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poptod · 5 years ago

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The Story of Golden Fish and Red Duck (Ahkmenrah x Reader, Ch. 1)

Description: Your family hates his family, and his family hates yours. It’s only natural you hate him - it’s in your blood... right?

Notes: Took the advice given to me and split this up into chapters. Sorry for the inconvenience.

Word Count: 2.5k AO3 Link: The Story of Golden Fish and Red Duck

It was almost fortunate that the evening would commence in the way it did - that you and your family have to have dinner with your sworn enemy. Not that he was exactly your sworn enemy, no, it was mostly your father and the Pharaoh which, if anyone else knew of the existing rivalry between the two, could spell doom for both families. That was the exact reason they kept up a charade in front of the general populace, which created a facade of peace that was rather easily seen through. Several times you'd asked as to the reason or origin of the fight but each time, your father told you why it still existed, and why both families helped each other out while hating each other. You'd memorized the political gains that the Pharaoh gave, and in turn your father gave the Pharaoh; your family had money. A lot of it, and Pharaoh needed that money to remain both in power and to continue a peaceful, prosperous reign. In turn, to keep the status your family had, your father needed the Pharaoh to appoint him High Priest, thus the circle continued - your father funded the Pharaoh's various projects, the Pharaoh let him keep his status and job. It was probably a little hard to see why a dinner with a person you hated was a good thing, but your father loved showing off his riches and his 'beautiful children,' though neither you or your older siblings were very well-behaved usually.

It was one of the rare times both you and your siblings willingly behaved properly to the highest extent. Not because your father had a life-long feud with the Pharaoh, but because you and your siblings had a life-long feud with the Pharaoh's children. Maybe it was an inherited trait; maybe your families were destined to hate each other. Nonetheless, you had to look your best for the evening.

Servants came through the doors to your room, carrying various trinkets and cloths, pinning them perfectly against your body until you were a heavenly glow in your mirror. Red wasn't a commonly seen color, which was one of the reasons you were dressing yourself in it, gold string weaved into the flower patterns of the red shawl. It was nearly see-through, the sheer, soft fabric flowing from your shoulders to your waist. A skirt hung on your hips, dripping in an uneven pattern down to your feet, spinning easily when you did a turn.

"I still don't think the red was a good idea," your brother said, his arms crossed as he leaned on the frame of your door.

"I didn't ask your opinion. I asked for you to design it. That's your thing, isn't it?" You replied, quiet and thoughtful as you continued to admire yourself. A headband might go well with this, you thought to yourself, pushing your hair back from your face.

"But it's such a... garish color. Couldn't you go with something more common?"

"Again with that speech, I've heard it before," you said with a sigh, rolling your eyes. "Father tells me it almost every day."

It wasn't your fault - well, maybe it was - that your fashion sense didn't go with what was popular. You preferred darker colors, more vibrant and deathly than what was customary, something that'd go with your state of mind. Not that you were an especially depressing person, at least not more so than the average person, it was only that you weren't quite as into living as others. People were so interested in life, so interested in continuing it even past death, that no one had even spared a thought towards death being something different than life, which was exactly what you devoted your time to internally debating. There were several ideas that seemed likely, the first being that what followed death was exactly what everyone thought happened. The second was nothing - peace, nonexistence, the wiping of the conscious, which technically was already what people thought would happen to you if your heart weighed more than Ma'at's feather.

A few minutes later and your father called you downstairs, awkwardly complimenting you and your siblings. To your right stood Kesi, your sister, and beside her your brother, Teremun. You always stood on the end, the shortest and the youngest, and your name meaning ‘mouse’ certainly didn't help the teasing. Short might've meant beautiful, but your brother and sister found ways to taunt it, just as you and your sister could find ways to taunt Teremun, and you and Teremun could taunt Kesi.

"Did you have to go with red?" Your father asked you, sighing with worried eyes as he stood in front of you.

"Red is a nice color," you said in a small voice, not shrinking away but certainly not leaning in.

"... right. Whatever you want, little one. Eshe?" Your father called upon his wife, a bright smile crossing his face when she emerged from her dressing room in all white. "You look beautiful, dearest," he murmured in her ear as they embraced, hand in hand as he landed a kiss on her cheek. You look away from the affection, though you noticed your brother did nothing and your sister continued looking pointedly.

"I'm glad our parents have such a good relationship," she whispered to you, leaning closer so only you could hear.

"I'm sure you are."

A carriage awaited you outside, your parents filing in, followed clumsily by Teremun, Kesi, and then yourself. Once squished in, your father gave the go-ahead to move, and thus started the short ride to the palace.

Living near the palace had its' ups and downs, the positives being that there weren't any beggars and the streets were much cleaner, and the downsides being that the Pharaoh's family had a habit of being loud. Very loud. That night, however, the noise wasn't coming from just the family. Hordes of people stood at the gates of the palace, dancing and playing music on lyres and harps, the bold voices of hired singers belting in the spacious, white halls lined with paintings and carvings. Pillars bigger than your house kept the endless ceiling up, incense burning from hooks hanging off them. Smoke drifted up into the ceiling, intoxicating those standing in the room. Luckily for you and your familys' safety, there was a clear path that people created down the center of the hall. Out of the corner of your eye you could see several naked people doing a dance you couldn't identify, and by the time you had an idea of what it was, they were out of sight.

Your carriage continued down the massive hall till you came to the very back. The back of the hall was something special, something spectacular that you very rarely appreciated - you supposed you could appreciate it that night. Backlit by at least a dozen torches, a massive statue portraying the Pharaonic family sat in black stone, cast against the stark white of the alabaster hall. In front of it was the table you were to sit at, the real Pharaoh and his non-stone family already in their seats, smiling tight at the sight of Yafeu, your father.

"Good to see you, Yafeu," the Pharaoh said, barely smiling before his face returned to dour stone.

"You as well, sir," your father replied with a small bow, smiling at his tiny jab at the man. Yafeu was technically supposed to refer to him as My King, or something of that ilk, which always disgusted you - it was such an odd thing to call someone, if not incredibly personal.

