#I think about Desmond Miles at least once a day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

xadoheandterra · 3 years

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Series: The Heir, The Reader, and Clay

Title: Run It Again Fandom: Assassin’s Creed Characters: Desmond Miles, Kadar Al-Sayf, Al Mualim, Altair Ibn La’Ahad 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 @claire-the-dyke-dragon Tags: Time Travel, Big Brother Kadar, Desmond Raised By Others, De-Aged Desmond, OC’s Galore, Dad Malik 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.

Malik looked through the supplies as the Novices' unhitched the cart from the horse with single focus. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed since he last checked over everything; really the action made him feel somewhat useful considering his numerous blunders in attempting to ride horseback with one arm. His own Novices' had to assist him more than once and that stung his pride like no other. Now, outside Jerusalem and away from Masyaf, Malik wasn't certain as to what he was even doing.

Running a Bureau was a lot; to be perfectly honest Malik had no clue how to handle affairs as the Bureau Leader. He didn't know the first thing about balancing a legitimate front job to balancing the information network to balancing the Assassins themselves. He'd never been trained to do such, and even the crash course in Leadership that Kareem had given him the last two days before Al Mualim decided his journey to begin left Malik feeling woefully underprepared. About the only think Malik felt comfortable with was that at least he wouldn't have to purchase the property that would be used for the Bureau himself; everything on that front had already been handled years before. Until now the Brotherhood had little need of the place aside from a spare safehouse within Jerusalem.

Now it would be the active Bureau--and Malik dreaded the need to send out feelers into the city to find the state of Kadar's informants. Al Mualim had little hope that any survived, not with over a month of no contact, and Malik had little hope to believe otherwise himself. Why else would the Novices keep silent if they were indeed alive? Better that they be dead; whatever else the reason for the quiet Malik didn't dare want to know. No, better that they be dead and the silence a result of that--but he would still need to organize his own Novices to comb through the city and none of his set of four were decent at hiding within the crowd. Not enough to send into the city by themselves, not in the state it was in.

They would dread the drills, but Malik needed to work them to the bone so that he could make sure the Bureau ran to the best of its ability. Subpar Novices would not stand for long; they already dreaded the rest of Malik's lessons, what is one more groaned complaint to a list of them? Malik shook his head and stepped away from the cart; he needed to still his thoughts and focus on the matter at hand. Calmly he waved over the oldest of his Novices and looked the boy over--Jawad by far had the most honed skills of his Brothers and would thus be acting as his primary Apprentice.

"Ensure the cart reaches the property safely," Malik said. "I will be taking Kalid, Makhi, and Nasir to the market with me to replenish our perishables." Unspoken was that they would also be training to hide in the crowded streets at the same time, which the three boys clearly understood given the faint groans that reached Malik's ears. He fought back the urge to grin at their apparent misery.

"Yes Master," Jawad ducked his head and Malik turned and decided not to waste time. He gestured to his Novices and started through the gates into the city.

The first market was the target market for this trip, partly because Malik didn't want to have to wander far through Jerusalem and partly because he also wanted to make the Novices work harder to impress him. Not only did they have to blend with the crowds but they had to do so while carrying the groceries that Malik purchased for them. He had four additional mouths to feed and while Masyaf and the Brotherhood had given him a decent starting stipend, Malik also knew he'd need to be frugal enough to make it last.

Malik wanted to smack his face at half of the attempts from Kalid, Makhi, and Nasir to blend with the crowd. They were painfully obvious, and oftentimes Malik had to tell stall owners a story about how his nephews were trying to be clever and hide from him, as if he weren't aware that they were shadowing his every move. The lack of his left arm certainly helped the credibility of the nephews who wanted to help, but also didn't want to upset their Uncle--and really, Malik would say, at least it kept them out of trouble.

The last of Malik's purchases he loaded into Kalid's arms with a stern glance, and then a sharp gesture for the boy to hurry off with the purchases. Kalid ducked his head and disappeared into the crowd and Malik quietly thanked the merchant before he turned to make his own way through the streets, now without his Novices to shadow his steps. Malik didn't quite relax without his shadows, if only because he would have to give them a stern talking to once he made his way to the Bureau. Jerusalem also was not a kind city--the Templars had turned it into a den of their ilk and Malik was not unaware of their presence. He could see them clearly even here, in their armored forms as they stalked the streets.

Malik ducked his head as he walked, let his feet pull him in whichever direction they wanted; he thought to Kadar and Desmond and when he last left them, hopeful that they would make it to the city--hopeful that the Rafiq of the Bureau would have the skill necessary to see to Kadar's needs until Malik could return. He did return, but now he knew the cruelties that awaited his brother--awaited Desmond who had been a child. Malik cursed his own choice to leave them behind--he should have accompanied them to the city and screw the fucking treasure. He should have stayed with Kadar--he should have--

"Ow--you fucking little piece of shit--"

In the middle of the road was a guard--not a Templar, at least not by the armor, but definitely one of Majd Addin's men--and in his arms was a familiar head of dark curls and gleaming, golden eyes. The guard was shaking out a hand, indents of teeth among it, while the boy--Desmond--struggled against the tight grip of his tunic. The clothes were heavily worn and utterly filthy, and his face was streaked with a bit of dirt or dust, but it was wholly and undoubtedly Desmond. Malik felt like he was dreaming; he had to be dreaming. The Bureau Rafiq was dead and Al Mualim told him that all of the Novices were reported to have perished as well--that the Informants had been potentially routed out--and Malik trusted the information because why would Al Mualim lie? He doubted Kadar would've lived without intervention--without help--and he'd sent the boys to their doomed. Malik came to terms with that--he had.

There were weights attached to his eyes; Malik could feel the way they burned, how his cheeks hurt with the pain of it. His chest was too tight and too loose and he wasn't even sure of his footing. Malik stood there like a fool, dumbfounded and still, and just watched as the guard's grip on the boy loosened. He watched Desmond wriggle and writhe his way out of the guards grip--watched how those eyes seemed to be pinned to him wide and terrified and hopeful. Malik only came back to himself, only able to feel himself, when that smaller body flung itself against his chest, arms wrapped tight around his middle. He stumbled back a step, then raised his right arm and wrapped it around the boy and breathed.

"Desmond?" the words that came from Malik were wrung out, faint, and barely there. Desmond squeezed him back, tight, and Malik could feel a growing patch of wet against his robes. "Oh, child," Malik breathed, bent over to press his face into Desmond's hair, hand pressed against the back of Desmond's head--he still felt faint, like a bit of this was unreal.

The guard had to reassert himself, break through the faint illusory feeling that surrounded Malik and draw him back into the harshness of reality with a sharp, "Sir! Let go of the thief!"

Malik stilled. He pulled away slightly, watched how Desmond whined at the motion and carefully, cautiously shifted the boy so that he was pressed into Malik's side under Malik's arm to allow him the chance to watch the guard with a suddenly blank, suddenly focused intent. He could have sworn the fool called this sweet boy a thief. While Malik was certain Desmond had done some unsavory things to survive--the world wasn't kind to children left alone with no coin to their name and no one to care for them, Malik knew--he would never have named the child something as simple as a thief.

"What did you say?" Malik said--and perhaps he still didn't quite register the reality of it.

(they were dead; Al Mualim said there had been no survivors, no letters, no contact so they were dead; all of them were just gone and Malik failed--he failedfailedfailedfailedfailedfailed--)

"That is a thief you have, I would be careful if I were you," the guard said, words meant to warn and be reassuring at the same time, but to Malik they rang sour.

"I have no fear of this child," Malik said, words carefully measured, "for this is my son you are calling a thief." The guard seemed to pause, to take in Malik's clearly richly cared for clothes and lack of a single arm and the way Malik cradled Desmond close. He also saw the way the guard's gaze focused on the lone sword that rested at Malik's hip, the way Malik wore it open and casually as if he could use it. Malik waited for the man to try. "So you see sir, surely you are mistaken in calling a mere boy--one whom I have been unjustly separated from--a thief."

"I--" the guard faltered for a moment, glanced between Desmond and Malik, then raised his hands and stepped away. "I must have made a mistake."

"As I thought," Malik said, tone just on the edge of cruel. "You should run along now, before you make another mistake." When the guard seemed ready to hesitate Malik took a step forward--already shifted to press Desmond behind him and to reach for his sword. The guard quickly seemed to realize the threat implied, the way Malik's face was left to be utterly blank and unemotive in a way that Malik had been told was utterly terrifying, and quickly left without any fuss.

Malik eased; the marble like coldness to his appearance edged away and he looked down to Desmond who peered up at him with wide golden eyes that quickly faded into honey and with barely a thought Malik dropped to his knees and tugged the child into a tighter grip. He whispered, "You're alive," with a choked off breath.

Desmond wrapped his arms around the upper part of Malik's chest and squeezed tight as he buried his face into Malik's shoulder. Malik shifted his grip slightly so that he could reach up and reassure himself that this was Desmond--the same curly haired texture of Altair, the same angle to their nose, the same scar across his lips--and it burned with sudden intensity, the reminder that Desmond looked near Altair's clone at this age and Altair--Altair was dead. Malik squeezed the boy tighter and let himself be comforted with the fact that at least this brilliant child still lived. He nearly missed Desmond's mumbled and half sniffled comment into his shoulder.

"You came back," Desmond said, almost as if he couldn't believe it himself.

Reluctantly Malik pulled away, and Desmond followed suit and looked up at him with tear-filled honey eyes and Malik felt his heart break. "Oh child," Malik said, reached up and began to wipe the tears with the sleeve of his over robe. "I am sorry it took me so long."

Desmond quickly buried himself back into Malik's chest, curled his head down so that he wasn't getting tears on Malik's collar. He said a quiet, "Kadar thought it might'a been your arm." Malik looked to his left, followed Desmond's gaze to the tied off sleeve and watched the way Desmond's fingers twitched and tried to reach out to touch--but quickly thought better of it.

"I would have lost more if not for you," Malik said as he came to an abrupt decision. He shifted Desmond to his right side and manipulated the boys arms so that they wrapped around his neck before he hoisted the eight year old onto his him with one arm and a show of his own strength. Desmond wasn't light by any means, he was a growing child for certain, but he was mostly limbs and childish muscle--thin with a runner's build much like Altair, and certainly far more compact. Lifting a child his age and size wasn't necessarily easy, but it was doable.

Desmond let out faint sound of surprise to be suddenly pressed into Malik's hip, and for a moment Malik had to adjust his balance even further--he was already a little off from the change to having half-an-arm on his left side, to now carrying a child on his right his first few steps were far more fumbling than he ever wanted to admit, but the change and adjustment came easily after he gave himself a second to get used to it.

"Your quick thinking," Malik said as he shifted and adjusted Desmond, only the faintest strain in his voice, "and the splint you put on my arm saved everything above the elbow. My injury was--far more than what it appeared."

"So Kadar was right," Desmond said, and there was that churl of childishness in his tone that Malik could remember from his own childhood--the one Kadar would affect when he thought Malik was going to be an ass about something, and Malik couldn't help the way his lips twitched at the thought.

"Yes," Malik did say eventually, "Kadar was right. Where is he, Desmond?"

Desmond tilted his head and Malik shifted his feet wider apart to compensate the sudden shift. He couldn't see what Desmond was doing, but given the way Desmond moved Malik had a feeling it involved that second sight of his. Then Desmond raised an arm and gestured in a rough direction and said, with the slightest bit of a fought back yawn, "Tha'way. There's a church 'n some brothers--novices?" Desmond fumbled over the word, for a second as he leaned his head down on Malik's shoulder. "Ka--dar called them novices and they look like brothers."

Malik could feel rather than see Desmond raise a hand to rub at his eyes as he continued, "An' Jamal is mean. She called you a demon; but Kadar likes Hakim an' I think Hakim knows Kadar but they were all talking about somethin' and Kadar was taking his top off so I just--" Desmond made a half motion, like a shrug, and yawned for real this time. "There was somethin' important and I hadta--hadta find it but its gone now. Found you instead."

"Yes, you did," Malik said softly, lightly jostled Desmond so that he was higher onto his hip, and then asked, "Stay awake for a little while longer, Desmond. I need you to direct me." He would unpack all of the things Desmond told him later. Hakim at least sounded familiar; a Novice in Kadar's age group which meant--Malik fought back the grimace and buried the thought abruptly because no was not the time; it meant nothing.

Desmond yawned out a drawn, "Oooookay," and began to direct Malik sleepily to the Church.

"Where is Desmond?"

It had taken a while, but Kadar realized that Desmond was simply not there. He knew Desmond had followed him into the Church because he'd felt Desmond at his back--but then he recognized Hakim and Hakim started to ask him questions and when Kadar answered truthfully about the wound in his abdomen and that Malik had to continue to Masyaf without him because of it--Kadar couldn't remember where Desmond was after that. He looked from Hakim to Jamal, to Alem, and then over to Numair and Omar who glanced at each other in mild confusion.

"Whose Desmond?" Omar asked and Kadar wanted to curse because--he had introduced Desmond, hadn't he? He glanced to Hakim who had a frown to his face.

"The kid, right?" Hakim said, then looked to Jamal. "Did you see where he went, Jamal?"

