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Three mini-fics (Assassin's Creed and Mass Effect)
I'm supposed to be working on Pinky Swear, but I'm really, really not feeling it right now. Instead, I've gotten caught back up in my Assassin's Creed lust, so here, have some more mini-fics.
The first is Mass Effect, Kai Leng. I kind of want this to be my headcanon... Creepy yet devoted. The second is for Assassin's Creed IV, Edward Kenway. His thoughts on the ocean he sails. And the last is more from the modern!AU that Arcade came from. Altaïr and Malik have their own ways of showing commitment.
Ascension
He knew it was a poor way to express himself, sending taunting little notes to her whenever he beat her to a piece of Prothean tech or bested one of her old companions in battle, but who could blame him? She was exquisite, the perfect example of humanity, and even the beast in his head wanted to hold her tight and elevate her above the masses.
He couldn’t get close to her, though; that time had passed. Instead, he worked to destroy everything else she held dear so that at the end of it all only they two would be left. It would be hell on earth (and any other heathen, alien planet they had purged of life) but he had already seen hell, burning deep inside cybernetic blue eyes, echoed in his dreams. The searing glow of the galaxy in flames only made her more beautiful, shifting his allegiances even as his course of action remained unchanged.
Death by her hand was the most exquisite torture; one he would relive again and again if only to see the fierce, dark satisfaction that had lit her face. The beast in his head howled defiances even as his hand reached feebly towards her perfection. He had fallen at the feet of a warrior goddess, a willing stepping stone for her ascension, her first disciple.
Oh yes. When it was all over, he’d see her join him in hell and then… She’d be his alone.
Siren Song
The ocean does not mean to be listened to, but just as he sees more than the common man, so does he hear more. She’s called him to her side since he first caught sight of her and though he’d resisted, tried to claim another woman as his wife, he knew in the end it would be useless.
The ocean does not mean to be listened to, but her sighs echo in his dreams. She screams through his sails, salt-spray kissing his face when he pulls one of his crew from her depths. She moans over his moorings, lapping at the anchorline when he lets his ship rest. She sings to them across the decks, and his crew calls shanties back to her waiting waves. The Jackdaw is never quiet, and he is grateful.
The ocean does not mean to be listened to, but he knows that one day he will give in to her pleas without hesitation. He will fall into her embrace and never return, and when that happens, he will pull her into his body like a lover and let her have the whole of him. She will take him too, as she takes all sailors, and cry out for more because he alone cannot satisfy her. He accepts this fate as all seamen must, and does so willingly.
The ocean does not mean to be listened to, but he hears her siren call and obeys.
Vows
They don’t have a real wedding. Neither of them would be comfortable with the exposure and what do they care about the opinions of others anyway? It’s not like they could wear rings in the traditional place; Altaïr lost most of his left ring finger ages ago and nearly the entirety of Malik’s left arm had been severed in the accident that took Kadar’s life.
Still, Malik wakes one day to find a necklace on his bedside table. It’s gleaming silver, a thin chain carrying a stylised uppercase lambda with the serifs turned in and an eagle feather engraved across the left leg. He slips it over his head, cool metal resting over his heart like a kiss.
He can’t return the favour, not like that at least, because Altaïr can’t wear visible jewelry on the job and isn’t really the type anyway. Instead, Malik pins him down one night, murmuring words into his lover’s ear as the skin-warmed pendant slips over Altaïr’s shoulder.
I’ve lived all over the world - I’ve left every place - but in every one I have found home, simply because you were there.
In the morning Altaïr is gone, but so is the Damascus steel khyber shortblade Malik has gotten him. In its place is a note - simple words, but powerful all the same - and ones that Altaïr could never bring himself to say out loud.
All journeys end in the same place: home. Mine will always end with you.
The first is Mass Effect, Kai Leng. I kind of want this to be my headcanon... Creepy yet devoted. The second is for Assassin's Creed IV, Edward Kenway. His thoughts on the ocean he sails. And the last is more from the modern!AU that Arcade came from. Altaïr and Malik have their own ways of showing commitment.
Ascension
He knew it was a poor way to express himself, sending taunting little notes to her whenever he beat her to a piece of Prothean tech or bested one of her old companions in battle, but who could blame him? She was exquisite, the perfect example of humanity, and even the beast in his head wanted to hold her tight and elevate her above the masses.
He couldn’t get close to her, though; that time had passed. Instead, he worked to destroy everything else she held dear so that at the end of it all only they two would be left. It would be hell on earth (and any other heathen, alien planet they had purged of life) but he had already seen hell, burning deep inside cybernetic blue eyes, echoed in his dreams. The searing glow of the galaxy in flames only made her more beautiful, shifting his allegiances even as his course of action remained unchanged.
Death by her hand was the most exquisite torture; one he would relive again and again if only to see the fierce, dark satisfaction that had lit her face. The beast in his head howled defiances even as his hand reached feebly towards her perfection. He had fallen at the feet of a warrior goddess, a willing stepping stone for her ascension, her first disciple.
Oh yes. When it was all over, he’d see her join him in hell and then… She’d be his alone.
Siren Song
The ocean does not mean to be listened to, but just as he sees more than the common man, so does he hear more. She’s called him to her side since he first caught sight of her and though he’d resisted, tried to claim another woman as his wife, he knew in the end it would be useless.
The ocean does not mean to be listened to, but her sighs echo in his dreams. She screams through his sails, salt-spray kissing his face when he pulls one of his crew from her depths. She moans over his moorings, lapping at the anchorline when he lets his ship rest. She sings to them across the decks, and his crew calls shanties back to her waiting waves. The Jackdaw is never quiet, and he is grateful.
The ocean does not mean to be listened to, but he knows that one day he will give in to her pleas without hesitation. He will fall into her embrace and never return, and when that happens, he will pull her into his body like a lover and let her have the whole of him. She will take him too, as she takes all sailors, and cry out for more because he alone cannot satisfy her. He accepts this fate as all seamen must, and does so willingly.
The ocean does not mean to be listened to, but he hears her siren call and obeys.
Vows
They don’t have a real wedding. Neither of them would be comfortable with the exposure and what do they care about the opinions of others anyway? It’s not like they could wear rings in the traditional place; Altaïr lost most of his left ring finger ages ago and nearly the entirety of Malik’s left arm had been severed in the accident that took Kadar’s life.
Still, Malik wakes one day to find a necklace on his bedside table. It’s gleaming silver, a thin chain carrying a stylised uppercase lambda with the serifs turned in and an eagle feather engraved across the left leg. He slips it over his head, cool metal resting over his heart like a kiss.
He can’t return the favour, not like that at least, because Altaïr can’t wear visible jewelry on the job and isn’t really the type anyway. Instead, Malik pins him down one night, murmuring words into his lover’s ear as the skin-warmed pendant slips over Altaïr’s shoulder.
I’ve lived all over the world - I’ve left every place - but in every one I have found home, simply because you were there.
In the morning Altaïr is gone, but so is the Damascus steel khyber shortblade Malik has gotten him. In its place is a note - simple words, but powerful all the same - and ones that Altaïr could never bring himself to say out loud.
All journeys end in the same place: home. Mine will always end with you.