asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.2

The fish tell him that there’s a man who stands by the pier, dropping copper coins into the water.

They are annoyed because they have no use for copper and they’d rather have breadcrumbs or slop and dirty swill to nibble on. Malik only listens because they mention the man has golden eyes.

He only follows them because he wants the coins.

And he only stays beneath the pier, hidden and quiet, because the man with the golden eyes speaks to the ocean like a crazy person.

The man says, “My master tells me I should be grateful that the spirits of the sea seem to favor me.”

A coin plops into the water, and Malik waits for it to sink all the way to the floor before picking it up. Meanwhile, the human recites a prayer of some sort, dull and monotonous like memorized lines from a text he has only learned to appease his master. The moment he is finished, his words become colored with sarcasm and arrogance.

“So, merciful sea spirits, I offer you four—no, five copper coins in thanks. May I never have the misfortune to be swept away by your waves again,” he drawls, and tosses a small pouch into the water.

This, Malik darts out for, snatching the pouch and retreating back to the shadows of the pier. He tugs it open, looking at the copper coins; they are small and round, but beautiful in the palm of his hand. The man starts to walk away, wooden boards creaking despite the lightness of his steps.

Malik doesn’t know the worth of five copper coins on land, but they are precious underwater. He digs through the pouch he carries, fingers tangling with the string of glass beads he keeps as a decorative charm. The glass comes from the volcano that bubbles and steams in the deepest part of the ocean, so maybe it might be something special to humans. In any case, a part of him just wants to prove the man wrong—Malik might not be a sea spirit, but the human seems to think that it was only luck that has saved him the night of the storm.

Peeking above the murky water, he squints at the man’s retreating back and tosses the charm.

Malik’s aim is horrible—he forgets that air is thinner than water—and the charm hits the human on the head. He ducks back down, torn between mortification and having to stifle his snickering at the man’s yelp of surprise.

He doesn’t end up staying, as the human grows suspicious enough to start peering into the water, but the weight of the coins feel pleasant in Malik’s hand, even long after he dives back into the depths where the sunlight can’t touch him.

---

Malik visits the pier for the second day in the row. Somehow, he is unsurprised to find the man there.

The man doesn’t say his prayer of thanks, but he drops a small knife, silver and shining, into the water.

Malik searches through his pouch again and waits until the human turns his head away so that he could slip his own blade, made from blue coral, through the cracks of the wooden beams. Its jagged edges scrape loudly on the wood, causing the human to turn his head quickly.

The man gets on all fours, trying to see through the cracks, but Malik is long gone by then, clutching the silver knife with a grin that doesn’t fade for a long while.

---

On the third day, the human leaves out a necklace with a single pearl, sounding smug about how he has managed to obtain it from a thief. (And he adamant in telling Malik—or the sea spirit, really—that he has had no luck in finding its owner, and that the pearl is better off back in the sea.)

Malik scoffs from his spot in the shadows, leaning against the mossy support beams. He throws pebbles when the man is not looking, and is pleased to find that his aim has gotten much better.

---

The next day the human drops tiny parcels of spices and tea from a place called China. They blossom and bloom in the water, leaving behind an earthy, pleasant scent.

Malik places a cup, carved from the white bone of a whale with patterned edges of waves, on the far edge of the pier for the man—whose eyes have gotten far too swift as of late—and watches, this time, as the man kneels to pick up with a smile.

Oh, LAWD.

I love how Altair is all humble and everything, offering stuff, and Malik just ends up throwing shit back (just imagine the expression on his face).

But it gets sweet~

Grazie, grazie, GRAZIE.

I love Malik's attitude with the metals. I don't know why that's what I love the most but there it is.

Weeeeell, shit. I had mixed feelings about this Disney prompt but now you've gone and made me adore it. The scene where Malik unintentionally rescues Altair was adorable, especially poor Altair clinging to Malik. And their gift exchanges make me giggle.

This anon is hoping she doesn't have to wait too long for more. <3

PLEASE CONTINUE I WANT TO KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT AND I LOVE MALIK ATTITUDE HERE IN YOUR STORY!!! XD

Why do I want this so much? I mean really? I fucking love this so much and really want more! I'm actually glad that it isn't a Disney style merpeople since Disney stuff is... well watered down and not all that interesting. But this; this is interesting. Please to be wanting more dear writeanon!

The fifth day—a dagger, inlaid with gold veins and purely ornamental. The hilt may be pretty, but the blade is too weak to be used in battles, the man says, as if he wants to explain the expensive gift. The human is a warrior, a fighter, and Malik feels himself draw closer, internally, despite that he keeps perfectly still beneath the water.

All he has in return is a little glass figurine of a flower—hardly adequate for a fighter—but next time he visits, he’ll be prepared.

