#loki assassin

[iiluvkiss]

[thisdorkyblogthing]

In my frantic reblog fest last week I was suddenly struck by The Inspiration upon seeing this post again. The brain works in mysterious ways. Shout out to @midnottart for providing such gorgeous Brain FuelTM.

~2,400 words. Loki's real real bad at assassinating, thank god he's hot.

-

It was comfortable here, slipping through the shadows. Loki was a shadow. He crept along the edges, quieter than a mouse, tip-toed past sleepy guards. This was easy. Automatic. He'd been training for this for as long as he could stand on his own feet. He stayed quiet and sowed chaos where no one would spot him. It wasn't like the first time he came to the palace, dressed up like some rich asshole and walking through the front doors where he would be seen. He'd gone against his orders and tucked himself along the walls where it felt safest. He'd been instructed to mingle a little -- not too much, just enough to blend in, to look normal -- but he couldn't. He wasn't made to giggle at inane jokes and flirt with those he wished were dead. So he did what he knew best and stuck to the edges, listening and watching, eyeing all the potential entry and exit points, all the small, ignored spots that he could slip into and hide.

He hadn't planned for the king to be the one to spot him.

The artwork littered throughout the kingdom hadn't done the man justice, much to Loki's chagrin. No artist had been able to truly capture the light that shone behind his sky blue eyes, the richness to the golden hue of his skin and hair. They hadn't even attempted to capture his smile with all it's disarming warmth. They had opted for a menacing glower fit for the accomplished warrior that he was.

Loki would tell the others that he had changed his strategy once he'd grabbed the king's attention, seducing him to gain his trust and get entry to the most vulnerable areas of the palace, but the sad, sickening truth of it was that Loki had been the one to get seduced. The anger that had been instilled in him since birth had dissolved into a quivering lump of nothing once the king laid his lust-filled gaze on him. The heavy hand on his waist turning his rigid spine soft, his mind pliable to the suggestions whispered into his ear by a deep, husky voice.

He'd been ravished in ways he'd only entertained on his most lonely nights, pleasured so thoroughly that even as he snuck through the tight, near forgotten corridors of the palace he needed to pause for a moment and fight back the memories of it, his stomach clenching with want.

The shame of it made bile rise up the back of his throat. If anyone knew- he shook away the thought. No one would ever know. He'd do what he was meant to do. He'd kill the king and pave the way for his father to take the throne. And then his life would be his own, finally. That night would be a distant memory.

A pleasant, distant memory.

He found his way to the king's bedroom, taking his time to ensure no one would hear or see a glimpse of him. He'd take his freshly sharpened dagger and slash the king's throat as he slept, escaping just as quietly as he came, and no one would know until the king was long dead. Loki could envision it. The blood pooled around him like a sickening halo, the light dimmed from his pretty eyes. Assuming he would open his eyes at all.

All the doors were large and heavy, the ones that came directly between the king and everyone else even more so. Loki pushed it open slowly, just enough to squeeze through. The king's bedroom was as luxurious as Loki remembered, the heavy, detailed tapestries that lined the walls making the room feel more quiet and cozy than most of the others he'd seen. The fire pit in the center of the room still held glowing embers that dampened the chill from the air that poured through the broad, open archways that lead out to a balcony.

And at the other end of the room was the king. Thor. Naked save for a crumpled sheet wrapped around his waist and sprawled across the massive, soft mattress.

His traitorous mind conjured the memory of being laid down on it, the silkiness of sheets against his skin, how breathless he'd gotten as Thor loomed over him. His throat dried and he tried to shake it from his mind, taking a quick breath to refocus. He wore soft soled shoes to move silently over the tiled floor, making his way across the large room until he was just feet from the bed. He grabbed the handle of his dagger strapped to his thigh, pulling it free from it's sheath.

Another breath and then he climbed carefully onto the bed.

His muscles trembled with each slow movement, heart hammering like a drum in his ears. This was the moment his entire life had been building up to. His purpose for existing. The king was still, his chest rising and lowering in a slow, steady pace. His gloves were damp with sweat, his fingers cold and numb. He carefully straddled the king's hips, fighting back memory of the weight of his hands on Loki's hips.

He clenched his jaw tight and shook his head. Get it done quick and get out.

He leaned forward, pointing the blade at Thor's exposed throat. He studied the king's face, the fine lines and scars etched onto his skin, the dark lashes that fanned out over the delicate skin under his eyes, his coarse, golden beard, and the soft, pink lips peeking out from under it. Loki leaned in further, pressing the tip of the dagger under his chin as his eyes fluttered shut. He let himself come dangerously close, his lips brushing against Thor's. A tiny final indulgence, he told himself.

He lingered, their noses bumping as he thoughtlessly repeated the movement.

He froze as he felt a weight settle on to the back of his neck, lungs clenching as he cautiously opened his eyes to see that the king's face was unchanged. Eyes shut, mouth relaxed, breathing steady.

His mind screamed at him to slash at him and run, but he couldn't move. Thor tossed his other arm around Loki's waist, pulling Loki's body the rest of the way down onto his. Loki's breath left him in a shaky gasp, blood rushing through his head. The king finally opened his eyes, and Loki knew he was done. He'd so utterly failed at his one task in life, and he could only watch and wonder what would happen next.

"You know," Thor's voice rumbled, their lips still nearly touching, "if you want to assassinate someone, you shouldn't waste time kissing them first."

Loki's hand shook so violently that he nicked Thor's chin with the tip of the blade. He seemed unbothered.

"How long?" Loki eked out, unable to string together anything more coherent.

"I heard you open the door," he replied, "I would've figured you'd know I was a light sleeper, but I guess Laufey forgot to mention that."

Loki gasped, shivering in Thor's loose but unyielding hold.

Thor chuckled in a not entirely pleasant way, the arm around his waist leaving so he could pry the dagger free from Loki's clenched fist. He chucked across the room, the metal skittering across the floor.

"H-how long?" Loki whispered, barely able to suck in a full breath.

Thor began to knead the back of Loki's neck gently, his other hand slithering under his shirt to run up his spine, leaving goosebumps in it's wake.

"You have all those sharp features and that same paranoid look about you," he explained, "I knew as soon as I saw you skulking around at the ball."

Loki let his head drop to Thor's firm chest, spitting out a curse.

"You must have a pretty mother, Laufey's face looks much better on you," the king went on, fingers tangling into Loki's hair.

Loki shrugged, his voice wobbling as he replied. "I don't know, she left when I was small."

