#~Sayf~the~Protector~

[teecupangel]

What if Desmond was an English Mastiff?

Desmond would be such a big boy with a speed that would surprise everyone.

He’d definitely be taken into missions as a dog companion, although stealth would rarely be an option because of his distinct looks and size. Definitely a good hunting buddy though and makes a great distraction.

Also…

He’s definitely popular.

Altaïr:

He serves more as a companion and partner to Altaïr, especially if he was a pup that Altaïr found after the death of his father. He tries his best to comfort Altaïr the best he can and always growls at Abbas even before Altaïr and Abbas’ falling out. He’s sweet to the Al-Sayf brothers and Kadar gives the best treats, that’s for damn sure. He also became Darim and Sef’s ‘babysitter’. They love to hug him and ask for rides when they were small which Desmond indulgences. He stays with Sef when Altaïr and the rest go to assassinate Genghis Khan. Maria believes it’s because Desmond is getting old (he’s not. Strangely enough, he believes he stopped growing the day Altaïr turned 25 but he can’t be totally sure) and Altaïr hesitated to leave him behind but is pushed by Maria because they promise each other this would be the last time they’d be on the field (and they were worried of Darim being left alone in foreign lands). Desmond, of course, was pretending to be weaker than usual to lure Abbas into a trap of… the fang kind.

Ezio:

It’s Federico who finds a dirty dog and decided to bring him home because he was big and sweet. It took hours of scrubbing before Maria thinks he’s clean enough to stay in the house. He usually stays with Petruccio and keeps the boy company. Claudia loves him when they were children and he’s the only one who knows that Claudia loves to hug him when she’s feeling down. Ezio has this… habit… of playing with him until they’re both tired and then just randomly confessing the dumb shit he got into while they’re relaxing. Desmond is totally unsure why the hell Ezio was doing this to him other than Ezio knows that Desmond wouldn’t be able to say anything at all. Desmond just lets him treat him like a parishioner confessing to a priest and just barks whenever he thinks Ezio’s confession is getting more and more ridiculous.

Ratonhnhaké:ton:

He actually appears near the Grand Temple when Ratonhnhaké:ton was a child who was looking for a place to hide while playing. He followed Ratonhnhaké:ton back to the village and just… stayed there. Ratonhnhaké:ton grew treating Desmond more like a friend than a pet and the villagers think of him as a protector of children since he always follows them out of the village, even saving one of the children from being attacked by wild animals. So when Charles Lee tried to hit a young child? Well… Blood was everywhere, that was for sure.

Edward:

To preserve the tradition of me making Edward just grab whatever creature Desmond turned out to be and tell Adéwalé and the crew that this is now their ship cat… Edward just grabs Desmond from some random port and brought him onboard to be their ship ‘cat’.

“That’s a dog.” Adéwalé dryly stated.

“Is it though?” Edward turned to look at Desmond as he said, “Alright, boy, say meow.”

Desmond and Adéwalé start to think that Edward might be suppppeer drunk.

But Desmond humored him because he heard his name is Edward Kenway anyway and made an attempt to meow.

“See? Cat.” Edward said with a grin.

And Adéwalé felt like he was going to get a headache.

Desmond couldn’t believe that worked.

Edward didn’t bother telling anyone he picked the dog up because he glowed gold and Edward was curious what that meant.

[fromashesweriseuphiddenones]

Second poll for Glorious Sunrise, this one pertains to Malik Al-Sayf.

Please reblog for a larger sample size.

[theseaistheskies]

Create your muse!

Tagged by: stolen from @ryusxnka

Tagging: everyone!!!!

[xadoheandterra]

Series: The Heir, The Reader, and Clay

Title: Run It Again Fandom: Assassin’s Creed Characters: Desmond Miles, Malik al-Sayf, Altair ibn La’Ahad, Al Mualim | Rashid ad-Din Sinan Pairings: Altair/Malik Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI | XVII | XVIII Enabler: @kingbob2-0 Beta: @claire-the-queer-dragon Tags: Time Travel, Dad Malik, Desmond Raised By Others, De-Aged Desmond, AltMal Get Turned On By Fighting, Kadar Has Thoughts, Hakim Is Best Friend, Al Mualim Is A Snake, Faheem The Asshole Summary: They hadn’t found an answer yet, and Layla was impatient despite the promise of the Grey being timeless in its nature. She didn’t want to have to search for an answer that might never come–so she made another suggestion. Why not just change it? Why not counter the Isu influence on the Pieces of Eden where it counted, and counter what Juno inevitably did to the Eye in the Grand Temple?

It was all the push that Desmond needed to let himself be just that bit more selfish. So selfish he chose to be, and there was one moment where the Isu’s hold on the Pieces of Eden had a profound effect–the Levantine Brotherhood. Altair Ibn La’Ahad. Al Mualim. There was just one problem–Desmond was eight, a child, and didn’t remember dying.

Layla at least had his back, even if she was just a bit fashionably late.

Kadar tilted his head back as he regarded the night sky with a contemplative gaze. The stars were beautiful and mesmerizing. Kadar would be lying if he said he hadn't felt some form of contentment as of late--with Altair in the Bureau, and Malik attending to all of the Novices and Desmond bright and cheerful even with the clear punishment Malik and Altair had handed down on the boy for sneaking out. He was content with the knowledge of Hakim curled into an apothecarists lab and the rest of the Novices that trained and chatted amongst themselves with gossip. Even his brothers acknowledgement of Kadar's skills--something Kadar had always wanted to hear, to know that Malik had thought him skilled enough--he was content, yes.

When he came to Jerusalem with Desmond, Kadar had not thought he would fall into the role of caretaker and teacher so easily; he'd not thought that he would look to a child and feel--protective, older, wiser, teacher to the younger. He'd not thought he'd like it, either, in the end. Least of all had Kadar ever thought he'd like being a teacher, a protector and guide--and now--now--Malik had given him a task right up his skill set, right within his wheelhouse, and Kadar wasn't sure what to think of it all.

He accepted; of course, Kadar accepted because Malik asked and Kadar knew they needed to know what was going on. They needed to know why Masyaf--why Al Mualim, the Master and Mentor of the Brotherhood--would dare risk Altair in such a way. Altair who had been favored and treated to training that others hadn't--Altair who had skill and gifts that most of the Brotherhood lacked. The clear betrayal was worrying; who else potentially had been put at risk, such as Altair? Who had died for a botched mission, a potentially planned botched mission at that? It burned and itched Kadar something fierce that Brothers could be dead and all of it planned by the hand of the one meant to guide them. It burned and ached that the thought of any others could potentially be traitors themselves--not just Al Mualim but other, important figures to the Brotherhood. Other leaders--other Dai.

Kadar chafed with the thoughts in his mind, and the contentment he felt in this place and in this moment boiled in a way that Kadar was not used to. Rage was Malik's bread and butter; Kadar knew anger and rage as seen through his brothers eyes, but not really felt it himself. He was not an angry person by nature, so to feel it now the way it bubbled beneath his skin--as it had for some time now, really--Kadar wrapped his arms about himself and closed his eyes; he let the cool night air's kiss soothe him as he leaned further back against the wall.

"You have never been so quiet."

With a blink Kadar settled his gaze off to the side, where the latticework was open as Hakim climbed himself out of the Bureau and onto the rooftop to join him. For a moment Kadar was surprised it was Hakim and not Malik or even Altair who sought him out in his moment of solace; both were likely to try and comfort or console him in a tumultuous mind, but then Kadar knew they were rather preoccupied of late. Malik with the revelations that had shaken his faith in everything and Altair with the revelations that had shaken himself. They were rebuilding, reconstructing who they were to one another and Kadar--Kadar did not want to get in the way of that.

