#but i’m just imagining malik and kadar going

[teecupangel]

From @zero-saito

What if he was a ‘slime girl’ type. Mostly human shaped but with no legs. You’d still get shapeshifting and you can still have people freak out cause he ‘looks like altair’ and people think it’s cause altair was the ‘first’ human who found him

Okay, this is quite, well… if the initial slime ask didn’t sound like it’s the start of an H manga then this definitely sounds like the start of an H manga. XD

Let’s be honest though, if Desmond’s slime form can transform into a humanoid form (and mostly it’s from the head to like thighs so… those parts would be ‘accessible’), I like the idea that his form would be unstable.

Like, most of the time he has his usual form, he looks like Desmond Miles, and people freak out because, yeah, he definitely looks a lot like Altaïr but not enough to be an exact copy and it’s creepy. Then his form would shift, sometimes randomly, sometimes it seems to be triggered by something in the vicinity. They won’t know it but his form would change to that of his Bleeds: Altaïr, Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton. Sometimes even Haytham and, rarely, one that confuses Desmond a lot because he never relived those memories, the form of Edward Kenway.

They realize early on that the creepy sorta-mirror but still distinctly different form of Desmond Miles is Desmond’s preferred form and he usually keeps that form if he’s with Altaïr because if Altaïr is there, that means he’s not Bleeding, he’s Desmond Miles, no one else.

If he’s left with Malik or Kadar or anyone that left a strong ‘memory’ in Altaïr’s Bleed, he usually transform to Altaïr, much to Malik’s annoyance.

And those forms… they change at times. Sometimes, he’d transform into a kid when children are playing with him (Ratonhnhaké:ton). Sometimes, he’d transform to an older version of Ezio or even a very old man that everyone is wondering if it’s meant to be Desmond or Altaïr.

It’s interesting to others but Desmond sometimes feel like he’s losing himself. He’s already a slime and his form changing without his approval distresses him. Because of this, Altaïr usually stays close by because Desmond admits how he’s afraid that, one day, he would be unable to transform into Desmond Miles’ form anymore.

(But Desmond prefers to stay in his pudding-like slime form whenever they’re traveling so he can just sit on Altaïr’s lap on a horse or have Kadar carry him in his arms)

Imagine if Desmond was turned into a slime when he touched the apple, like he ends up in the past and his ancestors just see this not-liquid thing following them around or something

When I read slime, my brain immediately went “which type?”. There are many variations of slimes but the main two versions of slimes I immediately thought of are:

A not-liquid thing that will devour everything and everyone that passes thru its gel-like body (like in D&D)

A not-liquid thing that can freely control its gel-like body to change shapes into whatever it wants, mostly long tentacle-like limbs, and, optionally, secretes thick liquid with aphrodisiac properties (like… uuuhhh… let’s just say works with ‘mature’ contents)

And then I remember…

This dude:

Which is pretty much just a weak noob monster that can tackle your level 1 alchemist before getting bombed.

But, but, but, look how cute that slime is. I mean it’s called a Puni but we all know it’s based on a slime, Gust ain’t fooling anyone.

Just imagine Desmond taking that form and being adorable and making puppy dog eyes at his ancestors as he tries to follow his ancestors by jumping like a really bouncy pudding.

Just the sheer ‘you won’t leave this defenseless thing alone, right?’ potential of this form that Desmond could use to his advantage.

And then they get into a fight and it turns out Desmond could shape his form into anything he wants so he’s suddenly making whip-like gel-like appendages to smack enemies around and even use one of Ratonhnhaké:ton’s rope dart finishers.

Weird liquid secretion optional (･ω<)☆

So, you know, we have variations. I guess we can’t really use the ‘devour everything’ type because that means no one can touch Desmond. It’ll be good angst fodder though, that’s for sure.

Also… if we’re going for Rimuru-OP route where Desmond can gain skills by devouring certain things, this would give him the ability to shapeshift into the human form of those he eats (but, in his case, maybe any human form he takes will have golden eyes?)

Just imagine the angst of Desmond devouring Kadar as he’s about to die because Kadar asked him to after Desmond tried and failed to save him and Desmond tells him how his power works when Kadar asked before, trying to talk about anything to help Kadar ignore the pain. Kadar wishes to thank Desmond and hopes he could receive a useful ‘skill’ from someone like him in the end and Desmond takes his form instead. Any time he looks at his reflection, he feels guilty for not being able to save Kadar so he wears a mask most of the time. Just imagine the angst that will happen once Altaïr and Malik see the face he has underneath the mask!!!

[safetyandpeacenovice]

Anything for You

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26185567

“Our husband has returned.” Maria opened the door to Malik’s study without knocking, as she often did.

“I’m not Altair’s wife.” Malik restrained himself from grumbling. He and Maria had been having this argument ever since she’d arrived in Masyaf heavily pregnant six years before and, upon meeting Malik, commented on how nice it was to finally meet Altair’s ‘first wife’. Over the years their resentment and rivalry had largely disappeared, but Maria still liked to make comments that got under Malik’s skin from time to time.

“No he’s yours.” She smirked. Malik rolled his eyes and chose not to comment. How Maria had discovered the exact dynamics of his and Altair’s relationship was a mystery. It was an open secret that the Grandmaster of the assassins was involved with his second in command, but Maria knew more than was just what was whispered and speculated about. At first Malik had assumed Altair had told her, but he denied doing so and could not figure out how she had learned so much about them either.

It didn’t matter; Maria was largely uninterested in being a wife. There had only been one span of time when she and Altair had shared a bed in Masyaf: right before she fell pregnant with their second son. She took no issue with her husband's relationship with Malik. After a tense period when she first arrived the three of them had settled into a comfortable and powerful triad at the top of the order. Malik helped Altair run the order from Masyaf. Maria was his reliable arrow, sent out to eliminate targets and manage the slowly growing number of women in their order. Altair was Grandmaster, overseeing them both and the order as a whole.

“You should go see him in your rooms.” Malik could tell Maria wasn’t telling him something. She was much too pleased with herself.

“I am working.” Malik turned his eyes back to the message for the Rafiq in Acre he was writing regarding a shipment that would be arriving in the port soon. “Altair can wait until tonight.”

“He’s brought you a gift.”

“Whatever it is can wait until I’m done for the day. Tell him to go see his sons. I’m sure they would love to tell their father all about what they’ve learned since he left. Sef can show him how he can write his name now.” Malik knew Maria was smiling even though he did not look up from his letter.

Darim and Sef were the pride of their parents. Altair adored his sons more than anything in the world. It was not unusual to find one or both of them in his study as he worked. He took them on trips to the cities when it was safe. He made it a point to see them everyday when he was in Masyaf. Maria loved her boys as well. She taught them to speak English and French and was planning to teach them to read and write in those languages as well over the next few years. She told them stories before they went to bed each night, some true, others most decidedly not. Sef in particular would ask for more stories about dragons.

Malik too had a strong bond with the boys. When Darim was born Altair had asked him what he wanted to be called by the boy. Maria had suggested uncle, but it hadn’t felt right. He wasn’t Altair’s brother. Their relationship was not brotherly. Perhaps that title might have fit Kadar if he still lived. Eventually Malik had decided he would simply go by his name.

However, children being as they are, Darim made his own decision, and so Malik became Baba Malik. Sef had followed his brother’s lead and also called him Baba Malik. The brothers had three parents Mama, Baba Altair, and Baba Malik. At first Malik had been uncomfortable with the title. He wasn’t their father after all, not really. He was just the man their father slept with. But of course children don’t understand what makes someone family. All they knew was when they crawled into their father’s bed at night after a bad dream Malik was there too to stoke their hair and whisper that it would all be ok in the morning. One night, when Altair was away Darim had crawled into bed with Malik and in that moment he knew that blood or not he was a father.

“Go to him Malik. You won’t regret it.” Maria urged, all of her usual teasing gone from her voice.

“Is he hurt?” Malik looked up.

“No.” She smiled. “Go and you will understand.”

“Fine.”

Malik passed many members of the brotherhood as he made his way from his study to his chambers. Most simply bowed their heads slightly as he passed, but some of the younger boys stared at where his arm used to be. Everyone knew the story of how he’d lost it. The novices were told it to prove that no man was above the creed and to show the consequences of disobeying the creed, of believing they knew better. No man was perfect, not even the Grandmaster so they all must rely on the creed.

Altair had not taken the chambers traditionally assigned to the Grandmaster as his own. Instead he had outfitted those rooms for Maria to use. One of the rooms had become her office, the second her bed chamber, and the third had been a nursery when Darim and Sef were infants but now was where Maria could practice her skills. Altair had taken instead the rooms meant for the order’s second in command.

“We share a bed every night anyways.” Altair had argued when Malik pointed out that those rooms rightfully belonged to him. Malik had rolled his eyes and was about to continue arguing when Altair kissed him and all the fight in him had melted away.

When Malik arrived at their rooms he was ready to scold Altair for interrupting his work just to give him a present. Altair had his back to Malik as he entered. When he turned around Malik was speechless. In his arms was a sleeping baby. Altair was beaming.

“Who’s child is that?” Malik spoke quietly, so as to not wake the child.

“Ours.”

“What?”

“Well, I mean, if you want him to be.” Altair looked a little hurt, but mostly hopeful.

“I don’t understand.”

“You’ve always wanted a child, Malik.”  Altair was right. Malik had sometimes floated the idea of wanting a wife, not because he actually wanted a wife, but because he wanted a child. He always felt a bit guilty saying that. He was happy with Altair and he loved Darim and Sef like they were his own but he also wanted someone to carry on his name.

“If I could give you one naturally I would.” Altair had said as such many times and Malik would be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined a child with Altair’s golden eyes and his nose.

“Where did you find him?”

“Jerusalem.”

Malik sighed. “Where are his parents?”

“Both dead. Their neighbor, one of our informers, brought him to the bureau, so he could be sent to Masyaf instead of growing up a street orphan. I happened to be there when the informer arrived. I took one look at him and I knew I could never let him go. Look Malik.”

Altair passed the child to Malik. Malik had to admit the baby was cute. He’d often held Darim and Sef when they were babies and, holding this little one felt the same. He knew exactly what Altair meant, every instinct in him cried out that it was his child in his arms.

“What’s his name?” Malik asked, not taking his eyes off the baby.

“You pick. I named Darim and Maria named Sef. It’s your turn.” At that Malik did look up.

“Tazim.” He decided after a moment.

“Tazim Al-Sayf.” Altair smiled, as he moved behind Malik, wrapping his arms around him and gazing over his shoulder at their son.

“He’ll need a wetnurse.” Malik said, mentally putting together a checklist.

“I sent word a head to have one found. Her name is Amaya. She is from a village near here. Her husband left her when her child was stillborn. She has been promised a good life in the village in exchange for nursing our child.” Altair assured him.

“You knew I’d say yes.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” Altair answered anyways.

Not much later Amaya came to take the child for the night. Malik thanked her extensively. Once she was gone he stalked toward Altair, cupping his face with his hand and kissing him firmly.

“Get undressed.” Malik growled as soon as he released Altair’s lips. Altair happily complied, stripping so quickly he tripped over his own pants. Malik also undressed and pushed Altair down onto their bed before straddling his lap and kissing him again.

Once they were exhausted and had cleaned themselves off, Malik kissed Altair again. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you.”

Notes:

I somehow wrote over 1500 words of Altmal fic with out using the word Novice to describe Altair.

Tazim has no canonical mother and Malik has no canonical wife so I asked myself why can't he be adopted by Altair and Malik together. Maybe I'll write a follow up fic about Tazim growing up with his older brothers.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Day 5 : Caress - Malik Al’Sayf

I rushed as fast as I could to the medical ward after hearing that an emergency occured and I must heal a patient in a critical state, being the Head Medic of Masyaf, but what I wasn't expecting was to see my fiance on the table, barely conscious and in excruciating pain. 

"What the hell happened here?!" I raised my voice in a panic as I rushed to his side, examining his terrible injuries. "Their mission was a success, but at great cost." one of the assassins there informed me. "What about Kadar and Altaïr?! Where are they?!" I asked in concern, not seeing them around, but the assassins shuffled on his feet slightly, clearly uncomfortable. "I...Do not know the details, but Altaïr compromised the mission by disrespecting the creed and got Kadar killed, while he got back to the Kingdom unscathed. Malik was the reason for the mission's success." the man fumbled with his words seeing how dark my aura became as I heard his words. "I see...Be a dear and bring Altaïr to me as soon as possible. Tell him...I have to look for his injuries." I bit my lip in anger, turning around to work on Malik's injuries at once. "Yes, ma'am. He is on an urgent mission at the moment, but as soon as he's done, I will bring him over." he said in a stern voice, leaving the room, leaving me alone with Malik. "My dearest Malik...Why must you always be hurt in such ways? You don't deserve this misery...You're such a beautiful man, you don't deserve any of this pain...I'm so sorry I couldn't be there to protect you..." I could feel tears welling in my eyes, already falling fast down my cheeks, but I couldn't allow weakness, I had to make sure he stays alive and well. 

It took days to heal his injuries, and the fact that I was forced to amputate his arm made it even worse, for there was barely any anaesthetic or painkiller that could save him from the pain of this procedure or of the painful healing process. It felt like I was hurting him all over again, like I was creating this torturous agony, instead of saving him. 

It felt like hell.

I have never seen him cry until then, until that excruciatingly unbearable pain took over him, when he was pleading me to stop and just let him die already, but I couldn't listen to his pleas, I had to keep my oath as a Doctor and save him, no matter how much my heart was grieving for him and crying to be allowed to just stop and hold him through all this abyss he was succumbing to. 

It took weeks of intense healing for him to become stable, time in which I could barely get a wink of sleep due to having to pay close attention to his wounds so they wouldn't fester or spread. 

I never prayed in my life, but this month, I prayed religiously, more than a monk could possibly pray to his Gods, just so he would wake up and become better...Stable. 