"Seems about right," Thor sighed, "there can't be much romance with a man that obsessed with power."

A sob broke free from Loki's throat, tears spilling from his tightly shut eyes. "I don't want to die."

"Hush, I'm not going to kill you," Thor said with a chuckle, "that was barely an assassination attempt."

"My father-" Loki rasped.

"Ah, him," Thor said with another sigh, "then it seems you must stay here with me then."

Loki finally lifted his head to look at Thor again. "You're going to imprison me?"

The king's mouth twisted, nose scrunching. "That's a bit of a strong word for it, but I certainly can't just let someone who would conspire against me go back to their fellow conspirators, could I?"

Loki was suddenly on his back, pressed down into the mattress by the weight of the king's body, feeling a tingle deep in his belly at the familiar position. The hand under Loki's neck kept his gaze focused on Thor's face, letting him see the heat rush to his face and color his cheeks.

"I could, perhaps, keep him under my watch, let him stay in my own bed even, especially if he tells me everything he knows about his father's plans."

Loki inhaled sharply, his mind swirling at the king's suggestion. He was dizzy, overwhelmed and exhausted all at once from the stress of the whole night.

Could he live here, with the one he'd always known as the enemy, and so thoroughly betray his father?

Loki clung to Thor's broad shoulders and tried to pull him down, too overwhelmed to even speak.

Thor dipped low, sealing his mouth to Loki's. Loki let out a muffled whimper, clawing at the king's broad, muscular back and clinging desperately to him. The hand pinned under Loki's back snaked around, pushing his shirt up higher, bunching the fabric under Loki's chin. As more of their skin touched the more frantic Loki became, the craving that had simmered within him since their night together bursting out of him with a fiery intensity. He bit down on Thor's lip and dug his nails deeper into Thor's back, his hips grinding down onto Loki in response.

Thor freed himself from the clutches of Loki's sharp teeth and lavished him with that smile that had so thoroughly ruined Loki in the first place. "I'll take that as a yes?"

Loki wanted the layers between them to vanish, huffing as he squirmed under Thor's weight. "Get inside me already," he ordered through clenched teeth, though the words sounded more petulant

Thor laughed, rolling his hips as he dipped his head to plant soft, fluttering kisses along his jaw. "Patience, my eager little magpie, you know I will satisfy you."

Loki whined, writhing hopelessly as Thor took his time running his hand over Loki's body. He slid down to Loki's exposed chest, lips and tongue finding their way to one of Loki's nipples, teasing at the sensitive flesh with the lightest pinch of his teeth. Loki's cock throbbed, a pitiful cry escaping from his throat.

Thor had just moved to the other nipple when the sound of heavy footfalls forced Thor to pull away. Loki's pounding heart leapt to his throat, desire somewhat forgotten as a handful of guards charged into the bedroom.

"Your Majesty," the guard leading the group said, breathless, "we believe someone might have entered the palace." His eyes fell on to Loki, lingering briefly before moving back to Thor.

Thor pushed himself up, hopping down from the bed without bothering to take the sheet along with him or making any effort to cover himself at all.

"You think someone might've snuck in?" he hissed, irritation clear in the expression he wore. He gestured to Loki, still sprawled out with his shirt hiked up his chest, his face hot with arousal and shame as their eyes nervously fell on to him.

"If he'd been more competent you'd be finding my corpse right now," Thor said tersely. The guards all moved at once towards him, sending Loki crawling up the bed while his heart fluttered with terror.

"Stand down, idiots," he barked, "I have him handled."

"My maids have thwarted more assassinations than you fools," Thor went on as he paced along the side of the bed, "you should be the ones scrubbing the floors, but I'm sure you'd manage to screw that up too."

The guards averted their gazes as Thor ranted, while Loki pulled his shirt back into place and drew his knees to his chest, feeling the need to look away from Thor too.

"You're all dismissed from duty, and I'm firing whoever trained you in the morning." Thor huffed, glaring when The guards hadn't made a move in the tense seconds that followed. "I said GO-"

With the clatter of armor and boots, the now-former guards all rushed to leave the bedroom, leaving the door open wide in their wake. Thor stood and watched, waiting until their footfalls became distant before turning back to Loki. He was still wound tight around himself, exhaustion at war with anxiety. Thor's face softened, looking out towards the balcony, the deep blue of night sky tinged lavender at the far-off horizon.

"We still have some time before the sun comes out," Thor said, "let's get some sleep and we can discuss things in the morning."

Part of Loki still burned with need to finish what they had started, but a larger part of him cried out for rest- and he knew for a fact that a few hours of sleep on the king's bed would feel more rejuvenating than a full night on that miserable little cot back home. Loki nodded, and with gentle hands Thor unwound Loki's arms from around his legs. He pulled Loki over to the edge of the bed, guiding him to his feet, and undressed him with a tenderness that once again sent Loki's heart fluttering. His knees trembled as his skin was exposed to the cool air and Thor's piercing gaze.

When he was stripped down to nothing and their eyes met, Thor leveled him with a small, warm smile, his hand coming up to clasp the back of Loki's neck. The heat and roughness of his palm made Loki's spine quiver with pleasure. A whine rose from his throat, eyelashes fluttering as arousal once more surged through him.

Thor chuckled, "isn't this more fun than stabbing me?"

[frenchoravocadotoast]

Basim Ibn Ishaq headcanons

Basim Ibn Ishaq x GN!reader

Word count: 1003

Basim is an “actions speak louder than words” man. He’s kind of reserved by nature and has spent many years mastering the art of controlling his emotions during his time in Alamut.

That being said, his love language is definitely acts of service.

It starts off small – you both have a passion for literature, a common ground he has yet to realize. He’s talking to Fuladh about a recent poem he’s just read, reciting his favorite lines, when he hesitates at the end. He’s trying to remember the final verse when you jump in and quote it for him, and Basim shoots you an amused look.

“Since when do you enjoy poetry? ”

He tries to surprise you sometimes – he likes to lend you his favorite books, and if you indulge the man, he’ll even rant about his favorite poets/poetesses and their works. It becomes a bonding mechanism between the two of you, and it might look corny to an outsider; but you see how excited Basim gets when you say you liked the book he gave you, and suddenly, it’s like their opinion doesn’t even matter.

When the life of a Hidden One keeps you up at night –whether that be because of a nightmare or a stress-induced fever– Basim keeps you company. He knows the feeling all too well and refuses to leave you alone, unless that’s something you want. He will sneak into your room with a bowl of fruit and a book in hand.

