lives, woohoo ! And maybe that one kid's brother too)
ă He also teaches Egg a new side to FB, learning that fire can give and not just take
I love making au's. I've got so many i need to spit them out somewhere. Maybe I'll actually write it đ
the only dunkdaeron piece of mine that's managed to get out of wip hell so far, only took me losing my stylus and reverting back to fingering my screen, but we upđŻđŻ
it's set in my PJO au with Daeron as a son of Aphrodite and Dunk as an Ares kid, but I also had Ode_et_amo's Churlish Peace in mind as well
Maekar somewhere in the background:
Imma ramble abt this just to get it out. Disclaimer: I haven't finished the series yet and probably won't in the near future either, so I'm basing this off the wiki and playing it by ear
I swear I saw somewhere that Aphrodite kids were immune STDS, and I thought it would be hilarious to make Daeron one considering his unfortunate ending in canon. Also, he could also hide away any & all evidence of him being drunk or suffering through the worst hangover with glamor
I think it's either just Daeron that's a demigod or all of the Maekarlings are all Aphrodite's. I don't blame her for going back like 5 times. Who wouldn't?
Also, Ares Dunk, it's basic, expected even. But he's basically Ares' domain incarnate, right? The brutish/unstrategic side of war and protector of women. And Ares kids can control conflicts, which is probably meant as an advantage to their favored side, but I think Dunk would use it to stop conflicts completely or from escalating further
he/him pronouns are used for the reader and heâs wakandan!
summary: âWhy did you challenge my brother?â you ask.
âI wanted to rule,â NâJadaka answers.
And there it is. A thirst for power and authority. The same corruptive force that runs rampant in the countries outside your borders. You had always thought Wakanda was different, that Wakandans were above such things.
Yet here you are, standing next to the man who killed your brother. The new king, who knows more of America than he does of the country heâs supposed to lead.
word count: 8.9k | ao3 version
authorâs notes: I usually make race ambiguous, but considering the reader is Wakandan & TâChallaâs brother, itâs heavily implied that heâs Black (obviously). Also, heâs shorter than Killmonger, since I looked his height up and learned he was 6â6 and GEEKED THE FUCK OUT. SIRRRRRRRR. Whew. Anyways. The reader also has a brief shirtless scene. Otherwise, no physical descriptors are used for the reader.Â
I tried my best to do some research on African and Egyptian religions and mythology to make this accurate. But apologies in advance if I messed anything up. In terms of canon, this will be canon divergent and non-compliant.
The title of this fic is a lyric from Disparate Youth by Santigold.
enjoy!
Your brother TâChalla is dead. And Wakanda has a new king. An American, no less. A guy who was born in America to an American mother and a Wakandan father. Now the man has returned, to a country he barely knows⊠only to become the king.Â
You stand there at Warrior Falls, water soaking through the fabric at your ankles as youâre overcome with emptiness. Thereâs a deep ache running into your bones, grief weighing your shoulders down. You can still see the cocky grin TâChalla shot you, a brief flicker of personality through the royal facade he always carried. You can still feel the way your lips quirked at the edges when your brother shot you a wink, as if to say, Itâs okay, Iâm here. Iâm not going anywhere.Â
Just as you can see those reassuring gestures, you can remember the pain flickering across his face. The way his body tensed as the newcomerââKillmongerâ, he called himselfâdealt blow after blow. The limpness of your brotherâs limbs as he was deftly tossed into the rushing waters below.Â
You approach the edge of the falls and look down, despite knowing itâs a foolâs errand. Indeed, thereâs nothing thereâhis body has already been washed away by the tide. Your brother wonât even get a proper burial. Death in ritual combat is considered honorable, but you think TâChalla deserved better. The other Wakandans may be quicker to embrace the truth, the grim reality that the country is under new rule.Â
Not you.
âYou knew the guy?â a voice says lazily. Itâs Killmonger, standing at one of the outcroppings of rock behind you. You swallow past the burning feeling in your throat, your hands shaking at your sides. The way he dismisses TâChalla⊠Itâs beyond disrespectful.Â
Your nails dig into your palms. âMy brother.â Thatâs about all you can get yourself to say, and even those two words feel laborious. You donât sound like yourself. You donât feel like yourself. You feel overwhelmingly empty, devoid of purpose. Everything your brother fought for⊠itâs all under attack now.
âOh shit,â Killmonger huffs. You still keep your back to him. Unwise? Probably. But maybe a small part of you is hoping heâll kill you, if only so you could see your brother again. âSorry,â he says carelessly. Â
Your fists clench at your sides. When you can finally summon the courage and fury to turn around, heâs already gone.Â
You remain at Warrior Falls for hours. Long enough for the sun to set in the sky, blue-grey fading into yellow-green before sinking into a deep blue-black. The stars twinkle above. Supposedly, in dense cities, there are less stars at night from the light pollution. Here in Wakanda, they settle against the backdrop of the sky with unquestionable brilliance.Â
Sometimes, TâChalla and you would sneak out at night and look up at the stars, imagining what other lives would be like. Youâd fashion yourselves as travellers, sailors, architects, historians, knights. Anything and everything. It was fun, even just to spend time with your brother.Â
Tonight, you look up at the night sky and go on those adventures alone.Â
Killmonger is already stirring up trouble, and it hasnât even been a full day since he ascended the throne. You first hear of the commotion when youâre approached by an elder, who tells you of a commotion at the herb gardens. You head over quickly, heart stalling in your chest when you see the new king of Wakanda with his hand around a shamanâs throat. And not just any shamanâSope, the leader of the group. She grasps at his wrist in a futile effort of resistance and you feel your stomach stew with unease.Â
âRelease her,â you assert, your voice breaking through the painful silence that had settled across the space.Â
Killmonger turns, his eyes almost gleaming in the dim light of the gardens. Something aches in your jaw as you notice his posture, the disregard with which he crushes the herbs underfoot. Heâs standing on one of the plant beds. âYou again,â he says coldly. He doesnât budge.Â
âLet go of her,â you demand again.Â
Killmonger makes a show of letting Sope go, splaying his fingers before turning on you quickly. He strides over to you, already too close for comfort.Â
âDonât tell me what to do,â he snaps. âIâm the king.âÂ
âAnd I,â you respond, âam TâChallaâs brother. Royal advisor and prince of Wakanda.â You stand your ground despite your best judgment.