---

A week later, the man gives Malik his name.

Malik doesn’t answer, and only begins to see how far he has fallen.

---

Kadar says, “You’ve been visiting the harbor again. It’s that human, isn’t it?”

His gaze shifts to the sword resting in Malik’s hands and flickers to the other foreign trinkets scattered around the cavern. Unlike all the other times he has said this, his voice takes on an accusatory tone, hurt and not able to understand what the realm of air and sun has to offer, the mysterious beauty it holds—things like fire and clouds and the strange invisible force that pulls you down to the ground. The human plays a part in it, yes, but it is not the only thing that captivates Malik about the world above.

He lifts his head from the bed of coral, feeling the shudder of sea anemones as they retreat back into themselves. Kadar stares back at him, mouth drawn into an unhappy line. For a moment, Malik considers lying, not to ease his brother’s worries, but to prevent him from asking anymore than he should, because they both know that the answer will always be the same.

“If you had been there, maybe you would see,” he says, giving the sword a practiced swing; the metal is all too heavy in the water, and the momentum drives him back, pulling at his arm like a graceless, retreating wave.

Kadar says something in return, but Malik is too busy wondering what it would be like if he could wield the sword in air, with Altair at his side, guiding him through the motions.

---

The next gift Malik receives from the world above is not from Altair, but from the sky.

It splashes into the water, round and golden, and distracts Malik from visiting the pier that day. He holds out his hand, curious, and stares as it glows with a light of its own.

“I am called the Apple,” the sphere says in a voice that reminds him of rolling thunder.

He can feel its power, heavy and oppressing. It should scare him, but Malik finds himself entranced, and quickly takes the Apple into his cavern, glad that Kadar is out for the day.

In the darkness, the Apple promises him a wish, though it reads his heart and knows what Malik desires.

“If it is your wish to become human, I shall grant it,” it tells him, “but only if the conditions are met.”

“What do you require?”

“Your arm.”

Malik frowns, suspicious. “An arm does not equal two legs.”

The Apple shimmers, almost as if it was laughing. It clarifies, “Your arm and your blood.”

“How much blood?”

“Your smallest blood,” the Apple says, much too cryptic—but Malik is already thinking of fires and metals and the wind on his face. Blood is a paltry payment. The Apple shimmers again. “And if you can find a person who loves the sea as much as you love the land within a moon’s cycle, a human you will remain, forever. But you cannot tell anyone of your true nature, or else your throat will close and turn against you; I will make sure of that.”

Malik can feel himself trembling. He wants this, wants despite the price.

“Yes,” he breaths, just as Kadar drifts into the cavern, eyes wide.

“Malik—“

He drops the Apple, shouting, but it’s all too late.

Malik washes up on shore, coughing and thrashing. The air is too light and comes in too quickly to fill in his new lungs, only to rush out again when he tries to stifle his sobs. He cannot wipe his tears because his single hand is gripping on a sword—Altair’s—and how he manages to keep it, when he cannot even keep his brother, is nearly laughable if it isn’t for the pain.

His legs are bare, scraped raw and bleeding from when he drags himself over the sand, which feels unnatural and sharp against the skin. Malik knows he should stand, or at least try to, but he’s hurting all over.

“Hey, that’s my sword.”

Altair is there, suddenly, towering over him with a scowl. His movements are precise and forceful, using the heel of his boot to nudge Malik over. This isn’t the same man who has spent hours talking to the sea, though Malik can smell the spices from the pouch at Altair’s hip—and maybe he had been on his way to the pier, or was coming back from it, disappointed and angry that the sea spirit did not show up.

Malik tries to explain, but his throat closes and he gags, just like the Apple promises.

“Oh,” Altair says, sounding surprised. “Did your ship sink? Or did you fall off it?” Even his worried expression looks condescending.

Malik wants nothing more than to punch him and blame him for everything.

“You,” he cries, and swings the sword at the man’s throat, but, as always on land, his aim is off and Malik can’t keep to his feet on the uneven sand. He wobbles, and the sword buries itself into the ground.

“Are you insane?” Altair asks, unimpressed. He hasn’t moved from his spot, and that enrages Malik even further.

He’s helpless and everything just hurts so much. Malik tries to attack him again, but Altair moves with a grace that Malik has only seen underwater, flowing and smooth, and twists his arm so that the sword falls from his hand.

“I should kill you,” Altair growls, placing his palm under Malik’s chin—it is only later that Malik realizes the hidden blade at his forearm—and pushes forward. “But you are lucky my master does not allow me to kill an innocent, if you are indeed innocent, and… what are you doing?”

Malik is not yet used to his new legs, so he grips Altair’s shoulder with his arm and leans against him, propping his chin on Altair’s palm.