“May I offer you a poem in these trying times”

Boom you’re sold

It’s a secret of his, but he likes writing poetry, too. He’ll die before admitting it though – and anyone who dares read his work will have to pry it from his cold, dead hands.

That being said, he might let you read something here and there (only the poems he’s revised a hundred times), but you have to swear that you won’t tell anyone.

You don’t mind. It’s like your little secret anyway.

Despite his preference for acts of service, he’s going to try to compliment you every now and then. You can always tell he’s being genuine, and when you thank him, he grants you a warm smile and a courteous nod.

He’s a very good listener. You could be talking about anything and he’d be listening intently, nodding along and asking questions. And nothing escapes him, really – he’s got an amazing memory and will remember your birthday, your favorite food, the friendly camel you met two weeks ago, or even the day you first saw fireworks. 

He remembers that day well. The bright lights were sizzling and popping in the sky as you watched them, transfixed. You’d turned to face him with a big grin on your face, and in your excitement, asked him an obvious question: “Did you see that?”

He smiled and nodded, because of course he did.

He didn’t. He was looking at you.

But besides that, nothing escapes him!

He has a habit of shielding you from the elements. When it’s scorching hot, he hovers his hand over your face to keep the sun from your eyes. When it’s windy, he likes to use his stature to shelter you from the breeze. And on rainy days, he cocoons you in scarves and cloaks to keep you from getting wet.

Basim starts laughing more around you, and you both become incredibly closer. You have so many inside jokes that it’s hard to keep track of them, and perhaps it’s starting to get to the other Hidden Ones too. Roshan just sighs as she watches the two of you because you’re both oblivious fools.

He definitely starts coming out of his shell with time, even dropping a pick up line here and there. The first time it happened it caught you so off guard he panicked and lost all sense of his training in three seconds.

“Well, – Nehal is calling me. I’ll see you around.” and he tailed it out of there, tripping over a vase before regaining his footing and scrambling away.

He wouldn’t approach the subject again, and if you were in his proximity he would be as stiff as a board – until you made a move too. You flirted with him out of the blue and he just widened his eyes and pointed at you.

😳🫵🏽

Things change from there and he tries to flirt more (and he’s so dorky he makes everyone within audible distance groan and leave). You’re organizing the books at the bureau, the one place you probably frequent more than your own home, when he comes in.

“You come around here often?”

You give him a deadpan expression, because he can obviously do better than that, and he grimaces.

“Yeah. No more of that.”

Biggest supporter ever. If you speak another language other than Arabic, he wants to know all about it. He’s a smart man, he can learn a couple of expressions quickly, and pretty soon you’re having simple conversations in your tongue. 

That being said, if you cuss someone out in said language he’ll probably try to remove you from the situation. He’s not keen on confrontation, especially with civilians, but if they wronged you in any way, he’d be all like “Yeah, what they said!” “And you better remember it!”

An absolute sucker for forehead kisses. He’s not very fond of PDA but he always kisses your temple when he has to leave or walk past you. It’s a ghostly touch, you almost don’t notice it, but it makes your cheeks flush every time.

Likes to hold your face in his hands and just look at you. It can end with him either smiling and kissing the corner of your mouth (on a good day) or pulling your hood down to blind you and ruin the moment (when he’s feeling a little silly). You call out his name and he just barks out a laugh as he climbs onto the rooftops.

He’s actually a little shit (affectionate) (derogatory)

[i-lived-i-died-and-now-i-sleep]

[worstloki]

Something so funny about Loki just Knowing about Thanos and the Infinity Stones while the rest of the universe at that point doesn’t. You could throw 2012 Loki into 2023 Endgame Avengers team and he’d just be standing there like ‘you don’t need to explain what happened, I know more about it than you’

[lilbitofmac]

FrostIronStrange Assassin’s Creed AU

Totally self-indulgent AU idea… mainly because I wanted to draw Tony as Ezio LMAO Anyway, here’s some of the stuff I’ve drawn for it! ♥️

[spindamiibo]

Assassin's Creed is funny cause it started off with a world on the brink of destruction, trying to understand our origins and the people before us, and in the last game ends with loki wearing an atrocious Walmart fit

[demigoddessqueens]

kisses

A/n - to my companion piece, “touch”, from a while back

Kisses that are deep seated in passion, molded perfectly to your lips, afraid to pull away because they’re afraid the moment will be over, missing the lack of your warmth that comes with your affection(s)…..kisses that leave them gasping and wanting more, tracing the shape of your lips or theirs when you pull away because it felt too perfect….,kisses along their neck/throat….whining, moaning kisses that leave them breathless, grabbing onto your waist or shoulders tighter than normal just to feel your hands through their mussed hair one last time….morning kisses, evening kisses that feel like they last hours instead of minutes, placing kisses on the insides of your palm/hand before you leave

[erismerald]

𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 (Samuel Drake x Insecure Fem! Reader) 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈

𝐀/𝐍: Hello my loves! I know I have been some time away and without any kind of inspiration, however this has been a very complicated year for me and I have not been well enough mentally to even be able to read or post anything!!! But luckily I am slowly getting better (because i´ve meet someone who´s inspire me, and tbh he is a lot like Sam) and now I feel a little more inspired and motivated to write!!! I wish you a good read and I would like to remind you that my orders will open in a few days or so feel free to send me something!!!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It's amazing how exciting and terrifying living alone can be, during a sleepless night as you think back and rethink the nights others warmed the bed of the person you loved the most, a storm of pleasure hit your door.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Insecure reader, Age gap, Semi-Nsfw (sexual tension is in the air for now eheheh) a huge load of fluff, Drunk Sam

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2,517

Lust is a pleasure bought with pains, a delight hatched with disquiet, a content passed with fear, and a sin finished with sorrow. It's not reprehensible to want something that isn't ours, to desire in the depths of our thoughts something that our heart yearns for, that our body malevolently covets, to be enveloped by the sin that torments our thoughts… during the day it's as if it's just a specter that struts around your heart, but when dusk sets in, this carnal sin dominates every sensation in your body, until the revelry of your hands sliding across your soft skin begins, caressing every centimetre of the core of your body, allowing your thoughts to imagine him in your place… in his most libinous state, such a pure sensation, you begin to imagine his body attached to yours, both in a voluptuous battle to feel more of each other, his lips brushing against your neck and his husky voice a melody to your ears, you imagine his hands pressing you against the mattress, his tongue obscenely tracing its way down between your legs… in the pitch black, you utter his name lovingly like a lover whispering the most lascivious promises, you purr his name, yet your hands caress your core, feeling the wave of pleasure run through every cell of your body… when that pleasure finally sinks in, you open your eyes and feel yourself gasping for breath, and you realise that it was nothing more than your imagination.