You put away your own feelings on the subject, sitting beside the youngest child of the royal family with a curt smile. Khufu you didn't mind as much - he wasn't old enough to understand the anger, and he was a rather kind boy, sometimes even helpful. Beside him, however, sat your match, your personal opponent, the man you hated the most in the entire family. Just as your father was tied in with the Pharaoh, your elder brother was head to head with their eldest son, Kahmuh. Kesi, however angry she may have seemed to be against Khafra, actually had a little crush on him, which she told no one but you. Your feelings for Ahkmen, their third child, were entirely platonic hatred. He smirked at you, smug as he made a tiny wave in your direction. Glaring, you turned around, keeping him out of your sight.

"That's no way to greet an old friend," he said with a laugh, his smile only growing more pleased when you shot him a scathing scowl.

"Hardly, Gold fish," you retorted. Something about his face always threw you off; maybe he was too confident, or too flirty, but either way he didn't settle well with you. He showed off five too many times and ever since that point, you had always hated him. The nickname for him, 'Gold fish,' only came about due to the fact that he made his own nickname for you, one that only he called you, one that infuriated you. To others it might've seemed affectionate - Gold fish was a nice nickname, but not coming from your mouth. You spit it out, brow furrowed and arms crossed, white knuckles digging into the flesh of your arm.

"You'll come around, Ducky," he said, winking at you when you turned to gauge his expression.

"Can we please act civil for once?" You said, an almost pleading look on your face.

"For the ceremony," he agreed slowly, nodding as he turned towards the crowd at large. Your eyes followed his, and saw the dancing mob of people that had made their way into the palace.

"That's a lot of people," you mumbled, feeling very small and very large all at once.

"It's not more than there usually is," Khufu reminded you.

In the distant reaches of the hall, flames appeared, drifting in the dark and writhing mass. The crowd began to part, the center of the hall becoming clear even in the shadows the massive building cast. Down the middle came dancers, the beginnings of a procession you knew well - it was one of your duties, as part of a High Priests' family, to attend the Heb-Sed Festival, and it was a duty you found pleasant. Besides the bad company, the sight was a rare one, beautiful and strangely ethereal. Parades of exotic animals, fire and smoke made their way to stand before the Pharaoh, honoring him with the sight of complex performances. It was very much a self-satisfying party - funded by the Pharaoh, planned by the Pharaoh, and for the Pharaoh.

Gasps came from the commoners as blue fire erupted from a man's mouth, curling into the sky before dissipating in the great darkness of the ceiling. Your eyes widened in time with the Pharaoh's exclamation, watching the man bow as Ahkmen leaned forward, the opposite of your own reaction of leaning back.

"Would you stop that?" Your sister whispered to Kahmuh, pushing his arms away from herself. You motioned her distress to Teremun, the one sitting beside her, who quickly resolved the situation by switching seats with her.

"None of you have any sense of humor," Kahmuh grumbled bitterly, crossing his arms and slouching as the next group of performers came along.

"We most certainly do. You're just not funny," you snarked, surprisingly backed up by Ahkmen.

"I'm sure they'd find you hilarious... if you did anything worth their time," Ahkmen said quietly, not bothering to meet his brothers' enraged eye.

"That must be the first time you've said anything intelligent," you said to Ahkmen after the conversation with the other half of the table dissolved. "I'm almost impressed."

"And that's the first interesting thing you've ever said," he replied with that far-too-smug smirk of his, your eye subconsciously twitching in your own irritation at the boy.

"One of these days, I'm going to get you and it'll look like a bloody accident."

"Only if you kiss me," he said, trying a charming smile and leaning closer to you over the head of his younger brother.

"You wish, Goldie!"

The parade continued on seemingly endless, dances and performances coming one after the other in a line that went on for what could've been eternity. In the dark of the hall, distant and barely visible in the dim torchlight, you could see the end of it - a man standing atop a cage, and within, an alligator.

"They're nothing but trouble, you know. It never ends well when they're there," you could hear Kahmuh whisper, but too entranced in the performance to bother to look and see who he was talking to. You could easily assume it was his father, either way - Kahmuh despised talking to his other family members, even though his father hated when Kahmuh talked to him. It wasn't the most loving family, or the most accepting, which was one of the major reasons your father hated the Pharaoh; he wasn't at all open with the people he should've been the most loving towards. Your father, on the other hand, was very open about his feelings, which was something Kesi adored. Teremun and you didn't think much about it, but were grateful when it was brought up.

Before you knew it the parade ended, and servants came through, setting food on the various tables throughout the hall. The grandest, most intricate and expensive desserts and delights were set in front of the Pharaoh, who grinned in a too-satisfied expression at the showmanship of his jubilee. Rolling your eyes, you awaited your own food, which came a minute later with the rest of your family's dinner.

For the most part, the fighting seceded for the evening to make way for the party. Music took the place of snide remarks, dancing filling a silence that would've been taken by bitter responses. With full stomachs and happy faces, the evening might have even been enjoyable, had Kahmuh kept his hands to himself, but since he's Kahmuh, he obviously didn't.

Mid-song your sister Kesi stood up, shoving Kahmuh away from her. Your eyes darted to the commotion - Kahmuh had stood out of his seat, clearly bothering your sister till she broke, which was unfortunately a very poor decision on her part.

Yafeu, your father, jumped out of his seat, grabbing Kesi and putting his hand over her mouth. Several commoners were looking up at you, all of whom quickly looked away when they noticed you glaring at them.

"Get a handle on your children, Yafeu," the Pharaoh said, his teeth gritted as he glared up at your father.

"Get a handle on yours first and I wouldn't need to do a thing," he bit back, pulling Kesi to safety and sitting her down in his own seat. Murmurs rang through the crowd, and the settlement of noise called the two men to glance at their audience.

"I think it's best if you leave," the Pharaoh said quietly, almost under his breath. Yafeu quickly agreed, humming a quick 'come on,' when he passed Eshe and Teremun, grabbing your wrist as he walked past you. Tugged along forcefully, you barely noticed Ahkmen waving a pleasant good bye, allowing you to send one last searing glare.