âThis isnât a monarchy, prince,â Killmonger hisses, eyes gleaming with fury. âYour blood doesnât mean shit. Your brotherâs dead.â Â
You grit your teeth and ignore that attempt at provocation. âThese herbs are the only path to the Ancestral Plane,â you insist, motioning to the gardens around you. If he destroys the herbs, heâll rid you of any connection to your ancestors. It would be sacrilegious and needlessly cruel. âWe rely on the wisdom of our elders to move forward, to guide our actionsââ you insist.Â
âThe wisdom of your elders?â Killmonger interjects with a scoff. âYour elders killed my father!âÂ
âYour father let a mercenary kill our own,â you assert, glaring at him. âYour father wanted us open to the outside world, open to the same people who have hunted us down for centuries!âÂ
âDonât speak ill of my father,â he hisses, on you in an instant. Thereâs a sharpened dagger at your throat, digging into your skin just tight enough to draw blood. âUnless you want to join your brother in the afterlife.âÂ
You take a slow breath, ignoring the sting of the blade at your neck. You lock eyes with the man, the king. The warm sting of the dagger sends blood dripping down your throat sluggishly, dipping beneath your collarbone. Killmonger watches it, and for a moment, you think heâs going to dig the blade in and deliver you a swift end.Â
But he doesnât. Seconds pass and neither of you move. âYou are not burning down the gardens,â you assert, leaning forward a bit. Daring him to finish what he started. And still, he does not move. Spurred by his indecision, you continue. âIf you wish to remain unchallenged, then protect them better. But you will not erase our past.âÂ
Youâre not sure how long the both of you stand there, eyes locked on one another, before Killmonger lets out an impatient sound and shoves past you. You donât follow him as he storms off, instead turning to the shamans.Â
âAre you all right?â you ask Sope. Sheâs massaging her throat.Â
âYes, thank you,â she responds with a nod. She stands tall and looks around the space, a troubled expression on her face. âThat man is dangerous.âÂ
You nod in agreement.Â
Sope turns back to you. âIâm sorry about King TâChalla,â she says gently, placing a hand on your shoulder.Â
You take a shuddering breath. â...Me too,â you answer, taking a selfish moment to breathe before stepping away and letting her hand fall back to her side. You can sense the shamanâs eyes on your back as you walk away, but youâre too lost in your thoughts to think much of it.Â
It isnât long before your duty is called into question, your allegiance tested. Youâre standing in the throne room when Killmonger turns to you, almost seeming to move in slow motion as his head tilts and he fixes you with an expectant look.Â
âCome here,â he orders.Â
Your lips are sewn together. You donât want to answer to the man who killed your brother. But you have no choice. If Wakanda stands even a chance at preserving its culture and values, you have to remain here, at theâ the Kingâs side. And as much as you hate to acknowledge him, when it should be your brother sitting on that throne⊠Well, you donât have much of a choice. You approach and stand in front of him.
âYou arenât bowing,â Killmonger observes, regarding you from the throne.Â
âWould you like me to?â you ask. The words almost burn your tongue. Traitorous, dishonest. Youâd rather die than bow to him.Â
âNo,â he responds. Yes, his eyes seem to say.Â
You swallow past the burning feeling in your throat. âWhy have you summoned me?â you question.Â
âDo I need a reason?â he frowns. âLast time I checked, youâre not supposed to ask questions.â
âIâm the royal advisor,â you remind him. âThatâs my job.âÂ
He lets out an unsatisfied noise. âRight,â Killmonger almost scoffs. âFine. Go. Dismissed or whatever.â He makes a nonchalant hand gesture and you take the proffered opportunity to return to your solitary grief.Â
Youâre almost out of the room when his voice breaks through the silence. âWait.â You freeze in the doorway, turning back around. He looks at you warily. âYour name.âÂ
Thatâs right. You never told him. Maybe because you were still holding out hope that somehow, this situation would rectify itself. That he wouldnât even need to know your name, because he wouldnât be here, sitting on the throne that your brother is so much more prepared to occupyâÂ
You swallow past your misgivings and tell him your name. He considers you for a moment. âIâm Erik,â he then responds.Â
âNâJadaka,â you correct him habitually. You donât use American names here. Thereâs no need for them. His name is NâJadaka, according to what one of the elders whispered to you this morning.Â
âNo,â Killmonger argues. His gaze is piercing as he rests on your brotherâs throne, legs spread wide and shoulders pressed tall. âI lost that name when my father was exiled from this land. By your father.âÂ
You donât know what youâre supposed to say to that. Fortunately, it seems as if heâs done speaking with you. âGo,â he orders.Â
So you do.Â
After that fateful battle at Warrior Falls, you visit the shrine of your ancestors frequently. Youâre hoping to contact your brother, despite knowing you wonât receive an answer. TâChalla is dead, and his body hasnât been recovered. Still, you make a point to visit at least once dailyâsometimes twice or even three times.Â
Itâs been a week now, and his body still hasnât been found. Maybe heâs still alive.
No. You canât dwell on false hope like that. It will only be more painful in the long run. Your brother is dead. You saw Killmonger throw him from Warrior Falls; you saw him plummet to the roaring waters below. He is dead. He must be.Â
Without a body, though, youâre unable to perform the proper burial rites. Your brother wonât even be granted the dignity of a ceremony. Instead, heâs just⊠gone. His soul will remain lost in between the realms of life and death, awaiting guidance that may never come.Â
You bend your head down, your hand finding the cool ground as you kneel in front of the altar.Â
The irony? The eldest son of the family is tasked with decorating the altar. TâChalla was always the one to do it. Now that heâs not here, that responsibility falls onto you. You are all that remains of your familyâs bloodline. Everything your father and brother worked for⊠itâs starting to fade away. And youâre terrified. Terrified for what your land will become, in the wake of this strangerâs rule.  Â
Tears slip down your cheeks.Â
You remain there long enough for your knees to ache when you stand back up. Distracted enough to not notice Killmonger pass by, lingering in the doorway for a few minutes before leaving.
