Killmonger's One-Shot Collection

Long Live the King

To everyone else, T'Challa was the King. He was the Black Panther, beloved by all and adored. Honest, brave, elegant, and caring. He put the welfare of his people before his very life. That was the miracle of T'Challa's rule.

To you, he was your life. He was your partner, your teammate, your support, your lover, your husband. Photos and mementos lay scattered before you as you reminisce, bitterness and twisting thoughts causing you to sear in your anger. You can't help but think that he should still be here. There's no good reason why he isn't.

There's a knock on the door that you ignore. Every time someone in the palace speaks to you, it pisses you off. They are traitors, living comfortably in a palace they don't deserve, serving a murderer.

They knock again, asking if you'd like to come out for dinner with the new King. Everyone seems to have moved on, you think angrily. Everyone but you.

"I'll come to dinner when that imposter you call a king is in chains and beheaded. Serve me his head on a platter and my appetite will have returned sevenfold."

You pick up a polaroid you took of T'Challa and look at the date. It hasn't even been a month since it was taken, only 9 days since T'Challa's death.

◇

When the news travels back to Erik that you still refuse to comply with his requests, he isn't surprised.

"Who's been giving her food behind my back?"

You should've been crawling to him, begging for something to eat.

"If I ask again, none of you, including your families, will eat. I'll make sure of that."

Erik noticed the chef look at a Dora.

"You."

His finger curved, beckoning her near to his throne. When she was close enough, he threw a blade, striking her directly in the forehead. Her body thudded to the ground.

"And that wasn't even vibranium."

The cook lowered his eyes in horror. The Dora couldn't decide whether to hold their positions or fight back. The palace staff was broken.

"What," Erik challenged. "Y'all look like y'all wanna do something! Come'on," his lip curled under ferociously, bearing gold fangs.

No one stepped forward.

"The next person I hear stepping foot near Ms. Queen without my permission? You can look forward to joining your friend in the afterlife. Am I CLEAR?"

◇

Typically, Asira would sneak into your corridor, and you'd unlock your bedroom quarters to accept fresh and sweet warm yeast bread and water, but she hasn't shown in two days. You're famished, sleeping it off between bouts of mourning.

Finally, there's a quiet knock. You rush to unlock and open the bedroom door, but it's not Asira. Killmonger pushes the door wide.

"So this is the king's suite."

You start to walk out, but remember your chest of memories and dive to gather the scattered photos, putting them back inside. He steps on one as you grab it.