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek x reader

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catemagum · 6 years ago

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This has been a long time coming, but I wanted to talk about some of Sylas’ followers that I’ve created as NPCs. Yes, the majority of them are OCs of mine that were pulled in and used for just this, but they impact my interpretation of Sylas. These NPCs will be mentioned in replies, drabbles, and he may even feature some of their powers from time to time. I also decided to use this as an opportunity to really expand on how much foreign influence he has, and really showcase his allies from their respective nations. Of course, they’ve reached out in secret and met outside of Demacia’s borders, but Sylas has made quite a few terrifying acquaintances and friends. I will also update this post with new NPCs as I see fit, and will let everyone know when I’ve done so.

If you ever want to interact with any of these NPCs, as I’ll be linking this post to the biography directly, you’re free to send in asks or inquire about roleplaying with them. This isn’t a multi-muse blog, but I do genuinely love these characters and would love to build on them more. With that said, just specify if this is the case!

* Faceclaim names will be put beside the character name. All drawn image icons used feature art pieces that belong to me, either by commission or gift.

CASSIA WINCROFT --- RUTH CONNELL

A beautiful and strong individual who wields powerful and wild fire magic. Wanted for breaking the Laws of Stone, Cassia has managed to evade authorities on Demacia’s outer borders for decades with her wildfires threatening their forestry and putting a wall between her and the mageseekers. Intrigued by Sylas’ cause and determination, she sees the fighting spirit and overwhelming potential in his eyes and was the first to ally herself with him. Over these short few months, Cassia has become almost motherly towards Sylas, ensuring he cares for himself from time to time whilst being the first at his side in dire times if possible.

She finds Demacians amusing and toys with them for her own entertainment. While she isn’t one to endanger them purposefully, Cassia has a habit of forgetting the extent of her own powers. She and Sylas have an unspoken agreement that he may borrow her power whenever need be, and together they devastate the competition. She has burned down the homes of countless nobles with Sylas, and they are very rarely seen apart.

AMARAH KHAFRA & RASHAKEN

Shuriman born with a brief involvement in the Noxian military, Amarah was known for her unique abilities granted to her by the desert god RASHAKEN. A wielder of pestilent magic, Amarah causes widespread disease through magic locusts and scarab beetles, creatures summoned from the pendant around her neck. All it takes is one touch, whether by her hand or her insects, to inflict an individual with crippling illness. Exiled from Shurima for leaving the deteriorated and half-eaten carcasses of Shuriman nobles, and leaving Noxus when they pushed into her homeland, Amarah heard word of the chaos unfolding in Demacia.

Reaching Sylas through a few stray bugs, they met in secrecy within Demacia’s walls and formed an acquaintanceship. While she cares not for the freedom of Demacia’s mages, she is a loose cannon following discourse and Sylas himself has felt the power she wields. Gifting him a few messenger beetles, they communicate through her unique insect creatures while she returns to Shurima and scouts for new allies, undercover.

EVANORA STEROS

A demonic being that had lived in the world of a damaged magic painting within the Immortal Bastion long before Noxus existed, Evanora emerged from her world when the Demon of Secrets was claimed by Jericho Swain. Since then, she led a pretty quiet life within Noxus’ walls, opening a small shop of magical ( and cursed ) items and potions, becoming something akin to a traditional ( and stereotypical ) witch. Gifted with the ability to travel to any place through a painting or photograph, whilst also capable of creating alchemical reactions with a single touch, Evanora’s curiosity got the better of her.

She travelled to Demacia through one of many paintings she had acquired from a weary traveller, and found herself clad in their usual white and gold garments. She had arrived in search of trade, her goods for items she otherwise couldn’t find in Noxus, and had gotten caught up in an encounter between Sylas’ starting group of people and some nobles. Evanora minded her own business, but Sylas persisted when he saw the magic she possessed. He asked her to join him, and she agreed, insisting that she could bring him supplies from Noxus in exchange for things she needed. Agreeing, though wary of her Noxian status, he took a chance and has yet to regret it.

KIRAEL NOAVEK

Kirael was born into Demacian nobility, and hated every moment of it. Her childhood was spent at home, sticking to the books and learning proper etiquette, always deemed too good for the other Demacian children. She was later discovered to have psychic abilities, things akin to the powers oracles held whilst allowing her to utilize basic telekinesis. Appalled by her magic and deeming her as a disgrace to their family, Kirael’s parents locked her away in their home and reported her as missing. Several years later, during Demacia’s first Harrowing, Kirael could not escape the cellar as the corruption crept in. A spectre came with it, and took Kirael’s life only to bring her with it. Welcomed to the Isles as their oracle, Kirael swore vengeance on Demacia for what they had done to her.

Seeing Demacia’s future in a vision, Kirael headed for the shining city three days before Sylas’ escape. She arrived a day after and sought him out, travelling only at night and avoiding prying eyes until appearing before him. She shared her story, her mistreatment, and offered her psychic abilities to aid him. She would be his eyes for the future, so long as he would be her eyes in the present. Although it is unsafe for her to remain in Demacia for too long, she occasionally visits to share her information and to obtain stories from Sylas. Their close bond formed through similarities of imprisonment, and he values her and her connections to the Shadow Isles. It is said that when she lends Sylas her powers, she lends him her true sight ( with the consequence of losing his physical sight ) so long as the physical connection is not broken. Otherwise, he inherits her telekinesis for a brief amount of time when they separate.

YUYAKO KUROSAWA

Born in Ionia, Yuyako is known for adopting orphaned children in her nation. Afflicted with a terrible curse that allows her to raise the dead, Yu tries her best to ensure the safety of the children she adopts while also attempting to bring restless and vengeful spirits to peace on the side. She was once a prisoner of war after the Noxian invasion, told that she would either join Noxus and aid them with her powers or she would hang, Yuyako spat in the soldiers’ faces in defiance. Feeling the ancient corrupting energy in the ground below her, Yuyako needed a diversion for her escape. She brought back several soldiers of the Ruined King’s army to storm the prison while she managed to steal one of Noxus’ ships and set sail back to Ionia.