And not just physically, but emotionally and mentally as well. I didn't even realise I fell asleep, or maybe I didn't, for my brain might still be quite awake - It seemed like a catatonic state that I was swimming into, but it was comfortable and warm, for some reason...It felt safe.

"You never cease to save me, do you, Katrina?" a low, familiar man voice was heard faintly around me. "You'll never get rid of me." I mumbled out loud - or at least I think I did - since I heard a chuckle as a response. "You are the only thing dear in this world that I have left. Without you, my time here on this world would be meaningless." he continued, which made me scowl and fought with my mind to wake up, which I did, with a jolt. "What the...? When did I fall asleep? Damn it...I'm glad you're awake...I think. How are you feeling? Still in pain? Need me to find some alcohol or painkillers?" I wobble on my feet, leaning on the bed to keep myself upright, due to the exhaustion taking over me. "I can manage without them now, I'll be fine. You won't, though. Get some rest." he told me in a firm voice, but I only shook my head. "Someone needs to take care of you. What if your condition gets worse?! What if I can't cure you?! What if-" I tried to reason, but he shook his head and reached out his sole arm to me, and I automatically rushed to hold his hand with both of mine. "Then lay here, with me. You look dreadful. I told you to never neglect your health for someone else, even if you're the Head Medic. Masyaf can do with 1 less assassin, but without their Healer, they are dead." he deadpanned, making me slap him...Or almost slap him, for my hand stopped just before it could collide with his skin, before it dropped down on his shoulder and I hung my head down. "You're lucky you're in such a bad state, otherwise I don't know what I would have done to you if I heard you speak such nonsense. Why are you allowed to grieve and treasure me, but I cannot do the same for you?! What, my feelings don't matter?! You think I'd go to that insufferable Altaïr and slap his face of I didn't care for you? Why, Malik, why can't I be allowed to treasure you, but you can do that with me?!" I let go of my frustrations as tears started spilling down my face again, but Malik only sighed, motioning me to sit down next to him. "You are an important person, Katrina, both for the Kingdom, to Masyaf, and to myself, of course. I've already lost my brother and my position as a top Assassin. If I were to lose you aswell because you overworked yourself tending to me, I would never forgive myself. I don't want to see you in pain, that's all I'm saying, and so far, I've been causing you a lot of it." he tried to explain, but it only pissed me off. "Shut the hell up, dumbass." I scowled, making him widen his eyes in shock. "Katrina...You never swear. Don't make a habit out of it, it's not like you." he furrowed his brows together as he raised to lean his back on the bed resting side, reaching his hand to my face, wiping away the tears from my face. "You annoy me so much sometimes that I forget myself. Sometimes, if you'd just shut uo and let me do my job, it'd be so much better. You're not talking to those idiots out there, Al'Sayf, you're talking to your fiancée! Do you really think I'd actually listen to you? Of course not. So shut up and let me worry about you!" I huff, glaring softly at him as I put a hand over his, lacing my fingers with his. "Man, you're scary when you're angry. I bet Altaïr pissed his pants when you started yelling at him. I think I got a nightmare that you were yelling at me instead of him, once, after hearing that." the man chuckled, making me gasp in embarrassment. "Y-You heard that?" I sweatdropped, covering my face with my other hand. "Loud and clear, love. VERY loud and clear. It made me go through the pain, to be fair. It was the best entertainment I got here." he smirked, but I could only sigh in aggravation.  "You'll get your share of yelling at that idiot, so preserve your strength. Besides, why would I ever yell at you? You are stubborn, sure, but your intentions are not bad." I smile softly at him, as he gently caressed my face, gazing into my eyes tenderly. "I love you so much, you can't even begin to imagine. I'm so happy that you are my fiancée. Sometimes, I take your kindness for granted, but it's moments like this that I remember just how special you are to me and how your soul is right here, by my side, whenever I face hardships." he put a strand of my hair behind me ears, highlighting how exhausted my face looked. "I hate seeing you so tired, but I will be forever grateful for everything you've done. I love you eternally, Katrina." Malik confessed, leaning in to gently kiss me, his hand on the back of my head. "So...My beloved...Is it true what they say? Do women kissed by fire kiss the best?" I smirk slyly, tilting my head to the side, watching him behind hooded lids. "I don't really have what to compare it with, but I may have been kissed by an angel and I'm in paradise. Does that answer your question?" he chuckled as the ghost of an amused smile took over. "Sounds good to me, my love." I kissed him once again, my hands on his shoulders, bringing him closer to me.

[storytimefromthecreed]

Altair’s Happy Ending

"There's something wrong." Arno frowned, setting down the cook book Elise had gifted him. "He hasn't been to Mosque since..." He thought hard, but couldn't think of the last time Altair had gone to prayer. "I'm concerned."

"We all are." Connor set down his cup, swirling the leaves inside and watching the shapes they made. Malik made the best tea in the house, and it was a special time where he allowed the others to join him. The time was spent with them all silently absorbed in their various hobbies enjoying their time and tea together, but today was different. Altair's unusual behavior had caught the eyes on his friends, and they were worried.

"I watched him training in the garden the other day," Jacob munched on his biscuit, "he couldn't get a set correct, and instead of continuing, he just gave up. I've," He sighed deeply, clutched the cup with both hands, hoping the warmth would make it's way inside. "He's not himself."

"Is he sick?" Concern colored Kassandra’s features.

“Not physically.” Connor said thoughtfully, sipping from his cup. “I do not doubt this is an enteral event.”

"Does he have anything he likes to do to relax?" Elise looked around the room. "Maybe he's just stressed."

"I've seen stress work it's way on men before, but not like this, luv." Edward shook his head, and, hesitant to speak his next words, spoke slowly. "But the heart, that's a beast whose strength is unmatched."

"The heart? Has something befell Maria?"

"No Kassandra, but Edward isn't wrong." Malik spoke from the head of the table. Having been silent the main of the conversation, his presence had been forgotten. With all heads turned to him, Malik stirred his tea and sipped slowly. Once satisfied, he opened his eyes. They were filled with sadness. "It's the time of year for it." The Elder explained, "Back home, this time of year would bring festivities. People would gather together under the starry skies telling stories, laughing, and generally enjoying each other's presence."

"Sort of like how we have our tea time." Elise smiled, and Malik returned the gesture. She was one of the few people he didn't glare at.

"Exactly! But imagine if all the Assassins and all the Templar joined together for a week of celebration that ended with a hearty meal, lots of wine, dancing, stories, and laughter."

“That sounds like a wonderful dream.” Arno said, leaning in closely. The rest of the room followed suit, and Malik knew he had hooked his audience. 

“Masyaf has, had, a festival every fall. At the end of the harvest, people from all across the land would gather and live. These were family and friends that hadn’t been seen the rest of the year, travelling was quite different in those days, so this was a speical event for everyone. Everyone. In their own ways.” The Assassins became whisked away in Malik's tale.

The sun beat down on the golden sands and heat the air until it was thick and humid, but the night calmed it, allowing a great number of them to remove their hoods and breathe deep. The smell of burning wood, cooked meat, and spices filled the air accompanied by cracking flames, laughter, and hushed conversation. Malik watched all this with a frown, his brother Kadar having dragged him away from the cooking women to join the older boys on the far castle wall. Away from the heat and light provided by the fire, young Malik shivered. Here there was worn stone wall with vines that grew up and over it. Behind this wall was a bigger, re-enforced one, but the Assassins kept this one for training. The children, however, used it for a game.

“Come on, Kadar.” Malik continued, his brother having ignored him the first several times. “We’re going to get in trouble.”

“Then go back, Malik.” Kadar pulled on one of the vines, testing it’s strength before half heaving himself up. Having not the ability to do so, he just hung against the vine, feet firmly planted on the wall, forming a weak triangle. 

Malik couldn’t do that. He’d never left Kadar and his troublesome friends before, and he wasn’t going to start today. Besides, if he left now, they would be wary of inviting him to play next time, and he couldn’t stand the names they would call him. Rama stuck his tongue out, and Bumi laughed at this.

“Leave him be, Kadar.” Another voice said. Malik’s eyes scanned the wall but could find no one else besides them. “Malik just isn’t cut out to play with us. Let him run back to the mothers with his tail tucked between his legs.” The voice was coming from on top of the wall, so Malik’s eyes searched upwards until they made contact with the arrogant gaze of Altair. His golden eyes pierced Malik’s. 

“You don’t even know what that means, Altair.” Malik countered. 

“Do too!” Altair growled.

“Prove it!” 

This made the boy pause. His friends below waited for a response. When none came, Altair smirked and said, “I don’t need to. Look what I can do!” The boy did a handstand on the wall, wobbling back and forth on each hand. 

The gasps of amazement from his group only egged Altair farther. He switched hands and again there was the sound of amazement. All this Malik watched from afar, and while Kadar and his friends were worshipping the ground the young boy stood on, Malik noticed another thing. 

“I don’t think you should be doing that.” Young Malik’s voice shook slightly. Not wanting to sound scared but actually being so, he knew not what else to say. 

“You can’t tell me what to do.” Altair did the switch again, and now the boys began to clap.

“Wow! Not only are you the first to climb it, you can also do tricks on it!” Rama’s amazement was easy to hear. He looked up to him.

But Malik saw the crumbling of the stone underneath Altair’s palms, the tiny fluffs of dust that feathered up whenever he changed hands. Again Malik said, “Altair! I’m serious! I don’t think you should-”

The sound of stone cracking followed by a crash filled the courtyard, and dust filled the air. Coughing it up and swatting it from his eyes, Malik blinked through the burning sensation in search of Kadar. He had been positioned on the side of the wall that collapsed inward. Little legs with familiar shoes poked out under stone squares, and Malik began to frantically toss back the stones. Each stone he threw was seconded by Altair, who was doing the same on the other side of the fall. Blood seeping from his knee and ran down his leg, but Altair didn’t seen to notice it. Malik kept going and didn’t stop until he came to Kadar’s face. The dust lightened it and he coughed once. A wave of relief overcame Malik, and he pulled his brother up. 

Across from them, Altair was still digging. The sleeves of his tunic turned dark brown. Malik and Kadar followed his lead, and returned to the task at hand.

“What is going on back here?”

“The children!”

“Rama!”

Voices behind them, adult voices. Angry adult voices. The boys Kadar and Malik were moved to the side as the adults removed the rumble and found Rama and Bumi. Bumi held his forehead, blood seeming from his palm, and Rama just lay there. Malik watched all this with an open mouth, unable to do anything more. Strong hands took him by the shoulder, and he and his brother were whisked away by their farther. The last thing he recalled was Altair, standing in the corridor with his head hanging, getting scolded at by his father.

Rama had broken a leg, but lived. It kept him back from training and he was a year behind his friends, but that never stopped him. The group of boys had remained the same save for a new member by the name of Beo, a family member of Bumi’s who’d come to visit for that year’s festival. Malik didn’t like him, not from the first time he’d met the boy, but that mattered little because the boy was older and faster and stronger than them, and the other boys really liked him. All his jokes were funny and all his stories were true. 

Giving a knowing look from across the courtyard as the adults readied for that night’s festivites, the boys melted into the background save for one. Altair remained by his father’s side, watching the older man talk. His father turned to him, picked him up, and put him on his shoulders. A huge grin spread across his face, and he rested his head on his father’s. It appeared Altair didn’t want to play today.

“It’s going to be fun.” Kadar whispered to Malik, who had serious doubts about that. “Not like that wall incident. At least this year, we’re older and wiser. And we’ll make sure Rama doesn’t break his leg again.”

“You’re going to do it anyway, so who am I to stop you?” Malik retorted, and his brother laughed. He recognized to familiar glint of competition in his brother’s eye as they neared the entanglment of trees clustered around a small pool of water at the base of a tiny ravine.

They were to play tag today, or their verison of it. Hiding in the trees, they would throw weapons at the others as they ran through the small maze of wood. The weapons were of course fake, nothing more than fabric stuffed with wool and shaped into triangles. In the minds of the boys, these were the throwing knives their fathers had. 

The game was divided into teams, the brothers verses the cousins. They were given time to make their own ‘castles’, safe places, and gather their ‘weapons’. 

“When I say go, you go for Bumi and I’ll go after Rama.”

“Why do I get Rama?” Malik watched the reflected shadows on the floor. A larger figure hunched a few feet behind their hiding spot. Too big to be Bumi. 

“Because I know he’ll be safer with you than me.” Kadar looked over his shoulderout of the hiding place, and returned with his back to the tree. A nervous giggle escaped him. Malik was not convinced. “What! You’ll go easy on him and you’re better at controlling yourself than I am. This way, he won’t get hurt this year and father won’t have our hides when we get home.” One year, Malik prayed, one year without childhood shenanigans. Kadar outstretched his hand, "Together then?” 

Malik took it. “Always.”

The pair leapt out from behind the trees and rushed the other ‘Assassins’. The sound of laughter filled the ravine as the boys darted and dove, mimicking the Assassins they’d watched for hours on end. ‘Daggers’ flopped harmlessly on the ground after ‘missing’ the boys, but they didn’t care about the rules anymore. They were just having fun. 

Kadar dove after Bumi who’d taken to charging after Malik who was hiding from Rama when a flash of gray blurred past him and buried itself into a nearby tree with a twang! The group froze, and looked up to see a lone figure, much bigger than themselves, leaning into their hidden area. Then a second blur of motion caught Rama’s shoulder, and pushed him to the ground.

“Rama!” Bumi ran to his friend. Blood ran down his arm, and a silver throwing knife pretruded from his shirt. Tears ran down his face.

Beo lolled slowly down the trail to their area. “Are you guys playing like Assassins? Because I can play too.”

“We don’t use real knives, Beo. Look, you’re hurt Rama.” With shaking hands, Bumi nudged the knife and it flopped to the ground. Beo hurried to secure it.

