![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Three mini-fics (Assassin's Creed and/crossed with Mass Effect)
Oh ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fic_promptly , you're sucking away my life (or at least my will to write anything but little mini-fics). Only two of these were prompted. The last one came out of a discussion on a viable crossover for Assassin's Creed and Mass Effect that wouldn't involve time travel or space magic. It's not much, but I like it, even if it never goes anywhere.
The first one, Arcade is actually part of a (slightly) larger fic that I'll be using for CCB. I like the idea of modern!AU Assassin's Creed, but I have a hard time getting behind the need to put all the main characters in a coffee shop and letting them bicker behind the counter. I may start building a little AUverse for them so I can explore the world of Arcade a little more. The second and third are pretty straight forward.
Arcade
"You can't seriously think this is a good idea," Malik groans when he sees their destination.
Altaïr's answer is a sly grin, dark eyes laughing under his ever-present white hood. Malik swears he has the worst boyfriend in the world and he's a goddamn saint for putting up with it, but he lets Altaïr pull him into the arcade nonetheless.
Malik scowls at the rows of fighting machines that take two hands to play effectively and nudges Altaïr towards the racing games. Even handicapped as he is he's gotten good at them, steering with his knees when he needs to shift or hit the nitrous button or the handbrake. If he's going to be forced to be here (or else suffer one of his boyfriend's epic sulks) then they're going to play at least a few rounds of something he has a chance to win.
They manage a few games of air hockey and some skeeball also, but two hours later he's bored out of his skull and reduced to button-mashing a music game alone because Altaïr got into a basketball shootout with some punk who was talking shit. Malik’s not doing too badly but his hand is starting to cramp trying to stretch across the gamepad and he’s not even a third of the way through the song. A sudden warmth at his back makes him stiffen in surprise and miss the next three notes but he relaxes a fraction when he recognises the hands that sneak around him to help finish out the song. When he tries to move out of the way to let his boyfriend have full run of the machine, Altaïr’s chin comes to rest on his shoulder, holding him in place.
It isn’t until the stats rattle past and the selection screen starts counting down to the next round that Altaïr speaks, breath hot on Malik’s ear. “Pick something harder this time.”
He sighs, even as he starts scrolling. “Why?”
“Because three hands are better than two,” Altaïr murmurs back, punctuating the appallingly sappy statement with an equally cheesy kiss to Malik’s cheek.
Thane teaches his son in fits and starts. Whenever he makes it home to Kahje, he imparts another small piece of his knowledge despite his own reservations. He knows so intimately what life in his profession is like, but there aren’t many other options for their kind. He doesn’t want to ever submit Kolyat to a Contract, but one day it might happen anyway.
Then Irikah is killed and he can feel the battle sleep creeping in. The edges of his vision begin to narrow but his son, his only child, cannot fall into the crosshairs. Before he succumbs to the hunt, he gives Kolyat one more lesson.
“My son, I pray you will never have to kill, but if you must, here is how.”
“Why do you and Anderson do that, Shepard?”
“Do what?”
“Whenever you two meet, you both cross your left arms over your chest with your ring fingers folded down.”
“Oh, this?”
“Yeah, that.”
“...Reassurance.”
“Reassurance? Of what?”
“That anything is possible.”
fic_promptly , you're sucking away my life (or at least my will to write anything but little mini-fics). Only two of these were prompted. The last one came out of a discussion on a viable crossover for Assassin's Creed and Mass Effect that wouldn't involve time travel or space magic. It's not much, but I like it, even if it never goes anywhere.The first one, Arcade is actually part of a (slightly) larger fic that I'll be using for CCB. I like the idea of modern!AU Assassin's Creed, but I have a hard time getting behind the need to put all the main characters in a coffee shop and letting them bicker behind the counter. I may start building a little AUverse for them so I can explore the world of Arcade a little more. The second and third are pretty straight forward.
"You can't seriously think this is a good idea," Malik groans when he sees their destination.
Altaïr's answer is a sly grin, dark eyes laughing under his ever-present white hood. Malik swears he has the worst boyfriend in the world and he's a goddamn saint for putting up with it, but he lets Altaïr pull him into the arcade nonetheless.
Malik scowls at the rows of fighting machines that take two hands to play effectively and nudges Altaïr towards the racing games. Even handicapped as he is he's gotten good at them, steering with his knees when he needs to shift or hit the nitrous button or the handbrake. If he's going to be forced to be here (or else suffer one of his boyfriend's epic sulks) then they're going to play at least a few rounds of something he has a chance to win.
They manage a few games of air hockey and some skeeball also, but two hours later he's bored out of his skull and reduced to button-mashing a music game alone because Altaïr got into a basketball shootout with some punk who was talking shit. Malik’s not doing too badly but his hand is starting to cramp trying to stretch across the gamepad and he’s not even a third of the way through the song. A sudden warmth at his back makes him stiffen in surprise and miss the next three notes but he relaxes a fraction when he recognises the hands that sneak around him to help finish out the song. When he tries to move out of the way to let his boyfriend have full run of the machine, Altaïr’s chin comes to rest on his shoulder, holding him in place.
It isn’t until the stats rattle past and the selection screen starts counting down to the next round that Altaïr speaks, breath hot on Malik’s ear. “Pick something harder this time.”
He sighs, even as he starts scrolling. “Why?”
“Because three hands are better than two,” Altaïr murmurs back, punctuating the appallingly sappy statement with an equally cheesy kiss to Malik’s cheek.
Thane teaches his son in fits and starts. Whenever he makes it home to Kahje, he imparts another small piece of his knowledge despite his own reservations. He knows so intimately what life in his profession is like, but there aren’t many other options for their kind. He doesn’t want to ever submit Kolyat to a Contract, but one day it might happen anyway.
Then Irikah is killed and he can feel the battle sleep creeping in. The edges of his vision begin to narrow but his son, his only child, cannot fall into the crosshairs. Before he succumbs to the hunt, he gives Kolyat one more lesson.
“My son, I pray you will never have to kill, but if you must, here is how.”
“Why do you and Anderson do that, Shepard?”
“Do what?”
“Whenever you two meet, you both cross your left arms over your chest with your ring fingers folded down.”
“Oh, this?”
“Yeah, that.”
“...Reassurance.”
“Reassurance? Of what?”
“That anything is possible.”