During her time in Noxus, she heard of Demacia’s mistreatment of mages and found herself disgusted. In a nation where magic was everywhere and in everything, Yuyako couldn’t fathom suppressing it. Her heart bled for those affected, and although she doesn’t approve of Sylas’ more violent means of fighting the government, she isn’t exactly anything short of a fighter either. Willing to participate by more peaceful means, Yuyako is the one to aid Sylas in breaking mages out of prison so long as innocents aren’t killed in the process. Sylas struggles to use her ability, attempting to force the dead to raise for him, but she knows he can learn to ask and reach them with practice. It requires peace, not violence, and she hopes he will learn to settle down with her teachings. Of course, she always returns home once her job is complete, as her loyalty always lies with Ionia.

DRAKKAR

A former Bilgewatian gambler who made a deal with a mysterious man, only to find himself later possessed by a wraith of sorts. With his body morphed into holding this malicious entity, Drakkar is capable of becoming smoke-like, whilst also choking others by bombarding their lungs with smoke. He is a terrible creature, known for slipping through the smallest of cracks and willing others to gamble their lives. He becomes stronger with each life he takes.

He and Sylas met in one of Demacia’s bars, the mystifying man attempting to coerce Demacians into gambling with him. One was brave enough, and Sylas had walked in to see the bar shrouded in thick smoke and fog. Intrigued by this power, whilst Drakkar assumed the worst, Sylas instead offered him a place among the other mages. So long as Drakkar promised not to harm the mages of Demacia, he would be allowed to stay. Accepting the offer, Sylas now has a personal spy and scout. Sylas does not enjoy using Drakkar’s abilities, and avoids doing so unless absolutely necessary to make his escape.

JAECAR

Drakkar’s son, or, rather, partner. He, too, was possessed by a spiritual entity and has taken up the job of a Zaunite medic. Unfortunately, he’s not one for healing, rather, experimenting. He specializes in turning anatomy into puppets of his, whether living or dead, and he controls them through terrible means. It isn’t unusual to catch a glimpse of severed limbs moving on their own, nor is it unusual for the corpse of one’s local soldier to shamble through the town at night. Suspicions of his activities grew larger, driving Jaecar out of Zaun before he was caught. While he does have healing abilities, he prefers to use them for unfortunate purposes.

Hearing word of his father’s stay in Demacia, Jaecar used his anatomical puppetry to cause a distraction and slip past the guards. He found his way to Sylas, reunited with his father, and offered his services as their medic. Despite his questionable morals, he promised he would not experiment on the mages and would, instead, use the nobles they killed as his research subjects. All too eager to lend his power to Sylas, mostly for research purposes, Sylas finds himself at an internal war over using it. While he has no qualms with controlling the dead, he does find it a bit unsettling to control the living.

ENJORRAN

Deep in the Freljord, there is one such individual that has suffered far more than most. Known as an assassin, Enjorran is a golem created long ago as a royal guard for the first king and queen. After so many years, those he was made to protect have passed and he finds himself without purpose, whilst hating the direction the Freljord has gone in. With his devastating ice abilities, Enjorran has made it his personal duty to restore the Freljord to its former glory, and has essentially become a menace to any who stand with the three current tribes.

Sylas reached out to Enjorran on a whim, hearing of this mysterious and powerful golem from books Lux had given him. He was surprised to receive an answer by way of snow owl, a letter written ( albeit poorly ) in response and affirmation of acquaintanceship. Enjorran agreed to seek out other mages in the Freljord, ask them for help whilst reminding Sylas that he cannot go anywhere near petricite. He has agreed to lend his aid however possible in exchange for some of Demacia’s plantlife pressed between books. He has never gotten to see nature. --- Although Sylas has never used Enjorran’s powers, it would be incredibly devastating. Able to cover an entire city of Demacia in snow and ice, Sylas hopes that he may be granted the ability to use this magic someday.

LUCINDA DAWNHEART

An orphan from the city of Piltover, Lucinda was adopted into the Dawnheart family and registered within Demacia’s group of mages. She has since then hidden her talents, but is among the Demacian youth who suffers from the discrimination against mages and magic. Living within one of the annulment slums, Lucinda has been protected by the other mages and has used her magic to both help and save people from danger. Magic that takes the shape of large claw-like manifestations that hover over her, this young girl has become a favorite among Demacian mages.

Sylas indeed witnessed her powers when scaring away a thief from taking their supplies, mages telling the tales of a young girl haunted by a violent spirit. They keep her magic a secret with such a tale, and she plays off having no control over this demon. --- Recognizing her strength, Sylas has asked her to continue to protect mages so long as she stays safe, but she isn’t one to listen. Lucinda has a fighting spirit despite the innocence she portrays, and is determined to fight alongside him despite his instruction. Sylas has used her abilities once, and consequently torn a mageseeker and their accompanying soldier to shreds to protect a child being taken from their family in the slums.

VEL’AAN & NAVRESHA

Not much is known about Vel’Aan aside from the fact that they were raised in Ionia. Trained to be a formidable assassin, Vel’Aan was given a task to hunt down accursed objects within Ionia’s hidden passages. It was their job to uncover the country’s secrets, and on one day they did uncover something. Hidden within the ruined temple, guarded by mages of all sorts, Vel’Aan heard the whispers of a voice with enticing promises. They slipped in through a hole in the roof, unseen and undetected, only to be met with a sinister-looking mask depicting the face of a woman. Introducing itself as Navresha, Vel’Aan would be given power in exchange for the mask’s freedom. Agreeing and leaving with the mask in hand, Vel’Aan would never be the same after putting the mask on.