Jamal scuffed one boot into the dirt and shrugged in a way that meant he really hadn't been paying attention to Desmond and Kadar wanted to shove his blade into the idiot's face he felt so frustrated. He had trusted these fellow Novices; he followed and allowed Hakim to cajole him out of his tunic and to look over his wound not only because he knew Hakim had the training but because he expected the others to keep an eye on Desmond. Desmond whom was attached to Kadar's hip normally--whom Malik had entrusted him with the care of and--if Altair ever heard that Kadar had lost his son Kadar was as good as dead.

With a groan Kadar buried his hands into his hair and pulled. It would be hell trying to find Desmond because the boy was good at hiding and sneaking around. His second sight aided him with those skills and Kadar knew Desmond had learned to be sneaky because of his 'teachers' whomever they were--certainly not any of Masyaf's Brothers and certainly not Altair because Kadar doubted Altair would stomach his own son with scars the likes that Kadar had seen this past month.

"It shouldn't be too hard to find him," Hakim said calmly, hand on Kadar's shoulder. He was already gesturing for Omar and Numair to go out and search when Kadar shook his head.

"You do not understand, Hakim," Kadar said, voice pleading and horrified in equal measure. He looked to Hakim and something in his face had Hakim pause and freeze with wide eyes. "Desmond is skilled. If he does not want to be found he is not found." Kadar breathed slow and even; he wanted to hyperventilate, he could feel it come upon him. "He is very much like his father and if that man ever finds out he is lost...."

Hakim seemed to not want to ask, but everyone had gathered around now so hesitantly Hakim said, "His father?" because Hakim had to have seen it. To Kadar it was as clear as day but then Kadar frequently worked under Altair. Plenty of his Brothers had claimed him blessed for having Altair and Malik as his Field Masters, but Kadar disagreed because Malik would work him twice as hard and nothing pleased Altair, really. Place both of them together and Kadar was lucky if he got any training between their bickering.

"He is clearly Ibn-La'Ahad," Kadar said.

"The Eagle?!" Alem squeaked, and at his side Jamal jumped and glanced around with a hissed, "He is worse than the Demon!"

"Stop calling Malik a demon," Kadar said half-heartedly with a narrowed stare at Jamal who stuck his tongue out in response and Kadar wanted to groan. Hakim squeezed his shoulder in comfort and then gestured to Numair and Omar and both boys nodded short and quick and vanished out the doors to the Church.

"We will find him, Kadar," Hakim said calmly. "He might be good at hiding, but Numair and Omar are good at tracking. Any place he has gone two they will find him."

"But Hakim--" Kadar started, and then stopped when he heard a familiar shout of surprise, followed quickly by twin groans of pain. Kadar turned and ran toward the entrance of the Church with little thought except that he needed to move now. He already had a blade in his hand but came to a short stop when he saw--

"--were the two of you even thinking!?" Malik snapped. He wasn't even looking at Numair and Omar, instead carefully checking over Desmond who was on the ground with his face scrunched up in what Kadar recognized familiarly as pain. "I should have both of your heads for such a foolish action!" Quieter Malik asked, "How does this feel?" and lightly pressed upon Desmond's leg. Desmond's face pinched but otherwise he didn't say anything. "It does not feel broken, Desmond. Can you stand?"

Carefully Desmond got to his feet and Malik watched him; watched the way he set his leg down and assured that Desmond wasn't severely injured Malik rounded on Omar and Numair who both went tense with wide eyes, hands on their heads in a familiar motion. Kadar had had one of Malik's sharp smacks to the head himself from training, often with a practice blade in hand. Given the very real blade at Malik's side Kadar bet both boys had gotten the dull end of the weapon to the top of their heads. They were lucky.

"If I had not recognized you, you would have found your necks separated from your heads! Have you been taught nothing? You do not attack an unknown with such little preparation if you want to live!" Malik looked each of them over in turn and Kadar--Kadar felt his breath still because this was undoubtedly his brother and yet something was wrong. Malik was gesturing with his right arm as he spoke, but his left was so far still at his side and Kadar hadn't got a good look at it but something was wrong.

"Malik?" Kadar asked, eyes wide, and Malik stilled in his black robes--why were they black? Where was the Assassin white?--and then turned and his face lightened.

"Kadar," Malik breathed, as if he couldn't believe it was really Kadar and that--that hurt. As he turned Kadar finally got a good look to Malik's left and--and his arm--Kadar felt like he couldn't breath. His brother lived for the Brotherhood; he had given everything to being the best he could possibly be. He had matched Altair rank for rank over the years, behind only for a short while in each moment. He took the failings of their father and honed it to a patience that was practically inhuman. Took the whispers that swordsmanship was growing outdated for the Brotherhood and crafted himself into a blade-smith so talented that he had earned the epithet demon.

Before Kadar could so much as say anything further Malik was already across the room and had him wrapped tight with one arm, cheek pressed against Kadar's head as he said quietly so only his brother could hear, "I thought I lost you."

"I'm alive," Kadar replied, and wrapped himself tight around Malik and let himself be grounded in the fact that his brother was here. "I'm alive." Malik pulled back, looked Kadar over and Kadar flushed with sudden shame because here he was in stolen peasants clothes and not his Assassin white and Novice greys and surely Malik would berate him for the lack of his uniform--but Malik smiled, ran his thumb under Kadar's eye.

"I am proud of you," Malik said, and then whirled around on the other Novices with a stern glare and a narrowed eyed gaze as he looked them each over and Kadar knew he found them lacking. "As for the rest of you! Have you no shame? Your Rafiq is dead and you hide away in an abandoned Church, as if nothing were wrong?"

Jamal scuffed his booted feet against the ground and said petulantly, "We sent a messenger bird."

"Really?" Malik looked them each over, and Kadar felt his gut clench in worry. "A wonder we never received one."

Hakim stepped forward, the oldest of the group and their de facto leader, and quickly ducked his head. "Forgive us, Dai," Hakim said and Kadar felt his breath hitch because Dai--and he recognized the pattern along the hem of the robes, and the specific, unique embroidery that took up a corner of the black in bright Assassin white--Malik was a Dai. "We had not found another messenger bird to send, to make sure Masyaf received the first."

"You should have been attempting contact at least once a week," Malik berated sharply. "Maybe then we would have known to send someone to Jerusalem sooner. As it stands I now have to make sure our information network is not in shambles and I need to find a place for you," he gestured to the five Novices that surrounded him, "in my Bureau alongside my four Novices."

Hakim looked surprised as he said a quick, "You are running the Apothecary?"

Kadar snorted and Malik lightly tapped him on the head for doing so even as he replied, "Malik, an apothecary?" with little regard for how it sounded. Hakim narrowed his eyes in Kadar's direction and Kadar narrowed his back--just because his brother was Dai now did not mean Kadar would treat him any differently if he didn't have to. Malik hadn't said anything about the insolent and near insulting tone, so Kadar considered he probably wouldn't push Kadar to 'respect the rank' unless it was around some busybody gossip.

"Kadar is right," Malik said, rather stiffly even as he shifted away from his brother and back to Desmond, who seemed hesitant to move around the group of Novices. "Come here, child," Malik spoke softly to Desmond and Kadar couldn't help the way his mouth fell open in the casual manner to which Malik picked Desmond up and settled him on his hip. With Desmond settled and blinking rather tiredly at the group Malik turned back to address them, "I am a cartographer first and a scribe second, so my shop reflects these skills. Besides," here Malik grimaced, "the Templars are well aware of our apothecary now. To run another would be the height of foolishness."

Various softly spoken responses of, "Yes Dai," surrounded from the Novices and Malik nodded sharply in turn to each of them.

"Good. Now then, gather your supplies and follow me." Malik eyed each of them and then stressed, "Discretely. I take it you each have at least some knowledge of how to be the blade in the crowd?" Kadar didn't miss the way Malik looked specifically at Jamal--Desmond must've talked about him, and he couldn't help the grimace that crossed his face while Jamal seemed surprised to be under scrutiny. Malik waited until Jamal quickly nodded his head, and then looked back to the group. "Good. I expect you to not be followed, even as you follow me. If I spot you then you will be on stocking duty for a week. Understood?"

"Yes, Dai," came from the group. When Malik's gaze dropped to Kadar with a raised brow, foot not tapping from sheer practice, Kadar quickly uttered a, "Yes Dai!" that Malik clearly waited from. Appeased Malik turned on heel, hefted Desmond up a bit higher, and began to stalk off.

"Your brother is terrifying," Jamal said brightly as he darted past Kadar and back into the Church with Hakim, Alem, Numair, and Omar to gather up the supplies. Kadar didn't have anything to say to that; somehow, despite having a child on his hip, Malik still held that sharp air of command and abject disappointment in all of your choices. Kadar didn't know why he ever missed it.

#fic: run it again #fanfic #malik al sayf #kadar al sayf #desmond miles #altmal raises baby desmond #desmond lives au #time travel #wip #altmal #fic: the heir the reader and clay

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stealingpotatoes · 3 years

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Trying to Explain the Desmond (sorta) Lives AU: Part 2

(part one)

(hi I’m back and I was bothered to write more explanation. bla bla sorry for the mess also this bit was acccidentally lengthy and 2.5k words, whoops)

> > > >

Shaun and Rebecca more-or-less knew they were going to find Desmond. They more-or-less knew they were going to see him. They more-or-less knew that he was going to be all glowing like he was in the footage. This being said, they weren’t really prepared for um… any of that to actually happen.

Desmond is standing here, he is talking. He is moving. Alive. Shaun and Becs are across from him, silent and dumbfounded at the sight of their long-dead friend.

(I need you, my darling reader, to think of the most confused and shocked you’ve ever been in your life, and then bap, you’ve more or less got what’s going on in this room tbh.)

“Desmond?” Shaun finally asks in shock.

“...yeah?” Desmond answers, obviously very confused at Shaun’s tone.

“Holy shit,” whispers Rebecca.

“What happened? We were in the Temple and- and then suddenly I’m here and I’ve got… these?” He gestures vaguely to himself-- the Isu markings.

What he said is enough to sort-of snap the duo out of their shock enough. “What?”

“Yeah, what?” Des agrees.

“No, no. The temple-- 2012… that was six years ago. And you...” Rebecca says (still looking at Des with an expression that can only be described as ‘what in the genuine fuck’).

Shaun and Rebecca wouldn’t have even noticed Galina coming up behind them if it hadn’t been for Desmond’s slight shift into near ready-to-fight, tho he relaxes after a second (his eagle vision’s still there and says she’s an ally).

Shaun and Becs manage to take their eyes off Desmond for long enough to glance back at Galina, who’s come to find them.

“You were not replying on your comms--” Galina stops and takes a proper look at the man behind them. “Oh. He does not look dead.” Then back at Shaun & Becs; “We all need to go.”

Desmond is somehow even more confused than he was earlier. “Why would I look dead? And-- who are you?”

Shaun has manners, even in very confusing situations; “This is Galina. She’s an Assassin. And Galina, meet… Desmond Miles.” (audible question marks)

Shaun and Rebecca share an awkward glance. “We’ll explain everything when we get to safety?” Becs says, though she’s really not sure how they are going to explain, or what they’re even going to explain.

The two random assassins who don’t have names also came out of the fight fairly unhurt and meet up with the rest of them. They’re pretty weirded out to see a person with glowy lines on his face, and have heard of Desmond Miles’ death. However they’re obviously not as weirded out to see him alive because they just didn’t know him. They’re probably doing the best here lol.

Galina’s pretty confused but she’s become very good at compartmentalising over the years, so isn’t dwelling on things right now.

Shaun and Rebecca are-- okay, to say Shaun and Becs are “dealing” with this is definitely the wrong word. They’re moving forward like Assassins should, while trying to comprehend that Desmond is right there… and also trying not to look at him too wide-eyed and shocked. To them, everything feels like it’s going way too fast and way too slow all at once.

The trio and Galina all get into a van and head out of there, not planning on waiting for more Abstergos.

They reach an old Assassin safehouse outside of the city after a very Odd drive. The two unnamed Assassins stayed in the city to keep investigating and keep up their work before, so now it’s just Shaun, Becs & Desmond in the safehouse with Galina on watch outside.

They get in, make sure they’re safe -- protocol stuff. But Des really needs some answers. Like right now.

“What happened?” Desmond asks. This time it’s very serious, and you can almost feel the hundreds of years of killers’ lives he’s lived behind his voice.

Shaun and Becs share yet another look. The disbelief hasn’t worn off at all, but they’re, as I said, moving forward. “What’s the last thing you remember?” Shaun asks.

It quickly comes to light that Desmond has no memory of what happened after touching the Eye-orb-thing in the Temple. It’s just “a helluva lot of pain” in December 2012 and then boom, waking up in the middle of a city (shut, i know i still haven’t thought where), in October 2018. He also can’t recall bursting out of that Abstergo facility either -- his memory seems to start from where the weird glowing-eyes-and-apple-light thing he had going on stopped.

“But the Temple was six years ago?” Desmond quietly half-asks, half-states.

“Yeah...” says Rebecca.

“Then where have I been for that time.”

“You died.”

“What?!”

Shaun takes over; “Or at least, we thought you died. In 2012, we got clear from the Temple as you told us to. But then Abstergo, they--” (how on earth do you say this) “They got there before we could. They took your body and...”

“But obviously you didn’t die because you’re here.” Becs gestures at Des.

“Right,” Shaun agrees unsurely.