You get up calmly from your bed, your body still recovering from the forbidden sensation of pleasure, you see your naked figure in a small worn mirror given to you by the person who kept your mind occupied day and night, quite possibly looted during one of his countless adventures with his companion Sully, and you realise that your face is flushed, ashamed as you remember the previous events, you look away in a struggle to maintain focus, redirect your gaze back to the object and in its reflection observe your nude physique, from your perspective it was no big deal, for many years you hid yourself because you were ashamed of certain features, until you met Samuel Drake, a charming man you were fortunate enough to meet at a conference given by one of your favourite journalists, Elena Fisher. Since then, your friendship and your love for him have intensified, even though you knew that your feelings for him were completely doomed and incorrect… for various reasons: your age difference, your lack of experience in relationships, his lack of interest in you… Sometimes you let your mind wander to the immensity of the women he'd already had and that brought you a feeling of craving… jealousy, but deep down you knew that it was completely impossible for anything to happen between the two of you, he saw you as a godchild, a kid in his eyes… You shook your head in an endeavour to dispel these negative thoughts and focus on what was important at that moment: finishing your college paper, you still had a few days to hand it in but you'd rather get it done before you suffocate yourself with work.

The temperature had dropped over the last few days, you could feel it as you walked barefoot across the cold living room floor of your small flat, your gaze carefully examining the clutter, the abandoned sheets and books in battle, on the living room coffee table, on the desk, even on the kitchen table, you could tell that these last few days had been extremely busy, and a large part of you wanted to finish this work as soon as possible so that you could rest and take a few days for yourself. Contemplating the huge window in front of you, it was raining heavily and the only lights were those of the huge city on the horizon, this kind of weather had been your favourite since you were a child, you slowly made your way through the small room towards the kitchen, a coffee would be your salvation for the night, or so you thought.

The sound of lightning echoed through the sky, hours had passed since you started working, you quickly glanced at the window and the rain had become heavier and steadier, completely distracted by the storm brewing on the horizon, you were surprised by the ringing of the doorbell… you weren't expecting anyone that night… or any other night, but for a moment you felt a wave of anxiety run through your body, who could it be? You walked cautiously to the door and peered through the peephole, holding your breath as you saw who was on the other side… Sam… his wet clothes clinging to his muscular body, his hair in disarray and on closer inspection you noticed that he had a wound on one of his arms and his nose was once again broken… You quickly opened the door, his expression changing from serious to relieved within seconds of seeing you.

"S-Sam? what happened-" your question was interrupted when your bodies came together in an embrace, you could feel his breathing quicken, his body relax as it came into contact with yours, his perfume was intoxicating mixed with the blood that dripped down his arm, his face was hidden in the hollow of your neck and that activated something in your body, a strange warmth travelled through your whole being "S-Sam…?" you asked once more.

"I'm sorry for turning up unannounced, darling, but I didn't have anywhere else to go so I thought I'd pay my dear Y/N a visit." For a few seconds his raspy voice against your neck provoked another feeling, a river of pleasure emerged from between your legs, but you put that thought aside when you smelled the alcohol, he was drunk… and had most likely got into some kind of bar fight. As much as it pained you, you pulled your bodies apart and looked straight into his eyes, you had to take care of him, he needed you right now.

"Come on… Let's take care of you, big guy" he chuckled softly, and with a little effort you managed to get him to the sofa, but when you got there you unbalanced yourself on one of your books and almost fell on top of him "S-sorry, the mess is huge, I've been busy-" your eyes met and you could see amusement in the depths of his eyes, his gaze analysed you calmly from top to bottom, your heart started racing, you could feel his breath close to your lips. … but you quickly pulled away, you knew that look wasn't really directed at you, you knew that because he was drunk he could do and say things that he didn't really feel. "Whilst I get the first aid box, please Sam stay still" you stood up from your position, you heard a snort of laughter coming from him, you could feel that cunning old man smirk

"Your house… your orders love, I promise I'll be quiet" he said as you walked away towards the bathroom, picking up the small white box, you stopped in front of the mirror, you were flushed red, your breathing fast, you couldn't get out of your head the image of him lying on your sofa, his sweatshirt clinging to his body… for a man in his 40s, he's too well preserved… you got lost in your thoughts and only came back when you heard his voice pulling you back to reality "What's up Y/N?" his voice was mesmerising, once again you tried to push those thoughts out of your head, you had to focus on the task at hand.

You quickly return to the living room, Sam was sitting on the sofa going through some of your papers when you arrived. "You've been really busy, huh? Have you had any time to yourself? with so many books around I don't think so" he said as you made room to sit next to him, every touch of your skin, even covered by clothes, made your blood rush through your veins "please can you pull up your sleeve? It's funny that every time we meet I have to look after you and yes I've been busy unfortunately" you sighed opening the box and taking out some of the materials you'll need, he smiled as he took off his shirt, as you turned to him you saw his naked torso in front of you, you automatically got embarrassed and looked away, he saw you blush and smirk, he knew the effect he had on you, the air around you was hot. … you wanted to focus on the task at hand but you couldn't, the sensation of his body close to yours, the heat he emanated… it was like a drug was affecting you, but with a lot of effort you managed to finish bandaging his arm. You felt his gaze intensify on you, those earth-coloured eyes analysing every bit of your skin exposed by the pyjamas you were wearing. Sam had looked at you like that before, but on all those occasions he had been drunk, and in an attempt to divert the subject you asked him how he had got himself into that state.

"Well, I'm in town for a few days, Victor and I think this might be our next clue to an artefact we're looking for, and since I had nothing to do I went for a drink, but I think I pissed someone off by trying to flirt with the barmaid…" he said, leaning back on the sofa. Jealousy… That feeling from earlier again… Anger and insecurity ran through your head, and you weren't even listening to what he was saying anymore, it was as if your mind had focussed on that one detail, it was obtuse to think of him as a lover, let alone be jealous of something that wasn't even yours, but that feeling was consuming you and you only managed to return to reality when you felt his touch on your arm "Hey? are you listening darling?" You immediately looked at him, you could feel tears forming in your eyes and so as to avoid having to deal with questions or the feeling of pity, you got up and walked to the kitchen "I'm going to make some coffee", was the last thing you had said before leaving the room.