Sylas sought this duo out when hearing tales of the accursed mask being free’d from its confinement, that a young shaman had appeared in a Noxian city and left more than half the town in comatose. Bodies mummified in branches and covered in white flowers that never wilt nor die, not dead but asleep with no means of waking them, Sylas was intrigued by these powers. He sent an invitation to where he heard Vel’Aan was hiding out in Ionia, and set up a meeting outside of Demacia’s borders. They agreed to work together, and Sylas realized the power’s potential. It was not violent, but peaceful, a calming coldness that felt as though he himself danced with death personified. All it took was one touch, and a body blossomed. The flowers bloomed and the body shut down to sleep. It was beautiful, a good means of disengaging people, and he felt as though together they could do great things.

More to be added in due time !

--- void mage --- darkin w/ hemomancy --- one ( 1 ) yordle --- targonian w/ weird space magic

#〖META〗ᵗʰʳᵒʷᶰ ᶤᶰ ᵃ ᵍᵒˡᵈᵉᶰ ᶜᵃᵍᵉ & ˢᵗʳᶤᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᵒᶠ ʰᶤˢ ʷᶤᶰᵍˢ #〖STUDY〗ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵇᵃʳᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉᶤʳ ᵗᵉᵉᵗʰ & ʰᵉ ᵖᵘˡˡᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵒᵘᵗ #long post /

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harpers-tartarus · 3 years ago

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Here it is!

Xifeng was not having a very good day, in fact, she was about two seconds away from having a breakdown but she refused to give Healer Idelle Beaufort the satisfaction.

“I don't think you're a good fit here, Miss Xun,” Healer Beaufort said with that false smile, painted face, and perfectly coiffed and dyed blonde hair. Xifeng despised her immensely.

“I-what?” Xifeng forced out bleakly. The whole year she had thrown herself into school, into healing. It was the only thing she'd ever wanted to do and certainly the only career choice that her father approved of, hence why he'd paid a small fortune for her to be schooled abroad at a university of great renown as Saint Germain's School of Healing. She had healed all the patients she'd been assigned, but still, she was failing.

Ahn told her the school was toxic, which was undoubtedly accurate, and had been trying to convince her to transfer to the school in Lithostele, Khafra's Institute of the Healing Arts where they were far more tolerant of differing races with differing magicks. Xifeng had been putting it off because that would mean admitting that Saint Germain had beaten her and she was nothing if not stubborn.

“I've had multiple complaints,” Healer Beaufort extended a folder of paper to her and Xifeng frowned deeply, taking it from her. “This is a healing school, Miss Xun, your skills lie in burning.”

It took effort not to flinch, but Xifeng was determined. She kept her eyes to the papers, reading each and every account and only growing more confused.

“None of these are complaints, though,” Xifeng said. In fact, they were the opposite, a set of glowing reviews from previous patients that admitted though it initially burned, they couldn't argue with the results and they wished her well in her studies. “They're all...complimentary.”

“You're burning patients and you don't even have the right element for it-” Healer Beaufort spoke over her.

“Healing is pain,” Xifeng snapped, letting her temper get the best of her, breathing out smoke through her nose. “Ice burns just as much as fire.”

“Be that as it may,” Healer Beaufort said in a voice positively dripping in saccharine and with a smile that didn't remotely reach her empty eyes, “we're not equipped to teach someone of your...” Her mouth twisted around the word. “-skillset.”

“And what skillset would that be?” Xifeng demanded hotly. “Perhaps you've forgotten the appropriate runes; I'd be happy to remind you.”

“Cute,” Healer Beaufort was nothing if not snide, opting to straighten the papers on her desk instead and Xifeng could easily see her recent written exam with a fat zero embossed on the front, all of her answers erased. “Clear out your dorm room by end of day or I'll have you tossed out onto the curb with your things.”

Fire was burning through her veins in the stead of blood and Xifeng dearly wished Healer Beaufort would turn to ash.

“Cute,” she returned, “but I'm certain Khafra's Institute of the Healing Arts will take me all the same, me and my unfortunate skillset.”

Healer Beaufort, who had been raising her mug to her lips to take a swig of something that was undoubtedly not tea -or, if it was tea, it wasn't only tea- coughed sharply, eyes bulging. Saint Germain was a decent school -or so they said- but it was nothing compared to Khafra's Institute. It didn't cater to healing specifically, but every branch of magick, that was why it had multiple campuses strewn throughout Lithostele.

And the people that came out of Khafra's Institute were at the top of their field. Healer Beaufort had been trying unsuccessfully for years to work as an instructor there after failing to qualify as a student in her youth. Salt in a very old, very open wound and Xifeng relished in it.

She stood, trying to be as imperious as Félicité Barreau, her stalwart roommate and only solace in this hell that some called a school. She didn't pull it off, but it made Xifeng feel better to look down her nose at the woman that had led to so many sleepless nights and endless tears.

She slammed the door on her way out, scorching the wood around the knob in her anger. It was only once she was out of sight that she braced herself against the wall and let out a shaky breath, wiping furiously at her eyes.

“Pull yourself together,” Xifeng muttered to herself, sniffing twice, and blinking furiously before steeling herself and heading along the long hallway to her dorm room.

Félicité wasn't even there, likely still in class since they had opposing schedules, and a dark part of Xifeng was relieved that she didn't have to explain everything to her. Félicité understood her best after Ahn, they were very good friends, but with the expectations placed on them by their instructors had made it impossible to be anything more. Lingering touches and hugs, the weight of her head on Xifeng's shoulder after an all-nighter...she hadn't even had the opportunity to wish for more.

But Xifeng would miss her the most, the only person she'd truly miss from the horrible experience that was Saint Germain's.

She packed her things in silence, shoving her books on healing magick into her bag, kicking off her ill-fitting uniform that she'd had to pay extra for in order to gain slits for her wings and tail. Xifeng looked better in her family's reds anyways. It had been months upon months since she'd been able to wear the crimson and black hanfu. The sleeves fluttered as she tied it at her waist, bringing up the flowing skirt to tie with it, hidden under the black belt that covered her waist.

Xifeng looked at herself in the mirror. Of course, they never would've accepted her. Not Xifeng with her curled black horns or her scaled wings or tail. This lot had escaped change for so many years by allying with the brutal Phlegethon Empire and had convinced themselves that they were just when Xifeng's country had aided Helheim over Renouvel.