His face pinched at the memory of Desmond who stared up at him with curious-too-old-eyes and asked what sex was and Kadar had to shake himself from the memory even as Hakim settled next to him. He said, not-quite-calm, "I have a lot to think on, of late."

"A skill you lack," Hakim teased, only slight, and Kadar reached out to smack the other teen with a playful scowl.

"Do not be a horse’s ass, Hakim," Kadar grumbled back, and then pressed his shoulder against Hakim's and returned his gaze to the sky. They were quiet for a while; Kadar felt the tension ease with Hakim's presence. He couldn't help it--Hakim had that sort of air about him. He’d always pressed a calm, peaceful sense and Kadar could not lie and say he’d often sought Hakim out back in Masyaf when everything became too much--when Malik and Altair became too much. Hakim was a pond of still water among the chaos that Kadar often find himself in the middle of and Kadar needed that. Eventually Kadar spoke up again, put his thoughts into words because he knew Hakim was cleverer and smarter than Kadar.

Kadar started with, "Malik has given me a mission," and as Hakim turned to regard him, he continued, laid bare the concerns that Malik had and concerns that Kadar reflected back. He didn't speak of Altair, of his sentence and the fears Malik held close to his heart of what had been done to the other man--but he did talk about the ambush, the fact that Altair was being sent on increasingly difficult tasks that only in hindsight appear to be set up.

Kadar was worried. He was worried that if he left, he would leave Malik with not enough support; he was worried about which of the Novices he would take with him--about leaving Desmond with only his brother for support. Kadar was worried about how few Assassins had actually crossed into the Bureau when at least several should have traveled by after Malik had established himself. Kadar worried about being discovered; worried about what he would find. What if Al Mualim was behind it all? What if he betrayed them?

Hakim let Kadar speak, and for that Kadar felt rather grateful as he spoke and spoke and spoke. He pulled his knees up and close, wrapped his arms around them as he gestured and talked until his voice was hoarse, because what else was he to do? He could not go to Malik with these thoughts. Malik already had enough on his plate and Malik trusted Kadar and Kadar refused to be weak to his brother--refused to let Malik see how much that trust meant and how little Kadar felt of his own skill.

When Kadar finally quieted, throat sore and gaze toward his knees, Hakim remained silent for a little moment longer. The wind blew softly around them, not yet the cold of winter but edging in that direction as the heat of summer faded into fall. Kadar rested his face on his knees after a moment, a heavy sigh escaped him as he turned his head toward Hakim--who stared up at the sky with a contemplative frown on his face.

"I think..." Hakim said, and the words were slow as if he had to think of which of them to use. "I think you already know who to take with you." Kadar blinked slowly in response. "I also think you are not giving yourself enough credit." Hakim turned his gaze downward toward Kadar, and there was something to the way he looked at Kadar that made his chest feel just the slightest bit tight. Kadar didn't understand it. "You have taught the boys, the Novices that worked under Master Kadar, and you have taught them well. They only reason why any of them are alive is because of you."

Kadar turned his gaze away; he wasn't too sure of that, but the kindness in the words made his cheeks warm. It was high praise that Hakim gave him, and Kadar wasn't sure if it was even deserved and yet-- Hakim had never pulled punches with him, with words and thoughts and when Kadar asked for a honest opinion Hakim was always honest.

Quietly, reservedly, Kadar uncurled himself and leaned back to stare once more at the sky, just a bit more settled. He said a soft, "Thank you," with the smallest of smiles to his face, and the slightest more confidence in his heart.

(in neat Germanic penmanship a letter is sent to Masyaf in the month of August; the wax seal is crisp and firm)

Rashid

I hope this letter finds you as well as the treasure you hold in good spirits. I have heard that studies upon the artifact are going well thus far. How many of its actual properties have you been able to unearth? Is it all we have read about and more? I am curious, my friend! You must tell me, for what little I am able to glean from our couriers has been naught but a tease.

Unfortunately, one of my lieutenants has grown bold of late, and so I find myself with little time to exchange letters. Perhaps you might have a suggestion as to how to curb these tendencies much like how you worked with the impatient apprentice of yours--although my condolences on the loss, I know it must grate to have such talent ended far too soon. Please accept the humble gift as an effort to smooth ruffled feathers over this; you spent plenty of time on the boy, and it is a shame to let it all go to waste.

Do you have any other suggestions on herbs, old friend? Garnier has begun to request more suggestions of me in his updates about what we had last discussed. It has lit a fire under him, and he has begun work to expand his efforts in Acre. I must admit plenty of what he has provided appears promising. Have you thought of combining Garnier's results with herbs and your own research into the artifact? Perhaps it might prove effectiveness of the item in question?

Currently most of my efforts are in the focus of understanding the box our mutual friends unearthed. The cryptic writing has puzzled my scholars, and between keeping this fool King ignorant and handling the other day to day of my position I find myself with little time to ponder it. I have forwarded a rough copy for your perusal, in the hope that it furthers your own studies as well. As always please keep me in your circle of knowledge, friend. We are allies, brothers in this bond to see peace upon the land and I know you have not forgotten that.

May the Father of Understanding Guide You

(in neat Germanic penmanship a letter is sent from Masyaf in the month of August; the wax seal comes loose easily when opened)

Robert

I have not forgotten our sacred bond, nor how we came to our agreement of that I can assure you. I am sorry we have not had another chance to reaffirm our aim for peace, or to settle ourselves as brothers in arms officially. As you know I have plenty of work ahead of me, settling the hearts and minds of my students. Until they are collected enough, we must sadly remain apart and our goals out of reach. To that end research into the artifact is going quite well! Thank you for the copy of the cryptic writing you have unearthed; I have no doubt it will prove useful in the discovery of more secrets hidden by this artifact.

You have already been sent my current findings, so I see no reason to restate them here. No new knowledge since my last correspondence has been unearthed, although your comment about herbs has in fact piqued my interest. One of my stubborn birds in the flock could perhaps do with an application of herbs to ease the mind. Please keep me apprised of our dear Garnier's advancements? I have not had the chance to truly study the herbs since I first learned of them.

I thank you for your condolences on my young apprentice, and your gift is much appreciated. While his debilitating injury is certainly a point of frustration, he has adjusted remarkably well to his situation and new station. I have of course sent him out of the nest to build his own and see how he tends to his flock. So far, the results are promising; he is certainly living up to my expectations. If all continues to go well then, I feel confident in my choice. We shall of course have to wait and see; his impulsive nature might yet win out, and all my hard work undone. I will forward your kind gift to him, as I feel such an item will do more in his hands than in my own.

What I have done with my impulsive apprentice is quite clear; I gave him a goal to work toward, a direction and path to achieve. I may have made that path seem unattainable at times, but it has proven to be a good motivator. Might I suggest giving your lieutenant a goal, something just out of their reach to strive toward? Keep them busy and focused, and it shall keep them out of trouble. Unless of course your lieutenant is of the curious sort; a curious sort requires a more delicate touch, shifting their focus just so that they stay away from the messes we would rather keep them ignorant to. In that case I recommend a good mystery, something to capture their attention and keep the breadcrumbs of knowledge away from what you aim to have protected.