“What’s the fun in that?” Beo rolled his eyes and wiped the blood off his knife. “See? Not even a lot of blood.”

“That’s still not funny, and we’re not going to play with you if you think it is.” Bumi glared up at his cousin.

“You can’t talk to me like that.” Kicking out with his left leg, he tried catching Bumi’s jaw. Tried. Rama fell back and held his face. This turn of events made Beo laugh, an ugly, snotty sound. “What a baby. Real Assassins don’t cry. See? I’m a real one.” He exposed his set of small throwing knives, three in his hands, the fourth in the tree near Malik. “My father said these are mine for when I start training with the Assassins.” 

Kadar’s mouth was set in a hard line. Trying to keep himself unnoticed, Malik didn’t react. Kadar slowly looked over his shoulder, keeping a mental note of his brother, and finding him, furrowed his brows. Malik slowly jut his chin towards the tree that held the dagger, and understanding the circumstances, Kadar side stepped to cover his brother from unwelcome eyes.

“You’re not a real Assassin.” Bumi stood and faced Beo resulting in a shove.

“Yes I am!”

"No you’re not! You’re not playing nice!”

“So?” He shoved Bumi again, and Bumi took a wider step back. “Are you really so stupid to think Assassins play nice?” Shove. “They hurt people.” Shove. “Assassins kill people, and unless you’re tough, you can’t be one.”

It happened so quickly after that. A soft thump as the back of the boy’s shirt was lifted up and pulled over his head so that his arms were stuck in an upright position. The dagger dropped from his hand, Kadar dove for this one, Malik, the other. Behind them landed...

“Altair!” Beo pulled down his shirt, his face red with rage. Or embarrassment. He was an older boy who’d just gotten bested by a group of younger boys, afterall. “You little-”

“Leave my friends alone, Beo.” Commanded Altair, then followed up with a smirk said, “If anyone is going to bully them then it’s to be me.”

“You are so dead!” Beo charged across the area and grabbed Altair by the waist, picking him up and slamming him against a tree. It quivered, dropping leaves, and obstructing Altair’s view as he bobbed and weaved under the boy’s fists. A punch to the stomach. A hit to the shoulder.

“We’ve got to help him!” There was no opposition.

The idea clicked to all three at once, and they ran into the fray. Bumi went behind the fight, Rama positioned himself on all fours behind Beo, and Malik leapt onto Beo’s back. This wasn’t the plan, but he couldn’t allow Altair be hurt any more than he’d already had.

One fist in the air, Malik held it tight and pulled with all his might. Then came Kadar with the running kick. Laughter rumbled deep from within Beo’s stomach and out his throat. “You think that hurts?”

“Shut up.” Malik rolled his eyes, supressing his enjoyment of the next line. “We’re just distraction.”

Bumi rushed out from the treeline just as Altair kicked Beo in the stomach and rolled away. Bumi shoved his older cousin, who tripped over Rama and fell flat on his back. The group of boys looked at one another. Kadar was holding up a bruised Altair, Malik was holding Rama, and all of them beamed. 

Altair’s father approached from over the hill, a jar of dates in his hands, and this he almost dropped when he saw the seen. “Altair? Altair?!” A few bounds brought him to his son, and he got to his knees to inspect his bruised cheek and shoulder. “What is the meaning of this, son?”

Altair opened his mouth, then promptly shut it.

“Beo was hurting Rama and Altair came to help.” Malik spat out suddenly. All eyes snapped to him. His words flooded from his mouth, “He didn’t do anything wrong, Master Ibn-La’Ahad. He was just helping us.”

The Master looked back to his son, and then examined the other boys. Dirty and bruised, Rama bleeding, he nodded and smiled to them all. “And what a good help he was. Now, everyone, let’s keep this amongst ourselves and allow me to do the talking, sound like a plan?” Altair’s grin spread cheek to cheek, Malik and Kadar looked at one another nodded vigoriously, and Rama allowed the Master to lift him up as he began walking them back to the party

From his place in front of the father and son, Malik heard this;

“Father, why did that boy say Assassins hurt people? That-that’s not really what it’s about. Right?”

“That correct, son. Assassins protect those who can not protect themselves. They do good, they serve others, and they listen to their fathers.” Laughter. Then gentle silence.

“Like I did?”

“Just like you did, Altair. The best Assassin you’ll be.”

They drifted apart until the unfortunate events of when Altair turned the ripe old age of 15. Though they no longer got into trouble, well, much trouble, they all remained close. During the festival, that was. Malik, Kadar, and Altair were interesting in becoming Assassins but hadn’t yet been accepted. Rama was interested in knowledge and aimed to be a scholar, Bumi enjoyed the construction and invention part of the Brotherhood.

“Our tenth festival together.” Kadar threw an arm each over Rama, who now towered over them, and Altair, who was beginning to. “What should we do to celebrate? Talk to girls? Get into a fight?”

“When will your brother grow up?” Rama laughed, turning to Malik. Malik kept his face straight, staring at the communication between Altair’s father and his own. 

“As long as I am here to be his concious?” Malik grabbed his chin and began to think. Then, coming to an abrupt conclusion, pointed his finger to the sky and flicked his brother’s nose. Altair laughed. “Never.”

“Thanks, dear brother.” Kadar dropped his arm from Rama to rub his aching nose. “I’ll remember that when mother asks one of her favorite sons to put the goats away.”

Though he didn’t act like it, Malik knew the threat was real. The goats hated him, and after being chased countless times it had fallen on Kadar to gather them up as long as Malik milked the cow for him. 

The festival music sounded. Wine and flood would soon flow. Altair searched the crowds, and his eyes lit when he spotted his target. His father waved him over, and Altair untangled himself from Kadar’s arm and smiled.

“You’re really going to leave us for your dad?” Kadar frowned, “Come on man! How some fun with us!”

"My father loves this festival, and it’s the one week a year where he’s not training long enough for me to spend some time with him. We’ll get in trouble later, Kadar. I can always count on you for that.” Altair rushed over to his father, who threw an arm over him and guided him towards the other Masters.

“Hm, you think he’d leave us for them?” Kadar muttered to himself.

“All a part of growing up.” Malik tussled his brother’s hair, and lifted his arm so it draped over his shoulder. “Come. Surely we can find some girls for you to embarrass yourself in front of. Or the very least, a drink.”

The wine flowed freely that night, and the rest was a blur, but this he remembered; Kadar did trip and fall in front of a girl he’d come to fancy, girls giggled behind their palms when Rama began to dance with Malik and Bumi, darting their eyes whenever one of the three caught them staring, and Altair remained by his father’s side, smiling and laughing the entire night.

The next morning, trumpets sounded alarm, and Malik awoke with a fright. Kadar and he had shimmied into the guard tower and watched the events unfold. An army at the gates, Al Mualim shouting below. Then a pause. The air felt like it did before a storm.

“They’re after Altair’s father.” Malik mumbled. 

“We’ve got to get down there.” Kadar had read his mind. Years of learning the ins and outs of the castle walls, the brothers climbed the inner chambers until they exited into the courtyard. Altair ran past them, calling after his father. But Umar Ibn-La’Ahad walked out the gates without so much as a final look to his son. Altair fought his way through to him, but was held back by men much older and stronger than he, so he settled to the ground and cried out. Malik and Kadar didn’t need to see past the stone walls to know what was happening outside. They did the one thing they could. They took a knee at Altair’s side, his face hanging down as he clawed the sand, and they stayed there.

After that, they didn’t see Altair much. He was taken into by another family. He no longer went to festivals. The one time Malik managed to sneak up to his quarters to speak with him, Altair rolled his eyes and secured his hood soundly around his face.

“Those things are for fools and innocents. If I’m to be an Master, such petty things can not concern me.” Malik couldn’t read his eyes, hidden as they were, but left Altair with a jar of dates. Umar’s favorite.

They were scattered in the courtyard for the birds by morning.

After the fight with the Templars and gaining the Apple, Altair had changed, and yet, his feelings for that time of year remained the same. Suddenly, business seemed to take him and his from the festival each year. 

“Malik!” Altair rushed in, excitement clear on his face and in his tone. “The things I’ve seen out there! There’s a whole world outside of this place! You should come with us next year!”

Malik smiled fondly at his friend and tucked his good arm to his side. “Wish that I could, but Kadar’s family visits Masyaf but once a year, for the festival, and I don’t want to miss them.” Altair’s smile dropped, and Malik gave him a reassuring one. “Besides, the recent loss of weight has made me a terrible rider.”

A playful glint returned to Altair’s eye, though not fully. “A horse can finally bear your weight and your unable to ride?”

“Shouldn’t you be reading, Master?” Malik tossed a book at him which he ducked. It hit and landed on the opposite table, releasing a cloud of dust into the air. 

Just as quickly as his laughter had begun, it had faded. “Malik, if I may be serious a moment.”

“Just a moment?” Altair placed his hands on his hips, and rose a brow. “Fine. What have you to say?”

Altair chewed on his bottom lip before speaking, and when he did, his eyes were somber and his voice sad. “It just, reminds me of him. Every year. He loved it you know? Seeing all his friends, showing me off. ‘Look how big he’s grown this year.’” Altair mimicked his father perfectly, puffing up his chest to stand tall and grinning to expose all his teeth as his father did. “’Soon, he’ll be fighting alongside me. What’’- his voice shifted back, “what an Assassin he’ll be. I can’t do it, Malik. That festival reminds me every year that my father was taken from my life, and that he’ll never meet Maria. He’ll never meet my kids. I just can’t enjoy the things that he did, as he did. I’m not him.” Altair sighed deeply, looking down. “I’ll never be him.”

Malik absorbed those words as he went to his side, then he placed his hand on his shoulder. “Altair, you are not Umar. You will never be Umar. All you can be is Altair, and that is all any of us need from you. Pardon my jestering about the festival and let us speak of it no more. Free it from your mind.”

“Thank you, Malik, you’ve always been a good friend to me.” Altair dropped off the gifts from his travels, new books, before heading out the door. Then, he stopped, barely looking over his shoulder before quickly saying, “Maybe not forever. Just for now.” Then returned to his family.

....

“Are we to allow him his pain?” Arno spoke, and the spell was broken. Memories faded from Malik’s reality, and he blinked. More bodies had filled the space, and all of them expression concern.

“He would never leave one of us with this, we should do the same for him.” Shay said. Arno agreed.

“What’s the plan?” Elise rose, and dusted off her hands. “There has to be a plan.”

“Ok Siri,” Ezio spoke into his phone, “Where can I find good halal food?”

“What are you doing?” A small glimmer of hope entered Malik’s heart, it was alive in that room, a spark, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. It could disappear if he did. 

“Connor, send out a mass text. Jacob, where are your keys?” Edward expertly caught the keys tossed his way and headed out the door.

“Altair has been sad long enough.” Haytham said, and passed Malik a cup. “Tea while we wait?”

Malik watched the cup and slowly shook his head. “How about we join?”

A wide grin spread across Haytham’s face, and they were off.

When Altair returned home, it was hard to ignore the number of cars in front of the house. Had he forgotten his birthday again? No, that had already happened. Altair bound up the steps and became even more confused by the music playing and the smells he was smelling. Food, good food. Allowing his nose to lead the way, Altair pushed open the door and found the entire house covered...

with people!

Malik stood at the forefront of the mass, a knowing look on his face. “Your Assassins felt you needed some celebration during this time of year. Keep in mind it’s no Festival,” Malik teased, hoping to soften the emotion in his words. “but we hoped...”

Altair was stunned. He took in the room, and then simply hung his head. Malik sighed, “This was a bad idea.”

“I- I love it.” Altair looked up, teary eyed, He tried wiping the back of his hands across his face, but this only made the tears roll down his cheeks and off his chin. Altair allowed them. “Do you, I mean, how could you know?” He looked around the room, Kassandra, Jacob, Shay, Adewale, Ezio, Evie, Bayek, Elise, Liam, Connor, Maria, Arno, Haytham, Desmond, Aveline, Edward, Henry, Alexios. Friends and family from around the world filled the room with such love, that Altair had no reaction to it other than light. The dark void in his heart left behind by his father’s death still ached him, but the love that had grown from it filled him completely. 

And Altair was happy.

[tellcardtowrite]

ALTERNATE SASSVERSE - the getting-together-moment of that malik/altair/sofia triad thats so wonderfully amusing and so terribly horrible for leo

Sass AU | Malik/Altair/Sofia | Nc-17 for sex things

It started with an armchair.  Malik was not the gargantuan monster that his brother was, he wasn’t excessively tall or plump.  He wasn’t thin enough to be considered skinny, he wasn’t short enough to qualify as small.  He was perfectly in the middle and it allowed him the versatility of being tall around shorter friends, and tall enough around taller friends (except Kadar who was endlessly amused that he’d outgrown his brother).  And it allowed him, when the occasion called for it, to share spaces not meant to fit two.  

The arm chair had been the unfortunate side of a good compromise.  Altair had argued a new mattress in exchange for thrift-shop chairs.  Malik had fallen in love with the overstuffed leather arm chair.  (It had been a recliner during it’s better years, but it could not be quantified as one now.)  It sat in the corner of their living room, away from the painter’s plastic that seemed to move from one spot to another without ever once making it entirely out of the house.  (The projects were endless, and the plastic necessary, and so Altair tolerated it.)  Sometimes the chair faced the TV, and sometimes it faced a wall but it was never very far at all from the little bookshelf in the corner that held all of Malik’s favorite books.  It was always reliably near a bottle of water and a warm blanket.  There was a folded-over pillow, long past it’s prime, that sat in the ratty corner of the chair waiting to be shuffled into exactly the right space to optimize comfort.

Altair hated the chair on principle.

But Malik loved it.

Everything that happened after started with the chair, in the corner of their living room, in the first house they ever truly lived in together.  It started with a chance observation, when Altair was feeling pitiful and trapped, and Malik was ignoring him over it. 