You shouldn't feel angry, you shouldn't even desire what isn't yours, but somehow that feeling consumed your whole being, just imagining the women who warmed his bed, the cries of pleasure that came out of their mouths, the touches, the words spoken… everything you couldn't have but wanted, everything you longed to have but once again didn't have… you let your mind wander, until you felt a gentle touch on your shoulder, you looked back and Sam's face seemed somewhat saddened to see you like that, neither of you uttered a single word, but the silence was quite comfortable, but unfortunately you couldn't hold back the tears that you had fought so hard to keep in your eyes, and finally they dripped down from your eyes, wetting your face. Sam stroked your arm first, pulling you closer to him, cutting the space between the two of you, and gently lifted your chin so that your eyes meet, wiping away the tears that were still running down your cheeks with his thumb, without cutting your gaze… inside you were nervous, sad, but the feeling of his caress made you feel at peace with yourself.

"Tell me, dear, what's wrong? You know you can trust me with everything" he whispered in your ear as he pulled you into his arms, the only thing you knew how to do was hide your face in his chest, hugging him tightly… asking the gods that this moment would last forever.

"Sam… I… I know I shouldn't, I know it's not the right thing to do, but I've had feelings for you since the day we met… every time you call me, every time we meet, I wonder when I'll be able to see you next… you've stolen my heart in a way that I can't even express myself…" You said softly, still hiding your face in his body, "I long for something that isn't mine, and I get jealous every time I know that someone else is taking the place that could be mine in your bed… next to you." Saying this out loud was a really difficult task, you didn't want to give in to temptation, but you couldn't bear to let yourself feel this anguish any longer, no matter how much you'd be rejected, you'd rather tell him than hide it. Sam once again grabbed your chin and forced you to look up. The light around you was tenuous, and you could hardly see what was around you, but for mere moments it was just the two of you in that kind of darkness. You felt Sam slowly approaching you, his lips brushed your neck "Do you want me?" he said as he gently kissed your exposed neck "Sam…" you felt his tongue drawing little 's' on your skin "Answer me darling, do you want me?" his lips moved up to your lobe, nibbling, letting out a slight moan, "Y-Yes… " you answered breathlessly, he pulled away, leaving you in the interlude of a forbidden pleasure, your eyes locked once more, one of his hands rested on the side of your face, forcing your lips to be mere millimetres apart, the other slid down your body until it reached your waist, pulling you towards him, claiming you as his.

"My dear Y/N, ever since I laid eyes on you I knew I wanted you… no other woman can fulfil the desire I feel for you… i thought you'd reject me so i didn't go through with it, but god damned, each night i wished it was you whispering my name, that it was you moaning with each thrust, that it was your heart that beat close to mine after we fell on the mattress tired and sweaty from the carnal battle that neither of us had won" and with that he sealed your lips, you felt his tongue asking permission to enter and you gave in, you were both gasping, but the fight didn't stop there. With a simple gesture, the hand that was holding your waist lifted you up onto the stall, forcing both your legs open, where he positioned himself in the middle, his kisses went down to your neck once more and all you could do was moan his name.

"Tell me you want me, darling, beg for me, let me be a priest who worships you, let me make you mine, and only mine…" he said between kisses and caresses, your head was light, the only thing you could hear was the sound of your heart and the pounding rain, but with effort you answered

"Yes… please."

𝐓𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝…

[takethisjunglebuff]

a thank you piece for 100 likes! Loki in his classic outfit 🥰 I’ve never drawn it before! A lot simpler than his new outfit, ngl

looking forward to the future with all of you, thank you again.

[teecupangel]

Hey, I’m back again with another idea. I know we already have Desmond in Alamut during the third crusades, but what if he went further back in time to the events of Mirage and trained with Basim and Roshan?

Desmond has no other plans whatsoever.

He has no idea why he had been thrown in this specific time period, so far from any of the people he knew.

Centuries apart from any of them.

It seemed like a cruel joke.

Or perhaps an attempt to save him gone horribly wrong.

Regardless, he had no other plans.

He had nothing.

He has nothing.

Coming to Alamut had simply been… a sorta ‘pit stop’.

His final destination had been Masyaf.

Even if he knew that the Brotherhood wasn’t there, wouldn’t exist for centuries…

He figured it would be better to stay somewhere he was familiar with.

Alamut had simply been on the way.

He needed a place to rest for the night and he was sorta-kinda familiar with Alamut thanks to what remains of his Bleed of Altaïr.

And then he saw the Assassin insignia.

No.

They call themselves Hidden Ones.

No one told him about the full history of the Assassins.

As much as Shaun enjoyed to talk, he never bothered to talk about the predecessors of the Assassins.

Even back in the Farm, history lessons were sparse.

His lessons had always been focused on the present and any information he might need to survive.

So he was caught off guard by the Hidden Ones’ presence in Alamut.

To learn that they were in charge of creating what would later be known as Alamut Castle?

Desmond was invited to join as a recruit since he showed promise and he did admit to having no real goal in life.

Desmond was sure their mentor was also trying to keep an eye on him.

The ‘promise’ he showed did involve Desmond being able to pin one of the Hidden Ones and pressing a dagger on his throat when he tried to sneak behind Desmond.

But Desmond humored them.

It was as he said…

He had no real goals.

So why not just…

Find out what else he didn’t know about the predecessors of the Brotherhood?

.

.

A year since he had been recruited…

Roshan returned to Alamut with a young man.

He introduces himself as Basim Ibn Ishaq.

Basim looked like he had seen hell at first and Desmond…

Well…

Desmond felt like the man could use a hand getting used to training and all that so he befriended him.

He ignored Nur telling him that both Basim and him needed a friend too with that big smile on his face.

Before long, he and Basim were… Desmond supposed they could be called close friends.

Basim was easy to get along with, after all.

And he was also a quick learner.

Soon enough, he and Basim were inducted to the Brotherhood and gifted eagles of their own.

Desmond knew, sooner or later, he would be ordered to go on a mission away from Alamut.

It was a bit annoying how he still couldn’t find a way to the temple underneath Alamut to leave a memory seal for Altaïr to find but there was time.

He didn’t expect Rayhan to order him to accompany Basim, Roshan and Fuladh to Baghdad though but he has no reason to say no.

So Desmond joins the three to find out what was happening in Baghdad.