Days later, you open your eyes and sit up, soil cascading down your clothing as you look around the Ancestral Plane. Youâve been here before, though it was years ago. Back when your father passed. You came with TâChalla. Now youâre alone. Seeking guidance, just as you did before.Â
A savannah stretches as far as your eyes can see, grasses rustling around you. The sky is descending into twilight, a vivid blue and purple streaked across blue. Here, there is everything⊠and there is nothing.Â
You get to your feet and approach the tree in front of you, its dark branches blinking back at you. Black panthers prowl on steady feet, their eyes bright and eerie in the shadows. You feel yourself starting forward, taking a few more steps to approach the trunk of the tree.Â
Before you can make it, a panther leaps down, its form briefly fading before your father appears before you. Your breath hitches in your chest. You embrace him immediately, arms wrapping around him in a hug like youâre a child again.Â
âMy son,â TâChaka remarks, his hand cradling the back of your head as he speaks in Xhosa.Â
âFather,â you respond, fingers clutching at the fabric of his tunic for a selfish moment. You take a shuddering breath and pull back to meet his eyes. âI need your guidance.â He nods ever so slightly, a nonverbal gesture for you to continue.Â
âTâChalla⊠Heâs gone.â Uttering the words is even more painful, ushering in the reality. You wanted to pretend as if he were just away, as if he was magically fished from the rivers and brought back to life. But your brother is as good as dead. And now you canât even visit him in the Ancestral Plane, because his body was never found.Â
You try to push past the burning feeling in your throat. âA stranger on the throne, the tribes fractured⊠This isnât what you meant for Wakanda.â You shake your head in disbelief. âI donât know what to do,â you admit, your voice breaking. Your hand trembles at your side and you clench your fist.Â
âDonât you?â TâChaka asks.Â
â...No,â you answer. You look around the savannah as if it will give you answers. Your father waits for you to continue, patient as always. âI fear the worst. Our very culture is in danger. This newcomer⊠He tried to burn the gardens, heâ There is nothing that can be done.âÂ
âWakanda is still very much alive,â TâChaka reassures you. âA ruler, even one as misguided as this one may seem, does not define our country.âÂ
âI just⊠It feels wrong,â you whisper. âTo be serving him.âÂ
âNo,â your father corrects you. âYou do not serve him. You serve your country.âÂ
âI know,â you sigh.
âThen act like you do,â TâChaka responds. That was one thing you always valued about your father: He never pulled his punches. âDo not let him crush your spirit. Wakanda needs you, now more than ever.â
You nod, struggling to get words out. Your father had been keeping pace with you as he walked, but now he lingers behind you. Frowning, you turn around to find his visage fading. Choking on a helpless breath, you try to reach out to him again, but your hand slips through thin air. The scenery around you is melting, shadows briefly flitting across your vision.Â
Your eyelids flutter and you soon return to the waking world with a harsh gasp, breathing hard. Your arms are still crossed over your shirtless chest, fists clenched. Your ears are ringing, everything feels too sharp and dull at once. You slowly loosen your fists, getting up to a sitting position despite your musclesâ protests.Â
Youâre back in Wakanda. The real world, where your father is dead, your brother is missing, and an exiled Wakandan has returned and taken the throne.Â
âYouâre all right,â Sope reassures you, a comforting figure in light of your panic. It takes you several moments to catch your breath, to ground yourself in this existence. Coming back from the Ancestral Plane always feels jarring. You push yourself to your feet, wobbling a bit. The shaman steadies you with impressive speed, a gentle hand on your waist as your vision spirals.Â
âLightweight,â a familiar voice scoffs.Â
You startle, turning to find NâJadaka standing in the far corner of the room with his arms crossed over his chest. You hadnât even heard him approach. How long was he lingering there? Did he arrive when you were already in the Ancestral Plane? How long did he stand there, looking down at you with your arms crossed over your chest and wondering what you were seeing? The thought unsettles you.Â
âShow the prince respect,â Sope says sharply, shooting daggers at NâJadaka. Her courage is commendable, but ultimately wasted on you.Â
âItâs fine,â you reassure the shaman, stepping away from her and nodding. âThank you, Sope. I appreciate your assistance, as always.â Â
âOf course,â she responds, stooping into a bow. You incline your head in return, before fetching your tunic. You turn your back on NâJadaka as you put it on, but you can still feel his staring like a physical weight on your spine. Once you straighten up, you give Sope another nod before exiting the room.Â
Youâre only given a few moments to yourself before the sound of footsteps graces your ears. You walk a few more steps and pause, turning to find NâJadaka standing across from you.
âThought the Heart-Shaped Herb was limited to the Black Panther,â he says languidly, his eyes sharp.Â
âAnd the royal family,â you correct him. âI do not seek the power it gives. Only our ancestorsâ wisdom.âÂ
âNot very bright,â NâJadaka says with an arched eyebrow.Â
You donât respond to the jab, instead turning your back on the king and walking away.Â
âŠHis gaze sears through your skin regardless.Â
Safe to say, you and NâJadaka do not get along well. You were raised Wakandan, born into royalty. You always respected traditions, values passed down from generations. You never knew suchâ such insolence. Speaking out of turn, ordering the Dora Milaje around as if theyâre mere props. Stomping on holy ground without so much as a passing thought of decency.Â
No. NâJadaka is a representation of everything about the modern world: Heâs aggressive, impatient, hungry for power, thirsty for violence, and downright blasphemous. He waltzes into Wakanda, dethrones the king, and sits upon the throne of a country he doesnât know the first thing about. It makes you sick to your stomach.Â
While you try your best to be deferential, thereâs only so much you can tolerate. Because, as your father said, your duty isnât just to your kingâitâs also to your country. And you will put the needs of your people over the fleeting whims of a tyrant every single time.Â
Youâre in the throne room when NâJadaka turns his attention to you once more. Thatâs another thing youâve learned: Heâs combative. He enjoys provoking people. And though youâve done well to avoid his attempts so far, youâre starting to break. Your patience isnât infinite.
âYouâve been kinda rude,â NâJadaka says. He turns to you expectantly. âHow do you address your king?â
You keep silent. You wonât indulge his flights of fancy, his misguided power trips.Â
âFoolish,â he mocks you, âjust like your brother.âÂ
That statement makes your blood run cold. âShut up,â you hiss before you can stop yourself, stiffening like a worn-thin thread about to snap.