“I can’t stand,” he hisses, hating this weakness, however new it is to him.

Altair’s hand twitches, his fingers brushing over Malik’s cheek, before it draws away. There’s pity in his eyes. Malik stumbles, but Altair brings himself closer, cautious, and puts Malik’s arm over his shoulders to hold him up.

“Where did you come from?” he demands, kneeling to retrieve his sword.

The quick movement makes Malik dizzy, and he realizes how tired he is. He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is an incoherent gurgle until he coughs and says, “I can’t tell you.”

Altair frowns, but he starts to walk; Malik watches his feet, observing how they move. The first step they take together, Malik nearly trips and Altair has to pull him back up.

“Are you injured?” he asks, but when he checks Malik’s legs he only finds tiny cuts and bruises.

“I can’t walk,” Malik says, exasperated that he has to repeat himself, and that he can’t explain why. “But I will learn.”

Altair throws him an odd look.

“What’s your name?”

“Malik,” he says, and is surprised that he can.

“I am Altair.”

I know, Malik wants to say, but walking is difficult and Altair doesn’t seem to mind the silence.

He doesn’t ask where they are going, but he looks over his shoulder to see the ocean until it disappears from sight, and the world of humans and air and fire starts to spread out before him.

---

YAY!!! I LOVE U ANON!!! THANX FOR THE QUICK UPDATE!!! XD

This is actually one of the few times that Kadar's death isn't Altair's fault. Woooooow. Malik did it all by himself :P

I'm so looking forward to more of this 8D yes, yes and yes.

How do I not see that coming? I literally was chanting, "No no no no" when the Apple was offering Malik its bargain.

I am vibrating in my seat with anticipation, writer!anon. I cannot wait to see where this goes from here.

Anon have my ovaries. CANNOT. WAIT. FOR. UPDATES.

OH.MY.GOD!!!!! This is so GOOD! Even better than the original bitching Little Mermaid Disney created!!!
So eagerly waiting for the next update!

oh gosh! Thank you everyone for the comments and encouragement! Sorry this next bit is taking a while-- I never meant it to be very long, lol.

I'm a little busy with work and things, which is why I haven't replied to anyone, but I don't mean to be rude. I appreciate them very, very much! ;__; And I'm also sorry about the mistakes and typos littered all over the previous parts. I'll try to be more careful next time.

I love you and this fill is one of my top ten in this kink meme. <3 I really look forward to the next part and I want to have your babies.

Seconding this. This fic is one of the very few I check every day for updates :D

Re: writeanon

(Anonymous) - 2011-02-23 20:16 (UTC) - Expand

The first thing Malik learns of the human world is that Altair is impatient and proud and thoughtless. There are other things as well, but the list grows longer by the hour.

“Where did you get the sword?” Altair asks again in the morning, after Malik wakes up, still sweating and anxious from lingering nightmares.

“I found it,” he says, blinking from the sunlight that shines through open ceiling; it’s very bright. Twisting around, he takes in the rest of the room, as he had fallen asleep for moment his head hit pallet the night before. He is unable to comprehend most of the things he sees, so he settles for the most familiar sight—which is unfortunately Altair.

“Where?”

“The sea,” Malik snaps, tired of the questions when he has so many of his own. “It fell from a ship where I—ngh!”

He coughs, massaging his throat, and is offended when Altair leaves the room, but the man returns a moment later with a cup of water, thrusting it into Malik’s hand.

Malik stares, not understanding.

“Well? Drink,” Altair orders.

“It’s water,” he replies, baffled, but his mouth feels dry, so maybe it makes sense.

“Would you prefer wine, then? Or fresh fruit juice?” Altair drawls, and roughly nudges the cup to Malik’s lips and the liquid sloshes into his open mouth.

The water is not like the sea; it’s warm and clayish, but devoid of salt and Malik drinks it, greedily, and learns of what thirst means to a human for the first time.

“More,” he gasps, holding the cup out, thumb running over the patterned edges, carved into white bone. He swallows his pride and says, “Please.”

But Altair is already turning around to exit the room. “I am not your nursemaid; go get it yourself. The fountain is in the chamber.”

Malik stills at the tone of his voice. He doesn’t know this human, this stranger who speaks with so little regard or grace. Even the man’s footsteps sound different, gone utterly silent as if ghosting over the ground, while Malik only recognizes them by the gentle creaks on weather-worn wood.

But he refuses to be ignored, not after all he has sacrificed to be here. Without thinking, he hurls the cup at Altair’s head. It is childish and petty, but he can’t help but be glad when Altair whirls around to face him, catching the cup with the speed that can only be made in a world of air.

The man takes three steps to cross the room, a breath to grab Malik’s wrist, and a blink to bend it back so that Malik can feel his bones strain in protest.