But Xifeng would take the supposedly barbaric elves over the cruel and callous people of Renouvel.

She wasn't even really thinking about much of anything, just that she had to get out of there, that she had to put distance between herself and this farce of a school. Xifeng had nowhere to go, and she definitely didn't have access to the stables after her expulsion, but all Xifeng wanted was to flee, so stealing a horse was rather low on her priority list.

Hoisting herself into the saddle of her favored horse, a lovely black mare with the name Laudine, was no easy task but Xifeng had gotten much better at it over the months and Laudine liked her the best anyway.

Xifeng clicked her tongue, tugging on the reins and with a nudge of her heel, they were off.

It took little effort to escape the city of Roche-sur-la-Mer, and Xifeng rode Laudine hard for an hour, only stopping once they reached the next town over, which was half the problem.

Mort de Tranquille was perhaps the most morbid town in Renouvel and the one where all the ghost stories came from. It was considered a rite of passage to stay a night there. Xifeng's classmates had once tried to pressure her into doing it with a few other new students, but Xifeng had refused to be bullied.

Because Mort de Tranquille was a town without a single living person and was the single largest graveyard in the entire country.

Laudine knickered, shifting uncomfortably. Xifeng supposed that horses would be more in-tune to spirits, but the place still gave her chills.

Xifeng patted Laudine's neck, directing her forward, following the beaten path. “I'm sure it's nothing,” she muttered to the horse, but even it sounded like she was trying to convince herself. “I mean, who really wants to spend their time in a graveyard...it was probably just a school prank-”

But then they passed under a willow tree and the earth began to tremble as a hand burst through, stretched up towards the sky.

And Xifeng couldn't help the ungodly shriek that burst out of her.

besties, who wants to read the new ch1 of Crookedverse? :)

#crookedverse #healer beaufort's convo is 100% based on one a former instructor had with me

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poptod · 5 years ago

Text

Habromania (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: You’re happy in a way that indicates it’s only politeness. He catches you when the facade slips - and it’s a thick coverup.

Notes: A lot of my characters are pretty happy and content with their lives. I thought maybe it’s been too long since I’ve made my readers suffer. So, kinda angsty, I guess. Sorry, it’s not very good, I promise I’ll make something better

Word Count: 3.4k

Warning: Mentions of rape and abuse.

He’s here on another social visit, Ahkmen thinks to himself scathingly, almost glaring at the mayor - it’s impolite of him to do so, so he attempts not to. It’s not a very strong attempt, which he only knows because the mayor eyes him oddly before turning back to his father. Recently, Thebes’ mayor Piye has been visiting Memphis all too frequently, and the reason why baffles everyone, including Ahkmen’s mother. The only possible reason Ahkmen can fathom is that Piye and his father, Merenkahre, just get along very well and enjoy each others’ company, but the trips leave Thebes weak and neither of them listen to any warnings from himself or any other advisor or family member.

This time, however, when the usual greetings have finished, Piye steps to the side - there’s someone hiding behind him. Ahkmen leans to the side just slightly, just barely catching a better view of you before you fully uncover yourself. Piye introduces you as his eldest child, who apparently is usually in charge of taking care of Thebes during Piye’s visits to Memphis, but this time you’re here; your younger sibling has come of age to be able to take care of the city in the mayor’s absence.

You introduce yourself by name as Eydis, bowing to his father and thanking him for welcoming you to his city. There’s a grace to your movements, shaky and too-well practiced to be natural. In scrutiny he watches you, the shiver of your lower lip and the jolt of your eyelid when you stare Pharaoh in the eye - there’s something different behind your eyes than what you show. That raw life catches his thoughts as your attention darts to him, ensnaring him in a strange trance where he can do naught but wonder what person you’ve never shown you are.

In a breath the moment vanishes, and he’s unsure if it really did happen or if he thought it all up. Either way his father dismisses the crowd at large, and a servant comes up to take your luggage into guest rooms for your stay. He doesn’t follow, as much as he’d like to - instead he asks his father in a hushed voice where you’re staying, and his father answers with Piye’s consent.

“You have my permission to court Eydis, if you’d like,” Piye adds, before whispering to Merenkahre - though, Ahkmen can hear what he’s saying perfectly clear. “I’d much prefer your eldest son,” is what he says, and even though he had no intentions of courting you in the first place, the words spark a deep annoyance in him.

“I just wanted to introduce myself properly,” he tells the two men curtly, turning away before they could get another word in. He still hears his father whisper ‘teenagers,’ to the mayor, and he still hears the two of them laughing goodheartedly. All it does is annoy him further, to the point where it’s not a great idea to introduce himself to anybody, least of all you - you’re not royalty, but you’re very close, and despite what he thinks he saw he still needs a semblance of politeness in affairs with you.

Instead, in an attempt to calm down, he visits the water gardens of the palace where he usually finds peace - running water is a pleasant sound, and one that works easily on him as always. Flowers and lilies fill the pond in their spring bloom, pink and white hues splattering the pastel blue of the water. There’s a special serenity in the birdsong, he notes, watching wind rustle through brush. Maybe I should bring Eydis some flowers, he thinks for a while, staring at the long petals of red, drooping flowers, before remembering he’s not trying to court you.

Right, he thinks, thumbing at the soft, pollen filled center. Not courting.

With a particularly strong breeze he glances upwards and sees you, fingering at the leaves of vines overhanging the garden walls. Sunbeams enhance a loving glow round everything you touch, leaving him baffled at how you can touch anything and he thinks it’s instantly more special. It’s really not, he tries to convince himself of this, but the urge to pick the flowers and leaves you hold doesn’t go away; instead it speeds his heart rate as you grow closer, still staring at the leaves in a listless wander.

Despite his best efforts to think the right thoughts, he finds himself comparing you to the flower, and deciding that you’d look very nice with a flower in your hair. So, diplomacy blown to the wind he picks the flower from its’ stem, and makes his slow way over to you.