Sofia was curled into the chair like cat, her body gracefully, and carelessly, laying against Malik’s as if there was no reason at all she should feel the need to leave space between them.  As if she weren’t being observed at all.  Her hair was tangled up in Malik’s where their heads were touching, her hand was holding up half the book they were reading.  Her arm, caught between them, always seemed to find itself winding around Malik’s shoulders. 

Malik never refused Sofia’s request to crawl into that narrow space at his side.

But he never allowed anyone else to sit in his chair.  There had been plenty of people, classmates, and family and friends (if one called Leonardo a friend).  Malik never failed to refuse them.  Leonardo tried (of course he did) and every time Malik said, “get out of my chair.”

–

It never quite came to a head, it never fully became a fight, but once, before a social gathering, Altair found Kadar and Malik standing in front of the chair, regarding how inviting it looked (to them).  

“It’s a really nice chair,” Kadar said to his brother.  “It’s not like you have a lot of other seats.”  He motioned at the perfectly good couch and the brand new arm chair across the room as if they were subpar.

“It’s my chair,” Malik said.

“Well.  You either have to put your name on it, piss on it, or move it to another room because I’m telling you right now, if this chair is in this room, someone is going to sit in it.”

Malik sneered at that, like a bad taste on his tongue, and then, “help me move it.”

–

After, when there was nothing but red cups and crumbs on the party trays, Altair was shoving plastic silverware into the overstuffed trash bag, caught up in thinking through the ridiculousness of having to explain why one of their chairs had gone missing.  “Am I allowed to sit in the chair?”

Malik was across the room, rolling his eyes at leftover drinks.  “That’s what they’re for I think.”

“No.  Your chair.  Am I allowed to sit in your chair?”

Bless his boyfriend for a brain that never stopped working through things, and never quite arrived at easy conclusions, Malik just stared at him as if he hadn’t developed a whole complicated system of judgment regarding who could and couldn’t sit in his chair.  As if Malik’s bias wasn’t so obvious that he’d allow Kadar to not only sit in the stupid chair but fall asleep in and spill soda all over it but Leonardo’s perfectly awake, perfectly courteous ass couldn’t so much as hover a single butt cheek over it without getting screamed at.  Malik looked at him as if he had never heard such a ridiculous fucking question in his entire fucking life.  “But you don’t want to,” wasn’t an answer or a question.  It was simply announcing how Altair had been excluded from thought.

“If I did,” Altair said.

“Sure.”

–

Any good theory had to be tested.  Altair laid a blanket over the ratty old leather and invited himself to sit in the chair when he knew that Malik would be home soon.  He lingered, leaning back, trying to figure out exactly what made the stupid chair as inviting and comforting as Malik claimed it was.  It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t special either.  It was just a chair, in a corner, next to a stack of books.  

Malik came home with a pinch in his face that followed unannounced quizzes and overdue homework.  He rounded the corner to the living room, still shrugging off his book bag.  There was no mistaking the instant, confused, annoyed surprise on his face when he found Altair where an empty chair should have been.  He dropped his bag on the floor and stood there, just looking at him (attempting to act innocent), assessing how he felt about it.  The wheels inside Malik’s mind were churning so fast there should have been smoking leaking out his eyeballs, but in the end he just invited himself to sit right in Altair’s lap.  “Yeah,” he said, like a real answer to a long ago question, “you’re good.”

Altair kissed him.

–

All evidence and observation in place, there was no mistaking the obvious conclusion.  Regardless of sexual preference, Malik loved Sofia.  He didn’t love her how he loved his brother–who was only allowed use of the chair unless Malik wanted it.  He loved her in the same set of brackets that he loved Altair, where the chair that was meant for one became big enough for two, and bodies that were meant to be separate slid together so closely they got tangled up and confused.  

–

“Yeah,” Desmond said over breakfast in New York, looking wide-awake and reasonable because he hadn’t just gotten off a plane.  Because he hadn’t just realized his boyfriend, his troublesome, irritating, perfectionist, judgmental and completely gay asshole of a boyfriend was in love with a woman.  “But it’s not what you’re making it seem like.  They’re just friends.”

“Leonardo is Malik’s friend.”

Desmond just stared at him.  He stared, and waited, and stared, and–

“Look,” Altair said before Desmond could figure out how to address the obvious trap, “I know that they used to have sex.  And I know that Leonardo loves him and I know it wasn’t the sort of relationship you usually have with your friends but Malik doesn’t have friends.  He has people he tolerates, he has family, he has people he sort of likes and then he has Leonardo, his friend, and Sofia his other friend and me his boyfriend.”

“And because he lets you sit in the chair, and you have sex with him and he loves you, that means he loves Sofia and would have sex with her?”

“No,” Altair said.  “He’s very gay.”

“I–” Desmond looked helpless.  He looked desperately toward the hall, as if he could summon his wife through sheer power of will.  “I don’t understand what you’re upset about?  He’s gay so he won’t cheat on you with the woman he loves?  What are you worried about?  He doesn’t want to be with her.  He wants to be with you.”

“Sofia loves him,” Altair said (again, slowly).  “Sofia definitely loves him the way I love him.  The rip his clothes off and fuck him because you can’t stand it sort of love.  And the sit quietly together kind of love.  Malik isn’t saying no to her.”

“But he’s gay,” Desmond repeated.

–

Kadar listened, across a platter of tacos, nodding with every single word until Altair was finished.  In the quiet, he stared at the bits of taco debris on his plate, picking which words he wanted to use, arriving at, “Malik doesn’t know that he loves her, Altair.  The only person he’s ever been able to admit to loving is you.  That puts you in a position with a lot of power.  Sofia isn’t going to try anything, she knows he loves you and she respects it.  Malik isn’t going to try anything because he can’t imagine gray areas.  Whatever you have to do, consider it carefully.  Really consider it.”

–

Altair considered a lot of things about the chair, and how Sofia fit perfect next to Malik.  He considered it for weeks, that became months.  He considered it in the middle of the night, and the bright lights of day.  He thought about when he finally managed to get Malik to leave the fucking country and take a look at the rest of the world.

He was thinking about it soaking in a hot tub.

He thought about it when the sweat was still cooling on his back and Malik was sated and snuggling, taking his time about worrying about clean up.  

Altair thought about it until it stopped making sense.

And he thought about it after that too.

–

But Altair wasn’t thinking about anything, working on impulse, suddenly left alone with Sofia in the kitchen of his New York home, watching how she smiled to herself about nothing at all.  She was beautiful in a way that required no effort to see.  (Although enough people had seen, if stuttering second glances were any indication.)  He was supposed to be cutting vegetables but there was his fat mouth spilling out words like, “so what are we going to do about it?”

“Dinner?”

“Malik,” Altair corrected.

Sofia didn’t blanch white, she didn’t turn red.  Her voice didn’t strangle or pitch.  She set down the knife she’d been using and pressed her hands flat against the cutting board in front of her.  When she looked at him, it was gracious, to match the way she said, “if I’ve overstayed my welcome I would understand that you wanted me to go.”

“He loves you,” Altair said.  (And why was it his heart thudding right out of his chest, why was it his heart climbing up his throat.  Why was there any question as to how things would progress.  If Malik could throw tantrums over chairs, Altair was perfectly reasonable to ask for space here.)

“Not the way I want him to,” she said, “and I don’t want to cause problems.  I can refuse his invitations, tell him I have commitments.  I don’t have to be here if you’d rather I wasn’t.”

“I was considering addition, not subtraction.”  (He’d been considering both.  He just couldn’t bring himself to mention how he’d much rather Sofia find another man to fall in love with.  And how selfish, and stupid, and mean to force Malik to give up a person who gave him such comfort.  How intolerant to pretend he couldn’t understand why she would love Malik, when he loved him just the same?)  

Sofia did blush then, a sudden pink rush of blood to her cheeks, “oh,” hadn’t ever considered this outcome.  “I–  That,  I don’t know that.  That is, I don’t know how that might work.”  She looked at him how she hadn’t before, the long stare that belonged in bars with loud music and dim lights, that seemed lewd and almost inappropriate in his kitchen.  “I assume addition involves sex.”

“I would prefer if it did.”

“And I didn’t agree?  Should I expect to be uninvited to Malik’s life?”

(God bless his boyfriend for falling for a woman exactly like him.  A fatalist with a pretty face and a reasonable tone of voice.)  “No,” Altair said, “but we’ll have to find a way to live with one another.”

Sofia sighed, “you’re not unattractive.  I won’t make an commitments or choices without him.”

–

What Altair had said was, maybe we could invite Sofia to be our threesome friend, because they’d been working out how to try out a threesome for a few months.  What Malik heard (or seemed to hear) was: I, Altair, the whore, want to fuck the woman you’re in love with and possibly marry her and move to a foreign country where you’ll never see either of us again.  Our children will be beautiful and you will die alone and be eaten by rats.

“I am not being unreasonable!” Malik shouted at him.

“Yes you are!”

“You want to fuck my friend!  Why I don’t just fuck–” Malik stuttered there, hand out to the side, fingers spread out, grasping for any single man that might have been considered Altair’s friend and arriving at the quick realization that there was nobody that compared that Malik would actually consider having sex with.  “Desmond,” was the finish that admitted it’s own failure before Altair had to point it out.  

“She’s an obvious choice, Malik,” Altair said.

“She’s my friend.”

“Which is why she’s the obvious choice!”

“You want to put your dick in her!” Malik shouted at him.  As if he’d never heard a worse crime in all his life.  As if the idea itself were blasphemous.  As if Altair were deviant for developing any desire for it.  As if asking Sofia to submit to the torment was unthinkable.  

“She likes dick!” Altair shouted back, “just like you!  I’ll put my dick in both of you.”

Malik was stunned stupid, left standing there without a single word to say.  He just stared, standing halfway across the room, completely without a comeback.  All those gears in his brain were chugging away but there was no conclusion to arrive at.  

“Look,” Altair said softly, gently, slowly, “you can’t tell me that you don’t love her.  You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed she loves you too.  All I’m saying is, why don’t we don’t something about it?  Why don’t we try and see if we can make it work?”

“I don’t love her like that,” Malik said.  He stood still, he watched Altair get close, he didn’t move at all.  He was caught up in a confused sensation, trying to reason out this terrible new world he was living in.  “She doesn’t–”

“I’m pretty sure she does.”

–

Sofia’s anger wasn’t a surprise, Altair had been working through anger like white fire for months.  He’d been smothering it so long it felt like second nature, but Sofia’s anger was it’s own special sort.  Her anger was reserved for him and for the chance at getting almost exactly what she wanted.

“What if this ruins it?” she asked him when Malik wasn’t there.  With her hands in fists, “what if it doesn’t work?  What if I lose him?  What then?”

“I don’t know,” was the only answer he had.

–

Altair kissed her first, standing by the end of the bed he shared with his boyfriend, he cupped her beautiful face in his hands and he kissed her before she could talk them all right out of the idea.  Sofia didn’t hesitate with her mouth against his, she didn’t shy away.  Her hands were claws, scratching down his chest from collarbone to waist band.  Her fingers were bold, and hurried, slipping underneath his shirt.  There was no pretense, no shyness, no need to be coy or pretend.

Altair kissed her throat and she tipped her head back, he worked open the buttons on her dress, and she pulled open the button of his jeans.  She pulled at his ass as he cupped her breasts.  She hummed a nice sound and pulled his shirt right over his head.  

Malik invited himself in when Sofia’s dress was a puddle on the floor, when her bra was hanging off one elbow, when Altair was kissing her in time with how warm and sure her hand was sliding down into his pants to assess his dick for suitability.  Malik was offended, left out, reaching his hand in to pull both their attention back to him.  “Tell me how this is fun for me,” he said.

“My God,” Sofia breathed when her mouth was free and she’d worked his dick free from his pants.  There was the three of them staring at it.  “How the fuck do you fit all that in your ass?” she asked like a marvel.

“Slowly,” Malik assured her, he pulled her face to kiss her, trying it out for kicks.  Altair pushed his pants off and followed them down so he was kneeling on the floor listening to the uncertain sounds of Malik kissing a beautiful woman.  Despite the protests and his pouting face, Malik was hard enough to consider the experiment a success (for now).  He groaned when his pants were pulled down, his hand dropped from Sofia’s face to push through Altair’s hair.  

“Oh,” Sofia whispered.  Altair felt her hand on his shoulder, looked sideways as his mouth slid down Malik’s dick.  There she was, dropping to her knees as her tongue ran across her lips.  “Share,” she said.  

“Do you like giving head?” Malik asked.  He was looking down at them, pink and confused and perfectly okay with having his dick shared between them.  

–

Sofia kissed him when he was flat on his back, getting fucked by Malik.  Her quick, soft hands were jerking his dick without urgency, getting used to the idea of it.  Her palm was damp with sweat, and spit and pre-cum, sliding up and down with a slushy, slick sound entirely separate to the sound of Malik’s thrusts.  And she kissed him with consideration, moaning pleased sounds when he touched her how she wanted.  

“Can you come like this?” she asked him.

“Not with how you’re doing it,” he answered.

“Can you?”  She propped herself up on an elbow, looked down his body to where Malik was sitting back on his knees, one hand gripping at Altair’s thigh, holding him in place as he thrust forward so he was as deep as he could get, and just stopped.  His hair was soaked in sweat, his cheeks red with effort, his voice heavy and so close to orgasm it was hard to understand.  “Fucking him?”

“When he does it to you,” Sofia said.

Malik’s blush was embarrassed, and adorable, and–  “Yeah.  Most of the time.  He can too, you just have to jerk him off faster.”

Sofia’s smile offered no mercy, “I want a turn when you’re done.”

“Oh,” Malik said.  He started again, faster.  Sofia let go of Altair’s dick so she could lean back into the pillows and watch.  (Oh-god-and wasn’t there an sort of special thrill to just being watched?)  

“Don’t rush on my account,” she said. 