“I will not hesitate to rid you of your remaining arm,” Altair murmurs, soft and dangerous.

“And why wouldn’t you, when I had—“ Malik stops as his breath hitches with no reason other than by sorcery, and bitterly bites back his retort. “…The cup. It’s just a cup.”

“You threw it at my head. And that cup was a gift.”

“From who?” Malik challenges, heart thudding in his chest.

Altair pauses, letting go of Malik’s wrist, and steps back. “It was a gift,” he repeats. “And it is none of your concern.”

“No one would want to give you anything,” Malik sneers, with all his anger and guilt. “You traded for it.”

Something shifts in Altair’s expression, from murderous to hurt to carefully blank. He takes another step back, placing the cup on a shelf of books, and Malik notices a little too late the tiny glass figurine resting there, and the beaded charm that swings from Altair’s hip as he walks out of the room.

“I don’t have time for this,” Altair says, “I am late to meet with my master. Either stay here or get out, it does not matter. Rashad will be in the back room, so do not even think to try anything regrettable.”

Malik doesn’t make promises, but it doesn’t matter; Altair will not wait for them.

---

Malik’s energies are not made to be confined, sulking in a strange room. There is anger clouding his mind, and the beginning of what he suspects is hatred, making his restlessness unbearable. He thinks of the man he thought he knew, pacing back and forth on the harbor, fearful of the water, but earnest when he speaks to it. The human who had left him here, alone, is not the same man.

It’s easy to accept this. It makes him less angry.

For the first time, Malik studies his legs, wiggling his toes and poking at his feet. The muscles beneath his hand are defined, so he assumes that they are reasonably sturdy—a reflection of his strength had he still possessed a tail. Assured that weakness will not be the cause of falling over, Malik braces his hand—only hand—against the wall and stands. He takes one step, another and another, and then he slowly sinks back down to the ground to crawl back to the wall.

The rest of his morning is spent learning to walk back and forth from the room to the fountain, clinging to the wall or tables or bookshelves, and sometimes Rashad.

“I wonder what ails your legs to make you forget to walk,” the rafiq says, looking amused as Malik slumps over the fountain’s edge for a break.

“What ails me is not my legs, but my own lack of experience,” Malik huffs. He finds that he likes Rashad, who is old but patient and doesn’t mind when Malik asks questions about the weaponry mounted to the walls.

“Were you a prince, then? Who rode upon the backs of men to get from one room to the next?”

“No, I was carried on a dais made from gold,” Malik replies, giving his most regal expression, despite that he is covered with dust and his mouth drips from dunking his head into the fountain.

Rashad laughs, and, unexpectedly, Malik allows himself to smile.

---

<3 * lim(tan(x)^e), x->pi/2

THAT IS ALL

YES, I WAS WAITING FOR THIS. Glad to know this fill wasn't abandoned. It's too good to stop now!

Love how you kept Altaïr as the arrogant brick, but still have a gentle side for the sea spirit. And I feel bad for poor Malik but he did bring it all upon himself, so now he's gotta deal. Baby steps, Malik! Baby steps~

When I saw that this had gotten an update, I was so happy.

I love this fill so much. It's my favorite on the meme. Altair keeping all his little gifts and taking good care of them is adorable, and Rashad, and Malik's snarkiness. It's just perfect.

I HAVE BEEN WAITING. YOU DO NOT DISAPPOINT ANON.

I LOVE THIS

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I HAVE BEEN WAITING. YOU DO NOT DISAPPOINT ANON.

I LOVE THIS <i><SO HARD./i> SO DAMN HARD.

Please update more as soon as you can, I need this in my life. ;3; ty ty ty ty

Have to agree with above anons. I looooove this fill and have been waiting for it to be continued and I actually flipped when I saw it was updated; out of sheer delight. I can't wait for more and to see how you're ganna make this work 8D

This = Love
Update = even bigger Love
Oh Altaïr if you ONLY knew that Malik is your secret sea-friend!!!

I haven't the words to describe my love for this but I'll give it a try.

I wish this fic was a paperback that I could curl up with and read over and over. I just adore where you're going with this prompt and I love how you've written these two. Malik's frustration is almost tangible and the glimpse of how much Altair cares for his gifts made my heart ache just the tiniest bit. I actually get goosebumps when I picture the scene when(if??) he realizes who Malik really is.

Also, this?
The man takes three steps to cross the room, a breath to grab Malik’s wrist, and a blink to bend it back so that Malik can feel his bones strain in protest.
Made my heart stop. I was a little worried for Malik there for a second.

The Moon and the Tide [2/?]

OP

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writeanon

Re: writeanon

Re: writeanon

The Moon and the Tide [5/?] (tiny update, hurf)

The Moon and the Tide [6/?]

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