Des nods slowly, trying to take this all in. “But that doesn’t explain… all this.” he gestures to the Isu markings on his face. “Or what I can do.”

“Do you know what you can do?” Becs asks. She and Shaun don’t really know what was happening w Des’ whole abilities thing at ALL because they only saw a small bit recorded.

Des shrugs, but then unzips the definitely-stolen-hoodie a bit and pulls the opening to the side so his bare collarbone is on show. “I got shot when I… when I woke up.” Rebecca makes yet another confused expression. “There’s nothing there?” She’s right; there’s no wound, no blood there. Not even a scar.

“Exactly.”

“Oh.”

“I heal faster, I know that. And--”

“What’s that?” Shaun numbly gestures to his own chest where a scar starts on Desmond’s. It’s not like either of them have seen Des shirtless much at all before, but that wasn’t there in 2012, they’re pretty sure.

Des looks down then unzips the hoodie a bit more and oh.

Shaun and Becs didn’t notice that on the security footage. Tbh Desmond barely noticed it, too busy looking at the glowiness. But that’s an autopsy scar. Des has an autopsy scar. That’s...

Desmond zips his hoodie back up, but everyone in the room is Very Confused.

This is even more question-mark-inducing and raises about a billion questions; Did they do an autopsy on an alive person (for the sake of taunting the assassins)? Shaun and Becs wouldn’t put it past Abstergo; the Templars are messed up like that.

Or… did Desmond genuinely die? And did Abstergo… bring him back somehow?

Either way, Shaun’s mentally decided the “weird Isu clone of Desmond” idea is probably wrong because why would they autopsy a clone of a dead man?? makes no sense.

There’s more long pauses of bewilderment before Rebecca makes the very good suggestion that they all have something to eat. So yeah, they eat, they’re chatting. It’s mostly basic stuff. They should definitely have all had medical checkups first, but they’re all very much too confused and in shock to do like… anything.

It’s a bit awkward at one point (more awkward than the ENTIRE ordeal of seeing your dead friend again has been) because Shaun catches himself before telling Des a part of a story that involves secret Assassin crap and stops awkwardly.

Desmond seems to catch on, and he’s like “I get it. Abstergo might have done something to me.” Made him a mole or a sleeper agent like Daniel Cross.

Shaun and Becs feel really bad, but Desmond’s got this weird air of resignation about him. He understands. He knows he might be all messed up and controlled by Abstergo. That being said, the general resignation might just be pure shock at everything. A Lot Has Happened to him in a Very Short Span of Time (to him).

They continue on chatting, mostly inane shit. Desmond asks if his parents are… still around. Shaun and Becs assure them they’re fine, though still fighting. Say a little about how William took Des’ death really hard, (no duh), and dropped out of the fight for a year. Only came back after finding out what Abstergo did to Des’ corpse (or… alive body???) -- tho the duo try to avoid saying what Abstergo did for now.

However there’s another pause when Rebecca is, in very vague terms, explaining what happened in London in 2015. Rebecca starts telling Des what the Shroud is when she pauses and looks like she’s just solved some complicated code.

“I thought you were skipping the secret details?” Des asks.

“This isn’t that-- the Shroud heals people. Like, really fast,” Rebecca says.

Shaun gets where she’s going. “Ah... so say if someone got shot, it would heal almost immediately. And there would be no scar or visible wound afterwards.”

Desmond takes a moment, and then he’s like “...you think I have the Shroud’s powers?”

Now this doesn’t really solve any questions, and if anything creates more… but it adds something? Heck, this is all so confusing for everyone involved.

Anyways at some point they decide to actually all go to sleep. Galina’s still here btw, she also goes to sleep lol. Though before they do go to their own beds, Shaun and Becs have a quick chat about how weird this all is. Very Weird.

Uh yeah so shrugging noises, Galina at some point the next day is assured the trio will be fine on their own and heads back to the city to investigate with unnamed Assassins.

At some point they do actually do medical checkups lol, and comes up as, overall, Good. Desmond is pretty spritely for a dead guy.

However they run into an issue: the DNA thingie just Isn’t Cooperating. It won’t sequence it. Probably definitely because they don’t have any tech that can get his wacked-up now-a-lot-more-isu DNA. But it also means they can’t check to see if he’s got the same DNA as he did. So yeah.

For Rebecca and Shaun, it’s weird how quickly everything starts to feel like old times. As if they might be back in Monteriggioni, or the Temple, hiding out from the Abstergo and the Templars, as if the six year gap never happened. I mean- it’s not quite the same, obviously. Desmond glows now, and there’s always Something to remind them that they thought he was dead, that he was gone -- that something might be Wrong with him.

Desmond’s, on the other hand, in this very awkward place. Aside from the fact he now has superpowers (which he doesn’t yet know the extent of), he’s also dealing with the fact he was supposedly dead for 6 years. That the world moved on without him and his friends haven’t seen him for six years. 2012 feels like days ago to him, not years. Shaun and Becs are very happy to have him back -- but Desmond didn’t know he was ever gone . So where they’re nostalgic for old times, he can’t help but only notice the differences?

They need to find out what the heck happened in the 6 years they thought Des was dead. Seeing as the Abstergo facility that Desmond escaped from is -- funnily enough -- crawling with Abstergo agents that would very much like to get the three of them, (and that the trio has been told to lay low and try to go as dark as they can for now, while they all try to figure out what’s happening w Desmond) going back there to find crap out isn’t an option right now. So what Rebecca and Shaun are doing -- with a bit of help from Desmond, though he isn’t a tech guy or necessarily allowed to go into the Assassin database stuff yet -- is trying to scrounge up anything they can on Des and the missing six years.

They’re also slightly trying to work out some of Des’ powers, but they’re wary of him using them too much as Abstergo might pick up on whatever power traces he’s giving off. Shaun thinks Desmond definitely has a second PoE-based ability, and thinks it may be the Apple.

One of the first nights, Desmond asks Shaun and Rebecca what they are going to do if Des turns out to be a sleeper or something. They can’t actually come up with an answer.

Tbh, the search for info isn’t going brilliantly, even with two of the Assassin’s best searchers on the case. There are other assassins and PLENTY of Initiates looking for info across the world too -- Desmond just… coming back is a very big thing, and moreso is how he came back (ie all Isu-y). They haven’t heard any word from their mentor, Mr Miles senior, though.

But then Rebecca has an idea! If Desmond’s conscious memory doesn’t know what happened, maybe his genetic memory does? Small issue: they don’t have an animus with them. So they ask for one ig lol.

Anyways, they’re all chilling, researching, and trying to get to grips with the INSANE idea of EVERYTHING, ya know? Friendship hours. Catching up -- tho Des doesn’t have much to tell. There’s also emotional times!!! Shaun and Becs getting to say what they never had the chance to say while Des was alive, hugs, talking a little bit about the fact that his death (or “death”, perhaps) hit them Hard (though it’s difficult to talk about for all three).

The first piece of the puzzle that they get isn’t from somewhere they expect.

About a week after Desmond showed up (so after about 4-5 days of them being at the safehouse), Layla Hassan gets out of Atlantis. She’s just done the Trials via Kassandra and got the staff of Hermes Trismegistus (...in doing so, losing one teammate and gaining some anger issues. oops). Layla’s not that important yet. What is important right now is when she opened Atlantis.

Layla doesn’t have an exact time as to her opening the gates, but guess what happened very soon after the rough time she opened it? One Desmond Miles burst out of an Abstergo facility, glowing like your overly-dramatic neighbour’s Christmas lights display.

So then this all just adds more mystery to the uh... Mystery™. Did opening Atlantis resurrect him? Did it give him these powers for some reason? If so, why?? The gang also find out/ the Assassins overall realise that opening Atlantis caused some weird powersurge in every PoE -- but if that caused some kind of surge in Desmond too, does that mean he’s a Piece of Eden now? He has the powers of at least one, PoE now, they know, so…? There are too many questions and nowhere near enough answers.

The trio is itching to get out there and start investigating themselves -- but they’re told that there’s another assassin coming to join the three of them soon (it’s protocol to not say Who), before they start doing anything, and that they should wait for them. Also said Assassin is bringing one of them mini-animuses (animi? whatever; the one Layla has in ACOd) so they can do the genetic memory thing like Becs suggested.

So I guess it’s time for more waiting, for whomever the assassin may be...

#desmond (sorta) lives au #desmond miles #shaun hastings #rebecca crane #galina voronina #idk what im doing words are just coming out #ONCE AGAIN AM JUST EXPLAINING NOT FICWRITING #THIS IS A MESS #asscreed #assassin’s creed #potes wrotes #at this rate we’re gonna get to like part 4 or 5 before I explain how he actually got rezzed #the night that the sun came up

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actual-lea · 3 years

Photo

SURPRISE SUDDEN NEW CHAPTER

AO3 | First chapter | Previous chapter

Against all odds, they're still alive the next day.

It's a miracle that any of their group survived, much less all of them, considering that the rest were in a helicopter crash. Frank, Desmond, Sayid, Jack, a curly-haired man that Dan doesn't know, Kate, and the baby that had been on the first Zodiac trip, in the arms of the last of their little group – the pregnant woman, Sun.

Not her husband, though, and Dan's been avoiding her eyes ever since they set foot on the Searcher.

Really, he's been more or less avoiding everyone, a task that’s proven far more difficult than it should be; the Searcher isn’t exactly tiny, but there are only so many places to go, especially now that Jack's commandeered one of the larger rooms below deck as a makeshift infirmary for the still-unconscious Peter.

The upper deck is quiet enough, at least, so that's where he's camped out, sprawled across one of the seats with the contents of his backpack spread out on the table in front of him. The past few hours of sitting in the sunlight haven't done much to dry out his damp clothes, but he keeps checking every so often anyway, in between dozing off to the sound of the waves.

He hasn't slept yet, not really. He's not sure any of the Oceanic survivors have, either. They all have too much to think about, too much to do, too many details to fabricate as they prepare for their return to civilization.

And then, there's Dan.

“Oh, hey.”

He jerks upright and turns to see the curly-haired man, the one who had helped pull him into the raft the night before – Hurley, that was his name.

“Didn't realize anyone else was up here,” he says, interrupted halfway through by a coo from the baby he's holding. He glances between Dan, the damp clothes spread out on the table in front of him, and the empty backpack on the seat beside him. “Is it alright if we chill here?”

“Yeah, yeah, absolutely.” He quickly moves his pack aside and scoots over to make room.

“Thanks.” Hurley takes a seat. “Daniel, right?”

“Yeah, that's right,” he replies, and then, hesitantly, overwhelmed by the familiar fear that he's remembering wrong, “Uh...Hurley?” Hurley nods, though, and he relaxes a bit. “We haven't, uh...met, already, before yesterday. Have we?” Without waiting for an answer, he adds, in a rush, “I'm sorry if we have, I'm not very good with faces–”

“Nah, we haven't,” Hurley replies, to a sigh of relief from Dan. “You were with Jack's group at the beach the whole time, right? I was with Locke.” He pauses, then adds, “I met some of your team though, I think.”

“Hm?”

“The really angry short guy, uh...Miles. And, that red-headed chick?”

“Charlotte,” Daniel says softly.

“Yeah. I liked her better.”

He smiles. “Me too.”

They sit in silence for a moment, broken only by the intermittent babbling from the baby in Hurley's arms.

“So...you managed to hang on to all your stuff, huh?” Hurley nods to the damp clothes on the table. “That’s pretty sweet.”

“Yeah, not all of it,” Dan mutters a bit louder than he means to, and then he adds, in response to Hurley's questioning look, “My, uh. My journal's missing.” The statement sounds a bit ridiculous, in the current context, once he's said it aloud, but Hurley gives a sympathetic nod. “I think I left it on the island,” he rambles on by way of explanation. “Our stuff got mixed up – mine and Charlotte's – and so I think she ended up with my journal, and I ended up with this.” He holds up one corner of the bulletproof vest resting in the center of the table, the vest that Charlotte had been frantically searching for just before they'd jumped from the helicopter, that she'd finally found at the bottom of her pack after they arrived at the beach camp – a bit too late, considering that she'd been shot not two days earlier.

Daniel doesn't like to think about what might have happened if she hadn't been wearing Miles' vest at the time. He's sure he must have had one of his own, at some point, but he can't begin to fathom a guess at where it could be now. Knowing him, it was still tucked neatly beneath his bunk on the freighter when it went up in flames.

“You worried she's gonna read it?”

He snaps back to the present and shakes his head with a bit of a laugh. “It's not that kind of journal,” he says, absently draping his tie around his neck and stuffing everything else back into his pack.

“Oh.” Hurley watches him for a few seconds. “Nice tie.”

“Thank you. Nice, uh...” He glances up, his eyes drawn to the tiny hands grasping aimlessly at Hurley's finger. “...baby.”

Hurley laughs a little. “Kate’s finally sleeping, so we're hanging out.”

“He's cute,” Dan says with a polite nod.

“You wanna hold him?”

He freezes. “Oh– No, no, I'm– I'm not really, uh. Much of a, a baby...person, I–”

Hurley places the baby in his hands anyway.

“Oh...kay.” Daniel stays completely still, afraid to move. “Uh...”

The baby blinks at him, looking nearly as alarmed as he is.

“What do I...do?”

“You just hold him, and talk to him and stuff.” Hurley reaches over to adjust Daniel's hands, so that he's cradling the baby rather than holding it out like a potted plant. “His name's Aaron, and he's awesome.”