–

“You look good on your back,” she whispered into his ear when Malik was stripping the condom off.  Her voice was full of promises, her hand was sneaking across his chest to pull at his ribs, to invite him off his back and right up between her thighs.  There was the brief matter of a fresh condom, and Malik crawling up to lay at her side, and Sofia’s hand on his dick pulling him right into place.  

“Oh god,” she gasped with one arm around Malik and her legs clenched around Altair’s hips half-way-in.  Malik looked at her with a sloppy sort of smile, like he knew exactly what she meant, like he was proud of her for making it so far, like he’d never seen anything more beautiful in all his life.  He kissed her like that, falling in and out of it, whispering sweet-and-encouraging and filthy things about how it was worth it, how good it felt when you got used to it.  

Altair fucked her to the tune of Malik’s encouraging sweet-nothings.

–

Whatever doubts Altair woke up with were quickly put aside when he found Sofia-and-Malik at the breakfast table, reading the newspaper opposite one another.  

“Oh good,” she said.

“Did you eat breakfast?” Altair asked.  There were coffee mugs but no breakfast plates.  (That didn’t mean anything, but there was always a chance.)  

“No,” Malik said.  “I thought we should have sex again.”

“Otherwise it would be awkward,” Sofia said.  “It’s a little awkward anyway, but we can either talk about it and why it feels awkward or we can have sex again.”

“And you didn’t get the chance to give Sofia head,” Malik pointed out.

“Assuming you wanted to,” Sofia added.

“He does,” Malik assured her.  “Trust me.”

“What are your thoughts, should we try to discuss our feelings about how it went or should we have sex, breakfast and then try to discuss it?”

Altair had gotten fuzzy about listening about the time he’d been offered the chance to give Sofia head.  (Not that he’d been listening all that hard after it had been announced there was no breakfast yet.)  “Sex is fine.”

–

Sofia didn’t move in, but she visited.  

She stayed for weekends, and vacations, and special occasions.

She lived out of a suitcase and she brought her own toothbrush.  

And things worked out, for a while.

–

“I’m going to ask him to marry me.”  

Sofia was fixing her hair in the mirror, Altair was rinsing out his toothbrush.  His bathroom counter was littered with all the belongings she shoved into her travel bag.  “I’m sure he’ll say yes.  Are you nervous?”

“No.  I think you should consider not leaving this time.”

Sofia snorted, she gave up on arranging her bangs in any specific order, she looked at him fully.  “I do enjoy our flings.  I appreciate that you’ve let me share your relationship but this is an unsustainable model.  This works because I’m not here every day.  I’m not a challenge or a burden when I’m not always around.  I can tolerate the end of this for the sake of the start of a lasting relationship but I couldn’t stand to watch him grow tired of me.”

Altair snorted.  “You’re just like him, you know.  You’re both idiots.  You’re both very intelligent idiots.  Maybe I don’t love you the way I love him.  Maybe he won’t ever want to fuck you the way he wants to fuck me.  But between all three of us we have everything we need to make this work.  Ask him, if you don’t believe me.  He’ll tell you the same thing.  He wants you to stay.”  

–

They were three weeks into a social experiment, sharing seven bedrooms with three people, pretending to share one relationship.  Sofia was sitting cross legged on the couch, rolling her eyes at her phone.  Malik was reading at the opposite end and Altair was trying (and failing) to beat Desmond at the stupid racing game (again).  

“Oh,” Sofia snapped at the phone, like she hated it.  “If you don’t tell this stubborn fucking asshole I’m going to do it.”  She slapped the phone face down on the table.

“Fine,” Malik said.

“Fine?” Sofia snapped back.  “What happened to sparing his feelings?”

Malik shrugged.  “I was just going to wait until he figured it out.”

“Tell who?” Desmond asked.

Altair gave up the attempt, looked over his shoulder at Sofia’s perfectly delighted face, and how she was only waiting for him to look at her.  She didn’t invite him on a road trip (out loud) but everything from the way her eyebrows lifted to the quirk of her smile was asking him if he wanted to hop on a plane right this moment.  “Leonardo.”

[alscyf]

When Altair struck, he’d expected retaliation.  When the lot surrounded the trio, hands faithfully resting upon their weapons, he’d prepared for an attack, and upon seeing the brash assassin thrown from the room, for a moment he’d actually – foolishly, thought Altair would return, waited to see a flash of white up high above them.  Insufferable as that man could be, he was not so callous that he’d leave his brothers in the hands of Templars with no effort made to find a way back and fight by their sides, yet in the end, that assumption proved little better than a pipe dream. The man had left.  He had left them behind to fend for themselves against an enemy outnumbering them three to one. With that flitting through his mind, fingers tighten upon the hilt of his short blade, temporarily imagining the steel beneath his palm was Altair’s throat.  The bastard deserved nothing less for for this – !

"Malik…“ It is but a murmur, barely a breath above a whisper, coupled with the brush of an elbow against the small of his back, but it’s enough to break that line of thought, pulling him back to the now.  In that moment, Altair went forgotten in favor of one still beside him. Kadar – he’s afraid.  Experience is not on his side in this.  Too many opponents, too dire the consequence of failure.  No matter how Kadar tried to hide it, there lurked a subtle quiver in his voice, in that nervous attempt at contact which served no greater purpose than the reassurance that his big brother was there.  Malik knew; he always knew, but this time – this time, there was no comfort to offer, no right words to make his fears disappear.  There is only the hope that, in the end, those fears will go unfounded.

"Hold steady, Kadar.”  A whisper to follow in their native tongue, that it might pass ignored by their enemy  The creak of leather at his back signals his order obeyed, just audible over the noise of men around them, and he breathes deep in an effort to take his own advice.  Distraction now could be devastating; best he keep his focus where it ought to be:  centered upon the task at hand, on retrieving the treasure for their master and, above all, protecting his brother so they both might return to speak of events within the Temple, the latter of which he’d deemed most important.  But of course he had.  Such pains he had taken to become a reliable source for the younger man, a stalwart guardian when he needed and faithful companion when he didn’t, and even faced with dire circumstances, that would not change.  That is his duty, after all, so until Kadar might slip away, out of the Temple and off to relative safety, he was staying right there, back to back with his brother, no matter the cost of his persistence.  “I’m right behind you.”

                            Surely Kadar knew that already.

Through rage and panic, the thought shines, a beacon overcoming the chaos racing in mind as tables turned against them.  The circle of armored bodies coiled around them held firm, ready and waiting for the first move, for that one perfect opening to strike at the two abandoned in their foolhardy superior’s wake.  Their patience grew thin, he knew, and with it grew the desperation with which he repeated a single thought over and over.  With his mind’s constant chanting, it became something more than that, more of a prayer to whomever, whatever might listen and grant him this one final wish.  

                              Should one of us fall this day, let it be me.                                     If you’ve one shred of mercy within you, please – take me, not him.

[bewareofchris]

Sass prompt! Cool Uncle Kadar takes the kids to his favorite mall food court (or something) then somehow manages to lose them in the crowd (nothing bad happens, they just gorge on samples or whatever), and since it took Kadar hours to convince Malik that he's a perfectly responsible adult able to handle 4 kids, Kadar is in more of a rush to find them than he normally would be.

G | Sass Verse | Terrible mall manners

Kadar had said the phrase: ‘you raised good kids, they won’t be any trouble,’ no less than fifteen times in a single conversation just to convince his brother to take a god damn day off.  It wasn’t a lie because all four of Malik’s kids were well-behaved little demons.  If one of them wasn’t, they had a way of policing themselves that required very little effort on the part of the adult watching them to resolve.  (As long as Jaida was present, without her the triplets were likely to devolve into a mob of in-fighting.)

Altair was over-seas on business that was taking him (thus far) a week and a half longer than projected.  (And Kadar assumed that meant someone had pissed Altair off and he was systematically dismantling the entire senior staff because of it.  Or he might just have gotten caught in boring meetings, it was very difficult to tell.)  Malik had a cold and colds made him miserable.  Altair had called Kadar to retrieve the kids and take them somewhere for the day so Malik could sleep.

So here he was, one adult in a mall food court at an empty table.  The table shouldn’t have been empty.  There should have been an eight year old girl sitting on one side, glaring at her brothers.  There should have been three almost seven year olds glaring back at her.  Kadar had literally walked six feet to retrieve a plastic fork and come back and in the less-than-a-minute it took him to go that far, all four children had disappeared.

Their food was still present.  Their toys were scattered on the floor.  Three chairs were even pushed up to the table.  

“Fuck,” Kadar whispered.  His hands were still held out to either side of his body because he’d been half-way to saying that he thought they should maybe find an indoor playground sort of thing after this.  Maybe laser tag or a bounce house.  Something to keep the demons moving so they’d fall asleep early.  

He looked left (and no children) and he looked right (and no kids).  He dropped the fork on the table, tried to think through the sudden panic, and pulled his phone out of his pocket.  Claudia answered him on the first ring.

“Yes?” she said.

“I lost them,” he said.  “They’re gone.”

Claudia had sounded somewhat preoccupied when she answered the phone but there was a noticeable shift in her tone that meant she’d turned her face into the phone to ignore whoever was speaking to her.  “No,” she said.  “You cannot lose Altair’s children, Kadar.”

“They’re gone,” he repeated.  He took two helpless steps to one side and stopped because the only thing in that direction of the food court was sushi and he didn’t think the kids even liked sushi.  There was ice-cream on the other end and also a store full of shiny jewelry things that both Sef and Jaida had spent a solid ten minutes trying to talk him into.  So there was a better chance they’d gone that way.  (God knows, Jaida could make her brothers do anything.)  “They’re not here,” felt like it needed repeating.

“Why did you leave them?” sounded so exasperated.  

“They were eating!  Aren’t kids supposed to just sit and eat when you provide them with food.”

He didn’t need to see Claudia to know she was covering her face with her whole hand.  “Not all children are you,” she said.

“Uncle Kadar,” was a voice from just behind him that accompanied a sharp pull at his jacket.  There was Tazim looking up at him with such disapproval.  “We hide,” he said (as if it were so obvious), “you find us?”

As if summoned by some kind of magic, Jaida appeared from around the opposite end of the food court with her fist wrapped up in Darim’s hair as he shrieked his outrage at being yanked.  One or two adults were staring in outrage and the spectacle had drawn the hesitant-but-amused attention of a security guard.

“It’s fine,” Kadar shouted down the aisle.  He grabbed Tazim’s wrist just so he didn’t evaporate into thin air again.  “They’re with me,” he shouted as he tried to side-step a couple that were too busy looking horrified to get out of the way.  “Jaida,” he called (with as much fairness as he could manage), “let go of your brother’s hair.”

Jaida made a deliberate show of loosening her hand from Darim’s hair and then reaching down to wrap her whole fist into his shirt before she started yanking him forward again.  She didn’t let him go until they were back at the table.  “Stay,” she said to him.  Then she glared at Tazim who shifted so he was half behind Kadar’s body (and who wouldn’t want to hide when being looked at like that).  

“Sir,” the security guard said.

“We’re fine,” Kadar assured him, “we’re going.”

Jaida stomped over to a trashcan, one of the big round ones that people threw their paper trash and half-drank sodas into.  She reached up to wrap her fingers around the inside lip of it (and Kadar saw his whole life flash before his eyes as he imagined what Altair would do when he found about this) before she yanked it as hard as she could.  The lid popped off after a bit of complaint.  

“Jaida!” Kadar shouted.  He dropped the phone and Darim dove down like he was going to pick it up but Kadar grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him a bit sideways so he could get both boy’s hands with just one.  That gave him a free arm to reach out to get Jaida.

Only, there was Sef, popping up out of the trash with ketchup and soy sauce and marinara and God knows what all over his clothes.  “Jaida,” Sef said with his hands on his hips.  “We said Kadar was it.”

This was it.  This was his cause of death.  This was the end of his life.  Tazim popped up at his right hand (funny because he should have been holding Kadar’s left hand) with the phone pressed to his ear.  “No Aunt Claudia we weren’t trying to get anyone in trouble.  We were behaving.”

Kadar said, “Jaida, hold Darim,” and he could have predicted that she’d grab him by the shirt front.  He picked Sef up out of the trash while an aghast looking custodian clutched her white rag against her chest looking like she wanted to offer help and she didn’t want to get involved.  The whole food court was nothing but whispers of inadequate parenting while the security guard was saying:

“Sir, are you sure everything is okay?”

“Yes,” Kadar said.  “Usually my wife’s with me.  I just expected the kids would behave a bit better.  We’re very sorry.”  He set Sef down (with a grimace) and took the phone from Tazim long enough to say, “I’ll call you in a bit, everything’s fine.”  Then he grabbed Tazim’s hand.  “Jaida come on.”

They didn’t stop walking, and the boys didn’t stop complaining about lost food and toys, until they were out in the parking lot, protesting how they were being physically lifted into the car.  

“That’s not fair!” Sef was shouting from his booster seat in the back-back seat.  “Because it’s not just a Hot Wheel!  It was a limited edition roadster and its very hard to find one of those.”

“Your Dad’s a billionaire,” Kadar said as he lifted Darim into the car.  He’d finished putting the boys.  Jaida stood outside the car with her hands on her hips, head cocked to the side and foot all but tapping on the ground.  “What?” he asked.

“Let’s start with thank you,” Jaida said.  “I found them all.”

“Tazim came back on his own,” Kadar countered.

“No he didn’t,” Jaida said.  “He heard Darim crying.”

“She pulled my hair out!” Darim shouted from inside.

“I came back on my own!” Tazim shouted.

“Thank you?” Kadar offered.  It was not even a little bit what Jaida was angling to get out of this situation but he was willing to offer that to see what else she might want.  

Her smile did not make him feel better.  “You’re welcome, Uncle Kadar.  Don’t worry, they did the same thing to Father.”  Then she climbed up into the vehicle on her own.  Once she was buckled into place, she pulled her sunglasses out of her purse and slipped them on her face.  “I want ice cream,” she said.  “Maybe Father doesn’t hear about this.”