Nothing is True, Everything is Permitted

(in sharp and neat Germanic penmanship a letter is sent to Masyaf in the month of August; the wax seal is slightly melted but firm)

Rashid

There is a rumor on the wind, a rather foul one, that I wish to clarify. That is not to say that your most recent letter with your newest findings has not been appreciated; your continued research into the artifact and all it can do only benefits the whole of us. Please do not misconstrue this as a lack in my appreciation, and I look forward to your next update. Rather I want to clarify something before it festers between us in silence.

As you know Tamir was a good friend and ally to the cause. He was not one of mine, certainly, but he held respect among my Rite--as I am sure he held respect among yours as well. Unfortunately, as I am sure you have already heard, Tamir is no longer among our number. The news that reached me tells of an Assassin in white that hunted him within the Souk Al-Silaah in Damascus, and so I must ask friend: was it you?

If it was, I mean you no ill will. I can understand if Tamir had wronged you in some way that you demanded retribution, although I am certain we could have come to some sort of agreement over the matter. Tamir had done plenty to help our cause, as you well know. His death leaves a gap within our members that will set our cause back by months if this is not handled carefully. So please, friend, tell me this was not you. Tell me this was not one of yours who took Tamir from us.

His brutal murder in the Souk Al-Silaah has also thrown back the balance of the merchants within. The local authorities have unfortunately closed market as they search for the killer at hand. It is my hope if this is not one of yours that they do not escape justice they deserve. While I understand some deaths are needed, of that we can always agree, senseless murder such as this is truly upsetting.

May The Father of Understanding Guide You

(in neat and clean Germanic penmanship a letter is sent from Masyaf in the month of August; there is a slight over-melting of the wax seal)

Robert

In much we can agree, and that includes that senseless murder has no place in the world. I had indeed heard the news of Tamir, and his loss is a great blow to me and mine as much as I am sure it is a blow to you as well. We had much to gain with Tamir at the helm of the black market, and little to gain with his death. I promise you the white Assassin that had taken Tamir from us is not one of mine. You know my house is not the only one within the land, but I do not begrudge you looking as close to home as you have done so. Rest assured Tamir's death came not on my orders.

You can be certain I am already in the process of determining just who had been set upon our friend. He may not have been of your Rite or my Brotherhood, but that does not mean he was not a Brother to either of us. I will share with you all that I know once I have the information in hand, of that you have my word. However please do not take my word for it, and search for the answers yourself. With both of us tackling this tragedy perhaps some understanding could be made.

Some deaths are necessary; to obtain the world we both desire, it is the unfortunately reality. Yet brutal murder is not something I condone, nor have I taught to my Brotherhood. The deaths we enact are to ensure peace, and while regrettable, we aim to avoid brutality in our actions. I am sorry for Tamir--he was good to us both as friend, ally, and brother.

Nothing is True, Everything is Permitted

(in half-scribbled, hasty brushwork a letter in Arabic is delivered to Masyaf from Jerusalem in the month of August)

Master

I have not been granted access to the Bureau despite Malik's clear desire to hand off several of the Novices back to Masyaf. As Dai Malik has seen fit to oust me from the protective shelter that he is to set up for traveling Assassin’s and has decided to retain all the Novices under his care despite the obvious strain on the Bureau's finances this would cause. Furthermore, I have concerns that Malik is housing more than Novices under his care--there was reference to another, a 'Des' that one of the Novices said was being watched further in.

Master I worry that the Bureau is compromised. Malik was strongly obstinate about sending the Novices with me back to Masyaf and strangely aggressive in his manner. More than that Malik has lied to us. Kadar yet lives and stays within the Bureau, tending to Malik like some sort of servant. I am afraid that despite your trust in my son he has not been able to live up to the expectations or has at the least buckled under them or broken in some way. I worry for my youngest as well.

Something is very clearly off in Jerusalem. I will remain for a few days after my contract to observe things further.

Yours in faith,

Faheem Al-Sayf

Malik moved with swiftness and brutality; practice sword wielded with dangerous effectiveness against Altair. It was all he could do to parry blow after blow, a faint grimace across his face with the press of power that shook his limbs. They used practice blades because of the children, and Altair knew that was the only reason--just as he knew that Malik would rather have steel against steel, the clang of metal and blood.

With a twist Malik lashed out with one of his feet and caught Altair in his gut. He grunted and curled with the blow--and barely ducked the swipe of Malik's practice blade toward his head. Altair tried to drop to the floor, raise his own leg to smash into Malik's chin--and he saw the way Malik's head snapped back. Malik turned the motion into a flip, balanced precariously on his single hand, palm pressed flat against the handle of his blade.

Altair swallowed heavily; gaze firmly on the way Malik held position--the strength of his bicep to hold him there, straight and balanced before his legs tipped back and Malik landed firmly on the ground, fingers wrapped around the hilt of his blade, already in motion forward. He barely had a moment to register the motion and get his blade into place before Malik's own slammed down in an attack that would have bisected his arm from his body. With a grimace of a grin, teeth ground together as he pushed back against Malik's blade. He needed space.

Malik would not let him have space; Altair knew that. He knew that, but he had to try even as his arms burned with effort to push Malik back. Sweat beaded down the back of his neck as Malik pressed forward, face twisted into a wide grin and eyes blown before he slid his blade along Altaïr’s, twisted it in such a way that the pressure eased. It didn't force Malik back; in fact, it had the exact opposite effect and Altair wanted to curse as Malik raised his knee as Altaïr overextended.

With the knee into is diaphragm Altair coughed, suddenly winded, and before he knew it Malik had him on his back, blade pressed to his neck. His knees were pressed down heavily on Altair's palms. His blade knocked free as Malik pressed forward, near choking Altair with the touch of the practice blade as he leaned over the other. Altair breathed heavily, as much as he could with the press of the blade at his neck--above him Malik followed suit, the drip of sweat down his brow hit Altair in the cheek.

Neither said anything for the longest time, and then in a breathless growl Malik said, "Yield."

Altair swallowed heavily and tried to shift as Malik's voice shot straight through him. He fought the urge to shift even as he tilted his head back with the further press of the blade. "I yield," Altair whispered, and for a moment Malik kept the pressure--Altair stared into the blown black eyes, breath tight in his chest, and then Malik pulled away. The loss of the pressure and warmth hit him, and he almost let out a faint whine in response before he remembered they had an audience.

Malik's gaze darted to Desmond, who sat in a corner with wide eyes and gaping mouth. He was leaned forward and in utter awe, and for a moment the shame of failure curdled in Altair's gut before he was able to strangle it sharply. Altair knew Malik was the better swordsman. Malik had skills Altair could not repeat--and Malik was a beast when he really got himself worked up. It was not worth the shame he felt, so he shuttered the emotion. Instead he accepted the hand Malik held out, allowed Malik to pull him upward and stepped away as Malik adjusted his clothes and Altair followed suit.

They were ruffled and rumpled, and Altair would be lying if he wasn't turned on in the way his limbs burnt and Malik's disheveled state--but anything would have to wait until after they were away from their audience even if Altair wanted nothing more than to grab Malik and make sure he wouldn't forget. Altair had to leave, after all, and soon. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly too will himself to relax and saw the way Malik seemed even more tense when he opened him. Saw the way Malik looked at him with half-hooded eyes.

"Desmond," Malik said, and Desmond perked up with a wide smile as he came flying onto the practice floor, hands already wrapped tight around Malik's waist before Malik could say anything further.