“Hi,” he says, and it comes out as barely a breath - you turn to him, doe eyes looking over him for the second time that day. It’s electrifying, and it makes him very, very anxious. “I… I wanted to properly introduce myself, properly, that is. I’m Ahkmen, son of the Pharaoh.” He holds the flower in front of him, unsure of how to give it to you, and unsure of how well you’d receive it; it occurs to him that you could be a very mean-natured person, but when you smile and giggle a flutter alights his soul with nervous admiration. With a soft grace you take the flower, admiring first its’ scent, then the color, before setting it behind your ear.

“Thank you,” you say, with that same tone of polite curtness. “I am Eydris. It’s nice to meet you officially. My father speaks of you highly.”

“Really?” He asks, furrowing his brow. Piye wasn’t always the nicest person to him, so the fact that he even spoke about him was alarming. “Well, um.. that’s good. I wasn’t… um, are… will you be joining my family for, uh, dinner tonight?” Internally he curses himself for his clumsy wording, but you don’t seem to mind.

“I follow where my father leads, so, yes,” you answer, and when you fiddle with the shawl you wear he almost forgets what the question was.

“Oh! Um, good. I’ll - I’ll see you then,” he finally gets out when he comes back into himself, and with that he walks away on shaking legs, putting as much distance between the two of you as he could manage. When he reaches the threshold separating the palace halls from the garden he peeks back to you, and finds a sight he holds forever in his mind. You’re smiling to yourself, distant from your own body as your fingers brush against the flower in your hair - a soft blush coats your cheeks, and when you turn in his direction he immediately hides again. Somewhere in that meeting, curiosity turned to infatuation.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me, he thinks to himself on the way to the kitchen. I’m acting like a five year old with a crush.

In the kitchen he sorts out the seating arrangements as well as the dinner to be made. Of course, he seats you next to himself, on your left; to your right is his younger brother, who would pose no problems. Kahmuh or Khafra might flirt with you, which he doesn’t feel like taking a chance around, but Khufu isn’t yet in the stage of romantic attraction. He thinks out the arrangement in his head, and it comes out perfectly that evening - with a small smile you sit between him and his brother. Across from the pair of you is Piye, sitting right next to the head of the table, of course taken by Ahkmen’s father.

Thankfully it all goes rather well, despite the fact he doesn’t say a word to you the entire evening. Instead you’re caught up in conversation with your father and the Pharaoh, who has never met you before, and shows a polite interest in you. Khufu gets your attention every now and then, and certainly has a stronger bond with you than Ahkmen does, which irritates him. There’s no way you’re interested in him romantically, Ahkmen convinces himself, considering Khufu is about five or six years younger than you.

By the end, when the dinner is finished you excuse yourself with a bow and a thanks for the food. Neither Merenkahre or Piye show any adversity to your leaving, though there’s an obvious disappointment in Ahkmen, who shrinks into his seat and crosses his arms. The rest of the table, excluding the fathers, leaves soon after as servants come by to pick up the dishes, and Ahkmen decides he might as well pay you a visit, considering he didn’t get to talk to you.

It takes a little bit of work but he eventually remembers which room you’re staying in (which is, somehow, very near his), and, hoping he looks alright, he heads on his way to you. When he approaches the large, wooden door of the guest room his silent footsteps make way for him to hear something, something very odd, coming from your room.

After a good minute or two of listening, his ear pressed against your door, he realizes it’s you singing, muffled and broken, and it’s unlike any song he’s ever heard before. He’d say it’s a different genre, but it goes beyond that. Ultimately, he decides it’s unearthly, which isn’t too strange for you - you yourself are unearthly, in your movements and presentation of self. Every now and then you stop singing, and there’s another sound he can’t distinguish.

When a servant passes by him in the hall, eyeing him oddly, he knocks on the door, pretending he hadn’t been listening for several minutes. Instantly you stop, make your way to the door, and open it.

“Hi,” he manages to say, your eyes settled on him intently. “I - I thought you might want to, uh, take a walk with me…?”

You don’t respond for a moment, but a smile breaks across your face as you look shyly to the ground.

“Alright. I’d like that. I’ll… I’ll have to change my clothes,” you tell him softly, shutting the door quietly and leaving him in the hall, heart thumping louder than anything. Time passes slow as he waits for you, his heart doing a terrible job of counting the seconds - it goes far too fast, messing up his rhythm and making him sweat nervously, which only makes him more anxious that you’d notice it when you saw him again. Swallowing, he tries to convince his body to settle down with deep breaths, which does the trick until you return.

Creaking, the door opens, your fingers curled around the edge of it as it does. When you fully emerge from your room, he notices the sheer cloth you wore before has been exchanged for warmer clothes, which he doesn’t fault you for; evenings get much cooler, especially where’s planning on taking you, though you don’t know where that is. With a small bow you take his hand, and trying to keep a calm composure, he leads you down to the gardens.

Unlike the water gardens, this one majors in fauna, decorating every surface and lacing over every wall. There’s a clear path that winds down the center of it, lined by bushes trimmed daily by caretakers. In the leftover light of a sunset long gone he introduces you to every nook he knows, every seating area and outlook to a beautiful view, and throughout the entire time you’re very quiet - he doubts you’ve said more than five words by the time you’ve made a full circle round the garden. You’re still holding his hand though, which he takes as a good sign; he’s cold from wind blowing north to south, and your hand is the only warmth he has. He does his best to appreciate it.

“You’re very… odd. In a good way,” he remarks as the two of you stay seated on a bench sitting under hanging vines.

“How so?” You ask, a slight pout that makes him stutter soft on your lips.

“I… it’s.. you’ve got.. layers. It - it feels like there’s.. like there’s a lot more to you than what you show, if that makes any sense,” he says, trying his absolute best to describe what he’s noticed. The smile that was barely there fades fully away from you as you turn away, releasing his hand.

“I’m sorry, I… I have to go,” you say quickly, standing, and before he can even process what you’ve said, you’re gone.

He’s left alone, confused, and horribly worried that he’s offended you in some way - it’s a state he remains in for the rest of the night, plaguing his thoughts as he tries to sleep. In his dreams he hopes desperately that it hasn’t hurt relations between your cities, but there’s no way to know; at least not until morning.