(sidebar: Desmond’s eagle will be just as spoiled as Aquila is in EoA, that’s just a given XD)

[lilatreus]

Realizing that we’re probably all going to fall in love with basim, see how kind he was, how caring and loyal he was to his friends and family before loki corrupts him and takes over his body, ruining everything he worked so hard for in game and no one is going to know the difference or even realize that that’s not basim that’s someone else walking around in his body

[frenchoravocadotoast]

Cogito, ergo sum

from Latin "I think, therefore I am"

Basim Ibn Ishaq x GN!reader

Prompt: Basim survives the temple

Warnings: Implied NSFW at the end

Word count: around 4k (big boi)

The cliff is his safe space.

It has been ever since he first arrived at Alamut. You remember meeting the young man he used to be, a clumsy thief with a shy stubble that paled in comparison to the beard he’d grown throughout his training. It made him look wiser, you supposed. And wise he was, for he was educated by none other than the silence of the mountains and the sword of Roshan.

He was a smart man, but going into the temple was not a smart choice at all. Roshan had tried to stop him and failed. She walked out of the temple with a limp, holding her shoulder and her side as her head hung low in shame – defeated by her own student, her son, in a way. She couldn’t bear to look you and the other novices in the eye. 

But that was okay, because you couldn’t look at her either. You couldn’t look away from the mountain that stood tall before you all, the grinning cave that held Basim’s life over your heads.

He wasn’t coming back, Roshan said. You didn’t listen. Didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge the novice who tried to pull you away from the cave. You heard your mentor’s footsteps grow distant as the murmurs of the hidden ones mourned a new loss. You’d almost joined in their whispered prayer when you saw it – a wheezing figure stepping out of the cavern, hand pressed against the rock as they kept their gaze low. You rushed to meet them halfway.

It was him. Basim. The matted jet black hair was hard to miss, along with his beige and blue robes. His brown doe eyes flickered and met yours, but before you could reach him, he put his hand up and yelled at you to stay away. His stance had become defensive, a shaky hand resting on the handle of his sword, as his eyes watched you and your friends with wariness.

You frowned; called out his name and watched as the grip on his sword tightened. Those eyes of his didn’t regard you with the same warmth they used to. They were scared, angry, and untrusting. His lips that would smile so often were pulled down into a snarl and his brows were etched into a scowl. His body, once so sure and confident in his walk, trembled under your gaze. 

Before you could say anything, he ran. He climbed up the cliff with the expertise of a man who had endured years of training, or with the velocity of a lizard who feared for his life. The tails of his robes whipped in the wind when he reached the summit and disappeared from your view.

But he hadn’t run away. He lingered in his trusted spot by the cliffside. Rayhan would watch him from his tent and study his behavior. In the mornings, Basim would sit to meditate. It wouldn’t last long before he’d start to pace, hands in his hair before he’d yell up at the sky, fall to his knees, and throw rocks against the floor. After his fit, he’d try to sit still again, fail, and do it all over again.

When night fell, he’d crawl down the cliffside and rummage through the baskets of food you and the other novices had purposely prepared for him. He avoided you like the plague – whatever had happened inside that temple, whatever he’d seen, had shook him to his core. It was enough to haunt his mind even when one of his old friends attempted a conversation with him during one of his nightly visits, and he’d only granted them a glare. You kept your distance, watching from your seat near the fire, when he looked at you, frowned, and left to return to his cliff again.

It broke your heart. He loved that cliff, he’d found peace there during his troubled past, but now it only seemed to isolate him. But that was the point of meditation, wasn’t it? Keeping the world out, silencing your mind? If it worked for him then, why couldn’t it work now?

He needs time, Rayhan told you one day. You both watched from his tent as Basim had finally settled down after pacing for hours – he sat criss-crossed, hands resting on his lap as he breathed out. He lasted 3 hours like that. You found yourself smiling at the sight.

Maybe meditation did work.

Months go by. Winter greets Alamut with a snowstorm that would put the Gods to shame, but the canyon protects your stalls, tents, and beds from the howling wind above. You think the harsh temperatures will lure Basim down from his lair, but you grow concerned when the snow starts to pelt down on you and there is no sign of him anywhere. The spare pelts and blankets in your tent call out to you, and without thinking it much, you strap them to your back and go look for him.

You find him halfway through your climb. He was smart enough to flee from the icy winds in the mountains, and found shelter in a little panhole on the side of the cliff. He’s setting up his own tent when you call out his name. He turns to face you with a bewildered look, like it’s his first time seeing another human in his life, when you give him the folded blankets and pelts.

“You’re going to need these.”

He takes them from you, eyes flickering over your face, and whispers a soft thank you.

You give him a small smile, because those two words are enough to make your heart soar and jump around – but you don’t want to scare him. You’re about to leave when he says your name.

“How are you still here?”

You shrug.

“I never left.”

He frowns at that, although it’s not the same frown he wore when he first came out of the cave. It’s the kind of frown that tells you he’s thinking, mulling over your words, wanting to believe them. You believe them, because you know the Hidden Ones would never leave him behind like that; and without saying much more, you part ways again.

The snow melts and gives way to the blooming flowers. You’re helping Rebekah fix the handle of a sword when someone taps your shoulder – Basim stands behind you, giving you a quick smile that barely peeks out of his blue scarf. It disappears just as quick as it comes, but it leaves you breathless nonetheless.

He asks about Rayhan’s whereabouts, and you can only point him in the right direction as words fail you. It’s the first time you see him talking to others of his own volition; and when he leaves after voicing his gratitude, you turn to look at your blacksmith friend. She’s looking at you slack-jawed.

Basim starts coming down more often since then. Just a month ago, he’d joined you by the campfire while Nur told a story. You’d patted the empty seat next to you, and when his lips stretched into his usual warm smile, your heart squeezed.

You’d missed him.

Speaking of Nur, you saw him talking to Basim on the cliff just this morning. They were rekindling their friendship as Nur showed him the tapestry he’d been working on all winter. If he’d gone up there unannounced, maybe you could try talking to Basim too, right?

That’s exactly what you do. I’m in control of the story.

He’s sitting close to the edge, looking at the setting sun, when you stop behind him. He spares you a glance, as if he’d been expecting you, before patting the empty spot next to him, just like you had done with him. You carefully sit down when he speaks.

“It looks beautiful from here, does it not?”

You hum and nod. “I  can see why you like it so much.”

“It is very freeing to experience life from these heights. Down there, we’re so small.”

Your lips stretch into a smile – he’s starting to sound like himself again, with his wise and philosophical words. It itches at the thorn that’s been stuck in your heart since he grew distant from you all, and you find your words leaving you before you can register them.

“I missed you.”