"That was sooooo coooool!" Desmond crowed. "Papa you are amazing!" Desmond pulled away and bounced in front of Malik who smiled; Altair could see the slight strain in it, the way Malik stood just a bit stiff as something bubbled under his skin. For a moment Altair wondered if it hadn't been enough, their spar. They should have done so with blades, let blood flow freely between them he knew--but Desmond didn't need to know how dangerous and how foolish he and Malik could be when they really got into it. "Teach me, teach me, teach me papa please!"

"Later, Desmond, once you've mastered your dagger work," Malik said. "Go check on Jawad for me, will you? He should have the midday meal ready soon."

"Yes papa!" Desmond turned and ran from the room.

Altair breathed out, slow and steady after Desmond left the room. He tried to calm his racing heart, to edge the want and need that curdled in his gut just the slightest bit. Foolishly Altair glanced to Malik, saw the way Malik still stared at him heavy eyed and Altair's gut twisted.

"Altair," Malik said, voice low and deep enough that drew Altair straight to attention as he eyed Malik and waited for what the other man had to say. "Come," Malik said, sharp with command as he turned and started from the room. Without even thinking Altair moved to follow. "I believe I have a promise to fulfil."

A smile slowly crossed Altair's face: if this is the way Malik chose to end every spar, he could get behind that.

(in half-rushed, sharp Germanic penmanship, a letter is delivered to Maysaf toward the end of August; the wax seal is over-melted but firmly attached)

Rashid

You had assured me that Tamir's death was not at your hands. That the White Assassin was not one of yours, not a member of your Brotherhood, and thus not sent on your orders. Why then have I just gotten word that one of mine has now perished? That a White Assassin swooped down in broad daylight, within a hospital, and had slain a dear friend of mine? Garnier was of my Rite. He was a sworn member of my brotherhood. You knew his business in Acre only because I allowed you to, and you know of the good he was doing there, I am sure!

Why, then, have you killed him? Is it because of the herbs you shared with him? His work? Had some part of it now disgusted you? I do not understand this turn, this betrayal of trust. What happened to our ideal of peace, of a world without war and strife such as that which claims this land like a festering wound?

Whatever platitudes you have, know that I have all of my men now focused on this White Assassin. Whichever lapdog you have chosen to use, I will end. Perhaps their death will make you see. I had thought we agreed to do this with as little bloodshed as necessary; now I see this was a lie. Had you made your intentions clear from the start I would not be upset at your actions, but this clear breach of our trust...I pray you have a good explanation, for if you do not....

May the Father of Understanding Guide You

(in clear, carefully written Germanic penmanship, a letter is sent from Masyaf toward the end of August; the wax seal is intact and crisp)

Robert

I had not wanted to say anything, as perhaps my suspicions are that of a naturally paranoid mind and yet I worry that our letters are not truly secure. Your wax seals have been off, a little looser than anticipated when applied to paper or even slightly melted as if hastily redone. I had thought perhaps it was the state of the wax, more than anything, and yet you bring to me now news of Garnier and I....

If I had raised these concerns earlier would Garnier be alive? He was a dear friend to me, you know this. What worth is it to kill him? He had done no wrong. As you say he was helping those in Acre; our correspondence only confirmed such to me. I shared with him my knowledge of herbs, and he shared back his findings. We were mutually beneficial, us two, despite our differences in Creed and Rite.

I will forgive the forward and crass nature of your writing. You are grieving, as now am I. I thank you for the news, nonetheless. A good friend has been lost to us both, let us pray we will not lose another. I have taken the necessary measures upon my end of things; hopefully this letter arrives in a stately and precise manner. Let us move forward, free of our plans being safe within our own two hands. We must protect the rest of our companions, after all. I am not certain how much knowledge our Assassin truly knows.

Nothing is True, Everything is Permitted

(in sharp Germanic penmanship a short missive is sent to Masyaf toward the end of August; there is no wax seal)

Rashid

I thank you for your frankness and apologize for my accusations. The situation has been handled.

May the Father of Understanding Guide You

(in rushed, barely legible Germanic penmanship a short missive is sent to Masyaf at the beginning of September, a week after the death of Talal; there is no wax seal)

Rashid

I will cut out your lying tongue and feed it to your apprentice wholesale as you watch him choke on it for this. I swear to you. You will pay.

Rashid ad-Din Sinan breathed out a slow and measured breath as he stared out the window of his study, fingers clasped tight around the hilt of his blade. The blood had already congealed on its sharpened edge, dried enough to stain the metal not that Rashid really paid it any attention. He knew he should clean the blade off, but he couldn't. He could not cast his mind from the last, threatening letter. He may be Al Mualim--may be Shaykh al-Jabal--but Rashid was a man beneath all of that and the rage that had burned through him had been that of a man.

Ibrahim did not deserve the blade across him, the blade that cut him from navel to nose; that Rashid had to then press into the man's heart to silence the horrid, pained sounds the boy had given. He'd been nothing more than Rashid's errand boy, the one who would gather his letters and send them, but ultimately, he knew far, far too much and Rashid could not risk it. He could not chance that Ibrahim took his knowledge and shared and Rashid closed his eyes. He pressed his lips tight together and with a deep breath finally turned and stepped over the now cool corpse at his feet and placed his blade down.

The letters were a mess upon his desk. He'd gone over each once again, after receiving the most recent. He had to be certain he understood the threat correctly, that he had mentioned his 'apprentice' to the man if not by name, then by merit. He needed to be certain if Robert knew of whom he spoke, or if he speculated only. Rashid clenched his hands tight to his sides and forced himself to breath because--he had, foolishly, told the man about the boy. He had foolishly shared information that he would normally hold his tongue over.

Without even thinking about it Rashid's hand touched over the cloth covered artifact--the Apple of Eden if Robert was being correct about its nomenclature--and with a sharp breath he pulled his fingers back. He gave the item a look, narrowed eyed and furious. This plan, this dealing with Robert, it had all been to keep this pretty little bauble away from the Templars. He'd rather destroy it, but as soon as Malik had borne the item to his face, he knew he couldn't. He knew it would be impossible. Rashid dragged his fingers away from the Apple, over to the book whose pages he filled with observations, knowledge, understanding of what the Apple could do.

Useless. A sneer crossed his face, and Rashid flipped the book closed and felt the rage curdle in his chest. Felt the helplessness burn in his gut--and with a roar he of such hate and anger Rashid tossed his hands and threw the papers, books, and pretty baubles to the floor. The Apple tumbled off into the pool of blood at Rashid's feet, clanged loudly as it rolled off into a corner now stained red. Rashid breathed, heavy and slow as he clenched his fists tight over his desk. He knew--he knew it was a risk to send Altair after them. He knew Robert was clever, smart, and crafty. He knew he'd be found out eventually. He knew.

"Master?"

Rashid blinked open his eyes, stilled the rage and calmed his heart as he looked at the young Assassin who had ducked his head into the room.

"Kahlil," Rashid said. He straightened, ignored the way the blood stained his clothes and his face and probably made a frightful start as he stared at the young man who stared back with wide eyes. "Clean this up." Rashid gestured to Ibrahim as he stepped around the edge of the table and bent to retrieve the Apple. It would not do to leave such a frightening artifact on the floor. Carefully he wrapped it in the cloth he swiped from the table while Kahlil hastily ducked into the room to gather up Ibrahim's corpse. "When you are finished fetch me Faheem," Rashid continued as he settled the Apple back into place on his desk. "I have a mission for him."