For the next several days you avoid him like he’s deathly sick, barely glancing his way when he enters the room and leaving soon as possible. You don’t mention the incident to your father, which he thanks the Gods for, but your avoidance still hurts him. Throughout your stay he passes by your door, trying not to think of you every time he walks to his room, trying to avoid the urge to open the door and talk to you, which he does quite well till he hears crying.

Slowly, his hand pressed to the wood of the door he opens it, finding you curled up on the bed, your back to him.

“Eydris?” He calls to you softly, watching you turn with a jump, quickly getting off the bed and stumbling backwards.

“I - Ahkmen, I didn’t - you weren’t supposed to see that,” you say, your voice broken as you sniff.

“It’s alright, I don’t mind… are you okay?” He asks, shutting the door behind him when he enters.

“I’m fine,” you tell him using a voice that has never sounded less fine, turning away. He moves to stand in front of you, holding your hands as you try to blink away tears, still sniffling.

“Sure, now what’s wrong?”

Not once do you meet his eye - you’re always looking at something else, often in a completely different direction. It begs the question, what’s got you so afraid that you can’t even stand to look at him?

“I miss my mother,” you say, a defeated whine in the undertones of your speech. For a moment he’s left confused, wondering what to do when you press your face into his chest, hiding away from the world in his comfort.

“Your… mother?”

To his knowledge, you didn’t have a mother. Piye never took a wife, instead adopting children who were abandoned - it was a noble gesture, but now, watching you cry, he finds himself wondering if it was so goodhearted after all.

“It’s foolish, I know,” you choke out, wrapping your arms around his middle, hugging him tight. It’s an affection he welcomes easily, comfort and uncertainty all wrapped into one when you touch him.

“It’s not, not at all,” he murmurs, winding his fingers in your hair and stroking. “I wasn’t aware you knew your mother.”

“I knew my father too. I don’t… I shouldn’t be saying this.”

“… why not?”

You’re silent for a good, long while, waiting till you calm down before explaining. Patiently he stands with you, resting his chin on the top of your head that fits so well underneath him. For him you’re the perfect size, though it’s not a thought that crosses his mind; your state of distress is far more important.

“I can’t believe I’m trusting you, but... you’ve been so nice to me. You can’t say anything, to anyone,” you say, pulling away from his warmth to look him in the eye. Hesitantly, he nods, wondering what could be so horrid to never tell another soul.

With a shaky breath, you sit beside him on the bed, and your story unravels.

“I lived with my mother and father in a village near Amarna. We weren’t very well to do, but they loved me very much. Piye came one day, saw our state of living.. he decided for me that I’d do better living with him. Of course I didn’t leave easily, so I… he bound my hands, and my feet,” you glance at him, a look of utter trust and disgust towards yourself plain in your eyes. It’s unsettling, more than anything he’s ever heard, but he lets you continue. “And his treatment didn’t… didn’t really get better. He.. sometimes he hurts me,” you mumble, tears burning your downcast eyes. “Sometimes he uses me.”

“Uses you…?” Ahkmen asks, unsure of what you mean. You glance at him, fiddling with your robes, before turning your gaze back to your hands when you find no clarity in him.

“Sexually,” you clarify, clearing your throat as the word comes out coarse. His breathing halts, an anger unknown boiling at his fingertips as the very sudden urge to punch Piye comes over him. Instead, he calms himself, holds your cheek in his hand, and asks you a question.

“How can I help you?”

“I just want to go home,” you mumble, defeated as your head rests against his shoulder.

Even though his education is high, and he has access to any knowledge or story he wishes, he’s never come across something so dark before - it hits him in the stomach, sickening him in a way he’s never felt before. With no idea what to do except acquiesce your requests, he does so. Damn the consequence, he tells himself, already thinking up ways to sneak you out of the palace.

“It may not be safe,” he tells you, and begins to bring up other ideas. “You could stay with me, or I could tell my father. He despises violence.”

“No, no,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “I don’t want Piye to know I told anyone. He’ll hurt me.” Your grasp on his arm tightens, the fabric hanging there bundled in your hold.

“He won’t. Not if my father knows.”

He desperately wants you to stay, to live with him. To him, it’s a paradise on earth if you stay, to be able to see your beauty at his convenience, to watch your smile when he gives you a flower to match your elegance. He tries every solution he can think of, anything to make you want to stay with him, but you’re adamant.

“I just want to go home,” you repeat, broken and soft, and in that moment he learns that the best thing for him isn’t always the best thing for everybody else. You need to go home, and he will help you at any cost.

“I’ll get you there, I promise,” he says, avoiding every hint he could give that he doesn’t like this outcome. For the first time you smile, a real smile, and he could cry at how adoring it is. He nearly does, holding back when you hug him so tight he can hardly breathe.

The moon settles high in the sky and he takes you down to the gates of the city, where ships lay docked, several guards and merchants wandering around. He talks to a merchant who looks trustworthy enough, and pays a fare for a journey up the nile, slipping him more to keep quiet. To be safe he travels with you for two days, staying by your side every moment he can till your home is in sight.

When it docks, you practically jump out of the boat, running home through the common streets out into the straggling edges of Amarna. Attempting (very poorly) to keep up with your pace he follows you, watching you shroud yourself in the arms of your parents, your real parents. At your return they cry, and the three of you drop to the ground, overjoyed at your return. Ahkmen watches, keeping his distance till you motion for him to join you.

“I don’t know how many laws you broke for me,” you say, hugging him and burying your head in his chest, “but thank you. A thousand times, thank you.”

You’re not wearing the overly decorated clothes you wore when he first saw you - you’re not wearing jewelry or golden arm bands, but you look happier, more full of life than ever before. He decides he’s done a good thing, perhaps the first real good thing he’s done, and simultaneously decides the consequences don’t matter.

You’re happy; he won’t ever see you again, but you’re happy. It’s all that really matters to him.

#ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah x reader #night at the museum #rami malek

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