His expression falters at that, and a saddened tint floods his gaze.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I do. I was not myself when I left that cave.” he whispers, grimacing. “I was never myself, it seems.”

You stretch your legs out, nudging his boot with yours. He smiles wryly at your attempt to comfort him.

“What makes you think that?”

“What was revealed to me at the temple…” he gestures with his hand, but no words come out, and he promptly drops it. “My life was not meant for me to live.”

“I do not understand.”

“You must think me mad. Even now, I do not quite believe it myself.” he scoffs, eyes glazing over. “I was just a vessel, a fool fighting against nature.”

There is not much you can do for him, you think. Not much you can understand, either. Until Basim doesn’t fully capture what troubles his mind, you doubt you’ll be able to get through his defenses. But with him, it’s different. Basim sows and reaps, builds and destroys – the walls he’s built around himself stand tall before you, but they’re no match for him. They’re like overgrown weeds he needs to pull out. In his novice years, he used to speak of the power and danger of one’s own mind; and he seemed to be heeding his advice even after all this time, for he continued to speak despite your silence.

“There was this… machinery inside the temple. Nehal told me to open it, and when I did–” he swallows. “It was pain after pain, memories that threatened to claim me, fears that broke my very soul. And then, when I was begging for it all to end, praying to be let out– Nehal wasn’t there anymore.”

You frown. “Your friend?” he nods in response.

“She was never there.”

“She was gone?”

“She wasn’t real.”

He rakes his hand through his hair as he hisses through his teeth, like the revelation itself burdens his heart soul. You watch in awe at the raw display of emotions as he frowns and his hoarse voice speaks up once more.

“I lived a lie. It was all my fault. I killed the Caliph, I dug my own grave, led myself into the very trap fate had woven for me.” 

A tentative hand rests on his forearm, and you squeeze to break him out of his trance. Basim turns to look at you, bearing the look of a man drowning in despair and needing it all without knowing what he yearns for. 

“And yet, you live.” you whisper.

He sighs in return. “I live.”

“I understand why you were so defensive when you left the cave.”

He shakes his head, looking at the setting sun that paints the sky in a purple hue.

“I thought I was imagining you all. Sometimes, I fear I still do.” he looks at you, frowning. “If I believed Nehal was real my entire life, what was stopping me from believing you were real, too?”

“I don’t recall ever meeting your friend.” you think out loud. “Did she ever interact with anyone other than you?”

“She was a very private person.” he speaks like he misses her. “Nehal didn’t like meeting new people.”

You give him a sad smile. Even in the face of reality, it’s hard letting go of a beautiful lie.

“But you see us talking to other people. I talk to you, but also to Fuladh, or the merchants in Baghdad. They’re real - and I’m real too.”

“For the longest time, I thought maybe I was imagining it all. That you were all a fragment of my imagination.” he shakes his head. “I failed to see the line that separated reality from fiction. When I was in that temple, I thought my entire life was a lie. I was trapped in a void, but then I saw this light - and I ran and ran, thinking I could escape from it all.”

Basim is ranting now as the words come more naturally to him. His gestures become more frantic as he turns to look at you, eyes wide like the day you saw him stumble out of the cave.

“But then I saw you, and I thought I was still trapped. Eventually with time, I came to think you would all disappear.” he stops, and his gaze softens. “And yet, you’re still here.”

You whisper. “I’m here.”

His eyes linger on you for a moment, before he nods and looks at the horizon again. The sky is dark by now, and you smile at the memory of Basim teaching you and your friends about astronomy. He’d learnt it all when he taught himself to read in the House of Wisdom, but unlike the scholars that demanded an audience to witness their greatness, Basim taught for the pleasure of teaching. Whatever he’d read during his time in Baghdad or witnessed in his past lives had definitely made him wiser beyond his years. If there is a God, he’s been generous with Basim – all that knowledge has fallen into the right hands.

But his usual passion for the stars is dormant now. You glance at him, taking note of his silence as he resumes his meditation, and take that as your sign to give him some space again. You’re sitting up when you feel his hand grasping your forearm, but when you look at him again, he doesn’t react. But the hand doesn’t relent either, and so, you decide to settle down again.

It’s quiet between you, and it makes his whispered words so much louder. They’re a promise of a better future.

I missed you, too.

Summer comes and goes, and trees start to shed their yellowed cloaks again when Basim decides to move out of the cliff. It’s a misty morning, courtesy of the rainy weather in autumn, when you see him walking down the slope towards your tent. He’s carrying his rolled-up mattress and tent with him, sparing you a smile when you approach him with a big grin of your own. Perhaps your excitement is a bit too palpable, because his brows raise in amusement when you ask to help him carry his things – but you’re too distracted to notice, ranting about an oh-so convenient spot right next to your tent, and he promptly follows after you.

But the muddy slope demands a sacrifice, and your foot slips in front of you. Years of training abandon you as you reach for the slippery boulder next to you, but you miss once more. A hand holds you by your cloak, but it’s too late, you’re falling forward and hoping the mattress in your arms will break your fall, and then – the mattress grunts?

You look up, feeling the familiar fabric of robes under your cheek. Basim has taken the brunt of the fall, cupping the back of your head with his hand as his other arm wraps around you. It’s almost comical when you both look at each other, slowly sliding down the last inches of the slope as your robes get caked with mud. And then, he laughs.

It’s a low chuckle, but it makes his chest shake nonetheless – you can feel it reverberating beneath you, and you find yourself grinning at the sound. You’re sure it’s the first time you’ve heard it in over a year.

So much for a Hidden One, he says. You huff in response, shifting in his embrace when you feel the hoop of your belt digging into you, but not leaning too far away from him either.

His eyes are lidded now, and his smile has softened. You can’t look away. Basim’s hand reaches up and his thumb brushes the corner of your brow, removing dirt from your face, you assume – but all he manages to do is smear it even more.

You don’t really care about the mud, anyway. Something has changed between you two, and you’re sure he can feel it, too. It’s obvious in the way he refuses to let go of you, the way he looks at you. You tell yourself that the mud is heavy on your back, that it weighs you down and pulls you closer to him – and he doesn’t resist it either, especially not when his lips barely brush against yours. You’re about to press closer when Rebekah’s voice speaks behind you two.

“Is the floor comfortable?”

Winter is relentless once more. You’ve all hitched your tents closer to one another to preserve warmth, even knitted some more scarves to protect yourselves from the chilling bite of the wind. The bonfire is bigger than ever, it could easily give your location away to your enemies, but only fools would venture all the way to Alamut during wintertime and expect to survive – both the weather and a clan of trained assassins. 