Kahlil ducked his head with a murmured, "As you say Master," and Rashid allowed himself to relax only once Ibrahim's corpse was taken from the room. The thought of Faheem, willing to do what must if frustrating in his ideas of what must be, at least brought Rashid some sort of comfort. Faheem would be perfect for this job--perfect for what Rashid had in mind to counteract Robert's clear and present threat.

Robert would regret the day he threatened that which was Rashid's. Rashid would make sure of it.

Mom

I'm ok! I wanted to say that first cuz I'm pretty sure you'd be worried about me. I did sorta disappear out of nowhere? But I'm safe! I'm ok and safe and I'm in some strange and different place but look, mama! I can write now! I can write now, and you can write me too you can share notes with me and it will be better. It will be better now.

...I wish it could be better, now. I mean it is better, I guess, but you won't see this for some time if you see it at all. Would this letter survive all those years? Would you find it in some secret ibn La'Ahad lockbox, passed and handed down from generation to generation until it reached your hands? Or will it have long crumbled to dust, like a relic of a past that it is. I don't know. I'm not sure how I feel about it.

I doubt you got any of my messages or recordings. I doubt Bill shared them with you. Bill doesn't share anything he didn't want to, after all, did he. I never told you about Bill. I know you knew he handled my training. I know you tried your best to make sure I was happy and healthy and safe; you taught me about the Vision. You taught me about the colors and what they mean. You taught me about the feelings and emotions that would come with it. You taught me a lot; a lot that I don't think Bill ever realized but I...I never felt comfortable share it with you, you know? That Bill...Bill was red. He was red and you told me what that meant and I...I was so afraid and you never saw it...not really....

No, you did see it, but I don't think you understood and how could you? I never told you. I never told you about Bill. I never told you about his training. I thought it was a mistake; how could you have married a man like that, who bled red like those Templars you always spoke of? I couldn't understand but...I was a child, mom. I was a child and you left me there. I know you tried, mom, but you weren't there and yeah maybe it was partly Bill. He sent you on all of those dangerous missions, he kept you away from me, but you also didn't try, mom. You really didn't try that hard to stay. I know that the whole thing with the Templars, with Abstergo, was important. I know, but...wasn't I important too? Wasn't I worth it?

What does it matter, anyway? If you do ever see this, I'll already be dead. Dead and dreaming and hoping not to die but dead all the same. Dead and changed, a sacrifice. It's all anyone could ever hope for, being the genetically engineered key from thousands of years ago to fit in the lock to shield the Earth from the deadly sun. Perfect genetically chosen me.

That doesn't matter though. None of it matters because I'm here and I... I’m here.

I've been adopted, mama. I'm not Desmond Miles anymore I'm Desmond ibn Malik! Like that Malik, that important one from the books and stories you would read to me about the great Eagle. The Malik that supported and cared for and helped the Eagle become so much better. He's decided to be my papa now and--and he's so much nicer, mama. He's a Brother, he knows the Creed and he's had a hidden blade before I can see it where his...his arm is gone. But he's a Brother and he's so, so, so kind. You'd like him, I think.

He's so much better than Bill. He taught me to write, after all! And I don't have to do any stupid training I don't want to and papa promises to teach me knives properly he says Bill never taught me knives right. I can't wait! And papa has someone super special too, an Eagle of his own that he helps protect. It's really just like your stories, mama!

Anyway, I'm safe and I'm happy and I'm at peace. I love you, mom. I miss you.

Desmond ibn Malik

[sdascension]

“Am I not enough?” Cam and Treasach? >o>

“Leave me alone. I don’t want you to be my lawyer.”

That was okay, Cameron hoped. But every time he drove out to the scene with Acacia, every time they went to the detention center, his hands shook. They were mild tremors, nothing that he noticed until he started writing. They started with his nightmares, only coming up when he was doing paperwork. The tremors didn’t bother him so much as the nightmares did.

Every night, he’d see her, taunting him, reminding him of the people he failed. Cameron had brushed this off initially by telling himself that Airy was gone. Sayf killed her twice over. She couldn’t take anything else away from him. Or so he thought.

The nightmares became worse after Cameron felt the Break. They always began with Airy throwing his brother’s body at him, laughing. “Just one more protectorate left! And he hides behind a suit rather than the ceremonial robe!” As if the guilt of losing Chase wasn’t enough, the nightmares became more twisted. The bodies of those he had lost were mangled more, bloodier than anything he had ever seen. It was enough to make Cameron throw up every time he woke up.

The nightmares changed again. They began like they used to, with Cameron finding each body. Going first from his biological parents, then to the lost protectorates Bruno and Cybele, then Mahdi and his adoptive parents, before he finds Chase. Chase’s body was laying by the crystal, where Airy was perched. She laughed, more wickedly than Cameron had ever heard before.

You can’t defend him. He doesn’t want it.

The scene changed before Cameron realized it. He was in the court room, where all the furniture was made of a crystal the same color as the life crystal in Celeste. Standing before the judge was Treasach, looking so small.

He is guilty.

The gavel comes down, threatening to strike-

Cameron always woke up before the end. He couldn’t let that end happen. But as the first day of the trial began, he thought about how Treasach acted at the detention center. He always refused Cameron’s efforts, telling the sylveon not to waste his time.

In the waiting area, before the trial was to begin, Cameron skimmed his notes again. He didn’t really pick up on anything, he was just thinking. Am I not enough this time?

[writerericgreene]

The temples

Each city has its own pantheon, all variations on themes. The same, in so many ways, but different in others. 

In Muntasir, they call them the great gods. Here, the temple occupies a central place. Its columns soar above the buildings around it, the ceiling so high that the birds fly through, wheeling and circling over the worshippers below. The statues stand in a pantheon; above them, the decorative statues - the owl, the kraken, the rok, the wyrm. But below them, closer to the worshippers that cluster around them - there, there are the pantheon. 

In the centre is the all-father, the victorious. He extends an arm, magnificent, munificent, over his people. To his side, Om, the mother; protector of those who nurture, the goddess to pray to for the crops, the seeds, the family, the hearth. The warrior is on the other side, stern and motionless. From there the statues cascade out. The scholar, owl-headed, scroll and pen in front of him, serene and wise. Al-Muntahik, laughing, arms thrown wide, a cornucopia spilling out from around him. 

The worshippers crowd around. They bring their offerings. The scented  tapers, lit, burning and turning to ash in their hundreds. The food and drink, laid out carefully, collected by the priests at the end of every day. The coins that they throw into the fountain, pouring down, through the water, great stacks of them. No wonder the priests of the great temple wear such fine silk, and swagger as though they owned the city. 

Outside the gates of the great temple, stands the street of servants. This is where the minor gods stand. Here they congregate and cluster in their hundreds. Some are brought by traders: if they take a home in Muntasir, if they are to reside here for months, they must construct a shrine to their gods. When the winds shift, when the cities rise and fall, when a new preacher stumbles into the street with a story tumbling out of his mouth; then, it is, that the new gods spring up. Some of them thrive. Nearest to the entrance to the great temple is the shrine of Mughamir, the crocodile headed-god. God of gambling, of dice, of fortune, of the strange moments when luck swings one way, or another. His shrine has grown, thrived, till it now stands two stories high. One day, the priests may decide that the coins pouring into Mughamir’s shrine should be stored inside the temple; perhaps then the shrine will move. It was only twenty years ago, after all, that the hunter was moved inside, carried in after years in the street of servants. 