Very carefully, Daniel brings Aaron closer to himself, maneuvering one arm beneath him to make a better platform. All the while, Aaron continues to stare up at him, eyes enormous, one hand halfway inside his tiny mouth.

“Hi, Aaron...” he says softly. “I'm– I'm Daniel.” Aaron responds with a giggle, and Dan smiles. “He's so...small.” He glances up at Hurley. “Was he born on the island?”

“Yeah.” Hurley picks at his fingernails. “His mom's name is Claire.”

Daniel's stomach twists into a knot. “Did... Was she...”

Hurley seems to understand what he's trying to ask, and he shakes his head. “We don't know what happened to her. They said she just disappeared.”

Dan exhales. Frank had pulled him aside, earlier in the morning, to fill him in on everything that happened after he flew Desmond and Sayid back to the Kahana; the cabin fever afflicting the crew, and the trail of bodies left behind by Keamy and the other mercs – crash survivors, island natives, even some of their own people from the freighter.

Then, of course, there was the bomb below deck.

“We were gonna go back to look for her,” Hurley is saying, “but then the island disappeared, too.”

“Are you...” Dan pauses for a moment to choose his words carefully. “If the island is...still out there, somewhere, are you gonna go back?”

“I don't think we can go back,” Hurley replies, with something like a shrug. “I mean, I don't know how you guys found it the first time, but we were there for like three months and no one else ever came.”

Daniel nods, slowly, thinking. He's distracted by a light tug on his shirt, and he looks down to see Aaron grabbing clumsily at his tie.

“Oh.” He dangles the end of the tie over Aaron like the world's most boring mobile, and chuckles when he wraps his tiny fingers around the edge of the fabric and immediately begins trying to chew on it.

“Dude, I think he likes you,” Hurley says with a grin.

“I– I guess so.”

A door closes somewhere on the lower deck, and Daniel shifts in his seat and cranes his neck to see Jack walking toward the bow of the boat.

“Here, can you, uh...” Daniel carefully passes the baby back to Hurley and, after a brief tug-of-war to reclaim his tie, makes his way down the ladder to follow Jack, who leans against the railing and stares out at the waves.

“Jack,” Daniel calls out as he approaches. “Hey...”

Jack turns around slowly, a somber expression on his face, and Dan has a sinking feeling that he already knows the answer to his next question. “How... How is he?”

------

“Hold, please,” says the exasperated voice on the other end, and the line goes silent.

Daniel sighs and leans against the side of the phone box, glancing down at his watch. He's spoken to no less than seven different phone operators in the past half hour, all with varying accents and varying degrees of politeness. The one in Los Angeles has been the same voice every time, however, and so he can't really blame her for being annoyed with him, now that he's calling back for a third time with nothing more than a name to go on.

But after no answer from Jack, and a “not a good time right now” from Kate before he could get a full sentence out, he’s running low on options.

At last, there's a click on the other end, followed by a tired-sounding voice. “Hello?”

“Hello!” Daniel says, way too loud, and he fumbles with the phone and nearly drops it. “Uh, hi, I'm– I'm sorry to disturb you so early, but, I, um– I'm trying to reach Hugo Reyes, is he there?”

Silence. He counts to five and is just about to repeat the question when a response finally comes through. “Who is this?”

“I'm– My name is Daniel Faraday, I'm...” He presses the heel of his hand into his temple. “Ahm... I'm a friend of Hurley's, from– from a while back.”

“Oh, you're one of 'em from the institute?”

“The institute,” he repeats, at a loss. “Um... Well, I... It's– I'm–”

“I got you,” the voice interrupts. “Yeah, Hugo's here. Hang on, lemme see if he's awake.”

“Thank you, thank you so much,” Daniel stammers as the line goes silent again.

He checks his watch, then shifts his weight to lean on the other side of the booth, tapping his fingers rapidly on the phone base and mumbling to himself, “I am the worst kind of person, I am the worst kind of person...”

Another click, followed by a few muffled clunks of varying volume. “Yo.”

Daniel quickly stands up straight. “Hi, is this...Hurley?”

“Yeah,” is the reply, and the word becomes a yawn halfway through.

“Great! Great, uh... This is Daniel Faraday, I– I don't know if you remember, but...” He pauses, realizing what a ridiculous sentence that must be. “I– I mean, I'm sure you– It's been a long time, and I don't...”

“Yeah, I remember you,” Hurley says, and Daniel sighs in relief. “What's...going on?”

“It's...” He squeezes his eyes shut and rubs the bridge of his nose, and words start pouring out in a rush. “Listen, I... I'm really sorry for calling so early in the morning, and I'm really, really sorry that I'm making this call at all, but I'm out of options at this point, and–” He stops for a breath and forces himself to slow down. “I'm just gonna...say it, um... Can– Would it be possible for me to...borrow some cash from you?”

There's a brief silence on the other end. “Uh...”

“I'll pay you back, a hundred percent, I swear, I'm just not– I'm in England right now and I can't–”

“Dude, it's cool.”

Daniel freezes. “It... It is?”

“Sure,” Hurley says, like it's the most normal thing in the world. “Just lemme know where to wire it, and you can pay me back whenever, no big deal.”

“The... The thing is...” Dan begins, wishing that the earth would just open up and swallow him already. “I need cash, specifically, and it– it has to be today.”

“Oh–”

“I'm sorry, I am so, so sorry, I know this is a lot to ask and I feel like the most disgusting person on the planet for even–”

“How much do you need?”

He consults the numbers scrawled on his palm. “Thirty-five hundred pounds. Which would be...” He quickly double-checks the math in his head with a wince. “Uh. A little over six thousand dollars,” he finishes in a small voice.

Silence.

Daniel moves the phone to his other ear. “Are– Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I'm...here,” Hurley says, finally. “But... Are you, like...okay, man?”

“Uh...” He glances at his watch again without really seeing the time. “What– Why wouldn't I be okay?”

“Well, it's just... People don't usually need thousands of dollars, in cash, today, unless they're in some kind of trouble.”

“I'm...” He exhales and runs a hand through his hair. “It's...kind of a long story, Hurley.”

Hurley is quiet for a few seconds. “So, what is it?”

“It's...not...something that I can really explain.”

There's a heavy sigh on the other end. “Look, man, I don't know what's going on, but... I mean, I barely even know you. So I'm sorry, but if I'm gonna give you six grand, I gotta know what it's for,” Hurley says. “And if you can't tell me that, then we got nothing to talk about, dude.”

“Wait, wait, wait, please don't hang up, just...” Daniel pulls the receiver away from his ear to press it into his forehead, hard enough to hurt, and takes a deep breath before continuing. “Okay. I came here...to recover some of my old research, from when I– I used to live here.”

“You lived in England?” Hurley sounds surprised, and oddly suspicious. “You don't have an accent.”

Daniel blinks. “...No, I don't. I'm not from here, I just...” He shakes his head. “Anyway, there's this person who... He's not gonna let me have any of it back unless I pay him off by eight tonight. That's...” He squints, thinking. “Noon, your time. And all my cards are already maxed out on cash for the day, but I'm still short, and I'm... I-I don't know what else to do.”

“So... He's like, holding your stuff hostage?”

“More or less, yeah.”

“But it's... It's your stuff, right?” Hurley says, and Dan already knows what the next question will be. “Can't you just, like, call the cops?”

“No, it's a bit...” He clears his throat. “...More complicated, than that. Believe me, this is the only way, as much as I wish it wasn't.”

“Well...” There's a pause, and it sounds like Hurley is stifling a yawn. “Why is this stuff so important?”

“Because...” Daniel closes his eyes; he'd really hoped he wouldn't have to explain this part. “I'm...trying to find a way back.”

“Back where?”

He glances around and lowers his voice. “You know where.”

Hurley doesn't respond.

Dan twists his fingers in his hair. “Listen, I know how it sounds, I know it's... It's insane, but I have to–”

“You wanna bring them home.” Hurley's voice is intense, suddenly, with an emotion that Daniel can't identify. “Your people from the boat, and everybody that got left behind, you're trying to find a way to get 'em rescued, aren't you?”

He exhales. “Yeah.”

“Well, why didn't you tell me that?”

A split-second of static screeches through the line and Daniel yanks the phone away from his ear, and then he can hear Hurley again, with a slight echo that suggests he's now on speaker.

“I could've already had pants on and been halfway to 7-Eleven by now!” Hurley practically shouts, sounding distant, over the flurry of unidentifiable background noise bleeding through the receiver. “Hey, British people have Western Union right? It's not just like a weird, Old West, America thing?”

Daniel blinks. “Y...yeah?”

“Cool. Oh, spell your name for me,” and then, before he can open his mouth, “Wait! Lemme find a pen, hang on...”

More frantic rustling, and Daniel lets himself relax as relief floods through him; it's not quite enough to chase away the awful sense of dread that's been settled deep in the pit of his stomach since he landed in London, but it's one less disaster hovering ominously over his head.

“...and you said six thousand, right?” Hurley is saying, after spelling Dan's full name back to him three times to make sure he's got it right. “I'll do seven just to be safe,” he adds without waiting for an answer. “Hey, and gimme your phone number, I'll call you as soon as I'm done.”

“Uh, I don't have a...” Daniel starts to say, then pauses. “Wait... Okay, here,” and he reads off the number listed in tiny print beneath the dial pad of the phone. “Hurley, listen,” he says, taking advantage of the momentary lull as Hurley copies down the last few digits. “I cannot possibly thank you enough for this.” He swallows against the lump in his throat. “But I... I also don't want to get your hopes up too high, I'm not even sure if–”

“Dude, tell me later, I gotta go,” Hurley interrupts. “I'll call you back in like, half an hour,” and then the line goes dead.

Daniel stares at the receiver in silence; he feels like crying, suddenly, and his emotions are such a jumbled mess – even more so than usual – that it's impossible to tell which one is presently trying to overwhelm his tear ducts.

Instead, he mumbles a quiet “thank you” to the empty phone box and hangs up.

------

Gathering up the contents of his lab takes far less time than he might've anticipated.

He doesn't bother skimming over much of what he picks up, opting instead to stuff it all haphazardly into his pack to be sorted out later.

Slinking in the first time had been bad enough; now, after spending half an hour trying to disappear into the shadows outside while waiting for eight o'clock to roll around, his nerves are fraying at the seams, and the janitor watching him like a hawk from the doorway, impatiently tapping his foot every so often, isn't exactly helping.

Dan's given him what he came for already, though, and so he forces himself to be thorough, to resist the temptation to rush through the process and get out of here as quickly as possible. If he misses anything, he won't have another chance to come back for it; the janitor was quick to emphasize that, informing him matter-of-factly that anything he leaves behind after tonight is going straight into the garbage.

He gives the room a quick once-over, double and triple checking that he isn't overlooking anything obvious. The device is still standing proudly in the center of the room beneath a dusty layer of tarp; he could scavenge a few parts from it, perhaps, but trying to get through airport security with a particle accelerator in his bag might not be the most fantastic idea.

So, then, the only thing left is the picture, still sitting on the floor in the broken frame where he'd left it. It's heavy in his hands as he picks it up, and he stares at it for a long moment before finally slipping it into the pack along with everything else.

And finally, he's finished; he ignores a sarcastic comment from the man at the door as he leaves without looking back, and he allows himself to feel some small semblance of relief at having actually accomplished one of the things he's traveled halfway across the world for.

Of course, this was the easier of the two.

Now comes the hard part.

(next chapter)

#lost #fanfiction #daniel faraday #lost show #abc lost #HOT OFF THE PRESSES and also #HEY LOOK there are finally other Actual Characters from lost in this now whoaaaa

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rumor-imbris · 3 years

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Hello, Lady Connor! I want to ask out of unbearable, suffocating curiosity in my heart, even though in the previous post you already said to not mention "that certain comic". Could you please enlighten me about your view on that comic and what you despise about it? I would love to read your detailed thoughts about it even if just once. But if this is too triggering for you, I'm truly sorry for your discomfort and you don't need to answer it.

Hello, dear Anon and welcome ^-^ It's weird you naturally called me Lady Connor, as usually only my little fairy @giuliettaluce does. Well, I guess her magic put a spell on everybody here!!

If you really care to know, I'll answer, but brace yourself, it's going to be very long, almost an essay, because I can be very detailed about that comic being a failure in its every part. There's so much to say. You're right, as I mentioned before, it can trigger me, but I have attentively analized it and I know it makes not a single atom of sense. So nothing can actually bother me that much, don't worry ^_-

First of all, my general consideration of the AC Reflections comic issue #4, (yeah, that thing -.-) is that of a mere attempt to desperately make Bayek's remote vision through Senu's eyes a canon feature. It was created and published in 2017, the same year AC Origins was released and yes, they needed an excuse to make believe Connor's alleged daughter inherited a skill someone (who isn't even their direct ancestor!!) that lived 1700 years ago in ancient Egypt had! OMG, this should be funny enough, but I'll go on. Also, I think it was likely a carelessly arranged way to satisfy those AC3 fans demanding a "happy ending" for unlucky Connor (quite 5 years later, of course).

I'll better go step by step to figure out where to start from, seriously.