You’re more than safe, both from outsiders and the elements. Your hidden blade is always strapped to your forearm, and as for the elements? There 's Basim.

He makes sure to save you a spot by the fire, and has a woolen blanket for those particularly colder nights. Sometimes, when he’s feeling extra nice, he offers you a cup of tea, too.

His tent is right next to yours and you always catch him reading a book late at night or early in the morning, swaddled under the bundle of blankets. He can always tell someone is watching him, and when he makes eye contact with you, he never fails to give you a wink.

It’s an ongoing thing. You really don’t know what’s happening – but you get your answers soon enough.

The fire that keeps Alamut warm needs to be fed, and Rayhan refuses to have people venturing out into the snowstorm alone to collect firewood. Thus, he sends you in pairs, for two people can look out for each other and carry more wood back to the tents. 

You’re used to the ruthless weather in Alamut – sandstorms are no match for you, nor the heaviest of rains. But there is something about snow that weakens and tires your body without even trying. You’re shoving the wood into your robes and arms before the cold catches up to you, but your movements become slower with each second, and Basim notices. He grabs your bicep and raises his voice over the hissing gale, signaling that it’s time to go back.

You don’t remember how much time you’ve spent outside, but when you return to the shelter, your damp robes are weighing down on you. The cold has seeped in, stiffening your limbs, and you promptly drop the wood close to the fire to dry for tomorrow.

The warmth in your tent has never been so inviting. The small torch lit by your mattress is the only source of light, bathing the space in a dim orange hue as you change out of your robes and put on some dry ones. It’s still cold, and the goosebumps on your skin make you hiss when the sensation of a hundred needles pricks your skin.

Someone clears their throat outside your tent before the tent flap is lifted – Basim is standing there, now wearing dry robes too. He smiles at you when you greet him and he nods at your damp clothes.

“I put mine by the fire to dry. Do you want to give me yours?”

You nod and he leaves with your robes in hand, but returns soon after with a bronze cauldron in hand and a towel on his shoulder. You eye him, confused, and it’s only when he sets it down before you that you notice the steam coming from the water inside.

“Nur thought we could use it to get warm.” he explains as he sits down next to you. He grabs the towel and dips it into the cauldron before wringing it out, getting rid of the excess water. 

“That’s nice of him.” you smile.

“It certainly is.”

He holds the damp towel out to you, but you frown.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You don’t have a towel?”

He huffs out a laugh at that, shrugging.

“He only gave me one. You take it.”

“No, no – you take it, Basim.”

“I have not come here to argue with you.” he whispers, and presses the towel closer. “Besides, you need to get warm more than I do. You seemed to be struggling out there.”

He 's right. The needles on your skin dig deeper when the hot steam dances before your eyes, so close yet so far away. You’re about to take the towel from him when you feel a soft warmth blooming on your temple.

Basim gently presses the towel onto your skin, eyeing your locks, now damp from the melted snow. Your body immediately reacts to the touch – the needles ease, your fingertips tingle, and against your better judgment, you lean into his touch. 

The cotton moves down your face, where Basim softly caresses your cold cheeks. Warm droplets roll down, but they soothe and feed the bumps on your skin, like flowers craving water after a dry summer day.

This isn’t something that the other paired novices did for each other when they went out looking for wood. 

But Basim isn't like the others, is he? He stands out from them in the way he thinks, speaks, cares for others, looks at you, touches you. 

The heat from the towel tickles your skin, or perhaps it’s your own cheeks burning at the revelation. He moves down to carefully rub the silky cotton around your neck, easing the cold that has nestled there and weakened your voice. His body leans slightly closer to gain better access, and his other hand rests on your knee for support. Without thinking it twice, you nestle his hand between yours.

It’s cold, much colder than you expected, but you feel it relax in your hold when your fingers intertwine with his. He continues to bathe your skin with the warm towel, eyes following every motion as your gaze is trained in your conjoined hands. It’s been minutes now, and you can’t feel him warming up yet, but your body is burning under his touch and attention. Your mind is foggy, your tongue loose, and your words tumble out before you can stop them.

“You should get warm, too.”

The towel pauses, but then you hear him hum. His eyes are on you now, lidded, you notice – and they slowly trail down the peak of your nose, down the cupid’s bow, all the way to your lips. They remain fixed there, fluttering when he notices you lean closer, and he whispers back.

“Maybe I should.”

Your lips brush against each other, just like that day at the muddy slope. But there is no one around to interrupt the two of you, no storm to keep you apart; and with a shaky exhale, Basim’s lips lock with yours.

He is a patient man by nature, but this kiss – it cries of overdue affection. You’re kissing like this is the only thing that can satiate your hunger, a hunger beyond the carnal dimension. It’s the kind of need that has been boiling up to this point for months, years, even – long before he’d stepped foot in that cave. It was always there, dormant.

The towel drops to the ground with a thump. His hands find your hips and cup your cheek as your breathing quickens, and he only spares you a second to breathe before he starts to pepper kisses along your jaw. Your hands find his scalp and you gently massage it with your nails, making him groan against your skin; and when his hand sneaks under your blouse, you smile at the warmth his touch now radiates.

The next time he kisses you, he tastes like glass. Like there are broken shards that cut his tongue and make his words bleed while he sings you praises. The illusion is broken, the mirror destroyed; for his touch is real, he is real, and so are you, and so are the kisses that you keep stealing from each other.

Your arms wrap together and bring you closer to each other as he pushes you back against your mattress. The cauldron is long forgotten, the warm water no longer needed as you both breathe the same hot air and look at each other like you’re drunk on wine. Soon, your clothes come off, strewn somewhere on the floor. You lose yourself in the embrace of love, lips swollen and unrelenting; and in the privacy of a flimsy tent, you and Basim become whole again.

[i-lived-i-died-and-now-i-sleep]

What if we kissed under the stars while you hold a torch, Basim?

[thou-babbling-brook]

SPOILERS FOR AC MIRAGE UNDER THE CUT!

“Where you go, there I will go. Where you rest, there I will rest. I will walk behind you every step of the way. You are never alone.”

AC Mirage’s ending has me fucked up

[cippicat]

Codextober - ISU

"No. Not gods. We simply came... before."

Minerva / Gunlord

Jupiter/ Suttungr

Juno / Hyrrokin

Aletheia / Angrboda

Aita

Persephone

Hades

Poseidon

Hekate

Hermes

Havi/ Odin the allfather

Loki

Tyr

Freya

Thor