Meanwhile, the minor gods rise and fall, tumbling this way and that. Some of them have shrines that have been abandoned for years, old, greying, dusty with cobwebs, their followers long gone. Others, some of the more mysterious ones, sink below the city, venturing with torches held high into the shadowy catacombs. The lady of shadows, her servants clothed in grey, whispering to each other in the hollow tunnels deep beneath the earth. 

In Sayf, the great temple is smaller. The warrior holds the centre space, merged with the all-father, his face stern, helmet high, sword extended in the air above him. Around him cluster the all-mother, the hunter, the scholar. When the warriors of Sayf march out, you may see some of them carry a small luck token, bought from the temple. It is a tiny shape, a little sword across a shield. Some lace it around their necks, lifting it to their lips for luck in the instant before the gallop starts, before the charge begins. 

In Kitab, the scholar has a separate temple, separate from the great temple, with a higher spire. Only those within the academy of Kitab can enter this sacred space; the minor gods of Khitab cluster round both buildings, spilling this way and that. 

In Zaraa, the all-mother is at the centre of the pantheon, plants blooming from her hands, sprouting greens at her feet. The other gods cluster around her, awed, overpowered by the fecundity of her powers. 

In each city there is a different name, a different visage, a different cluster of the gods. But in all of them, the minor gods rise and fall, tumbling like the fortunes of their followers, eager and excited some days, dishearted and despondent on others. 

[theseaistheskies]

( WHAT IS YOUR MUSE’S MBTI PERSONALITY TYPE? )

Morgan:  ENFP - The Inspirer

You love being around people, and you are deeply committed to your friends. You are also unconventional, irreverent, and unimpressed by authority. Incredibly perceptive, you can usually sense if someone has hidden motives. You use lots of colorful language and expressions. You're quite the storyteller! In love, you are quite the charmer. And you are definitely willing to risk your heart. You often don't follow through with your flirting or professed feelings. You break a lot of hearts. At work, you are driven but not a workaholic. You just always seem to enjoy what you do. You would make an excellent entrepreneur, politician, or journalist. How you see yourself: compassionate, unselfish, and understanding When other people don't get you, they see you as: gushy, emotional, and unfocused

Sayf:  ISFJ - The Nurturer

You have a strong need to belong, and you are very loyal. A good listener, you excel at helping others in practical ways. In your spare time, you enjoy engaging your senses through art, cooking, and music. You find it easy to be devoted to one person... a partner who you do special things for. In love, you express your emotions through actions. Taking care of someone is how you love them. And you do it well! At work, you do well in a structured environment. You complete tasks well and on time. You would make a good interior designer, chef, or child psychologist. How you see yourself: Competent, dependable, and detail oriented When other people don't get you, they see you as: Boring, dominant, and stuck in a rut

Tagged by: @tailoringtay​

Tagging: anyone who hasn’t done this yet!!!

[theseaistheskies]

TAGGING: EVERYONE EVERYONE EVERYONE it’s so much fun OwO STOLEN FROM: @tailoringtay​

Using this generator make your muse with the current mood their in !z

{(So Young Morgan, Older (late teens) Morgan, and Sayf!)}

[theseaistheskies]

DETAILS  /  MANNER OF SPEECH.

Morgan: complexity  

vocabulary : ■ ■ ■ □ □   emotion:     ■ ■ ■ ■ ■     sentence structure :     ■ ■ □ □ □

profanity

frequency :       ■ ■ ■ ■ □   creativity :       ■ ■ ■ ■ □ watchfulness :      ■ □ □ □ □

( bold all that apply ) :     arse. ass. asshole. bastard. bitch. bloody. bugger. bollocks. chicken shit. crap. cunt. dick. frick. fuck. horseshit. motherfucker. piss. prick. screw. shit. shitass. son of a bitch. son of a whore. twat. wanker.

( given proper religious context ) :     christ on a bike. christ on a cracker. damn. goddamn. godsdamn. hell. holy shit. jesus. jesus christ. jesus h. christ.  jesus, mary and joseph. sweet jesus.

this or that

contractions or enunciation?   straightforward or cryptic?   jargon or toned?  complexity or simplicity? finding the right word or using the first word that comes to mind? masculinity, neutrality, or femininity?   formalities or abrasiveness? insult or injury? praise or equivocation? frankness or lies?   excessive or minimal hand gestures? name-calling or magnanimity? friendly or blunt nicknames?

important questions

do people have a hard time understanding or hearing your character ?   almost always /  frequently / sometimes  / rarely  /  never

does your character’s point come across easily when they speak ?   almost always  / frequently  /  sometimes /  rarely /  never

would your character initiate conversations ?   almost always / frequently  / sometimes  /  rarely  /  never

would your character be the one to end conversations ?   almost always / frequently  /  sometimes  /  rarely /  never

would your character use ‘whom’ in a sentence ?   yes / no / only ironically

your character wants to make a counterpoint. what word do they use ?   but  /  though  / although / however / perhaps /  mayhap

how would your character pick up the phone ?   hello /  hey /  hi  / yellow  / yo  / yeah / [name]. / what’s up  / who is this / what do you want / can i help you?

how does your character end conversations ? walk away / ask if that’s everything / say that that’s everything / give a proper goodbye / tell their company they’re done here / remain quiet /  they don’t

how does your character address others ?   titles  / first names  / surnames / full names / nicknames

what social class would others assume your character belongs to, hearing them speak ? upper / middle / lower

in what ways does the way your character speak stand out to others ?   accent /  vocabulary / tone / level / politeness /  brusqueness  / it doesn’t

Sayf: complexity  

vocabulary : ■ ■ ■ ■ □   emotion:     ■ ■ □ □ □     sentence structure :     ■ ■ ■ ■ □

profanity

frequency :       ■ □ □ □ □   creativity :       ■ □ □ □ □ watchfulness :      ■ ■ ■ ■ □

( bold all that apply ) :     arse. ass. asshole. bastard. bitch. bloody. bugger. bollocks. chicken shit. crap. cunt. dick. frick. fuck. horseshit. motherfucker. piss. prick. screw. shit. shitass. son of a bitch. son of a whore. twat. wanker.

( given proper religious context ) :     christ on a bike. christ on a cracker. damn. goddamn. godsdamn. hell. holy shit. jesus. jesus christ. jesus h. christ.  jesus, mary and joseph. sweet jesus.

this or that

contractions or enunciation?   straightforward or cryptic?   jargon or toned?  complexity or simplicity? finding the right word or using the first word that comes to mind? masculinity, neutrality, or femininity?   formalities or abrasiveness? insult or injury? praise or equivocation? frankness or lies?   excessive or minimal hand gestures? name-calling or magnanimity? friendly or blunt nicknames?

important questions

do people have a hard time understanding or hearing your character ?   almost always /  frequently / sometimes  / rarely  /  never

does your character’s point come across easily when they speak ?   almost always  / frequently  /  sometimes /  rarely /  never

would your character initiate conversations ?   almost always / frequently  / sometimes  /  rarely  /  never

would your character be the one to end conversations ?   almost always / frequently  /  sometimes  /  rarely /  never

would your character use ‘whom’ in a sentence ?   yes / no / only ironically

your character wants to make a counterpoint. what word do they use ?   but  /  though  / although / however / perhaps /  mayhap

how would your character pick up the phone ?   hello /  hey /  hi  / yellow  / yo  / yeah / [name]. / what’s up  / who is this / what do you want / can i help you?

how does your character end conversations ? walk away / ask if that’s everything / say that that’s everything / give a proper goodbye / tell their company they’re done here / remain quiet /  they don’t

how does your character address others ?   titles  / first names  / surnames / full names / nicknames

what social class would others assume your character belongs to, hearing them speak ? upper / middle / lower

in what ways does the way your character speak stand out to others ?   accent /  vocabulary / tone / level / politeness /  brusqueness  / it doesn’t

tagged by : I stole it! tagging : Everyone!!!