âOh?â NâJadaka hums. Heâs starting to grin. âIs that a hint of personality I see? Youâve been bland as hell until now.âÂ
âShut up,â you seethe again, eyes burning with unshed tears as you level him with the most malicious glare you can muster. Itâs probably a pathetic effort. âYou killed him.â
âI canât undo the past,â NâJadaka reminds you. He shrugs. âI wish it couldâve been different.âÂ
âNo, you donât,â you insist. The guy got exactly what he wanted. âYou donât even care. TâChalla didnât want to fight.âÂ
âHe knew the risks,â NâJadaka says. âA king needs to be powerful. And if he isnât, then he shouldnât be a king at all.âÂ
White-hot rage prickles down your spine. Everything around you seems to blur and fade in the wake of that remark. Youâre moving before you can stop yourself, lurching forward and pulling your arm back. Â
You punch the king of Wakanda in the face.Â
Silence immediately descends on the air, thick and cloying. NâJadakaâs head is bowed. You canât see his expression.Â
Then your endless years of training kick in, and youâre genuflecting before him. âYour Majesty, I sincerely apologize, I donât know what came over meââ you stammer, the words nearly crawling from your lips as your throat burns. Youâre immediately hit with a profound sense of regret. Regardless of what this man has done to you, he is your king first. You never shouldâve struck him. You stare down at the ground, your head bent low as tears threaten to slip down your face for an entirely different reason than before.
âGet up,â he says.Â
You donât hear him. Youâre lost in memories, drowning in the likelihood of your dismissal. This advisory position is your pride. Itâs what convinces you to keep fighting when everything feels hopeless. Without it⊠youâre nothing, no one. And without you here, the remnants of your familyâs advances in legislation and leadership will fall apart.Â
âGet up!â NâJadaka yells. His voice echoes through the walls of the otherwise silent room. You look up at him. Sitting on the throne, glaring at you with fury in his eyes⊠He really does look like a king. (Just not yours.) âNow!âÂ
You quickly get back to your feet. And this time, you donât need him to dismiss youâyou just leave.Â
Wakanda comprises five tribes: the River tribe, the Merchant tribe, the Border tribe, the Mining tribe, and the Jabari tribe. The first king of Wakanda, Bashenga, had sought to unite all the tribes; the Jabari tribe was the only one that refused to comply, and the members instead retreated to the northern mountains. Your brother, you, your father⊠Youâre all descendants of Bashenga.Â
The tribes frequently meet under the direction of the king at the Tribal Council, where each tribeâs elders are given a voice in domestic and foreign affairs alike. The Jabari tribe is the only one that remains uninvolved, considering their stance on vibranium. Thatâs almost a good thingâfour tribes is more than enough to create circular conversations.
Truthfully, the Tribal Council meetings were disorganized before NâJadaka. Now, theyâre a complete and utter mess. NâJadaka seems to almost enjoy the chaos, as he consistently pokes and prods at each tribal elder for his own amusement. He doesnât take anything seriously, heâs constantly questioning tradition. For every second that passes, you feel like youâre slipping further and further away from the Wakanda your family fought for. The Wakanda you love.Â
You try to keep your composure as you sit there passively, allowing a few of the leaders to argue. Killmonger spectates, though you can feel him sneaking frequent glances at you.Â
And thatâs when you see him. The chair that sits across from you is no longer empty. Instead, a man stares back at you.Â
For a second, youâre too shocked to do much more than stare back. Then, as you scrutinize the newcomer, you come to one realization: he is not human. The manâs dark skin seems almost endless, no blemishes or pores in sight. His beady eyes are a deep inky black, entirely unblinking. He tilts his head to the side questioningly, and two more eyes emerge from his temples.Â
You think your breath stutters a bit, but you canât be sure. You suppose it doesnât really matter, in the end. All you know is this: Anansi has just paid you a visit. The trickster, a symbol of chaos and change. He possesses both an infinite knowledge of the world and a seemingly childlike proclivity for mischief. Completely paradoxical, but his presence here confirms what you had already dreaded: Things are changing. Wakanda will no longer be the same as it has been.Â
As if sensing your thoughts, Anansi inclines his head slightly, toward the head of the table. He tilts his head at NâJadaka curiously.Â
Not trusting yourself to keep your composure any longer, you promptly get to your feet and leave the room without another word.Â
You end up fleeing to one of the balconies overlooking Birnin Zana. You cross your arms over the railing and try to take a deep breath. Anansiâs visit isnât necessarily a bad thing, but it does promise a complex and uncertain future. The trickster can be a symbol of much-needed change, but that can also inflict harm on existing structures.Â
You sigh, rubbing a hand across your face.Â
âItâs funny,â NâJadaka says. You donât have to turn around to know itâs himâyouâre used to his voice by now. You remain standing at the edge of the balcony, arms resting on the railing. âI donât remember telling you to leave the meeting.âÂ
Your jaw clenches. âYou didnât,â you manage to say.
âWhat was so important?â he questions, taking unhurried steps toward you. âYou always take your princely duties so seriously.â Thereâs definitely some mockery in his voice. Heâs taunting you, like usual. You know better than to respond. Youâre not falling for the same trick twice.Â
You remember heâs waiting for an answer and snap back to reality. âNothing,â you respond quickly. Too quickly. You can tell he notices, because he stops at the railing next to you and gives you a look.Â
âOh, really?â NâJadaka asks, arching a brow. âWhat could warrant keeping a secret from your king?â
Youâre not my king. Youâre not my anything.Â
You keep silent instead of uttering the words. Your emotions are probably visible on your face, but you find yourself too worn out to care. The king already knows you distrust him, already knows you donât approve of his attempts to uproot your countryâs traditions.Â
Itâs silent for a while, just the two of you looking out at the lush jungle in the distance. You give NâJadaka a sidelong glance. Heâs already looking at you. You turn your head and return your attention to the trees.Â
âWhy are you here?â you eventually ask.Â
âI deserve to be here,â he responds. Immediate, free of hesitation.Â
Itâs quiet. âYes,â you relent. You can feel him shift at your side, his shoulder brushing yours as he looks at you in surprise. You decide to take advantage of his momentary lapse in attention. âWhy did you challenge my brother?âÂ
âI wanted to rule,â NâJadaka answers.Â
And there it is. A thirst for power and authority. The same corruptive force that runs rampant in the countries outside your borders. You had always thought Wakanda was different, that Wakandans were above such things.Â
Yet here you are, standing next to the man who killed your brother. The new king, who knows more of America than he does of the country heâs supposed to lead.Â
âWhy?â you ask.Â
âIn here, we thrive,â NâJadaka says. He shifts a bit closer, as if willing you to look at him. Eventually you do look up at him, and youâre almost surprised to find the sincere expression on his face. It seems uncharacteristic. Heâs a man governed by hatred, vengeance, bloodlust. Or so you thought. âOut there, weâre suffering. We were exploited for centuries, and even now, weâre killed for the color of our skin.âÂ
The weight of that statement settles in the air and stays there. âSo, yeah,â he scoffs. âForgive me for wanting to save our siblings with the weapons weâre not even fucking using.âÂ
The passersby below, the glint of metal in the sunlight. There is nothing to distract you from the accuracy of that statement. You take a slow breath, crossing your arms over the railing again. âI understand,â you say.