1) In the comic, when Otso Berg opens the file related to Connor, the scene is set in "1796: Upstate New York." Now this is chronologically and spacially incoherent and illogical. We see Connor still wears his assassin outfit in it, right? According to AC Initiates (2012) in 1804 Connor invites the Dominican assassin Eseosa at the Davenport homestead to provide him some advices and further training as he's involved in the leading of the Haitian Revolution. That's a really cool character, read about him, if you want!

So, until then Connor is still an assassin, probably the mentor (by now) of the Colonial Brotherhood. He still runs the homestead and he still commands the Aquila, I guess, he's the captain still. I calculated the distance between the homestead and the then upper NY frontier territories is approximately 260 miles (quite far nowadays with cars and planes as well). Then, why the hell should he have a family located in the forest upstate NY? It sounds very unconfortable to run back and forth to reach them and go back to take care of all the Brotherhood matters, doesn't it? Unless he knew about teleportation!!! Also, wow, he lives all alone in a nice massive villa with all the comforts of that time while his children and wife still live in a Native village constantly menaced by settlers wanting to steal their land? Beside the fact that Connor, at least in my point of view, seemed at last very familiar with european way of living by the end of the game, this leads us to the next point.

2) By the time the game and the comic are set (second half of 18th century), most of the East Coast Native tribes were facing the tragic and forced migration to western and northern territories (mostly towards Canada, protected by the British) because of all the consequences of the Revolutionary War (lost territories, failed alliances, settlers advancing and buying their lands and so on). So tells us history, unfortunately. It's a fact. And this is wisely showed to us in the AC3 main game when, after all the Kanien'kehá:ka tribes had left the territory around Connor's village (yes, even those near New York, to be clear) even Connor's own tribe at last migrates west, leaving an empty ghost village. They had remained all along to protect the secret temple, but in the end they as well were forced to leave. So, to me it's highly improbable that in upstate NY, one could still find a tribe and even if so, that Connor would let his family live there and risk their safety everyday.

3) The whole comic plot revolves around the fact that Io:nhiòte has a "special gift"... She inexplicably knows how to read the ground and find animal traces, she also can perform a perfect twisted acrobatic flip in the air and land unharmed to the ground. Do we know why? No, don't ask! xD She simply knows U.U, even if right after the next scene she slips and falls miserably down a cliff xD, but... ok!! Beside that, when Connor is far away to search for some water and is about to be attacked by a wolf hidden in the grass nearby, she sees the whole scene from the eyes of an eagle flying in the sky above her. As I said before, this reminds us of Bayek's (never clearly explained) ability to see through his eagle Senu's eyes and spot dangers and enemies. Now can you tell me why the hell this little girl has super powers and a skill Bayek had? As I said, they are not even directely related, as Bayek is not one of Desmond Miles' ancestor, we know him simply because Layla's new Animus is magical and can inexplicably read fragmented DNA from people who died a thousand years ago (it can also prepair coffee, I think!). So, where did she get that from? Magic? Mysteries of life? Convenient improbable connections for marketing's sake? We'll never know and you should simply accept that and ask no question!

4) From her height, way of speaking/moving/running, I assume Io:nhiòte is at least 8 years old, 8 - 9 minimum. She's the youngest of three siblings, who must be at least two years older than her and than each other (according to a human woman pregnancy timing!). If the comic events are set 12 years after the main game ending (1784, when Connor also starts to train the young ex-slave Patience Gibbs, arriving at the Davenport homestead with Aveline De Grandpré, according to AC IV Black Flag bonus mission with Aveline), so, this means that in that same year Connor must have found hastily the love of his life in a Native village (as if he was easy to open himself with other people after all he's been through), married her, impregnated her and seen her give birth to their first child, all in the same year when (let's not foget! xD) he still is the leader of the Colonial Assassin Brotherhood at the Davenport homestead training novices. Now, this may even be possible humanly speaking, (well, if you force the things a bit and hurry up!) but highly unlikely to happen!! xD

These are the main problems affecting the logic of the comic in my opinion, the points making its foundations crumble apart. Though I'm sure there are many little others to point out, such as Otso Berg "opening" Connor's files... like what? Where did those data come out from? I remember playing AC IV Black Flag and uncovering a file where Abstergo researchers themselves closed access to his memories as there was "nothing appealing to this character anymore"! So, if no more researches were conducted on him since 2013, where did Mr Berg magically or conveniently discovered such data in 2017?

Or... do we want to talk about the cover? It shows Connor in the spirit outfit from the Tyranny of King Washington DLC, which has apparently nothing to do with the comic, since it is set in his present day and he wears his assassin standard robe. Now, I think that can be either a simple marketing choice to make the comic more appealing, as... well, that cover is so cool, let's admit that, or maybe the subtle suggestion that the events told in it are just a parallel Disney-like reality and are not to be considered true at all! xD i don't know, maybe both explanations are right.

I'm sure that the deeper i dig, the more nothing rational I'll find!

If you played the old games, if you know well the franchise and its lore, the true, good, old AC lore, you definitely realize by yourself how that comic is useless and senseless.

This doesn't mean I do not wish an "happy ending" for Connor. But I'd rather accept something coherent with the main game events and AC chronology. Also, it doesn't necessarily needs to be a "happy" ending, as they conveniently created to please complaining fans. I wished for something real... coherent with his personality, acquired life-style and endless sense of duty and values.

Maybe that's what pushed me to write my FanFic novel in the first place, after all... To give him MY OWN cohesive ending, including my love, for love is always needed, I guess.

I'm so sorry if the answer took this long in time and words, but you were warned! ^w^

Though, thank you... Seriously, thank you so much for asking. You made me reflect once more about this matter.

Come visit me again, if you want. Take care

- Rumor Imbris 🦋

P.S. Oh, and if you're interested, this is my "jelousy song", for when things like this trigger my inner witch!! xD

#ask #ask me anything #I Am the Storm!!!!#AC3 Reflections #why it sucks #why it makes no sense #thanks for asking #anon ask

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esperantoauthor · 4 years

Text

Title: Express Yourself Author: Esperanto (@esperantoauthor) Rating: T Status: Complete (129,413 words) Tropes/Genre: slow build, friends to lovers, AU S2 canon divergence, romance, friendship, light angst

Summary: When he was 4, he didn’t notice it. When he was 6, he hoped he could outgrow it. When he was 14 he thought he could ignore it. When he was 16, he tried hide it.

When Blaine is attacked for being different, he transfers to a new school where he meets a cadre of misfits called The New Directions, who seem very impressed with his singing and very curious about his past. Blaine just wanted to fit in but maybe he will find something better: his voice.[A canon-divergent story in which Blaine transferred to McKinley rather than Dalton after being attacked at his old school.]

Teaser under the cut. Read it on Ao3.

Chapter 1: Starting Over

Blaine woke up on the morning of the first day of school with butterflies in his stomach. They were the result of that confusing mix of anxiety and excitement that he had learned to associate with performing on stage. For his junior year of high school, he would be starting at a brand new school and he was determined to make a good impression. This year would be different. This school would be different. He would be different. Or, you know, less different… more normal.

After a hot shower, Blaine washed his face and then studied himself in the mirror. The scar on his face had faded until it was barely noticeable. Blaine smiled, feeling reassured that he would not stand out because of it. He had stayed out of the sun all summer long and rubbed special anti-scarring cream his mother bought him into it every day to make sure that by the time he started school in the fall, no one would be able to tell he had spent 4 days in the hospital last May.

The smile on his face faded a little as he remembered why he would be attending a new school this year. His parents, overprotective as usual, had insisted that he could not go back to Bath High School with the same boys who had had given him that scar. He had listened with his ear pressed to the door as their raised voices argued with his principal about an “unsafe learning environment” until the principal had agreed to call around to the other Allen County High Schools and see if he could arrange for Blaine to have a waiver to attend from out of district.

Luckily, the principal at the nearest school had signed off on the waiver without much fuss. Blaine knew very little about McKinley High School. He had been there once for an away game when the Bath football team played McKinley. The football team had been okay but their cheerleaders were truly impressive. His best friend, Elaine, had whispered in awe that they had won something like five national championships in a row. Blaine had turned to google for more information and from what he could find the cheerleading team was McKinley’s one and only claim to fame. It had taken some digging, but Blaine had found one other nugget of interesting information about his new school: an article from a local newspaper about the McKinley High Glee Club winning at Sectionals last year. Bath didn’t even have a competing show choir but choir had always been his favorite class. Blaine bounced in excitement at the thought of being part of a small, exclusive group that competed and had actually won something. I wonder if you have to be a senior to get a solo, he wondered.

“BLAINE!” his mom yelled up the stairs, shaking him out of his thoughts. “If you want breakfast you’d better get down here, pronto!” Shit, I can’t be late on the first day.

Blaine pulled open his closet door to survey the outfit he had carefully laid out the night before: red pants, white collared shirt, and a black sweater. Thank you, past Blaine! He shimmied quickly into the pants and took a few moments to adjust his collar before grabbing his school bag and running down the stairs, two at a time.

“Blaine!” his father admonished, “What have I told you about running down the stairs like that? Do you want to end up back in the hospital?”

Blaine grabbed a plate of food and, with a mouth full of eggs, shrugged sheepishly at his dad. His father wrinkled his nose at him with disgust. “Alright, alright. I can see you are in a hurry to get to school. We will discuss this later.” Blaine carefully loaded his dishes into the dishwasher, leaned over to kiss his mother on the cheek, and saluted sartorially at his father before striding out the door.

—

Blaine parked the Prius in the McKinley High School parking lot and stopped to take a deep breath. He pulled a red folder out of his backpack and reviewed the school map and schedule the guidance counselor Ms. Pillsbury had given him last week when his parents had brought him to register. His father had done all of the talking so Blaine hadn’t really managed to ask any questions but he was pretty sure he could figure it out. He checked his hair in the sun visor mirror and nervously fussed with it. He closed his eyes and imagined a balloon slowly inflating and deflating as he took a few more breaths. You can do this.

Blaine hopped out of the car, settled his book bag over his shoulder, and avoided making eye contact with anyone as he entered the school. He managed to find his locker again and stow some of the extra school supplies he had brought before heading to English class. He arrived a few minutes early so he had time to survey the room and strategize about where to sit.

This was always an important decision for Blaine and if things were anything like his old school, the seat you chose on the first day could well be your seat for the rest of the year. Sit in the first row and everyone thinks you are a teacher’s pet or a show off, including the teacher. Blaine hated to be called on by the teacher in class so sitting too close to the front was dangerous. On the other hand, sit too close to the back and when it was time to pair up for partner work you got stuck with the slackers. So Blaine settled for a spot on the far right side of the room, right in the middle row of chairs. Yes, this would do nicely. He could blend right in from this spot.

Things had been going pretty smoothly until Blaine showed up for U.S. History to see written in large letters on the blackboard, “Please sit according to the seating chart.” Shit, shit, shit. Of course, the teacher had arranged her class in alphabetical order which put Blaine right in the first row between Desmond Adams and Rachel Berry. A girl with dark features and pristine posture primly settled into the seat next to Blaine and held out her hand, “Hi, I’m Rachel Berry. You’re Blaine Anderson. I saw that on the seating chart. You must be a transfer because I’ve never seen you before and they don’t let freshman take U.S. History. Are you a good student, Blaine?”

Blaine’s eyes widened and he felt something tighten up in the pit of his stomach. People who talked fast always made him nervous. It was even harder to rely on his strategies with someone who talked a mile a minute like this girl. On the other hand, she had managed to circumvent one of Blaine’s least favorite social interactions, introducing himself, so that was a big plus.

Blaine reached out his hand to shake hers and nodded in response to her question.

“Excellent, then you should partner with me for any group work. Desmond is a complete parasite when it comes to group projects; never again.” Her voice shifted down to a conspiratorial whisper, “I think he smokes pot under the bleachers.”

Rachel seemed intense but Blaine was starting to think that might work in his favor. She clearly did not mind doing most of the heavy lifting in a conversation. Blaine looked for signs that she had noticed the fact that he hadn’t spoken a single word to her but she seemed completely oblivious. This was as good as he was going to get for a project partner so Blaine flashed her his most charming grin and nodded his agreement.

When the bell rang for lunch, Rachel turned back to him and studied him carefully. “If you don’t have anywhere to sit at lunch you can always sit with me and my friends. We may not be popular but it is better than sitting alone.” Before Blaine could respond, she had skipped off out of the classroom.

She might be the easiest person to not talk to that I’ve ever met.

[continue reading on Ao3; about halfway through the chapter]

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spaceraspberries · 3 years

Text

(The first chapter of my 18+ Undertale Fic ‘Monsterous Skeletonus’ is complete!)

(It’s gonna be a -very- slow burn, but there will be a whole lot of the UF Skelebro’s (G included!) in later chapters and a whole lot of eventual smut to go with it, even if the plot is gonna be heavier than a semi as it maps out 👀)

(Once I get it proof read fully I’m going to post it on A03!)

.................

‘Alright, alright! Easy now. We don’t need anyone breaking a leg, do we?’

‘Ugh, why do we need to go -all- the way down here? It’s not like the machinery for this shit doesn’t exist. I feel like a old school miner or something, y’know?’

‘Hey! That’s no way for a brave explorer to talk, Meg! Don’t you want to see what’s down there? Could be all sorts of cool, weird stuff!’

‘Like what? More rocks and dirt?~ Oh! Maybe some ‘sand’ even? Give me a break’

‘Guys, d-don’t start arguing. We’re going to be down here f-for a while so it’s best to get along~’

.................