[theseaistheskies]

@tailoringtay

There are many things that one might imagine would happen in ant normal day, but perhaps a screaming child, barging into the store and running around all over the place, and even managing to slip through the guard into other rooms, was not one of them. Seemed like they were shouting something along the lines of ‘clothes’, but it was too dragged out to be quite sure.

Soon afterwards, a young man stumbled in, out of breath, and very visibly distressed. However, instead of going after the child, he just trudged over to the front counter, muttering an apology. “How much does it cost to patch up clothes, or buy fabric here?” He asked, almost too quietly to be heard, as he leaned on the counter. Somewhere in the background, the shouting seemed to have stopped.

[theseaistheskies]

Sayf and Morgan~ an extremely rough sketch

[theseaistheskies]

✔ :D

Send me ✔ and I will bold my preferences for your muse!

My muse(s): Morgan and Sayf

Do I know your muse(s): yes | no | a little | tell me about your muse(s) - Because I love all of your OCs and muses and can NEVER hear enough about them :)

Setting: our verse | my verse | your verse | modern | alternate universe | other

Pre-established relationships? yes | no | depends on the relationship

Possible relationships: friends | classmate | co-worker | roommate | family, real or adopted | dating or blind date | married | friends with benefits | unrequited love | lending a hand | teacher - student | rivals | allies | partner-in-crime | enemies | protector - guarded | business partners | spy - infiltrated | manipulator - manipulated | star-crossed | first meeting | other

I’m in the mood for: fluff - I am never sure what this means exactly but my idea of it is Morgan sleeping on Quack as he sleeps, so would that count?| angst | horror - the tales of the invisible ghosts :P | romance | humor | crime | hurt / comfort | action | supernatural | slice of life | crack | dark threads | light threads | any genre | multi-para | shorter para | one-line | any length | plotted threads | unplotted threads | other - and and everything!!!

Feel free to: message me ooc | message me ic | tell me your ideas | write a starter | answer one of my opens | send a meme | reblog this with your preferences - let’s find common interests!

[theseaistheskies]

With a final twirl from Morgan, a final resounding boom from the Dumbuk echoed in the silence that followed, all in time with the dancer’s foot planting firmly onto the ground before the audience. Their chest was held proud, though breathing heavily, the arms arched behind their shoulders elegantly, while the dust settled about them; the final pose to the dance.

Morgan waited for the audience to applaud before giving a characteristic wide grin and taking a bow. Then they gestured to the musicians; Sayf on the Dumbuk, and their friends Husam on the Cello, and Khalil on the violin. The musicians stood and gave a curt bow before settling back to more background music, the like to ease crowd into a merry conversational mood as they’d leave the premise. Well, except for those that chose to remain. 

Morgan, too, picked up their tambourine and tapped along to the gentle beat, complimenting the others on their work.

[theseaistheskies]

What monster from folklore protects you?

Morgan - Myling

Lost... alone... unwanted... unnamed... abandoned... forgotten. 

Such is the petrifying fate of the Myling children; children who were born by poverty-stricken women who are abandoned or killed, their remains hidden, forgotten by time. Their souls are fated to forever roam this Earth, searching for their bodies, their names, the love they never had the chance to experience. Mylingar cries can be heard, mournfully echoing from deep within the misty woods, luring travelers into to investigate. The deeper they venture into the unforgiving branches, the further from civilization they strayed, the faster they approached their deaths. The myling would attach themselves to the traveler's back, demanding that they are carried to the graveyard so they can rest in hallowed ground. With every step the ill-fated traveler takes, the heavier the myling becomes until the traveler collapses into the soil from exhaustion. If they cannot regain their footing and make it to the graveyard... the myling will kill them in a fit of rage.

You are perceptive and often childish, these are the traits that connects the Myling to you. Your body may mature but your mind remains youthful. Growing up never held any appeal towards you, especially since the adult life seems too complicated. If it were up to you, you could remain a child forever. Free from commitment, constraint and responsibilities, living life to have fun. Just be careful what you wish for.

Wishes have a peculiar way of coming true...

Sayf - Banshee

"Far, far away something made a single ghostly howl, like a banshee in the dark." -Lucy Christopher

The banshee, is a creature from Irish Folklore. Though not inherently malevolent, it is said to be a dark omen. The ghostly cries of a weeping woman drift in the air, warning any unfortunate soul who hears of impending death. Following her like the train of a morbidly beautiful wedding dress, a thick fog envelops her skin as she croons a sorrowful, haunting song which is filled with concern and love for her family. This song can be heard a few days before the death of a family member and in most cases the song can only be heard by the person for whom it is intended. Some even go to argue that it is the banshee's unwitting song which kills the person.

You care very strongly about your family and friends. Your loyalty towards those whom you care for is unconditional. You are an excellent and reliable friend, trustworthy enough to bear even the darkest of secrets. Secrets which you would gladly carry to the grave unless of course, they harm your loved ones. You will fight tooth and nail to protect the ones you care for, restraint left abandoned. The banshee admires your resilience and passion. It desires to aid you in protecting those you love and to help you navigate a harsh reality just be warned and keep a close eye on the people you love,

Your undying loyalty may just become their undoing...

Tagged: stolen from @venomousovereignty and (again)  Tagging: anyone who likes purple!!! (and all colours!)

[theseaistheskies]

➢ CHARACTER AESTHETICS .

➢ tagged by :     @tailoringtay​ ➢ tagging :      anyone who likes fall scenery/colours! and any other season!

Morgan

ARIES :     bonfires , competitiveness , hand veins , loud laughs , messy hair , sneaking out at 2am , abandoned beaches , stray dogs , candle lights , body language , creaking floorboards , ouija boards , having no regrets , karaoke nights out

TAURUS :     house plants , oversized sweaters , soft hands , fuzzy socks , visiting big cities , snoozing your alarm clock , the color yellow , vanilla-scented candles , aloe vera ,fruit smoothies , baking cookies , the mom friend , loves the ukulele .

GEMINI :     femme fatale movies , in love with female villains , sharp eyeliner , quick-witted ,does things out of spite , do no harm but take no shit , in love with dogs , probably cries during sad movies but won’t admit it , easily excited , ripped jeans .

CANCER :     mermaids , easily infatuated by love , smelling flowers , picnics in open fields ,  gets sad when thinking about the past , impressed easily , daydreaming in class ,plucking fresh fruit , loves fashion , would die for their friends .

LEO :     confident in what they do , kill them with kindness , high ponytails , probably wants to visit paris once , not afraid to tell the truth , in love with cute animals , the one to lift others up , good at teamwork , the warm feeling of summer , dragons .

VIRGO :     pastel markers , the smell of lavender , has a welcoming vibe around them ,actually organized , scrunchies , neat notes , loves going to museums , probably into photography , neutral colors , handwritten letters , stardust .

LIBRA :     soft blankets , cuddling the ones you love , always standing up for your friends , hopeless romantic , can be very distant , can be a little dramatic , pretty hair ,dresses nicely , tries to be popular on social media , optimistic , humorous .

SCORPIO :     cottages in the woods ,  in love with greek mythology , vintage t-shirts ,really emotional but doesn’t want anyone to know , determined , moonlight , pretty handwriting , into the retro aesthetic , rainy days , doesn’t judge people , cats .