â...You do,â he says disbelievingly.Â
âI do,â you continue. âYou think we havenât considered that before? But it wouldnât just stop at helping others. Assuming we helped people like us, used our weaponry⊠That would inform the world of the existence of our country, the vastness of our resources. We would be at risk of more exploitation, and history would be reversed.âÂ
âSo weâre just supposed to lay down and take it?â NâJadaka argues harshly. âJust sit there while people die?â
âNo.â
NâJadaka scoffs. âYouâve never even left Wakanda, have you?âÂ
âI have not,â you admit.Â
âThought so,â he says. âToo high and mighty.âÂ
âAt the moment,â you remark, ignoring that dig, âI find myself more concerned with domestic affairs.âÂ
The implication is clear. âSo, me, then,â NâJadaka huffs, a dark sound leaving his lips. He almost sounds amused.Â
âYes,â you agree. NâJadaka is the bigger problem at the moment. You can worry about the citizens of the world laterâright now, the lives of your people are in danger. The traditions of your country and your ancestors⊠Itâs all under threat. You canât save anyone else if the very essence of Wakanda is at risk.Â
NâJadaka exhales in dry amusement, before turning and walking back into the Citadel. You donât follow him.
When you walk out of your bedroom in the Citadel one morning to find NâJadaka on the ground, being choked by your brother⊠you assume youâre having a lucid dream. You dig your nails into your arm hard. Nothing happens. The sight before you remains: TâChalla, your brotherâthought to be dead. Here, pushing the new king into the ground and looking unquestionably alive.Â
Then you process just what is happening: the absolute lack of resistance in NâJadakaâs form, as he simply lies there; the fury on your brotherâs face; the ear-piercing roar of your heart thudding in your chest. Somethingâs wrong here.Â
âBrother!â you say sharply. âDonât!âÂ
At the sound of your voice, TâChallaâs head whips around and his eyes are wide. He stares at you in complete disbelief, as if you were the one who vanished in supposed death and then reappeared like nothing happened.Â
âDonât,â you insist, looking at him expectantly. As much as you loathe some of NâJadakaâs ideas, you donât want his blood on your brotherâs hands. That would only reflect poorly on TâChalla. Whatâs more, after your last conversation on the balcony⊠Well. Youâre starting to think thereâs more to the guy than what meets the eye.Â
TâChallaâs grip loosens as he processes your remark.Â
âLooks like you do have a heart under there,â NâJadaka chuckles at him, his lips quirking into a grin that reveals bloodied teeth. TâChalla punches him in the face again, before his jaw clenches and he gets to his feet and turns to you.Â
âTâChalla,â you breathe. Your brotherâs infuriated expression quickly melts, and the two of you nearly crash into each other as you hug.Â
NâJadaka gets to his feet. You donât notice, too preoccupied with embracing TâChalla. âI thought you were dead,â you say as you break apart, eyes flitting about your brotherâs face.Â
âAs did I,â TâChalla responds smoothly. He sends a dirty look to Killmonger before turning back to you. Thereâs a fond smile on his face. âI missed you.âÂ
âI missed you too,â you answer. âHow did youâŠ?â you try to ask.Â
âEnough with the waterworks; Jesus,â Killmonger interjects impatiently, his muscular arms crossed over his chest. âThis isnât a Hallmark movie.âÂ
Your brotherâs shoulders draw tight again. âYou will not let me kill him,â TâChalla then says, bringing the tension right back. He looks at you expectantly.Â
âKilling the king would brand you a traitor,â you remind him. âYou know better.â The truth goes unsaid: You can best him in combat and take back the throne.Â
âListen to your baby brother,â NâJadaka says tauntingly. TâChalla glares at him.Â
You sigh, resigning yourself to a long day.Â
NâJadaka is still the king, but with your brother back from the dead, the question of true power has to be raised. TâChalla hasnât challenged NâJadaka for the throne just yet, though you know heâs preparing for it. He must be.Â
Youâre not the only one who has noticed Wakandaâs current⊠instability. The Merchant, Mining, River, and Border tribes still serve on the Tribal Council. The Jabari tribe continues to be a distant, unpredictable force. A looming threat on the horizon. Until one morning, when the Dora Milaje warily flank a group of Jabari as they enter the Citadel.Â
Itâs the first time youâve seen any of the tribe in a long time. They donât approve of the countryâs use of vibranium, instead relying on natural materials. This city is a giant contradiction to everything they stand for. Their very presence here is nothing short of shocking, and extremely suspicious. They must want something.Â
âWhat do you want, MâBaku?â TâChalla demands, evidently thinking the same thing you are. Your brother, NâJadaka, and you all stand in the throne room, faced with the leader of the Jabari and some of his companions.Â
âSuch a frosty reception,â MâBaku, the leader of the Jabari, says slowly. âWe saved your life, did we not?âÂ
TâChallaâs jaw clenches, but he remains silent.Â
âThought so,â MâBaku says somewhat smugly. He considers your group for a moment, the three of you standing there: the American who ascended the throne; the old king, thought to be dead but revived; and you, TâChallaâs brother and royal advisor.Â
MâBakuâs eyes settle on you, before he begins to speak in Igbo. As you process his words, your eyes widen and you stare at him in disbelief.Â
âWhatâs he saying?â NâJadaka demands, noticing your shock.Â
âHeâs sayingâŠâ you try to answer, your eyes still wide. Youâre not sure what to do. Well, scratch that. You know what you should do. But youâre not sure if you should tell your brother. He wonât accept itâyou know he wonât.Â
âWhat?â NâJadaka persists, before turning to TâChalla expectantly. Your brother shrugs slightly, appearing concerned but more patient. Â
âTheyâre here to collect their reward,â you recite, eyes still locked on MâBaku. You canât convince yourself to look away, unable to shake the strange conviction that something will happen if you do. âOur prince. A royal for a royal.âÂ
âNo.â That wasnât your brotherâit was NâJadaka. And he looks furious.Â
âItâs fine,â you say quickly. âIâll go.â
âNo!â TâChalla exclaims, an uncharacteristic panic to his voice.Â
âBrother, I can handle myself,â you reassure him. âItâs a small price. Youâre alive.âÂ
TâChalla doesnât look convinced, his eyebrows furrowed and his shoulders drawn tight. Then you look over at NâJadaka. âDonât kill him again,â you order fiercely. The last thing you want is to return to Birnin Zana to find your brother dead, not when you just got him back.Â
âBossy,â NâJadaka mutters under his breath, arms crossed over his chest.Â
âGlad weâve come to an agreement,â MâBaku says, nodding at the men flanking him. The Jabari are quick to absorb you in their ranks, hands on your upper arms as they guide you out of the building and toward the mountains in the distance. You donât look back to see the tormented expression on your brotherâs face, or the tense scowl on NâJadakaâs face.Â
In hindsight, it was optimistic of you to think youâd be treated nicely. But you didnât expect to be thrown into a holding cell and chained to the wall like a prisoner. You take a slow breath and try to bend your wrists, but they donât budge against the unyielding metal of the cuffs around them. Your arms are left hanging above you, numbness trickling down your forearms and into your shoulders.Â
You want to say you donât know what this is about, but you do. The Jabari tribe is trying to use you as leverage, provoking Wakanda and the other four tribes into battling them and starting a war. MâBaku wants Wakanda weak, because that would benefit him. For centuries, the Jabari have remained on the outskirts of Wakandaâalmost forgotten.Â
Do you think itâs right? No.Â
Do you think a civil war is the best solution? Also no.Â
Surely thereâs a way out of this mess that doesnât involve unnecessary bloodshed. And if a war can be stalled by you rotting in a cell, then so be it. You were trained for royaltyâyouâve always known that you may have to make uncomfortable or even painful sacrifices for your people. This is nothing new.Â
Minutes bleed into hours and days. The only way you can even discern the passage of time is by the sunâs movements in the sky. Day to night to day and back again. As time stretches on and nothing changes, you start to wonder if you were forgotten.Â
You drift in and out of fleeting slumber, never long enough to feel well-rested. You havenât been given a single drop of water or crumb of food since you were first thrown into this cell, nor have you seen any visitors. Itâs almost miserable.Â
But, again. Your brother is alive. The Black Panther lives on. At this point, that may be all you can ask for. You trust TâChalla, trust that heâll be able to handle any problems that may arise. And if you were given a choice between him and you, well⊠Youâve already made that choice, havenât you?
You huff in amusement, leaning your head back to rest against the cool wall. Your wrists are rubbed raw now, dried blood crusted along the edges. Your arms are pretty much completely useless at this point, and your vision is swimming. Falling in and out of consciousness for days on end probably isnât doing much for your mental state or your awareness.Â
So when thereâs a harsh thud outside, you barely even notice. It isnât until the door of your cell is kicked in that you begin to understand whatâs happening. Light floods into the dark room, immediately forcing you to squint as a solitary figure stands tall in the doorway.Â
âHey, prince,â NâJadaka says flippantly, brandishing a dagger at his side. It glows with vibranium as it catches the light. You blink sluggishly; he looks you up and down. âYou look like shit.â
You want to laugh. The most you can do is exhale in an amused huff. Your wrists ache, your stomach hurts, your head is pounding, your vision is blurry, and your throat is extremely dry. You have no idea how many days itâs been since that encounter with MâBakuâyou lost count.
You must really be out of it, because you blink and NâJadaka is suddenly crouching before you. Heâs a bit closer than you expected him to be, and you blink hard as you try to keep yourself awake. He makes quick work of the cuffs on your wrists with the vibranium weapon.Â
You canât even begin to celebrate your freedom or move your wrists before NâJadaka is latching his hands on your forearms and yanking you to your feet. You have no choice but to go with the movement, and immediately youâre thrown into a world of grainy fuzziness. Darkness swarms into your vision and you crumple right back down to the ground as your vision fades to black.Â
You wake to a dull ache crawling through your bones. You groan and push yourself up, the walls of the Citadel a source of comfort. Youâre back home. You rub your eyes roughly and take a slow breath, wincing as your wrists sting and burn. A quick glance down gives you a glimpse of bandages wrapped around your forearms, likely to prevent infection. Other than the wrist pain, some muscle stiffness and a growing headache, you feel⊠fine. Mostly. Just exhausted.Â
Another slow breath leaves your lips just as the door swings open. NâJadaka stands firm in the doorway, quickly making his way through the room before halting at your bedside. âThe Wakandan Royal Guard is ready for battle,â he informs you, in lieu of a greeting.
Your brain stalls for a second. âWait, what?â you then ask. What happened?! âNo, noââ you say panickedly, nearly stumbling in your effort to scramble off the bed. Youâre stopped by his hand on your shoulder, which lingers for a moment before falling away. Â
âThe Jabari tried to kill the king of Wakanda,â NâJadaka informs you tersely.Â
âMy brotherâ?â you ask desperately, your heart starting to pick up again.Â
âNo,â he answers.Â
âYou?â you blink, your head spinning. NâJadaka looks entirely fine. He is an incredibly capable combatant, thoughâyou suppose it makes sense that he doesnât even have a scratch on him.Â
But he still shakes his head. âNo,â he insists, leveling you with an unflinching look. âYou.âÂ
âMe?â you repeat in confusion. Youâre not really following this turn in conversation. â...Iâm not the king.âÂ
âYes, you are,â NâJadaka insists. And then he kneels before you.Â
âWhat are you doing?â you ask disbelievingly. Your voice sounds like a strangerâs. You find yourself sitting up and getting to your feet habitually, ignoring the residual aches in your muscles. âGet up.âÂ
âNo,â he insists. âYou are the king of Wakanda now.âÂ
âAccording to what?â you huff. âI havenât even fought anyoneââÂ
In the blink of an eye, youâre wielding his dagger. NâJadakaâs hand grasps yours, guiding the blade to hover over his throat.Â
âYou have bested me in battle,â he declares.