The varying chatter of excited, muffled voices ringing down into the unknown, inky blackness of what was assumed to be a rather hidden among the weeds and rocks but still wide crevice leading into Mt. Ebott that had been only recently discovered, the forested area had been well scouted out over the past few weeks and had been mapped well so that the current team leading the charge wouldn’t have to contend with trying to figure out where their destination would be by sight alone.

The ‘team’, otherwise known as FTL (Future team leaders. A cheesy name if there had ever been one) were simply a group of third year Geo students who had been tasked with taking core samples from the innermost caverns of Mt. Ebott for substrate testing. It wasn’t exactly a glamorous job by any stretch of the word but it was good experience for the youngsters in terms of field work, the leader of the group of ragtag students, a rather burley, bearded man named Sean and his partner Gunter already being at the bottom of the cavern as they waited for the rest of his team to follow suit, the impatient Sean watching as Meg and Desmond, the third and fourth oldest on the team respectively, carefully sidled their way down the craggy rock surface, arguing all the way much to the usually cheerful but honest mans chagrin.

“The more you guys complain the more time your gonna spend down here getting the damn samples. We still have to set up camp too so I suggest you guys pick up the pace”.

A collective groan coming from the duo grappling down, Desmond and Meg soon reached the bottom of the dimly lit cavern while two other members on the surface still suited up, Terra and Mira, a pair of naive adventurers if there ever were any, looking seriously nervous as they prepared to begin the descent down into the unknown.

“You ready?”, Mira smiling nervously at the freckle faced Terra as her friend nodded back hesitantly, it was more often than not that Mira was the braver one between the both of them, Terra being more of the ‘I’ll just follow you for safety sake’ type ever since they were children and Mira often having had to assume a’leadership’ role because of it.

Not that she minded it at all though! If anything, the short-stack of a girl enjoyed leading her best friend through the forest and hills when they were merely kids, the both of them often fighting imaginary monsters and imagining what it would be like to climb the forbidding and dangerous Mt. Ebott that had the reputation of housing -real- beasts and all sorts of angry spirits for centuries.

Well, according to many a scary bedtime story it did at least, Mira no really longer believing such childish fantasies and thinking them about as real as a monster under the bed. The girl had always been terrified as a kid by the thought of some horrific creature climbing down the mountain and snatching her up in the night when she misbehaved, her being unable to look back at those times without laughing at how her own imagination used to run wild.

“Y-yeah, let’s just take it easy though, alright?”.

Terra blushing nervously as Mira grinned and the both of them began the slow descent down into the inner workings of the massive Mt. Ebott, the dark slag that covered most of the upper surface area soon gave way to crumbly, brown flecks of caked in dirt about halfway down that rained into the depths below at the smallest touch, the bright entrance to the surface growing smaller and yet smaller still as eventually it was merely a pin prick of light far, far above the teams head when Terra and Mira finally hit the weirdly soft and rather squishy ground beneath.

“See? We made it down okay~”, Mira helping to unclip Terra’s equipment as she could tell her fellow team mate was uneasy, she was used to Terra being a bit of a worry wart but she seemed to be especially unnerved today for some reason, “Told ya we would make it in one piece”. Sticking her tongue out playfully at Terra as the girl batted her hand away with a sigh once she was unclipped, Mira laughed as Sean meanwhile approached with bottles of water for both of them.

“Hey now! Looks like you made it all in one piece!~”, Sean smirking broadly as he playfully patted the nervous looking Terra on the back, the girl smiled small as she watched the others in the group already beginning to set their bags down alongside the smooth, stone covered walls of the wide, expansive cavern they had landed in.

The circular area where they stood being lit by a few torches that Gunter, a rather quiet short man that was second in command to Sean had placed around what would be their designated base area, it was easy to tell that whatever this place was it must have been pretty damn old, scraggy bits of moss and thick, thorny vines creeping up the strangely, almost ‘carved’ looking walls that were reminiscent of a oversized well in a way.

The dirt covered ground being rather soft and squishy as was mentioned previously, it wasn’t ‘wet’ but had the texture and feel of a half absorbed sponge that had been wrung out and left to dry, bits of dried plant matter, green and yellow, making up a bulk of the signs of life that had floated down from the surface to the seemingly lifeless cave over the years, a large pile of the shriveled mess having formed a rather neat mound directly below the gleaming entrance far above.

Meanwhile, the lack of hardiness in the soil was proving difficult for Desmond to drive the stakes for his tent into by his annoyed grunts and frustrated strings of cusses.

Nature wasn’t for everyone apparently.

A naturally formed but crooked arch towards the east appearing to lead deeper into whatever lay beyond the teams immediate landing spot, it was oddly convenient, almost as if it was beckoning anyone who fell or grappled their way down here to enter it and take a chance with whatever dangers laid beyond Its dismal, abyss like entryway.

Mira getting a bit of a odd vibe from the area as she decided to stick by her team mates side for now, there would be plenty of time to explore later, her taking a sip from her water bottle with a content sigh as Sean soon formed everyone in a loose huddle to discuss their next plan of action.

“Alright!”, Clapping a hand to get everyones attention as he visually assessed that his team was safe and sound, Sean held his constant, positive outlook proudly even as most of his members looked exhausted from the day trek up Ebott and grappling down here, “Now, we all know why we’re here, collecting samples and all that fun stuff. Of course, to avoid outside contamination from -that-“, Sean pointed upwards at the tiny prick of light to the surface above them, “We are going to have to do a bit of traveling inwards once morning hits!”.

“Oh! Does that mean we get to see how far all this goes?~”, Mira speaking up as she genuinely seemed excited about the possibility of traveling farther into the cave system, she ignored the sound of Meg behind her muttering something annoyed under her breath, “I hear some of these caves can stretch for -miles-!”.

“Andddd your exactly right, kiddo! Of course, we only need to collect samples unspoiled by outside contamination. We won’t need to travel too terrible far in for that, but I wouldn’t discount the idea of another trip down here if funding for this pans out”, Sean winking at Mira as the pint sized girl blushed and internally swooned, a intentional, rough cough from Desmond seemed to break the pair out of whatever little ‘thing’ was blooming between them as he motioned to the tents that still needed to be set up.

“Yeah, uh, a-anyways, another thing guys, I don’t want to see anyone wandering off either, got it? We have no idea where these caverns might lead and the last thing we need is to have to send out a rescue squad to find one of you. I’m sure everyone has heard the horror stories of those idiots who decide to go off alone and wind up wedged under a boulder or something”.

Sighing a bit awkwardly to himself as he seemed to get the hint across to his team judging from the murmurs of acknowledgement they gave, Sean was a natural leader and the head of this group obviously....but sometimes it was a bit difficult to get everyone on the same page, the only real ‘friendship’ between them all outside of being grouped students and cavers being Terra and Mira, two of the youngest mates among them.

This was going to be a long, difficult journey if they couldn’t all manage to find a common ground to communicate on, but at least in the end their mission was likely to prove successful now that they had arrived safely in the interior workings of Ebott as planned with barely a scratch.

Soon enough everyone would be back on the surface and they could all go their separate ways, but for now there was work to be done in terms of getting tents set up and dinner ready, the long hike just to get to the top of Ebott having been almost a full days worth of energy.

“Meg, you get a fire and dinner set up since Desmond already has the tents”, Pulling out a small note paid from his pocket as he scribbled something down while he spoke, Sean than looked at Terra and Mira as his usually eager eyes seemed to grow a bit more tense in thought as he rubbed his temple slowly with his free hand.

“And you two....Just...don’t do anything stupid, okay? We don’t want another Cauldron incident. That -especially- goes for you Mira, got it?”.

“Uh...yeah, y-yes Sir”, Mira blushing and nodding once as she glanced at Terra who now had a chance to smile and nudge her friend back playfully, neither of them particularly were proud of the unspoken ‘Cauldron’ incident but it was good reason for them to stay put and out of the way.

...........................

The team taking the next hour or two to set up tents and unpack gear, the plan was for a three day excursion to take samples from the depths of Ebott for both sediment and groundwater exploration. Of course, no one had really ever been -in- this mysterious cave system until now to map it out, the next few days having the potential to be longer or shorter depending on exactly how difficult the terrain proved to be to navigate.

By the time Meg had managed to scrap together a decent fire and everyone had settled down around it for a meal of rationed leek and potato Soup, the group seemed to be more than happy to simply have the chance to relax and take off their worn jackets and boots, The night sky far, far above them having the faintest sparkle of stars and moon mist to indicate the time of day on the surface.

Mira sitting to the left of Terra and near Sean on a blanket while Gunter sat near Desmond on the ground and Meg had perched herself on her bag, it could have almost be called a crude form of camping in a way if any of the said campers shared any sense of shared camaraderie.

“I’ve always heard weird things about this mountain, y’know? Things like ghosts and goblins and the like”, Desmond sipping his soup as he spoke with a sly grin, the flannel shirted man seemed to enjoy the way he made the nervous Terra especially perk up and shuffle ever so closer to Mira like a lost pup.

“How they especially like to eat little kids that wander away from home....Yeah, I bet they are just waiting to snatch some new prey up when they get a chance~”.

“Real mature, Des. I bet it took you all day to come up with that one, right?”, Meg rolling her blue eyes as the man continues to grin and simply drank his soup, Mira meanwhile seemed to be quite curious about what Desmond was getting at though as she suddenly became a bit more attentive.

“Well...I’m not a kid and neither is Terra, so we should be fine~”, Smiling lightly as she kind of wanted Desmond to continue talking about his little stories of what might be in these mountains, her gaze silently urged him to keep speaking as she let Terra cuddle close to her for warmth.

Desmond chuckling and shaking his head at Mira’s assertion that she wasn’t a child, he closed his eyes for a moment in thought, “ Nah, you don’t wanna hear stuff like that before bed, believe me”.

“B-but, I mean it, I’m really curious about -all- that kind of stuff! Cryptids, ghosts, you name it! I-I mean I don’t -believe- in any of it...it’s just, uh...fascinating I guess”.

“Mmm, I think he might be right, Mira. Besides, we should be hitting the sack soon anyways. Everyone’s got a big day ahead tomorrow”, Sean raising a brow at Mira’s apparent interest in what might be lurking around the inner workings of Ebott, his input seemed to only fuel Mira’s insistence in knowing more about what she thought Desmond was ‘hiding’ from her because he saw her as merely a kid.

“Come on, just -one- story?~ You can’t just lead me on like that”, Mira feeling Terra cuddle a bit closer to her even more so as she seemed to be persistent enough to convince Desmond to give in, the man sighed and put his empty cup down as Mira internally cheered that he seemed he was going to tell them more about his creepy tales.

“Alright alright, but only one, got it? Man, you kids these days know how to work a old mans feelings”.

........................

................

.........

Sleep coming easy for the exhausted group by the time Desmond had sufficiently managed to spook nearly everyone out with his tale of a creature called the ‘Crooked handed woman’, Terra had, as usual, decided to remain by Mira’s side even when they were comfortably safe inside their tents and was cuddled up next to her best friend once the group had decided to call it a night.

It wasn’t as if Mira minded much that the perpetually nervous girl wanted to share a tent, her honestly thriving off the warmth that the both of them being this close gave in this unnaturally cold cavern.

Desmond’s tale still ringing in the back of Mira’s mind as she fell into a mild sleep not long after getting herself comfortable, the thought of some old, crone like hag with skin like old onion paper and a twisted and gnarled hand with a ‘mind of its own’ was enough to keep her up a little after everyone else had fallen asleep, the occasional sound of what Mira assumed was dried leaves shuffling outside her tent instinctively making her cuddle up a bit more in her sleeping bag to feel smaller.

Yeah, maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to beg Desmond to tell his tale after all....

‘T-there isn’t anything out there! Stop being stupid and get your mind off of it already!’

Maybe Desmond was right to not want to tell his creepy stories when what she really needed was to sleep for tomorrows expedition deeper into the cave, Mira sighing a bit to herself as she watched Terra’s soft, unworried, sleeping face next to her own as she slowly tried to lull her body into rest as well.

............

......

-scerch scerch...scritch....~

‘W-what? What is that?’

Mira cracking her groggy eyes open after a minute or so of letting her mind rest, the sound of rustling ‘leaves’ outside of her tent had for a second or two became a bit louder than before, her senses instinctively going on high alert as she waited in silence to see if she wasn’t truly just going crazy from exhaustion.

...............

.........

‘scritch scritch....-c r u u u u n c h-

.............

The sound of what Mira could best describe as one of the Lit-A-Fire portable logs that had been put out by Sean earlier snapping slowly in half, the girls heart was pounding in her chest by now as it was more than obvious that someone, or some t h i n g, was out there just beyond her tent, her wide eyes focusing on the still sleeping Terra in front of her as she debated on waking her friend up to investigate.

‘No, she is just gonna freak out. Just stay put Mira...I-it’s probably just Sean or someone out there....’

............

-c r u n c h-

The sound of another one of the logs seemingly being split in half reaching Mira’s ears as she squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to panic, a odd tapping noise, almost like long nails clicking on stone, was a new sound to emerge after a few seconds of silence, the story she had heard from Desmond earlier returning to her already panicking young mind ten fold.

The old lady with her crooked hand and it’s long, gnarled nails....t-there was no way it was real, right?

............

.......

-tap tap-

A terrified, muffled squeak coming from Mira as she buried her head in her bag, the sound was now right outside of her tent as she felt Terra stir besides her, her not wanting to see who or whatever was attempting to seemingly try to get her attention as the front zipper of the girls shared tent opened rather slow and quietly.

“G-go away!!”.

Mira bolting up and slamming a pillow directly into the face of a most perplexed looking Gunter, the sleepy, heavy set man crunched his brow together as he put his hands up in a mock fashion to show he surrendered.

“Hey there, just calm down!”, Shaking his head once as he tried to speak quietly to avoid waking Terra, Mira blushed heavily out of shame as she immediately seemed to realize how stupid she had been to think that the kindly second in command to Sean had been some kind of ‘monster’.

“Was wonder’in if ya had the first aid in here. Kinda stepped on some of the logs while going to take a leak...and, well...”, Gunter running a hand along his hairline as Mira immediately went to hand off the box of medical supplies to the sleepy looking man that resided safely by the tent entrance, the pink blush she had sprouted didn’t leave her face as she sighed and retrieved her pillow she had thrown at him as well.

“Sorry bout that....”, Speaking quietly as she hugged the parcel to her chest, Mira was merely given a nod by the typically introverted Gunter as he went to zip the tent back up, her and the still sleeping Terra once again being left in the dark, Mira feeling like a total fool for letting Desmond and his stupid story get to her to the point of her actually thinking some terrifying beast had been shuffling about outside.

..............

........

-Scritchhhhhh~

Laying back down to -finally- get some much needed sleep, Mira paid little mind to the sound of what she assumed was Gunter bandaging up his wounded foot, her giving a mighty yawn as she wrapped a arm around Terra and-

..........

-B A N G-

.............

A heavy, extremely loud jolt rocking the pairs tent and apparently the others nearby as she could hear the sound of confused yelling and tired murmurs almost all at once, the startled Terra too blinked her eyes open as she gave a scared, confused look to Mira, her putting a finger to her lip to silently signal to the younger girl to remain quiet as she unzipped and peeked out of the tent to see what the heck was up now.

.......

-B A N G!!!-

A heavy, hot pressure nearly collapsing the heavy canvas tent in on both Terra and Mira as the girls let out a terrified cry of confusion as the fabric fell around them, Mira even under the mess could tell that Sean was shouting indistinguishable words to the others in a apparent panic at whatever was going on, Meg’s just as muffled, frantic pleas mixing in with his orders as Mira tried to yank Terra out from under their collapsed tent as another heavy bang and a sudden, strange whistling noise erupted around them again.

“T-Terra! We need to get out of here!!!”.

Terra, fearful tears streaming down her face as Mira grabbed a hold of her wrist while a bright flash of what could only have been described as a ‘ball of green hued flames’ slammed into the opposing wall nearest where Desmond and Meg’s tent had been, Mira squirmed out from the remnants of tent fabric as she didn’t bother or try to look at whatever or whoever was causing this havoc, her only instinct telling her to run as far away with Terra as she could while she still had the chance.....

Whatever was going on m-must have been some weird, natural cave phenomenon....that was the only real explanation Mira could come up with on the fly e-even if it made little sense logically....

Flames just didn’t shoot out of nowhere like this though.....but maybe since Ebott was rumored to be a long dormant volcano t-that had something to do with all of this?

As little sense as it made it was the -only- logic running through Mira’s imagination as she tried to block out the frantic sound of yelling and screaming back from base, the loud crack of a shotgun being added to the fray as Mira practically dragged Terra towards the archway nearby.

The dimness of the cavern making it nearly impossible for the pair to get their footing as the torches from earlier had been put out by Sean in anticipation of a good nights rest, Mira blindly ran towards the stone archway that led deeper into the yet unexplored inner cavern, her bare feet scrapping painfully along the much rougher, cement-like surface of the pitch black entry way into the unknown depths.

Her nearly crushing Terra’s wrist in her grip as she pulled the hyperventilating and crying girl along, the sound of the carnage from the base camp was now only a muffled, distant drone as the wide eyed and fully shocked Mira eventually stopped to take a breath once they reached a narrow alcove that was eerily silent and still compared to the chaos outside.

“Y-you alright?~”, Whispering softly to Terra as she held her sobbing friend close to her chest, Mira tried to shush Terra but it wasn’t doing much good, the easily terrified girl unable to calm herself as she clung to Mira tightly.

“I want to go -home-, Mira! Coming down h-here was a mistake! I -knew- it was a bad idea and now look what happened! We need to g-go back and help them!!”.

“I know, I wanna go home too....but I don’t think going back there is the best option right now”, Mira trying to give Terra a little smirk to lighten the mood but failing miserably, it didn’t help much at all as Terra simply broke out into a fresh round of sobbing, “We will figure this out, okay?~ I-I’m sure things aren’t as bad as they seem and we probably just over reacted. To be honest I bet this is one of Sean’s stupid pranks”.

“Thats -not- funny and you know that isn’t true!! F-for all we know Sean a-and Desmond and everyone else is hurt back there! I don’t know what happened but whatever a-accident or...-thing- tore up all our tents...but we are going to have to go back and help them!”.

The sound of the distant drone of chaos back from the base slowly growing less urgent as a unnerving silence began to replace it instead, Mira gave Terra a look that said to not even try it, her keeping her grip on her friends wrist as tight as ever.

“Listen...”, Mira taking a hold of Terra’s trembling hand as she tried to be the braver one between them, she sensed that the agitated girl was going to run off the first chance she saw to who knows where and wasn’t going to take the risk of letting that happen.

“Your going to stick with me until we can figure out what’s going on, okay? Going it alone in this place...seems a bit, uh, dangerous...”.

“B-but Mira!-“.

Mira letting out a deep, exhausted sigh as she shuffled Terra to her chest for comfort with the girls protesting, it was partially to avoid letting her see the nervous tears forming in her own eyes, Mira not being cut out to be a leader on the fly like this by any means.

“We need to see if there are any other exits out of here. I know this is scary a-and all, but I know you can do this, Terra~ I know your really brave deep down even if you don’t think it”, Giving her friends hand one last squeeze of determination as Terra seemed to brighten up slightly at Mira’s kind words, the darkness ahead of them seemed to be silently daring the inexperienced pair to take it on, there being no chance of going back now as Mira gave a slight tug of Terra’s arm to prompt her along into the unexplored and potentially hazardous new world, “We are going to get out of here together, I promise”.

Unfortunately for the unwary girls, the journey ahead of them wasn’t going to be easy and the chance of either making it back to the surface at all was slim, a certain green eyed, rather dirty furred ‘beast’ already being well aware of Mira and Terra’s presence~

#Undertale #undertale fic #fanfiction #horror #slow burn #undertale fanfiction #o.c

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jackjots · 3 years

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#1 Podcast

Wayward Guide for the Untrained Eye 30 Day Prompt

Day #1 “Podcast”:

(I do not own any other characters or place names outside of Shelby St. Ranger, this is just for fun)

There’s a driveway about one mile long that cuts into a foothill that surrounds Connor Creek. At the end of the driveway, is a small cabin with a garden that is as simple and as boring as a garden can be.

When I, Shelby St. Ranger, moved there it had been an overgrown mess of something that had once been someones complex and colorful paradise. I’d left it for a little while, but eventually it depressed me to walk by the dead plants so I bought some gloves and gardening tools and tore everything up. It took up a weekend, which was good, since there wasn’t a lot to do in Connor Creek. This in itself was supposed to be a good thing, so I could work on my novel. Although my characters would often be battling each other and drinking mead in great viking halls, my own life was simple and plodded along. I’d moved from the city once I could afford to, and it was fairly cheap to live in Connor Creek so it actually had been a smart choice in many ways. But I hadn’t expected to be so deeply, deeply bored. I’d discovered the walk to town was pleasant, as not many cars went on the main road, and it helped when I hit writing blocks or just pure FOMO (fear of missing out) that was unfounded as the town inched along as much as I did. This was especially needed at night.

The only place open after 5pm was the Dead Canary. Despite my boredom, I’ve always been an introvert, so I kept to myself. Unfortunately, everyone already knew who I was before I had even moved in. It only took two visits before the bartender would greet me with my usual order and give me a quick “How’s it goin’ Shelby?” It became a habit for me to sit in the least visible place in the corner of a booth and write down little ideas that would pop into my head.

One night, a man with the energy of a rabbit came in and spotted me. “You’re the new one in town, Shelby right?”

“Yes?” I had pushed my notebook aside, a very detailed doodle of a hexagon that had eyeballs betraying the fact that I couldn’t think of anything to write at the time.

“My name is Ryan Reynolds. I’m running for town council, I was wondering if you’d heard about the race?”

I nodded. “I’ve seen the posters.”

“Good. Can I count on your vote?”

“I’ll have to do research first, I can’t just vote for you because you introduced yourself to me.”

His eyebrows almost hit his hairline. “Fair. Fair, very fair. Just do your research...how do you plan to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Your research.”

“I imagine on the internet?”

“It’s so spotty. And believe me, if you google my name, it can be very confusing.”

“Right.”

“So you’re better off asking me questions directly.”

“Can I do it some other time? I’m working.” I sipped on my beer.

“Of course! Anytime. You know, there’s people coming to record a podcast about what’s going on here at Connor Creek.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you all about it, tomorrow night?”

“Sure.” He went back to the bar and his voice became white noise as I started back to my notebook and slowly the characters in my head came back to me and I wrote a few paragraphs.

Unfortunately, I never had that second talk with Ryan Reynolds.

I had struggled back and forth with myself if I should go into town that next night. I didn’t usually go two days in a row, but I’d already written 20 pages that day and felt like a drink was well deserved. However, the idea of talking about local town politics did not appeal to me. I thought if I went early, I’d probably miss him. Which was true, but not for the reasons I thought.

I was almost done with my beer, and had taken to drawing those S things I’d mastered in elementary school when I heard the door and the voice of Sheriff Madison. I peeked around the corner and saw two people with their backs to me. I didn’t recognize them, and realized I was acting like a nosey local, so I went back to my doodles.

That was when I heard they were working on a podcast. Intrigued, I jotted down their names and the company they worked for. I’d have to wait until I was back home to try to connect to the internet to look them up. It would probably be a frustrating endeavor, but my interest was piqued for the first time outside my novel in the months I’d lived in Connor Creek. Why would anyone from the city cover the election in such a small town? There had to be more going on. Or maybe I was just creating something to get excited about. I sighed and tore the page, crumpled it up, and put it in my pocket. It was an old habit to put trash in my pocket, from years of don’t litter training pounded in my head.

I tried to sneak out, but as soon as I got through the door, I heard someone scream. I didn’t meet with Ryan again, because he was dead outside. I saw the podcast people come out and I watched as the town started to spill out around the scene. I walked home, feeling a bit numb. I had been avoiding him, and now he was dead. I don’t know why I felt guilty, but I did.

On my way home, there was a crumpled paper white against the grass, dimly lit by the moon. Above the paper was a bush of white roses that made the paper stand out even more. I picked it up out of habit, but before I stuck it in my pocket I noticed print on it and opened it up. Ryan Reynolds’ face stared up at me from his campaign poster. I folded it and put it in my pocket.

I logged online and started looking up information about the election, but as Ryan had suggested, it was impossible to find anything about him. And the town was hardly on the net. I’d have to go to the library, I decided, like it was the 90s again. I sighed and slumped back in my chair. Something in my pocket poked me and I took out the crumped piece of paper that said “Artemis and Paul” and “APN”. I typed the names into the search engine and drummed my thumbs as the search went through. It took a while to load them, but I started to listen to Artemis and Paul’s old podcasts, and found four hours had passed. I learned they were twins, and that Artemis was always digging into even the smallest stories for some meat, while Paul seemed happy with making puns and observations that always gave the stories a lively feel I enjoyed.

Finally turning it off, I saw how late it was and almost got up from the computer when I thought more about Ryan Reynolds. I didn’t know much about the town and had become expert at avoiding hearing gossip, which was also easy as they were still weary of me - except for the Miner Mole owner Titus Makin. He’d been very welcoming, but he kind of reminded me of a snake. He mostly wanted to talk about city life since he knew that’s where I was from, but was very disappointed that I didn’t share his views that the town needed to grow more. I’d been at the bar (a mistake I stopped making soon after and started hiding in the shadows of the booths) when Titus had sat next to me and waxed on about progress. I said I moved to Connor Creek for a reason, and that reason was peace, quiet, and trees. That’s all I had wanted. Now that I thought about it, that was the night Desmond, the bartender, started to treat me like a regular. That suggested something that started to put other pieces into place. I looked up Miner Mole, and found some talk online about them changing the face of Connor Creek through the silver mines. The idea of the town changing rapidly didn’t appeal to me, as I’d left all of the behind for a reason, and I found a new appreciation for boredom at the worry that I would soon find myself in a bustling budding city. But what did this have to do with Ryan Reynolds' death? And why was there investigative podcasters here before he was even dead?

I set my alarm for a trip to the library the next day, and found some sleep deep in my bed covers.

#waywardguidefortheuntrainedeye #waywardguide #prompt #werewolves #fanfiction #30daysofwayward

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caiminnent · 4 years

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catch me when I fall (from grace) [shaundes, rated T/M]

Prompt: reluctant caretaker (@badthingshappenbingo, 6/25)

Summary:

Sometimes—at the worst of times—he thinks they had it easy, back then; the four of them playing house, trying to save the world without a thought to what comes after.