SAGITTARIUS :     always ready for an adventure ,  street smart , wants to travel the world someday , doesn’t easily trust people , alcohol , paintbrushes , can’t sit still , untied shoelaces , tangled up earphones , blasting music at midnight , eye-gazing .

CAPRICORN :     cold aura , coffee is what keeps them going , probably hasn’t slept in two days , actually a big softie , high-waisted jeans , cute pet videos , small apartments ,has too many notebooks , often goes to the library , writing essays .

AQUARIUS :     loves to paint & do any kind of art , wants to live at the seaside , knows a lot of random facts , shares food , messy notes , bullshits an entire essay , graffiti , has their own distinct style , wants to live their life like they want to .

PISCES :     old teddy bears , unsent love letters , mom-jeans , loves to sing , feels at home by the ocean , writes poetry , hard-workers , always up for deep conversations ,probably did the stupid thing , open curtains , a soft breeze .

Sayf

ARIES :     bonfires , competitiveness , hand veins , loud laughs , messy hair , sneaking out at 2am , abandoned beaches , stray dogs , candle lights , body language , creaking floorboards , ouija boards , having no regrets , karaoke nights out

TAURUS :     house plants , oversized sweaters , soft hands , fuzzy socks , visiting big cities , snoozing your alarm clock , the color yellow , vanilla-scented candles , aloe vera ,fruit smoothies , baking cookies , the mom friend , loves the ukulele .

GEMINI :     femme fatale movies , in love with female villains , sharp eyeliner , quick-witted ,does things out of spite , do no harm but take no shit , in love with dogs , probably cries during sad movies but won’t admit it , easily excited , ripped jeans .

CANCER :     mermaids , easily infatuated by love , smelling flowers , picnics in open fields ,  gets sad when thinking about the past , impressed easily , daydreaming in class ,plucking fresh fruit , loves fashion , would die for their friends .

LEO :     confident in what they do , kill them with kindness , high ponytails , probably wants to visit paris once , not afraid to tell the truth , in love with cute animals , the one to lift others up , good at teamwork , the warm feeling of summer , dragons .

VIRGO :     pastel markers , the smell of lavender , has a welcoming vibe around them ,actually organized , scrunchies , neat notes , loves going to museums , probably into photography , neutral colors , handwritten letters , stardust .

LIBRA :     soft blankets , cuddling the ones you love , always standing up for your friends , hopeless romantic , can be very distant , can be a little dramatic , pretty hair ,dresses nicely , tries to be popular on social media , optimistic , humorous .

SCORPIO :     cottages in the woods ,  in love with greek mythology , vintage t-shirts ,really emotional but doesn’t want anyone to know , determined , moonlight , pretty handwriting , into the retro aesthetic , rainy days , doesn’t judge people , cats .

SAGITTARIUS :     always ready for an adventure ,  street smart , wants to travel the world someday , doesn’t easily trust people , alcohol , paintbrushes , can’t sit still , untied shoelaces , tangled up earphones , blasting music at midnight , eye-gazing .

CAPRICORN :     cold aura , coffee is what keeps them going , probably hasn’t slept in two days , actually a big softie , high-waisted jeans , cute pet videos , small apartments ,has too many notebooks , often goes to the library , writing essays .

AQUARIUS :     loves to paint & do any kind of art , wants to live at the seaside , knows a lot of random facts , shares food , messy notes , bullshits an entire essay , graffiti , has their own distinct style , wants to live their life like they want to .

PISCES :     old teddy bears , unsent love letters ,  mom-jeans , loves to sing , feels at home by the ocean , writes poetry , hard-workers , always up for deep conversations ,probably did the stupid thing , open curtains , a soft breeze .

[theseaistheskies]

character aesthetic

BOLD what applies. REPOST, don’t reblog.

Morgan:

I. THE FAIRY.  chipped nail polish. glitter highlight. tall trees with smooth bark. tangled hair. the taste of cinnamon sugar. talking too loud and too fast. overgrown flowers in your hair. crumbling buildings reclaimed by nature. flirting. walking home at 3am with no coat. platonic hand-holding. blowing smoke out of your nose. dragonfly wings. chaotic good. freckles. fairy rings. secret meetings. gender nonconformity. leather. smudged eyeliner. forbidden fruit.

II. THE REAPER. computer errors. a shiver down your spine. haunting beauty. hard liquor. crowns of thorns. shadowed alleyways. decaying plant matter. shattered mirrors and broken glass. corrupted memories. stopped clocks. the scent of stale cigarettes. tattered black hoodies. walking your friends home. the crescent moon. the sea. a graveyard on a foggy day. cold rings on cold fingers. absolution.  looking out the window of an airplane. soft kisses.

III. THE WITCH. graffiti. pretending to know what you’re doing. worn paperback books. growing up too fast. parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. lace and combat boots. moth wings. candles on every surface. a weathered deck of cards. turning the music up. fireflies in jars. calloused fingers. drawing on your skin. sunlight filtering through clouds. petrichor. a dying rose in a jar.  wearing a crystal pendant. illusions and spells. black cats. mint gum. chapped lips. dirt under your fingernails. the cycle of life and death.

IV. THE WOLF. murders of crows. frost-bitten leaves. wolves howling at midnight. knocking on your door. leaving food out for stray animals. the twang of an acoustic guitar. honey. tiny red buds on trees. claw marks on the walls. golden eyes. slightly too long stubble. sharp canines. soft, thick fur. hunger. a small cottage in the middle of the woods. knitted fingerless gloves.sleeping on the forest floor. always finding your way back home.

Sayf:

I. THE FAIRY.  chipped nail polish. glitter highlight. tall trees with smooth bark. tangled hair. the taste of cinnamon sugar. talking too loud and too fast. overgrown flowers in your hair. crumbling buildings reclaimed by nature. flirting. walking home at 3am with no coat. platonic hand-holding. blowing smoke out of your nose. dragonfly wings. chaotic good. freckles. fairy rings. secret meetings. gender nonconformity. leather. smudged eyeliner. forbidden fruit.

II. THE REAPER. computer errors. a shiver down your spine. haunting beauty. hard liquor. crowns of thorns. shadowed alleyways. decaying plant matter. shattered mirrors and broken glass. corrupted memories. stopped clocks. the scent of stale cigarettes. tattered black hoodies. walking your friends home. the crescent moon. the sea. a graveyard on a foggy day. cold rings on cold fingers. absolution.  looking out the window of an airplane. soft kisses.

III. THE WITCH. graffiti. pretending to know what you’re doing. worn paperback books. growing up too fast. parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. lace and combat boots. moth wings. candles on every surface. a weathered deck of cards. turning the music up. fireflies in jars. calloused fingers. drawing on your skin. sunlight filtering through clouds. petrichor. a dying rose in a jar.  wearing a crystal pendant. illusions and spells. black cats. mint gum. chapped lips. dirt under your fingernails. the cycle of life and death.

IV. THE WOLF. murders of crows. frost-bitten leaves. wolves howling at midnight. knocking on your door. leaving food out for stray animals. the twang of an acoustic guitar. honey. tiny red buds on trees. claw marks on the walls. golden eyes. slightly too long stubble. sharp canines. soft, thick fur. hunger. a small cottage in the middle of the woods. knitted fingerless gloves.sleeping on the forest floor. always finding your way back home.

Tagged by: @danthekickingman​ Tagging: