the crown prince

he who is beloved. let the whole town hear your knuckles crack.

[tchaviv]

for @ava-bartcn

       -- “you’re not going to use him on me during trainings are you?”

   the dog was gorgeous, handsome he’d go so far to say, with that shiny    brown and black coat of fur reflecting the slightest glint of the  sun into    his eyes. he wasn’t the biggest fan of them though. made him nervous,    as though a guard dog could  do  any  more  damage  to  him  than the     middle schoolers in paragon. he could never feel easy around them. 

       -- “because i think that counts as cheating.”

[tchaviv]

grlking:

UZOMA: i lost my phone and now i have 2 use this dumb starkphone thanks leopold

      T’CHAV: why couldnt you just have bought a nwe one       T’CHAV: new*       T’CHAV: who is leopold

[tchaviv]

nataliahowlett:

“I’m sorry did I hit you? I really didn’t mean to.” Natalia says with a smile as she folds her wings against her back best she could. It wasn’t always easy to avoid a situation like this, but in the process of leaving the coffee shop she must have accidentally done it while turning to leave. She slowly moves to face the other though as she hopes for the best.

      he  was  definitely  one  smack  in the face away from an anxiety       attack, and when he got a mouthful of-- wing, he can only thank       the practice he had with his father  growing  up  training  him  to        swallow the anxiety back down. he  offers  her  a  smile,  hoping        that it isn’t curt  as  he  diverts  his  eyes,  hands too full with his        bag and coffee to adequately respond. 

[tchaviv]

somethingsvfter:

she wished she could say she hadn’t been thinking about it. that sometimes, mostly at night, when her mind drifted, she thought of the boy and his beautiful bruises. his graceful punches, and swift blows. he made it look so splendid, the blood almost poetic. it wasn’t like her to stare, it was so rude and unbecoming, but his bare arms demanded admiration, and she wasn’t quick enough to look away. soft pink hues rose to her cheeks and she hasn’t been able to forget how hot her face felt when she pressed the gauze against his skin.

her face is painting itself the same pink color when she sees him again. she should’n’t have been looking at the floor, but she prefers it to stepping around blindly. her eyes follow his fluttering hands, her mind reaching back to what each movement means. ❝ hi, ❞ she breathes out, almost like a sigh, her hands moving along with her lips in a gesture of solidarity. ❝ i’m okay. how are you ? ❞

     the boy exhales, his chest puffing in his attempt to adjust the strap of  his  book      bag that had been dangling precariously on the cusp of those square shoulders.      gallant boy, shy boy. he attempts to smother  that smile of his into an offhanded       glance around the hall,  not  wanting  his  counterpart  to  think  of  him  as  any       stranger than he believes she already thinks.

     soft  girl,   sweet  girl.  electric  dark  eyes   trace  the  outline   of   her  blushing       countenance, her  lips,  and  her  moving  fingers, even though his  hearing was      more than perfect.

           -- “better now that we’re both here.”

      there’s an unmistakable change to his demeanour as he lightens. 

          -- “where are you headed to?”

[tchaviv]

ofwakandas:

/ closed for @tchaviv.

“brother,” she breaks the silence as she rounds the corner, alerting him to her presence as smoothly as she can. her eyes rake over him, taking in the faded scratches and bruises with a pained sigh. what’s he gotten himself into now? the regal decorum burned into her mind as a child kept her on the straight and narrow even out of their parents’ sight in paragon, but it seemed t’chaviv was using this newfound freedom to his fullest. “when will you learn to take care of yourself?” 

          -- “sister.”

    he signs, cheeks pulling to a grin at the sight of his sibling. running into     her, as little as he’d like to admit,  was  almost  as  always like grasping     firmly onto that fresh breath  of air right as he  escapes  the  firm grip of     staying too  long  underwater.  t’chaviv watches as that scrutinising eye     takes him in voraciously, as similarly as he remembers mother doing so     when he  comes home from simply being out an hour. as if he would be     taken again.  but  it’s been years and he’s mostly over it, and he pulls a      shit-eating  smile to  his  lips  as  he   chuffs  in  pride. the  prince never      loses a  fight. his shoulders bunch up  in a shrug as he  hands continue      to fly. 