Kadar leaned against vehicle with one hand on the handle of the sliding door.  “You can’t keep them quiet,” he said.

“No,” she agreed, “I can’t.  But I can tell them I helped you find them.”

“Hey!” Sef shouted, “you weren’t it.”

Jaida cocked her eyebrows up behind her sunglasses.

“Fine,” Kadar said.  “Ice cream, then we have to find somewhere that sells kids clothes.”

–

He called Claudia back while he was scrubbing Sef with a handful of paper towels in a family bathroom at Target.  There was a bag of new clothes that looked suitably similar to what he’d already been wearing.  The other three were standing with their backs against a wall.  “Crisis averted,” he said when Claudia picked up.

“Was Sef really in a trashcan?” Claudia asked.

“I’m cleaning him up,” Kadar countered.  “He’s fine.”

Claudia hummed.  “Where are you going next?  I’ll meet you.”

The truth was, Kadar didn’t want to take the demons anywhere but straight home to their bedrooms.  Except that the two boys not being vigorously scrubbed with paper towels were looking at their shoes.  Jaida was looking fed up with the world.  “I was thinking the bounce house,” he said.  

“Fine, I’ll be there.  Do not let them out of the car until I get there.”

That settled, Kadar finished cleaning up his nephew as best he could before dumping his dirty clothes into the trashcan.

–

While sitting in the parking lot, Jaida and Sef climbed into the front seat next to him while Darim pressed his face against the back window and blew fart noises into the glass.  Tazim sat on the center console and asked him what every individual knob and button on the car did.

Claudia appeared next to the driver’s side window, shaking her head at him (but smiling).  He rolled the window down far enough to hear her say, “this is reasons one through fifty why we decided not to have children,” wasn’t accusing but amused.  “Let them out.”

Once all the kids were out of the car, Claudia assessed them (and saw they were unharmed with her own eyes).  She crouched in front of them, reached out to take Tazim’s hand on one end and Jaida’s on the other.  “If you act out here, I’m calling your Father.  Do you understand me?”

The thing about Claudia was that she could make anything sound like a nuclear apocalypse.  The worst Malik would do was be disappointed in his kids but all four of them (even haughty Jaida) nodded solemnly.  So Claudia smiled at them.  “Good, lets go.  Everyone hold an adult’s hand.”

–

Kadar took the kids to a pizza bar before he returned them home.  Malik still looked like shit, but well-rested shit, when his kids came to hug him in the kitchen.  Thanks to Claudia’s parting instructions (I better get a call saying you took a shower and went to bed) all of the kids left their Father immediately to go and prepare for bed.  

“Is Sef wearing a different shirt?” Malik asked.

“No,” Kadar said.  “Don’t think so.”

Malik didn’t believe him for a minute.  Maybe he just didn’t think it was worth debating.  Rather than protest he said, “thanks for taking them.  Altair’s on his way home.  And Lucy’s coming tomorrow.”

“No problem,” Kadar said.  “You know I love the kids.”

Tazim chose that exact moment to bounce down the stairs wearing nothing but his underwear to proclaim, “Sef climbed in a trash can today!”  He was delighted to share that.

“Well I’ve got to go,” Kadar said before Malik could start with the questions.  

[rafiiiq-blog]

                           When Altair struck, he'd expected retaliation.  When the lot surrounded the trio, hands faithfully resting upon their weapons, he'd prepared for an attack, and upon seeing the brash assassin thrown from the room, for a moment he'd actually -- foolishly, thought Altair would return, waited to see a flash of white up high above them.  Insufferable as that man could be, he was not so callous that he'd leave his brothers in the hands of Templars with no effort made to find a way back and fight by their sides, yet in the end, that assumption proved little better than a pipe dream. The man had left.  He had left them behind to fend for themselves against an enemy outnumbering them three to one.  With that flitting through his mind, fingers tighten upon the hilt of his short blade, temporarily imagining the steel beneath his palm was Altair's throat.  The bastard deserved nothing less for for this -- !

                           "Malik...“ It is but a murmur, barely a breath above a whisper, coupled with the brush of an elbow against the small of his back, but it's enough to break that line of thought, pulling him back to the now.  In that moment, Altair went forgotten in favor of one still beside him. Kadar – he’s afraid.  Experience is not on his side in this.  Too many opponents, too dire the consequence of failure.  No matter how Kadar tried to hide it, there lurked a subtle quiver in his voice, in that nervous attempt at contact which served no greater purpose than the reassurance that his big brother was there.  Malik knew; he always knew, but this time -- this time, there was no comfort to offer, no right words to make his fears disappear.  There is only the hope that, in the end, those fears will go unfounded.

                           "Hold steady, Kadar.”  A whisper to follow in their native tongue, that it might pass ignored by their enemy  The creak of leather at his back signals his order obeyed, just audible over the noise of men around them, and he breathes deep in an effort to take his own advice.  Distraction now could be devastating; best he keep his focus where it ought to be:  centered upon the task at hand, on retrieving the treasure for their master and, above all, protecting his brother so they both might return to speak of events within the Temple, the latter of which he’d deemed most important.  But of course he had.  Such pains he had taken to become a reliable source for the younger man, a stalwart guardian when he needed and faithful companion when he didn’t, and even faced with dire circumstances, that would not change.  That is his duty, after all, so until Kadar might slip away, out of the Temple and off to relative safety, he was staying right there, back to back with his brother, no matter the cost of his persistence.  “I’m right behind you.”

                            Surely Kadar knew that already.

                            Through rage and panic, the thought shines, a beacon overcoming the chaos racing in mind as tables turned against them.  The circle of armored bodies coiled around them held firm, ready and waiting for the first move, for that one perfect opening to strike at the two abandoned in their foolhardy superior’s wake.  Their patience grew thin, he knew, and with it grew the desperation with which he repeated a single thought over and over.  With his mind’s constant chanting, it became something more than that, more of a prayer to whomever, whatever might listen and grant him this one final wish.  

                               Should one of us fall this day, let it be me.                                      If you’ve one shred of mercy within you, please -- take me, not him.

[shadow-the-assassino]

This is a most difficult time. The Templars re trying to bring back their ancestors but we have succeeded to stop them. Next thing assassins come back, without us trying. You know, it may just be paranoia but I feel like Juno is still punishing me. Why not torture me with the memories of my youth, or with Templars friends have died fighting against. Too personal? How can it not be personal?

Altair: How dare he. I respect him. He was a dear friend. But how dare he come back and tell me what to do. My wingspan is far greater then he can remember. The brotherhood is far larger then he could have ever imagined. Now I do except criticism. But the first thing he does is point out where I’m going wrong. There was probably a reason why this was not done, but you wouldn’t know because you were not there. As I see it he’s been 800 years dead but the brotherhood is still here. I do not take criticism from people who don’t know what the fuck is going on.

Amir: The poor poor boy. He doesn’t fully realise the shitstorm he is in. The most unfortunate genes, ancestors. None of Altairs descendants ever get happy endings. I think he is warming up to me, yes I’m certain. I think I’m developing feelings for him, which I shouldn’t, for I already know what may be the end result.

Qadir: he reminds me of Kadar. Which then reminds me of my tense relationship I had with Malik. It was Robert DeSable, my stepfather, that.... He is the polar opposite of Malik but learnt to coexist nonetheless. I do wonder however if he would be a descendant of mine also.

Malik: As you could imagine, he never looked at me with kind eyes. Well atleast in the beginning. I admire him, he brought everyone down to earth even Altair. He is the cause of Altair becoming so great. I watched generations of his family grow up, my family grow up.

💭

Altaïr: she’s trying to succeed but she is not willing to do what it takes to win.

Amir: without her I’d probably be dead. She’s a great help-and beautiful to add to all that.

Qadir: whoever that woman is she’s rather fierce.

Malik: Her good heart has not changed. But she is not handling the situation well. She is growing to involved. She did make Tazim happy so in that regard I am grateful

[teecupangel]

Tee I can't remember if I've sent this idea before, but with [insert Desmond as an animal au] of your choice (or multiple of them, or all of them)--consider Desmond stuck as an animal and getting used to that being his new life. Until. He meets one of his ancestors he spent time as (havihg sought them out of course. He could never resist). And then, maybe it's by design, or maybe it's some kind of weird crossed wires from the Bleeding Effect, the echo of a flesh and blood body given a reminder in the code of the universe what shape it's supposed to be--

Whatever it is, it turns out that as long as Desmond is in skin-to-skin contact with his ancestor, he reverts to human form.

which is to say: big convoluted excuse for lots of hugs and hand-holding.

It would be funny if Desmond was some kind of big animal so when his ancestor lets go of him, enemies would be surprised by the sudden appearance of such a beast XD

Since you gave me free rein on this, I’m going for 12th century Levant XD

.

.

Malik did not believe he was close minded.

He accepted Altaïr was in love with a mysterious man who can turn into a beast even before Altaïr had admitted it.

Altaïr didn’t try hard to deny it anyway.

Saying “this is necessary” while they were holding hands or Altaïr’s hand was on his neck or they were in each other’s embrace (and many more positions that Malik didn’t have any time to list down at the moment) was such a weak excuse that Malik didn’t really think he should even be using the term excuse in the first place.

When he sent a letter saying he was going on a ‘trip’ with Desmond after they finished the mission in Cyprus, no one in the Brotherhood was surprised.

They immediately looked for Malik to lead them as if Altaïr had planned it.

No.

This felt more like Desmond’s work. That man seemed to believe Malik could handle more things than Malik was comfortable with handling.

Yet, he persevered for no one was willing to take the mantle from him.

After the first year of his tenure as the temporary mentor, Rauf was already suggesting that he, Altaïr and Desmond should just be the mentors together.

The way he said it though made it clear to Malik that Rauf believed Malik was entangled in Altaïr and Desmond’s relationship.

Or was harboring unsaid feelings for either or both of them.

Malik wanted to vomit there and then.

He would rather lose both of his arms than be part of whatever relationship those two had.

They were the cause of Malik’s headache.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

.

Their trip lasted for four long years.

Malik’s list of complaints had turned into a journal and he was planning to read everything out loud.

But his tenure as the long suffering temporary mentor has finally come to an end for those two idiots had returned.

When he reached the courtyard to greet them, Kadar grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“Brother.” Kadar’s eyes were wide and his hands were trembling.

“What is it?” Malik asked, his mind going through the many worrying fates those two idiots could have had while they had been away.

“I’m so sorry, brother.” Kadar looked like a man who had his heart broken.

… on behalf of Malik.

Oh no.

Please.

No.

“Malik!” Desmond shouted and Kadar let go of him, stepping back into the crowd like the coward that he was.

Malik turned to where he heard Desmond’s face and saw Desmond’s grinning face.

With both of his hands holding two different persons.

Altaïr was, of course, one of them.

That was a common sight by now.

The other was a woman though.

“This is Maria Thorpe.” Desmond introduced, “The mother of our first son! He’ll be born three months from now!”

Oh, it was worse.

Many Assassins behind the three currently in front of Malik were looking at him with pitying eyes.

It seemed their imagination had run wild.

And now they had cast Malik into the role of an unfortunate man who just heard the two men (or one of these idiots) he was in love with (He. Was. Not.) had married a woman while he had been waiting for them to return.

Forget reading out loud his complaints.

He was going to beat the both of them with that damn journal.

[teecupangel]

‘What if desmond time travels and has to deal with such and such, or turns into an animal, or gets hurt, or-’

What if Desmond time travels and learns how to bake bread!! Huh!!? What about that!! What if he opens a super successful bakery, and solves all the worlds problems with the best fresh baked bread every!!

(This is /j but like. 👏🏻 anons let Desmond have peace challenge👏🏻 (but also don’t cause I love reading all of them I’m just like ‘how did you even come up with this? Sometimes lmao))

Anyway, since we already have a Desmond is a baker in Renaissance Italy idea, here’s Desmond is a baker during the Third Crusades instead:

So in this setup, Desmond would say fuck it and just open a bakery in Acre.

Jerusalem was too much of a hotspot at the moment and Acre had ports which meant there would be new customers that Desmond could lure in with the smell of freshly baked bread. 

And it worked.

Maybe a bit too well because…

Kadar visited while he was out looking for information for his brother’s current target. 

They both stared at one another for a moment and then Desmond just did his usual ‘Welcome! Are you looking for anything specific or would you like to hear today’s recommendations?’ spiel while Kadar just stares at him.

When Kadar went “Altaïr?”, Desmond just gave him his best bartender ‘I’m being respectful but also distant so you’ll still tip me’ smile as he goes, “I’m sorry, we don’t have a bread called ‘Altaïr’.”

Then he showed Kadar the star-shaped pull apart sweet bread he’s just perfected and go “But maybe I can interest you in this pull apart start bread? It’s sweet and fluffy and freshly baked.”

And sweet poor Kadar leaves the bakery with a basket of breads instead because Desmond was good at using both Ezio’s charms and his bartending social skills to get customers to buy more than they should.

Hey.

A man needed to profit to keep the roof over his head while trying to experiment for the upcoming debut of his sugar-free pastries.

The next day, Malik entered the bakery but Desmond was ready.

Desmond had planned for this!

“Welcome!” Desmond greeted, giving Malik his sweetest smile that he knew would completely unnerve Malik.

Desmond weaponized the similarity between him and Altaïr to unnerve Malik to the point that he cannot focus on observing Desmond, distracted by such a sweet smile that looked so disturbing in his eyes because he’s imagining Altaïr doing such an expression and it was horror beyond Malik’s wildest imagination. 

Okay.

Desmond was exaggerating but that got Malik to not ask too many invasive questions and leave the bakery after purchasing two baskets worth of bread so Desmond was going to consider that a mission successful.

And then…

His greatest adversary entered his little quaint bakery.

And Desmond was ready for him.

“Welcome!” Desmond greeted happily, “Are you looking for anything specific or would you like to see today’s recommendations?”

Altaïr simply stared at him.

But that didn’t matter.

Desmond held all the cards.

Because he knew one of Altaïr’s greatest weakness…

Altaïr secretly loved sweets.

“Today’s a special day!” Desmond clapped his hands in practiced joy that wasn’t over the top, “Today’s the debut of our dessert line! Here.”

Desmond took out a tray of sweet deserts, glistening in either honey or fruit jams. 

“Would you like a taste?” Desmond asked with the sweetness of the snake that tempted Eve to take a bite.

And Altaïr…

Altaïr left the bakery with a basket filled with desserts and pastries, quietly sinking into the shadows before anyone could see him and ask for one of the forbidden sweets he had acquired.

[teecupangel]

I know I'm going to hell but, this video and the little kid is Kadar.

Context in Chilean Spanish and my best try to translate it to English:

Title: Pelotazo a niño chico con completo

*The camera shows a little kid eating a completo italiano while to other kids talk*

Kid A: The birthday was alright (Tuvo weno el cumpleaños)

Kid B: Yeah, it's alright (Ta weno)

Kid A: I mean it's alright *gibrish* (Osea esta weno .... )

Kid B: We are like shit because there are no women (tamos como las weas por que no hay minas)

*the ball hits the little kid *

Tumblr didn’t include the video but I think this is it:

I’m just imagining this is like Al Mualim’s birthday and one of the older Assassins are asking how the kids enjoy the birthday. Rauf being the kid who joked “we are not pleased for there was no flower.” because he’s the oldest of the group and he can joke about these kinds of things.

Kadar gets hit by the ball that Altaïr and Abbas were passing around after a few kids teased Abbas that he couldn’t kick the ball hard enough for Altaïr not to block it (which they only teased about because Altaïr and Abbas were just casually passing it around and that was boring).

Abbas didn’t mean to hit Kadar.

Altaïr had been distracted because he saw Al Mualim exiting the fortress and he wondered if he was there to take Altaïr back inside. His attention only returned to Abbas when he heard his friend beg for mercy as he ran away from a furious Malik who chased after him with murder in his eyes.

Altaïr helped Kadar get up instead because he felt a bit responsible for getting distracted.

And in all his most-definitely-got-a-concussion state, Kadar saw Altaïr as he helped him up and…

That is the day Kadar developed a crush on Altaïr.

… and threw up everything he ate at the feast on Altaïr’s robes.

[teecupangel]

Typical Desmond goes back in time after touching the eye but he turns into a ghost, kinda cool if he can change forms

I’m not sure what you mean by change form. Like… he can turn into ghost animals or he can turn into different dead people?

Or is this like he has a nearly transparent form that’s wearing his old clothes then he has his ‘dead form’ which is a ghostly visage of how his corpse looked after he died?

It could work regardless of which you pick, I guess?

You know what would be fun?

If we were going for the Ghost film ghost rules.

Only one person could see Desmond and that person isn’t his ancestor. So this means he has to coordinate and get the trust of another person to help his ancestor.

Possible Candidates:

Altaïr

Let’s be honest, the first person we thought of was Malik XD and it would be fun because Malik could believe that Desmond may or may not have been Altaïr’s dead twin brother and Malik ‘hates’ Altaïr but Desmond is sweet and nice and it’s clear he’s trying to do the right thing so… Malik has to suffer thru helping Altaïr for Desmond.

It would be fun if it was Kadar though. Like, Desmond does some kind of ghost thingie and that keeps Kadar alive, maybe they’re sharing the same life (kinda like Lydia and Captain from GBF), and since this is a Kadar who had died because of Altaïr’s rash decisions, Desmond needs to try and repair Kadar’s broken trust for Altaïr among other things.

Okay, hear me out. Adha is also a possible recipient. Hell, we don’t know what the fuck the Chalice thing was meant to be anyway so what if the whole Chalice thing was because Adha was the perfect ‘vessel’ for Desmond to connect to. Desmond doesn’t know who Adha is, not really, Altaïr’s memories about her that Desmond received were vague af so he’s flying blind and Adha thinks he’s some djinn with clairvoyance skills. She agrees to help because it was clear he was trying to help Altaïr and… Desmond is totally unsure how all of these would play out since he was helping Adha survive her inevitable death as well.

If you want to fuck with Desmond, Abbas is right there. Desmond would definitely have a hard time getting the cooperation of the person who hates Altaïr the most XD

Ezio

Petruccio would be the best ‘candidate’ of all of Ezio’s siblings. His fragile body could be connected to why he’s able to see and talk to Desmond (and just imagine the angst when Desmond believes that Petruccio could see him because he already has one foot in the grave). This idea would give us Desmond acting as an older brother and character development for Petruccio.

Wanna make it fun? Lucrezia Borgia would be a fun candidate. Make Desmond the only person who sees Lucrezia as something more than what her family wishes her to be which leads to her running away from the Borgias and becoming an Assassin under Desmond. Desmond did not plan for any of it. He was just trying to get Lucrezia to see reason and help him get in contact with Ezio XD

Ratonhnhaké:ton

Of course, Kaniehtí:io is on the top of the candidate list because we all want her to survive. We could even make Desmond appear to her after Ratonhnhaké:ton is conceived and he could act more like a friend and sorta ghostly parent to Ratonhnhaké:ton. Kaniehtí:io would still probably push Haytham away even if Desmond tries to stop her, asking him if he really thinks that Haytham, as he is right now, could change and let go of the darkness in his eyes. Desmond is unable to answer her because, as much as he wants to give Ratonhnhaké:ton a happier life, he personally doesn’t believe Haytham could change. He’s loyal to the Templar cause and Desmond shares Kaniehtí:io’s fear that letting Haytham stay would ‘corrupt’ Ratonhnhaké:ton.

Kanen'tó:kon would be a fun candidate and, with Desmond being there as his ‘ghostly advisor’, Desmond has a chance to stop the tragedy that would force Ratonhnhaké:ton to kill Kanen'tó:kon in self-defense. Also, depending on how young Desmond connects with Kanen'tó:kon, this might end with Kanen'tó:kon also becoming an Assassin.

[teecupangel]

From @knine-nights-loves-ac

So much Desmond, so few timelines.

I’ve started to add more Desmonds in the same timeline, it’s only a matter of time before we add an army of them XD

From @a-sleepyblackcatyawning

I’m imagining Altair trying to convince Malik of this Desmond-got-split-in-two-and-one-of-him-is-the-mongoose theory. Malik thinks Altair has lost his mind, kadar is trying to be supportive of Altair, but even he thinks it’s a little nuts.

“Desmond…”

Both the human and the mongoose turned to face him, with the human Desmond’s “Yeah?” overshadowed by the mongoose’s greeting.

Malik’s right eye twitched.

He wasn’t going to let Altaïr’s insane ‘theory’ get a hold of him now.

Mongoose Desmond shared the same name as Desmond (Why? No one knows. Malik blamed Desmond) so it was normal for it to acknowledge any mention of the name.

“I believe you should talk to Altaïr.”

“Altaïr?” Desmond and the mongoose both tilted their head slightly, “Did something happen?”

Malik stared at the coordinated movement, too similar to be a coincidence.

Pets tend to mimic their owners.

Yes.

That was it.

He must not be taken in by Altaïr’s words.

“He needs… a distraction.” Malik answered, unable to hide the unsure way he said such things. He sighed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Suggest that you two hunt nearby or something. Just…”

Distract him from that ludicrous notion of his.

“Drag him elsewhere for a bit and give him a mandatory ‘break’.”

Desmond laughed as he nodded, “Alright. I’ll go drag our dear mentor out of his hidey-hole.”

“Thank you.” Malik nodded, ignoring the way the mongoose nodded as if to agree with his ‘request’ as well.

He watched the two walk towards Altaïr’s office.

A spar.

Yes.

That would clear his mind of this insane idea that Altaïr had put forth.

(As if to smack Malik for trying to regain some sanity, the mandatory ‘break’ turns out to be Desmond and the mongoose dragging Altaïr to the training ring to spar… with Malik. One of these days, he was going to shave both Desmonds.)

Weird suggestion: thought of your Yew Branches where Desmond is reborn as Elijah and also the ask you did where Altaïr is reborn as a mongoose. What if Desmond is reborn as a mongoose back in time with another Desmond. So Desmond now has a pet Mongoose!Desmond? Kinda confusing but I think it’d be funny.

The Yew Branch oneshot where Desmond is reborn as Elijah and the Altaïr is reborn as a Mongoose and becomes Desmond’s unofficial roommate.

To make this less confusing, Mongoose Desmond will be named Mongoose. If this was an actual fic, his name will probably be Des to differentiate him with human Desmond.

What would be funny is that Desmond found his Mongoose self by accident. Mongoose Desmond just wanted to get to his ancestor’s place and figure things out as he goes so he’s now having an identity crisis because he saw Desmond. Desmond just think of him as an animal who wanted to stay with him and he liked the company.

Mongoose believes this Desmond is an imposter.

Desmond just thinks he got an animal companion.

When they reached their ancestor, things slow down a bit and one might stay it turns into more like a slice of life setup but with Assassins and Templars involved.

Mongoose makes it clear that his favorite is the ancestor.

Desmond just shrugs it off, it’s not really all that surprising considering who his ancestor is.

It’s actually the ancestor who is getting this ‘vibe’ that there is something ‘strange’ going on.

He didn’t understand what the feeling was until he started seeing the same habits and mannerisms Desmond and the Mongoose has.

At first, he could excuse it as the pet adopting his master’s habits and mannerisms. But it was too much.

It was too similar.

And Mongoose was simply too intelligent to simply be just a normal animal.

Was it possible…

No.

That was impossible.

Then again…

Desmond did say he had come from the future.

Would it really be strange if Desmond didn’t realize that he…

… had split into two and his other half was turned into a mongoose?

…

…

…

Yes.

Yes, this was crazy talk.

[teecupangel]

Au where Desmond is a dragon, looking like an apple of eden, and going around through the times 'saving' things, aka changing Canon history so no good people die, like kadar/malik/sef/auditore family/Connor's tribe. He can speak telepathically, has some sort of breath attack (doesn't have to be fire, could be anything) and of course flies. And while he saves anyone, he is loyal to the 'protagonist' Assassin most (altair, ezio, Connor, etc)

It would be symbolic for Desmond to have a sunlight-type breath attack. It doesn’t spew actual fire but a beam of white light as bright as the sun and has the same temperature as the solar flare that he died to save the world from.

Desmond has no idea what the hell it is or how it works so he just calls it his ‘laser beam’ because it looks like a laser to him.

Also… you say dragon and the first two things I thought of are “oh god, Desmond’s hoard is gonna be all the important stuff in AC lore” and…

You know what would be funny?

If Desmond has this urge, this itch, this need so ingrained into his dragon self to…

Kidnap the AC protagonists.

Because dragons are well known to kidnap princesses and a brave knight going on an adventure to save these damsel in distresses are simply part of human culture by now.

Just imagine…

Malik, after having lost a rock-paper-scissor contest, having to be the one to ‘save’ Altaïr from the fierce dragon that destroyed Solomon’s Temple just to burrow deep into the strange place where the Ark had been, incinerating Robert and his lackies before they could kill Kadar then taking off with both the Ark and an angry Altaïr shouting to put him down or he’ll skin his lizard skin. When he get to the supposed dragon lair, Altaïr is just in the middle of the hoard, reading an old book, with a large dragon curled around him, purring like a cat… a large cat with a purr that makes the entire cave shake slightly. Malik just staring at Altaïr with a ‘why aren’t you trying to escape???’ and Altaïr just going “Malik, good, you’re here. I’ve found letters and journals that says Al Mualim has betrayed us. Here.” Altaïr throws a bag at him, making Desmond grumble in displeasure which he just rolls his eyes as he said “We’ll get you something shiny. I’m sure the Templars have something in Arsuf.” and Malik is just “WHAT???”.

And that is how the legend of a dragon underneath Masyaf is born. It is said it guards the most prized treasures and knowledge in the entire world.

… It should. The Levantine Brotherhood had to be careful in transferring all of Desmond’s hoard or they’d get an ear-piercing howl equivalent of “FRAGILE, HANDLE WITH CARE!”

And the most annoying part is that they all know Desmond can talk to them telepathically. He just prefers to howl whenever he wants to be annoying.

The next one to be ‘kidnapped’ is Ezio and Ezio doesn’t need any dashing knight to save him. No, no. He got Desmond to just stay in the Sanctuary (which was made to be just as big as his home in Masyaf before because the Brotherhood had decided all secret lairs must have a basement as big as that… just in case the legendary dragon decides to visit or stay a while…) by promising to bring him as many shinies as he can.

Claudia is his favorite Auditore though because she figured a dragon would be a better guard for their money than a bank. Also, Desmond is okay with getting funds for any reconstructions or buildings Ezio wants to do because Ezio gives him more shinies which meant that they also have extra emergency money if they needed it.

And he managed to destroy the Papal Army in a matter of minutes. Sure, that meant Rome was left defenseless and the Borgias became known as the family that got Rome destroyed and sacked but… weeellll… at least Monteriggioni later became an independent state which is nice?

Edward found him… sorta by accident. He heard the tales of the legendary golden white dragon, of course. Of how it hoards the greatest most priceless riches in the entire world. But, by his time, everyone believed it to be a legend. Only those coming from Italy and Levant truly believed the legend. But Edward did ‘find’ a certain journal that talks about it from the headquarters of the Assassins that Mary took him to. So he went out to find this supposed dragon hoard and… well… he got captured on the way to the hoard.

In his damn ship no less.

The dragon just swooped right in and taken Edward from the helm, much to the surprise of his crew.