âThatâs notââ you break off helplessly.Â
âYou care about tradition,â NâJadaka says, his eyes locked on yours. âI get it. But Wakanda needs you.â
Wakanda needs you. Thatâs what your father said too. You swallow hard, fighting off memories of TâChaka. You instead regard NâJadaka kneeling before you, looking for a hint of deceit or trickery on his face. Thereâs only honesty, desperation.Â
âPlease,â he implores you. NâJadaka leans forward more and the blade nicks him a bit. You immediately try to pull your hand back, but his grip remains steady. For a long moment, you remain there: you, on unsteady feet, grasping his blade; NâJadaka kneeling at your feet, his hand guiding his dagger to his own throat.
âOkay,â you agree, âbut Iâm not killing you. And get up.âÂ
Just as NâJadaka starts to relinquish his grip on the blade and get to his feet, thereâs a new presence in the doorway.Â
âBrother,â TâChalla says, his eyes glimmering with relief. This time, heâs the one to cross the distance and hug you. You lean into his embrace immediately, your eyes burning with unshed tears. You thought you would never see him again. You had just gotten him back, but you were worried you would meet your end in captivity.Â
âWhat should we do?â you ask him once you break apart. Itâs habit: asking your brother what to do. He was the king and you were his advisor.Â
âWhat you should do,â TâChalla corrects you with a gentle smile, resting a hand on your shoulder, âis follow your instinct. I will support you every step of the way. As your advisor, if youâll allow me.â Â
âThank you,â you respond relievedly. âYes, of course. That would be wonderful.âÂ
TâChalla studies you for a minute, his hand finding your cheek and his gaze flitting about your face. âHow youâve grown,â he remarks. A rare smile graces his lips. Pride flickers in his eyes. âFather would be so proud.âÂ
âNot to ruin the vibe, but,â NâJadaka drawls, âwe gotta figure out what to do with the Jabari.âÂ
âWe?â TâChalla repeats with scorn. You can practically hear his thoughts: There is no âweâ.Â
You place a hand on your brotherâs forearm, giving him a pointed look. âYes, we,â you say, attempting to stifle any of his arguments. Against all odds, NâJadaka surrendered the throne to you. He wouldnât have done that if he were intent on destroying Wakanda or changing it altogether. That gives you some hope for the future, even if you know youâll need more proof than that as time passes.Â
NâJadaka shoots TâChalla a victorious smirk, just quick enough for you to miss. TâChalla scowls, before shaking his head. âYou are right; there are bigger problems at the moment,â he nods to you.Â
Past grievances momentarily pushed aside, the three of you summon the tribal elders and get to work.Â
Against all odds, you manage to avoid a war with the Jabari tribe. Thankfully. Youâve been hoping to cement their presence in Wakandan affairs for some time now, and with a new seat at the Tribal Council and an influence on legislationâin addition to several other concessionsâMâBaku was satisfied. TâChalla and NâJadaka both seemed displeased in their own ways, but then again, the two men are warriors. They were ready to defend Wakanda, which youâre grateful for. But as the king of Wakanda, itâs your job to ensure things donât get to that point.Â
Between the new treaties, legislative ventures, and responsibilities that you take on in the coming time, you manage to make time for a small act. An olive branch. Something that should have been done a long time ago. (And idly you wonder, just how many other people have slipped through the cracks.)Â Â
âNâJadaka,â you say, placing a hand over the manâs heart as tradition mandates. The two of you stand in the throne room, an elder from the River tribe and a few Dora Milaje warriors as witnesses. NâJadaka wears Wakandan clothing: a deep burnished orange accentuating the sharp lines of his form, the strength of his broad shoulders. You canât deny it: he looks very good. But that is not the thought a king should be having, especially in this moment. You pull yourself back to attention, a smile twisting the edge of your lips. âI grant you naturalized citizenship from this point forward. You are afforded the rights and privileges of a Wakandan.âÂ
âThank you,â he responds, eyes looking suspiciously bright. NâJadaka stares at you for a moment before, without breaking eye contact, stooping low into a genuflect.Â
You feel the breath leave your chest for a long moment. âYou⊠donât have to do that,â you manage to say. The weight of his attention, the sight of him bowing to you⊠It is quite something.Â
âMaybe I wanted to,â NâJadaka replies with a lopsided smirk. That gesture shouldnât be as attractive as it is.Â
You huff and avert your eyes for a moment. âWell, thank you for your dedication,â you say wryly, hoping you donât look as flustered as you feel. âYou may get up.â You have to fight off the urge to give him a helping handâhe doesnât need it, and it would appear too friendly in current company.Â
âThanks, Your Majesty,â NâJadaka responds, standing up to his full height once more.Â
You roll your eyes and he grins.Â
Surprisingly, your life doesnât change much as you adjust to your role as the king. Youâd been in your brotherâs shadow for so long⊠You didnât quite realize just how well-prepared you really were. In reality, the decisions youâre faced with are ones youâve already seen: whether through watching your father, guiding your brother, or standing against NâJadaka.Â
TâChalla is still the Black Panther, and he takes on a role somewhat similar to your old one as royal advisor. His insight is still invaluable, and the two of you have always worked better as a team. He doesnât seem particularly disappointed to be relieved of his kingly dutiesâin fact, he eventually expresses to you late one night that heâs grateful for the chance to spend more time with Nakia. After all, TâChalla has always been the warrior. And, as he says, you have always been the royal one.Â
Of course, youâre quick to fight off that accusation, because it makes you sound like some sort of disconnected rich kid or fool drunk on power. TâChalla reassures you that isnât what he meant, shaking his head in fond disbelief before wrapping an arm around your shoulders and smiling. Your brother has been doing more of that lately: smiling. Itâs nice to see.Â
As for NâJadaka, heâs still around. You can tell he sees Wakanda as home now, which makes you happy. You were quick to enlist him in helping to train Wakandan forces on the martial arts techniques he learned during his time abroad, so that youâre better equipped to defend yourselves when the time comes. And of course, thanks to his initial insightsâthat conversation on the balcony after the Tribal Councilâyouâve been thinking more about your countryâs isolationist policy. TâChalla and you will consult your ancestors about it soon enough.
