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asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-01-04 10:19 am
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-01-04 10:19 am
Entry tags:
Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed [Fills]
We're about to reach the posting limit on pt.1&2, this is for those who wish to continue/write on prompts on both these parts.
Writers! It is your responsibility to link back to the original prompt.
There are no request in this part of the meme.
List of Kinks
(Livejorunal) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Discussion
The Moon and the Tide [3/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-11 04:19 am (UTC)(link)The streets around the bureau are no longer as strange and foreign to Malik as they were when he first accompanied Rashad to the market many days ago. This is the first time he has been left to his own devices, and he feels a tiny thrill of excitement, venturing out further than he has been allowed to. Though he has no time to stand and gawk at his surroundings, it always amazes Malik how filled the streets are, with merchant stalls and all sorts of people, crowded into narrow paths.
Back home, there are so such things. The mer are not confined to the ground; they swim around and over their buildings, have stalls on top of other stalls, and glide past each other overhead and undertail. It is sometimes chaotic to see, but it is rarely ever cluttered or crowded like it is on land.
Strangely, though, Malik does not think of wasted space when he looks at the gap between the rooftops and the sky. He sees a stillness that is calm and inviting, where animals of flight are given free reign over its vastness. He does not wish for wings, but with his legs he can marvel at the sky more clearly than he did in the water.
There is a tower in the distance that seems to almost reach the clouds. Malik uses it as a marker, knowing where it stands in relation to where he is; on the map, it is a symbol of a bird — an eagle, he remembers Rashad telling him. It is fitting, since Malik can see the bird circling around the tower where it also has a perch, which is a curious thing to have.
But what’s even more curious is the figure occupying it. At first, Malik thinks it is a statue, but the shadow moves, and it is much too large to be another eagle. When it jumps, it falls instead of flies, and has the shape of a man.
Malik frowns, glancing around to see if anyone has noticed, but the people on the streets are far too busy looking ahead or down, never upwards. Or perhaps men leaping off from towers is a natural occurrence; maybe it is another animal of flight Malik does not know about.
The tower is far, but he is prepared to walk all the way to find out.
It takes him far longer than he thinks to navigate around the city. He has the map in his mind’s eye, but Malik underestimates his susceptibility to the different sights, sounds, and smells of Acre. Everything draws his attention for the quickest of moments and it all adds up into minutes spent observing the food sellers, the weaponsmiths, the beggars and hawkers. He once changed his path just to run his hand over the patterns carved into a bubbling fountain, though he keeps walking as if only passing by. Occasionally he will catch the scent of the sea and turn his head, but the only blue he sees is the sky, and there is always the tower to guide him back.
It is ironic that he never reaches it in the end.
Malik is on another unplanned detour when he finally finds Altair, thinking that the sounds of ringing metal and steel will lead him to another blacksmith’s shop. He rounds the corner into a smaller street, a little too late in hearing the shouts and cries of men fighting over the regular noise of the city.
Altair is in the thick of it, snarling and grinning with no one at his side except for the dagger in his hand. He is a good fighter, Malik can see the proof already — the bodies of several guards on the ground — but Malik does not care if Altair has been wading over a thousand corpses; the assassin is still fighting outnumbered. Malik does not hesitate to put his self-taught aim to test.
He throws his knives, taking down two guards, while his third knife bounces off the harder armor of the one Altair is fighting. It is not perfect, but Malik unsheathes his sword, slightly taken aback at how light it feels when he swings it at his next opponent.
It is a difficult battle, different from what he is used to. The flow and rhythm of the fight is faster, and Malik stumbles over his feet many times, but makes it up by the forceful, controlled strokes of his sword, following through it’s momentum and using it to his advantage, just as he does underwater.
His technique must be odd to the guards, and he catches Altair taking quick glances in his direction, almost curious. Malik has no time to wonder if Altair is impressed or baffled, as he is continuously startled and becoming irritated by the things he is discovering in the fight. Things like the slippery mess of blood and thick scent of it, the missing drag of water, or how the dead do not possess the grace to float up or sink down to keep out of the way.
Malik runs his sword through a guard and almost falls with the body, unprepared by the weight dragging him down. His missing left arm moves as if to brace against it, but Malik has no hand to grab with. Instead, he falls back against Altair, who is suddenly there beside him, though the assassin is busy locking blades with another of the enemy. Altair presses his back against him, a nudge, then, and Malik is back on his feet, trying to yank his sword free against gravity. He goes back to fighting.
Before he knows it, there is no one left to fight. The guards stop coming, and the street is empty and filled with the noise of the dying and the fleeing — and yet Malik is still breathing too loud for his ears.
He looks down at the bodies, wearily kneeling over one of them to see if they have any valuables. It is an ingrained habit, one that Altair apparently does not see the meaning of.
“What are you doing? We have to leave,” Altair says impatiently, frowning when Malik stares at his dripping sword and robes, furtively trying to wipe it clean.
Stilling, Malik thinks for a moment. His mouth is dry and he licks his lips, recoiling from the tang of copper, not knowing if it is his. “Does the blood...” and he makes an awkward gesture at the carnage as a whole, wondering if he should mention anything about sharks. “Does it attract anything?”
Altair does not answer right away, but when he does, he sounds curt and exasperated. “Only more guards to fight, if that is what you want.”
Both relieved and irked, Malik sheaths his sword and follows Altair away from the street, taking the lesser used routes that Malik had been to wary to take on his own.
Altair moves at a brisk pace, fast to get away from where the fight took place but slow enough to not draw unwanted attention. Malik tries to regain his breath in the meanwhile, finding it hard to ignore the stickiness of the drying blood on his hand and the heavy smell of it on his clothes. He remembers seeing how it pools on the ground during the fight, very dark and viscous compared to the bright red wisps he sees when he has to deal with it in the water. Without knowing it, he stops, putting a hand to the wall of a ramshackle building to steady himself.
Altair looks over his shoulder, raising his voice in disbelief. “Are you sick?”
Malik is embarrassed. “I am not used to so much blood.”
Altair scoffs. “You fight as though you were.”
Malik thinks it might have been a compliment, the tiniest hint of appraisal from a warrior to another, but before he can say anything, Altair shakes his head.
“How did you learn to fight?” the assassin asks, a shade incredulously. “It is obvious that you are trained, but you hold and wave that sword as if it weighed twice as much as it does, your posture is all wrong, and I still have yet to figure how you managed to not gut yourself, tripping over your own two feet as you did. Who taught you your footwork?”
Malik holds back a bark of laughter. “No one. It is practically nonexistent,” he says dryly, but he is oddly pleased by Altair’s assessment. He will improve. Letting his hand drop from the wall, he inhales, and lets the air out slowly through his mouth. “Well? Perhaps next time I will find a bench and watch you surround yourself with guards instead.”
“Yes, that is a good way to learn,” Altair says, smirking. He begins to walk again, a thoughtful look crossing his expression before he mutters, “Though I admit your movements are interesting. It flows well.”
Malik nearly misses it, throat closing up as Altair brushes past and he smells of old blood. He nods, once, begins to gather himself for the long trek back to the bureau, but Altair leads him in the opposite direction.
“You need to wash up. Rashad will not appreciate it if you stain his carpet,” Altair explains, glancing at the sorry state of Malik’s tunic — his lack of finesse with a sword shows. Malik grumbles; he is supposed to bring Altair back, not join him in gallivanting all over Acre. “And I will be even less so if you are sick all over me,” Altair adds.
Ignoring the jab, Malik glances at the tower, his marker, but he already knows where the are. He can smell it in the air, salty and cool, and hear the call of seagulls and ships’ bells in the distance. They move past the line of barrels and boxes and the streets converge into a larger area, opening up into the harbor.
Off to the side, Malik catches a glimpse of the tiny pier he used to hide under. It is strange, seeing it above water. Altair stops in front of him, blocking his path, and ushers Malik towards a well instead.
“Go on,” Altair says, and leaves Malik to puzzle out the well for himself.
It is not a difficult concept once Malik sees the rope and the bucket, but it is a rather tedious one, especially with one hand. He holds the bucket, frowns, and throws it into the well. It takes five pulls of the rope for him to drop it again in exasperation.
“This is a waste of time,” he says to Altair.
Altair glances at him, and Malik realizes that the assassin hasn’t been paying attention to him at all, only staring in the direction of the pier. “Do you need help?” he asks belatedly.
“No,” Malik says, and walks past Altair, towards the pier. He strips off his outer tunic, bundling it up under his arm. Every step sends the wooden floorboards creaking.
Altair hurries after him and yanks him back. “What do you think you are doing?”
Malik shakes him off.
“Washing up,” he answers, as if it was the most obvious thing, and hops off the pier.
Re: The Moon and the Tide [3/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-15 08:22 am (UTC)(link)Malik's worry over sharks that might be drawn by blood on land is just hilarious XD Great job!
Can't wait to read more!
And though this might be an irrelevant question, but anon is curious about how write!anon pictures the mer-version of Malik. Black tail fins perhaps? At first it's certainly hard for anon to picture such a gruff and masculine male such as our one-armed Dai as a mer, but write!anon has done an excellent job on keeping them to character and making the storyline believable! Please please do write more, anon can't wait!
writeranon
(Anonymous) 2012-02-19 09:07 pm (UTC)(link)And it's not an irrelevant question at all! for mer!malik I'm just really bland and terrible -- I've always imagine him with a grey dolphin-ish tail, but I haven't given it much thought! A black tail would probably be better, ahah. But the only thing for sure is that he has gill slits over the sides of his neck and slightly webbed hands. :B
Re: writeranon
(Anonymous) 2012-02-20 04:06 pm (UTC)(link)Also, the image of Mer!Malik with black tail got stuck in anon's head, so here is the result... (anon can't really draw humans, and decided to cover up Mer!Malik's upper body with his Dai outfit, so this picture makes absolutely no sense.. let's just pretend he's naked from waist up xD) Anon isn't a great artist, so please bear with anon >_<
http://i40.tinypic.com/14v2na.jpg
Re: writeranon
(Anonymous) 2012-02-21 06:29 am (UTC)(link)OH, WOW. GOSH. Thank you so much! Yee, Malik looks so grumpy and ack, his tail is super gorgeous and I love that it's frayed at the edges
omg. THANK YOU. saving it right now to have forever and ever ahhhh
Re: writeranon
(Anonymous) 2012-02-21 01:28 pm (UTC)(link)Grumpy Malik is the Malik we all know hehe XD
I guess the grayed edges are from wrestling sharks? xD I can totally picture him giving a hammerhead some good tail-slapping lol
Re: The Moon and the Tide [3/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-17 09:59 pm (UTC)(link)Keep going!
Re: The Moon and the Tide [3/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-18 01:54 am (UTC)(link)Re: The Moon and the Tide [3/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-19 07:36 pm (UTC)(link)Re: The Moon and the Tide [3/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-04-05 06:28 am (UTC)(link)I love how you put everything into perspective, how you put these small reminders embedded with the story (shark smelling, drag of water, and so forth) that constantly remind us that Malik is indeed from the sea and not from land.
And god. The story follows the canonical personalities of both men from the game so well that I'm feeling another headcanon au forming in my mind this very moment.
Another thing I absolutely love is the way you write - it flows, connects, and paces itself well. We're seeing the world, and yet time is moving enough that we're interested and never tired of this AU you're making.
Did I mention you're awesome? because you are. If you de-anoned right now, I would stalk you and your writings for the rest of your and my life.
I HOPE I SEE ANOTHER FILL SOON! 8DDD
Re: The Moon and the Tide [3/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-07-07 07:32 am (UTC)(link)