          -- “i dont know what you are talking about, im perfectly fine.”

[tchaviv]

@somethingsvfter

      all said and done, the young  prince only needed a good night’s rest       for the crimson valleys and  purple splotches to disappear, as gently       as  the  graces  of  his  gods,   and as quietly as he is. it hadn’t been        a week after he’s fought  off that so called x-man in the quad before        he finds himself walking shoulder first into the girl who took the time       to clean him up after the duel. 

      he’s got her  number  saved in his phone. there’s no question about        her interest ---- - afterall,  his  shirt  did  come off when she pressed       gauze to his wounds. but he does also recall the way his chest tried       to  betray  him into a panic attack once the adrenaline wore off, and       that loud, frenzied part  of him has done nothing but shame him out        of sending a text back. she must think he’s so fucking rude.

            -- ‘i’m sorry’, he signs, fist flying to his chest. 

           -- ‘hi. are you okay?’

[tchaviv]

— ✧ KEITH POWERS ? NO, THAT’S JUST T'CHAVIV ! THEY’RE THE TWENTY TWO YEAR OLD SON OF T’CHALLA & ORORO. THEY ARE ALSO A LAW STUDENT AT PARAGON. I HEAR THEY’RE TACTFUL & LOYAL BUT TEND TO BE STOIC & FEROCIOUS. HIS FILE SAYS THAT HIS POWER IS DIVINE EMPOWERMENT & ELECTROKENSIS.

[  BACK AT IT AGAIN WITH A NEW CHILD HE’S A CHARACTER I’VE BEEN WRITING FOR A WHILE, JUST WITH DIFFERENT NAMES AND A NEW TWIST AND I CANT WAIT FOR YOU GUYS TO MEET HIM <3 ]

         tw: kidnapping

        t’chaviv, son of t’challa and ororo, heir to the wakandan throne. first son, named in hebrew -- he who is loved. painfully shy from ages 0 to 2. we’ll back to that later. 

       t’chaviv was never shy of getting the royal education though ---- t’challa raised him with the sole purpose of taking over one day, drilling diplomacy and governance into his head till ‘my pleasure’ and ‘respectfully yours’ spills out of rapid fire fingers on instinct. see, many on the council didn’t see him fit to take over, saying that his inability to SPEAK hinders his ability to rule. how can wakanda continue be great if no one can hear them? 

       t’chaviv asks himself the same question everyday, with growing frustration in his chest, spreading like wildfire as his lips purse in disagreement during council meetings with his father. he can never write fast enough to interject, he can never sign loud enough to catch someone’s attention on the first syllable. as if he needed more reminders of his own inadequacies. 

      t’chaviv at age 1 spoke his first word, clumsy as it was, he managed to mumble a little ‘mama’, much to his mother’s delight. and that was the last time both t’challa and ororo heard him speak. cripping social anxiety, that was what he had, as a young child, before he turned two and the doctors were concerned. and as if life wished to add gasoline to a burning flame, t’chaviv was taken from his home. someone who didn’t belong to wakanda, some american extremist, in need of attention and money for their ambitious militia that never got off the ground the second t’challa and ororo wrecked havoc on them for taking their son. 

      t’chaviv then grew up under the adamant protection of ororo and t’challa, never having once to speak up for himself, despite what his therapist encouraged ------ so he fell down the rabbit hole. he’s mostly over the anxiety, he’s got pills for that. and the trauma. and his parents had taken every measure to ensure they don’t lose their son again. 

      unfortunately for them, they don’t see who he truly is. black and gold, the calm before the storm, the quiet rumble of bubbles under the surface, the sharp edge hidden under a sheath; he’s safe from everything but himself, his thoughts, his soul, turning himself into a precarious weapon about to implode. he symbolises restraint and ferocity. the downfall or survival of his nation. 

       ororo used to call him her little thunder, as quiet as he was, and he has no clue how right she was about to be, for when thunder rumbles, you’re never gonna know where lightning’s gonna strike.