Adéwalé was the only one of his crew that had the heart to try and find him. He found Edward pinned to a very large hoard by one huge dragon hand and Adéwalé realized what Edward had been doing when he heard, “Alright, alright! I’m sorry! I won’t try to pocket anything anymore! Promise! Yes, I know this is my third promise today but I’m serious this time!”

Shay had heard the legends of the dragon but never saw it. Until Lisbon… When he got to the location where the POE was… the dragon was there, curled around it.

It told him that this POE was unstable and touching it would cause an earthquake that would destroy whatever was above them and Shay just went…

Alrighty then. He isn’t going to argue with the dragon of legends that can talk directly to his mind.

If Achilles still wants to take the POE, he can take it himself.

Achilles heard and believed the stories of the dragon, of course, so if the dragon says that then yeah… better order Shay to find all the other POEs in the manuscript and make sure they remain untouched for as long as possible then.

Desmond chills in the Grand Temple during Ratonhnhaké:ton’s time. His laser beam incinerates everything but does not have to give out any kind of flame at all so he can use it without worrying about accidentally causing forest fires which is nice. Desmond ‘kidnapped’ Ratonhnhaké:ton when he was a child but he let him go anyway so Ratonhnhaké:ton just started visiting him before he could kidnap him. The villagers believe that this means Ratonhnhaké:ton has been chosen by the dragon and it’s a chill dragon that’s only main problem is it likes to hoard feathers for some reason and that agitates all the other birds in the area.

Charles Lee… Charles Lee didn’t live too long in this one.

Also, Ratonhnhaké:ton doesn’t need a ship. He has a dragon!

Arno got captured by the dragon early on. The most embarrassing part was that the ‘knight’ who came to rescue him?

The pretty redhaired de la Serre girl he didn’t even know the name of.

And. It. Kept. Happening.

It’s gotten to the point that his father would check the dragon’s liar first if he can’t find his son and Uncle Pierre has started calling him ‘dragon bait’. He honestly preferred being called pisspot.

“Maybe this time you can finally ask her what her name is.”

“Shut up, Desmond.”

Jayadeep had to be the one to ‘save’ Jacob and Evie from the dragon that ‘kidnapped’ them. He knew the dragon had a liar underneath London and Henry had actually talked to the dragon twice now. He liked to be called Desmond and he was the same dragon as the one in the legends so he thought it wouldn’t take a long time for him to ask Desmond to give the twins back.

Unfortunately…

“Please, Evie, we need to go-”

“Just a few more minutes!” (gasp) “This is the first edition of the-”

“I found the rum! Lots of it! Hey, Desmond, can you get drunk?!”

“And this is the actual journal of Leonardo da Vinci, best known as an ally of our Brotherhood and- oh. Oh. Oooohhh… there’s a lot of nude sketches of a man in this one.”

“Where?! Trade you for a casket of rum?!”

“I thought you wanted to get Desmond drunk?”

“Right! Come on, Desmond. Let’s try and see if you can get drunk!”

Jayadeep sighed and left the hoard.

He’ll try again tomorrow.

[bewareofchris]

What about Altair and Malik meeting Shaun for the first time? Ah! And was Kadar there?

R/Nc-17 | Altmal | Brief sex scene?  Mostly talking

a/n: continuation of THIS ONE

Maria had followed them back to the hotel, encouraged by the promises of an alcohol of her choosing and the potential to laugh over the imminent disaster of internet friendships.  Out on the balcony, with her skirt swishing around her legs and a wine bottle in one hand, she was pink with laughter.  “Perhaps you shouldn’t be so intimidating,” was popping in between the bubbles of laughter.  “That poor man looked as if he were waiting for you to murder him.  The only time,” she pointed her finger at him with great seriousness, “that he looked comfortable was when you kissed Malik.”

Altair scoffed.  He had discarded the tie and undone the top buttons of his shirt almost as soon as he’d escaped the formality of the restaurant.  “Do I look so scary?”

“Yes,” Maria said.  “You’re territorial.  Do you think that man was sniffing after your mate?  Your young?”

“My young?” Altair repeated.

“Kadar,” she motioned back inside toward where Malik and his brother were discussing how meeting Shaun had gone.  

“Shaun wasn’t sniffing around anyone,” Altair countered.  “He’s not my friend.  He talks to Malik.  I’m just the vehicle to get them here.”

Maria slid up against his body, her arm went around his lower back as she rested her chin against his chest and whispered, “Shaun is no threat to you.  And it’s not your responsibility to make him like you.”

Altair was not comforted by these assertions.  He just sighed.  “Might be nice not to be perceived as a threat for once,” he answered.

“I didn’t perceive you as a threat,” Maria answered.  “A giant toddler, perhaps.  But not a threat.”  Her smile was perfectly self-aware.  She lifted up to tip-toes to kiss his cheek.  

–

“But why are you so awkward around strangers?” Kadar asked.  “I’ve seen you be more welcoming to cockroaches than you were to Shaun.  Why?”

“That’s an exaggeration,” Malik said from behind the screen of his laptop.  He was frowning over whatever he was reading on the screen (but he always frowning), when he finally looked up (perhaps sensing that he had to have a better response) he just sighed.  “I don’t know,” he said.  “I did want to meet him.  I thought it would be great.  I had all sorts of ideas about what we could talk about or not talk about or do and it just felt forced.”

“He was nervous.”

“Why?”

Kadar narrowed his eyes at him.  Malik had never quite understood the concept of ‘social classes’ possibly because he’d simply sailed through school not trying to make a single friend along the way.  Malik had a singular determination that had probably made it impossible for people to bully him.  In fact, if it had been Malik that Scott Simmons had taken a notion to attacking, the moron would have had to give up for failure to be heard or seen.  “You and your boyfriend are international celebrities?  Altair is rich beyond imagining?  Shaun probably lives in a little apartment in a semi-decent neighborhood and if I remember, he works in a basement?  You’re so far beyond his social class he can’t even see you.”

Malik was just staring at him like he’d spoken a(n unknown) foreign language.

“Altair just looks scary?”

“How do I fix these problems?”  

Kadar could have grabbed his brother by the shoulder just to shake him until sense returned but he resisted the urge.  “I’m going to go check out his homemade game system tomorrow.  I’ll bring snacks.  I’ll try to convince him you’re not marrying Satan.”

“Altair’s not satan,” Malik said almost automatically and then, after, “and I’m not marrying him.”

Kadar snorted, “yet.”  They had clearly reached the part of the conversation where Malik was going to argue against him for the sake of it.  Instead of trying, he said, “so what embarrassing sex thing do you have to do with Altair because you lost the bet?”

“That’s none of your business,” Malik answered.

“Did you get your airplane blowjob?” 

“Yes I did.”  Then Malik devoted his full attention to his laptop.

–

Shaun did not invite Rebecca to his room to lay on his bed and compare notes about the evening but she showed up regardless.  Her hand was threaded through his as she hogged half his pillow and half his bed.  

“She was beautiful,” Rebecca sighed.  As there was no point in agreeing or disagreeing, he did neither.  She twisted around so she was lying half across his chest anyway.  “What’s wrong with you?  I thought you’d have more to say.”

“Oh?” Funny that.  “I told you I didn’t want to meet them.  I don’t know what to say.  I don’t know how to behave.  I don’t know what to do with the suit.”  He’d hung it up as nicely as he could just in case Altair wanted to repossess it.  

“How was it dancing with him?” she asked.  “It looked like floating on a cloud.”

It had been a bit like floating on a cloud.  It had been surreal in the extreme.  Shaun shrugged.  “It was–”  But he could not dismiss it as nothing.  Rather than try to unravel that, he said, “Kadar is coming tomorrow to play on your megasystem.  He’s offered to provide any snacks or drinks we might want.  I assume you have requests.”

“Hell yes I do,” Rebecca said.  “Do you have his number?  I’ll need to start texting him the list now.”

–

“Beyond his social class,” popped right out of Malik’s mouth (erupting one assumed, from the dormant part of his brain).  It didn’t matter that he was straddling Altair’s lap (or that up to that moment, they had been very near to fucking) because these things had the tendency to occur to Malik whenever they pleased.  “I’m not beyond his social class.”

It was a touching situation because it was before breakfast, not long after waking up, and Altair wanted orgasms more than he wanted a fight.  He was willing to ignore how his attempts to arouse Malik were successful but apparently not noteworthy.  In fact, Altair rolled them over so Malik was under him.  

He liked being on his back for these sorts of conversations anyway.  “Why would Kadar be part of his social class if I’m not?”  Malik didn’t seem to care one way or another that Altair was going to continue on with the fucking plan.  “That’s ludicrous, if we were of such different social classes, why would he talk to me at all?  And you’re–”  Malik’s tirade was briefly interrupted so he could pay attention to the fact that he was getting fucked.  “Pillow,” he said as he groped around the bed to find one to put under his hips.  “So you’re just going to do this?” 

Altair smiled at him.  “I don’t have anything to contribute.  I’m not part of his social class.”  He kissed Malik’s offended frown.  “Neither are you.”

“Social class is instantly transferable?”

“It would be if you’d let me fuck you without a condom,” Altair said against his neck.  He didn’t see Malik roll his eyes but he felt it with his whole body.  

“Just fuck me and stop talking,” Malik said.  He pulled Altair by the hair so he could kiss him and that was far better than trying to worry over things like why Shaun didn’t appear to be comfortable around them.

–

Kadar considered attempting to find and purchase everything on the long list he’d been given and decided it was much simpler to text Rebecca (who had texted him her list) and ask her to meet him where they sold all the things. 

“Shaun is preparing himself,” she said when they were in the aisles.  “It takes him a while to prepare.”

“I understand,” Kadar agreed, “this one time I did a make-up challenge and it took me hours.  I have nothing but respect for people who do it everyday.”  It was a stupid joke (his specialty) and for a moment he was sure that it had fallen flat.

Rebecca looked at him over her shoulder with her lips almost in a smile.  “You’re intentionally misunderstanding me?”

“Yes,” Kadar agreed.  

That made her chuckle and she shook her head.  “Shaun doesn’t make friends easily.  It’s tragic because once you get six layers down, past all the bullshit, he’s a great guy.”

“My brother’s a jerk straight to the core.”  Because it was true.  “I mean, he means well but he’s an asshole.”

Rebecca threaded her arm through his, “I think we can be friends.  Shaun will come around; your brother can join up if he feels like it.  Not sure about Altair, he seems…”

“Yeah,” Kadar agreed.  “He’s a good guy.  A lot better than he gets credit for.”

–

Shaun had mentally prepared himself for Kadar’s visit.  He’d coached himself through several different small catastrophes and decided against lighting candles to mask the smell of his failure to make something of himself.  While he rehearsed various lines about how his flat really was a very nice one, very affordable, very snug and he didn’t need much since he had no aspirations in life and no chances at a romantic encounter, he had not thought up one single thing to say to the sheer overwhelming reality of having the small bear occupying his living room.

Kadar appeared to have grown since they last saw each other.  “That’s amazing,” he said with no pretense, “what does it play?”

Rebecca snorted, “you meant, what doesn’t it play.  You name it, my console can handle it.”  They dropped their bags (and bags, and bags) of groceries on the couch in favor of looking through the shelves full of games they could conceivably play.  “Shaun!” Rebecca shouted, “did you ever want to know obscure game trivia?  Because he knows it.”

“I love obscure trivia.  It’s useful to shut my brother up.”  He was honestly delighted to be sorting through games; he argued with Rebecca about whether to play a multiplayer or a single player.  The longer he stood there, larger than reality, the less and less it seemed to matter that he’d come across an ocean (and across the internet) because it made perfect sense that he was here now.

“Rebecca is particularly fond of Mario Kart,” Shaun suggested.

“Me too,” Kadar said.  “I get Princess Peach.”

“Do you know Princess Peach has a sister?” Shaun asked.

Rebecca groaned.

“I didn’t,” Kadar said.  He accepted the remote when Rebecca handed it to him and after looking back and forth around him, sat on the floor with his back against the couch.  “I jump around,” he said by way of explanation, “I’ve got long arms, it’s very dangerous for your noses.”

Shaun took the controller that Rebecca gave him and ignored the smug smirk she offered him.

–

Altair honestly did not care about any of the landmarks or romantic spots in England.  He’d seen them all at one point in his life or another.  (And the romantic ones were filled up with memories of momentary entanglements anyway.)  He didn’t care about them, but he did care about Malik grinding his teeth over social classes.  “I told you that this would happen.  I told you that once you were with me, everyone would see you differently.  You’ve put up with the invasive questions, the speculation, the tabloids–my family.  Does this really matter so much?” he asked rather than keep up the pretense of sight-seeing. 

“None of that seems real,” Malik said.  “I’ve never met the people that write the trash about me.  I don’t read it.  I try not to notice it when its nearby.  I got to college, I live with you in a house–not a castle,” he motioned at the whole of England as if it were one large castle, “so it doesn’t seem real.”

“Until it does?”

Malik shrugged.  “This isn’t a matter of me questioning our relationship.  I love you.  I’m here, I’m staying.”  Then again he cracked a smile out of nowhere, “I’m just used to people disliking me because of me, not because of a preconceived notion of social class.  This isn’t even personal.  We make him uncomfortable and it’s not us.” 

“We can try again.  Or not.  He seemed to like Kadar.”  

“Everyone likes Kadar.”

It was almost physically impossible not to like Kadar.  Even when you tried.  Altair pushed his hands down into his pockets.  “So, are you enjoying this?”

“No,” Malik said.  (As much as Altair was loathed to agree with Leonardo about anything, Malik simply did not have any beauty in his soul.  His utter inability to appreciate the wonder of this world was almost infuriating.)  “Kadar probably won’t be back until late.”

“Probably not.”

“I still owe you my half of the bet.”

“I’ll call for a car,” Altair said.  Malik’s smile was absolutely wicked and it was the most perfect thing in the whole damn world.  Altair kissed him while the phone rang, thinking about all those dirty promises he was going to deliver on.