Something you do have to get adjusted to⊠is NâJadakaâs staring. He stares a lot. At first, you put it down to being on opposite sides of a fledgling conflict: him as the new king, you as a remnant of royalty. But even after the events of recent weeksâyour brotherâs return; agreement with the Jabari tribe and captivity; his rescue; your new position as kingâhe is still watching you. Youâre not sure if itâs different now, or if itâs always been like this. Itâs hard for you to tell. Sure, he held animosity toward you before. You could explain the constant attention then; he was wary of you. But now? His eyes follow you around the room, latching onto you and not letting go.Â
TâChalla has certainly taken notice, as he asks you about it one afternoon. You admit that youâre not sure what the purpose of NâJadakaâs attention is, and your brother gives you a pretty weird lookâsomething between exasperation and irritation. Â
You donât really understand what his reaction was for until a few weeks later. Youâre standing on another one of the Citadelâs balconies, looking over Birnin Zanaâs gleaming skyscrapers as the warm air greets your skin.Â
âThank you.â
âFor what?â you ask habitually, blinking and turning around to find NâJadaka in the doorway. He regards you for a moment before stepping out onto the balcony, hands clasped behind his back. You hadnât expected to see him todayâthough he does reside in the Citadel now (much to your brotherâs irritation).Â
âGiving me a second chance,â he responds.Â
You smile slightly. âYouâre welcome,â you say with a nod. Itâs quiet as he settles at your side, standing at the railing just like you were all that time ago. Itâs ironicâthe cityscape looks exactly the same. It feels like so much changed, and yet a brief glimpse at the buildings has you thinking that hardly anything changed at all.Â
âIâm sorry about your father,â you venture to say, hoping the remark wonât be unwelcome.Â
NâJadaka stills for a second. âMe too,â he then says, eyes set on the sun climbing down the horizon. The afternoon light casts a warm glow on his skin, just a hint of amber sparkling in his deep brown eyes.
As you study him, you remind yourself: Neither of you can change the past. But maybe that doesnât matter. Accepting it, learning from it, is enough. Maybe it isnât about what you canât do, but what you can do. How to prevent stories like NâJadakaâs from happening again.Â
âSo how does a Wakandan citizen court his king?â he asks, apropos of nothing.Â
âWhat now?â you ask incredulously, eyes blown wide. Â
âIf I want to court you,â NâJadaka repeats slowly, eyes still not leaving your face, âhow do I go about it?âÂ
Your fingers jitter at your sides. âIf you wanted to be king again, you couldâve just said that,â you say in mild amusement.Â
âNah, that king shit is a lot of work,â NâJadaka huffs jokingly. A pause. âLooks better on you, anyway.âÂ
You huff in disbelief. Itâs quiet for far too long, and you realize he must not have been joking. You gave him plenty of time to rescind that remark, but he didnât.
âMaking an offering to Oshun,â you blurt out, âdown at the river.âÂ
He blinks at you.Â
â...If you were serious,â you add quietly.
âIs that before or after the kiss?â NâJadaka asks with a lopsided smile. Again, heâs stupidly handsome. Itâs almost irritating, and definitely nerve-wracking.Â
â......After,â you manage to say, barely getting your thoughts sorted out in time to process what he just said. The kiss? Surely he doesnât meanâŠÂ
âGood to know,â he hums.Â
The two of you soon gravitate toward one another, and NâJadaka kisses you. Your hand rests on his shoulder; his hand briefly dances up your neck before finding your jaw, his thumb resting on your cheekbone. Itâs a surprisingly tender movement, and you canât help but lean into him.Â
Of course, just before you start to believe itâs actually happening, the moment is swiftly broken. âGood afternoon,â TâChalla says, appearing out of nowhere. Heâs standing in the doorway with a knowing expression on his face. He looks far too smug.Â
You flinch so hard you nearly fall backwards. NâJadaka steadies you with a hand at your waist, which probably only makes things look worse. You glare at your brother. âYou scared me,â you remark, scowling at him.Â
You resist the urge to throw something at him. âDid you need something?â you frown instead.Â
âNot yet,â he answers, leveling NâJadaka with a long silent look. TâChalla stands there long enough for things to become truly uncomfortable, the tension in the air sharp enough to draw blood. Then, as if nothing happened, he turns around and walks away.Â
âForgot about himâŠâ NâJadaka nearly groans, shaking his head in disbelief.Â
âItâs okay,â you reassure him. âHeâll warm up to youâŠâŠâŠ eventually.â Maybe.Â
âYou donât sound convinced,â he notes.Â
âIâm not,â you respond with a laugh. Your brother can hold a grudge like no oneâs business. And considering NâJadaka nearly killed him, well. Safe to say that animosity wonât be going away any time soon. Civility will likely be a miracle. âI wouldnât be surprised if he tries to kill you,â you joke.Â
âCross that bridge when I get there,â NâJadaka shrugs, before gently pulling you forward and kissing you again.
authorâs notes: Hereâs an alt scenario that I found funny.
You, a few months after you started to date NâJadaka: Brother, I have to tell you something. And you may not like it.
TâChalla, dryly: Youâre dating NâJadaka.
You, shocked: Whaâ How did you know that?
TâChalla: I have eyes, brother.
You: Okay. Youâre not⊠mad?
TâChalla: That the man who tried to kill me is courting my little brother? âŠPerhaps.
You, scowling: Iâm not little.
TâChalla, continuing unimpeded: Iâve seen the way he looks at you. It has been very obvious.
You: *standing there in stunned silence*
TâChalla: And you have been happier as of late.
You: Iâ
TâChalla: Thatâs the most you will ever hear me say on the matter.
You, still reeling: âŠFair enough.
thanks for reading! <3
check out my other works, sorted by fandom.
general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat @always-lying-to-you @moss4ev3r @hottskull
friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!