Congratulations, they did it—now there’s bills to pay.

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed

Tags: Alternate Universe - The Assassins Won, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Blood and Injury, Post-Break Up

Notes: Also written for @acmodernz, which was a lot of fun to be a part of. Go check it out!

4k || Also on AO3

He doesn’t bother with questions anymore.

Before, he would insist on learning all that he humanly could about any situation he was to be tangentially involved in and many he wouldn’t even skirt close to. His mind has always been like that, a terrain of whens and whos and whys, and being on the losing side of a war didn’t help his need to know, either—being on the listening side of countless deaths as he desperately tried to scramble up a connection through whichever line or feed he could get his hands on to direct whoever still remained—if anyone at all—into safety, the mission long aborted.

Nowadays, though, he only asks where, scribbles down the address on the corner of the nearest clean sheet of paper and gets up to throw on some street clothes.

Truth be told, he didn’t know there was a bar left in the city that Desmond had yet to get kicked out of.

------

Even with his back to the door—especially with his back to the door—Desmond is easy to spot on a low-backed stool by the far end of the counter, that hoodie giving him away like a beacon. He’s talking to the bartender—rather, the bartender is talking at him and he presumably responds, most of his face hidden behind the hand he’s tentatively touching on a thin line of white at his forehead.

The dread pooled in Shaun’s gut grows only heavier.

As the bartender moves to the short line that materialised on the other end of the counter, something round in hand, he charts a path through and follows it, doing his best not to touch any of the tables. Desmond is staring down at the half-full glass in front of him, one hand still at the butterfly bandage over his left brow, the other resting on the counter, the reds of his knuckles standing out brightly. Whatever trouble Desmond must have gotten himself into this time, it seems a tad more complicated than having had a little too much.

It would’ve been so easy, turning on his heel and walking straight out of this shithole before he’s spotted. He may have come this far—doesn’t owe it to Desmond to go the extra mile. He could just drive back home, switch off his phone, bury himself in his bed and let someone else save Desmond from himself for once—

Who, though?

“Lucky thing they let you in, looking like that,” he comments as he takes the empty seat next to Desmond. Smelling like that, too, he might add, now that he is close enough; not the sharp drowned in a bottle stench he had expected, but sweat and grime and something else that tickles his nose in all the worst ways.

Desmond’s shoulders tense up, for all he tries to hide it under turning in his stool. “Hello to you, too,” he grumbles, dropping his hand to send him a glare.

Shaun’s stomach slowly sinks to his feet, taking everything on its path with it.

Between the swollen right eye—almost shut, purpling around the edges—and the long scrape down his left cheek, disappearing into his scruff, there doesn’t seem to be anywhere on Desmond’s face left untouched. Even his nose looks wrong somehow—though that might also be the crappy overhead lights—and while his face is carefully cleaned, no trace of blood or anything, his clothes tell of a different story entirely.

He reaches out on instinct to touch where Desmond’s freshly busted his lip—Desmond pulls back before it makes contact, looking away.

Entirely too aware of his heartbeat, he latches his fingers together in his lap, taking a deep breath that does nothing to help the tightness in his chest. “Keep going like this and you won’t get to skate by your looks much longer,” he says, because if he doesn’t say something, he’s going to fucking burst.

Desmond glares at him through the one eye, scowl dragging deeper—then glances at a spot above Shaun’s head, straightening up. Shaun turns as well, to find the bartender approaching them with a—thankfully, clean-looking—rag full of ice, a purple pin that reads “THEY/THEM” shining over the black of the apron.

The bartender gives him only a passing glance, a quick size-up before turning and handing the bundle to Desmond, who takes it with a mumble of thanks and holds it on his eye. They reach over the counter to fix his grip, casual as you please.

The taste in his mouth turns sour.

“How’s the head?” they ask Desmond gently, open concern lining their face as they peer down at him.

Desmond winces, which seems to pass for a response. With the offending eye covered, he looks even more wretched somehow, the rest of his injuries on better display. Shaun hadn’t noticed how gaunt his cheeks have gotten, the fading spread of bruises on his face, in too many different shades to be all from today—or, possibly, even the same day.

What in the world has the bloody idiot been up to all this time?

Leaving Desmond with the bundle, the bartender turns to finally look at Shaun—through him, more accurately, as if they could get his background check and an X-ray with one glance. He firmly believes that he should be the one to dish out the suspicious glares, given the circumstances, but he’s not particularly adamant on arguing the point.

“Shaun, was it,” they say without extending their hand, not quite a question.

This tone he recognises, at least. “It was,” he confirms, making no move to extend his, either. “And you’re the mysterious voice on the phone, I take it.” Not what he was expecting to find on this side, admittedly.

“MJ,” they say with a single nod. “Mighty nice to finally put a face to the name, I’ll say.” They tilt their chin to Desmond, who has that glare fixed in MJ’s direction now, drumming his fingers on the countertop. “Dessie here told me all about you.”

Did he now. Dessie sure as hell didn’t breathe a word to him about MJ. “All good things, I’m sure.”

“Good enough that I’ll let you take him home and fix him up,” they say, sweeping a hand widely as if they’re making a generous concession on his behalf.

Right. That’s why he’s here—because he was chosen.

“And I’ll thank you for the privilege,” he says with an overplayed nod of thanks, not bothering to keep the resentment out of his tone. This whole exchange—it’s nothing more than an elaborate hand-over.

MJ leans over the counter on their hands and looks at him squarely, all hard eyes on too soft a face. Desmond always did have a type. “If you’d rather leave him here and walk away, be my guest,” they offer, grinning with too many teeth. “Your number wasn’t the only one on his phone.”

As if.

He slowly straightens up on his stool, resting his forearms on the edge of the counter. At this angle, they’re about eye to eye, he and MJ. “Probably not,” he agrees, cordial enough even as his face tingles at the jab, all his blood rushing north. “But it was the only one that would answer a call from him at this hour.”

Too harsh? Perhaps, but that doesn’t make it any less true. He knows better than to fool himself; Desmond didn’t pick him for his gentle touch and stellar company.

Ignoring the hollowing of his gut, he half-turns to Desmond. “Ready when you are.”

“’m ready now,” Desmond mutters to the counter. Shaun nods, reaching for his pocket.

“All taken care of,” MJ says before he can pull out his wallet, waving him off. They’re still watching him with that careful look, though this time it feels less like being sized up, more like he has been—and found thoroughly lacking. Oh well, he’s used to being a disappointment. “Just take him home.”

That much he can manage.

------

Desmond’s most recent rat hole is another forty minutes from the bar, on the far side of a neighbourhood considered to be within the city borders merely because no one cared enough to exclude it.

“Like fuck,” Shaun mutters and punches in the address of his own flat into the navigation system, steeling himself for the argument or the irritated sigh or whatever else Desmond might be in the mood for tonight.

Desmond turns back to the window without a word. Small mercies.

------

Soon, though, he finds himself wishing for that argument after all. Without anything to distract it, it’s all too easy for his mind to stray to other times like this: escaping towns in the dead of the night, taking turns driving and keeping an eye on the road, the radio on low so as not to disturb those sleeping in the back. Sometimes—at the worst of times—he thinks they had it easy, back then; the four of them playing house, trying to save the world without a thought to what comes after.

Congratulations, they did it—now there’s bills to pay.

Desmond has his gaze fixed on the windshield as if he can even see anything, his bag under his crossed arms, running an idle thumb over his new split. If he keeps at it, he’ll have a matching set soon enough.

“I don’t think I’ve got any ice at home,” Shaun says instead of pointing that out. Desmond drops his hand as if burned anyway. “You might have to make do with frozen peas.”

“’s fine,” Desmond sighs. “Too late anyway.”

That it is.

------

On the bright side, under the decent lighting of the flat, Desmond’s nose doesn’t seem to be broken.

The flip side he stubbornly chooses to ignore as he works down the buttons of his coat; Desmond's already stripped down to his thin shirt in his periphery, tugging at his shoelaces. Not even in long sleeves—of course not. Leave it to Desmond to strut about in threadbare clothing when it’s fuck degrees out there.

“I trust you remember where the shower is,” he says as he hangs his coat and puts away their shoes, Desmond’s bag on top of them. Desmond only grunts in answer before slinking down the hallway, likely because he’d needed to go that way anyway.

Dragging himself to the bedroom, he exchanges his trousers for a clean pair of joggers and digs around until he finds one that might fit Desmond—something that would’ve been practically impossible the last time they saw each other. Picking out a sweatshirt as well—that doesn’t seem to be his own in the first place, come to think of it—he walks back out and drops them at the bathroom door, knocking twice.

“Left you some clothes,” he calls out and waits until he gets a muffled response back. That’s one thing done.

Up next, kitchen—god, oh god, the kitchen. He had completely forgotten the state he’d left it in. The dinner table is covered with papers—in an every-fucking-where way instead of the neat, systematic thing he had imagined the sight to be. The coffee cups he truly did mean to put in the sink are still sitting next to his laptop, as the sink is already overfilled with dishes and the semi-burned pot he’d left to soak overnight three days ago, more littering about the rest of the counter. All right, things may have gotten out of hand a bit, in hindsight; but he can’t be blamed for it. Between school and his research, he’s barely had time to remember to feed himself, let alone keeping things clean and tidy. Not as if he was expecting guests.

He really shouldn’t have answered the phone.

He starts tidying up in haste—which is to say, all papers go on top of the closed laptop in a messy, uneven pile and all dishes in the sink now filled with water, including the two cups of coffee that went cold long before he could even touch them. Taking a moment to listen out for the water—still running, fortunately—he peers into his fridge, his stomach sinking at the sight once again. It’s not barren, as such; but he didn’t have the time for grocery shopping, either, which shows. He’s never had his mother’s skill of concocting something out of practically nothing, but digging deeper, he can spot just enough to prepare an early—very early—breakfast.

It is AM hours, after all. It should count.

He grabs the egg carton and piles up whatever else he can find onto the table. While at it, he dips into his—rather impressive, if he may say so himself—tea selection as well. By the time the bathroom door opens, he has what he can call a modest spread on the table, teabag steeping in the mug.

When it opens for the second time, he flips the omelette.

He’s gotten too used to the almost uniform quiet of the flat; Desmond’s footsteps stand out as he approaches, a light shuffle on the carpet right up until they stop in the doorway. Switching the stove off, Shaun wets a cloth and grabs the pan, taking them both to the table.

“All my flat plates are at the bottom of the sink,” he—unnecessarily—explains as he sets the cloth on the table, the pan on top of it. “You’ll just have to deal.”

Desmond is lingering in the doorway, glancing between Shaun and the table with this odd, almost tender look. The weight that has been dancing in his stomach seats itself in the middle of his chest, right under his heart.

“You didn’t have to,” Desmond rasps, just enough of a question mark in the tone. Shaun doesn’t know the question leading to it—isn’t sure he wants to, either.

“Damn right I didn’t,” he throws back, because the alternative is blurting out what the fuck else was I supposed to do and that’s plain embarrassing. The clothes don’t hang off Desmond’s frame as much as he feared, but he wasn’t terribly off in his estimation, either—certainly not enough to be relieved about it. He clears his throat. “But since it’s already done, you might as well sit down and eat before it gets cold.”

Desmond finally moves to the table, not without one last glance at him. Shaun keeps his glare on him until he picks up his fork and reaches for the olives just in case.

With that crossed off the list, he folds up his sleeves, unclips his watch and starts on the dishes. He hardly has a burning desire to get them out of the way, but it’s something to do, at least. Beats standing there and thinking himself into corners.

Right now, everything beats thinking.

The silence stretches between them, almost peaceful for once. It’s… interesting, the change of air that comes with having someone else in the room. He didn’t quite miss cramming into safe houses for weeks, sometimes months at a time, nothing but the same bland walls and each other’s faces to stare at; but it would be a lie to say he never looks up from his laptop to an empty flat and wishes he had someone to share this shiny thing he’s just stumbled upon, the excitement of the discovery blending with the bitter disappointment.

Paper shuffles behind him, the unmistakeable sound of Desmond getting his grubby hands on his research. The instinct is to snap don’t touch my notes; he pushes it down. Not even on their emptiest days did his work keep Desmond interested for long; he just needs to wait out the three seconds before Desmond gets bored.

“You still researching the Pieces?”

Huh. Now that’s new.

“Without much success,” he admits, reaching into the water for another cup. “With the network down, my research ‘team’ boils down to me and the occasional student I manage to snatch from other projects. Not what you could call a concentrated effort.”

Desmond makes a sound that, under different conditions, could be considered amused. A strange warmth spreads through him. “Thought you must’ve had enough of ‘em for two lifetimes.”

He snorts, despite himself. “Hardly. This was my life’s discovery; it’ll be a cold day in hell before I give it up.”

Most of the time, he doesn’t blame Lucy for the choices she’d made. Couldn’t, really; not when the woman gave up her life for what she believed was right and brought down a war that spanned millennia with her. Just, the historian in him can’t help grieving all the knowledge the world has lost without even knowing that they had it in the first place.

He turns his head a little, just enough to get Desmond in his view. “What about you?” he asks, aiming for a conversational tone. Where have you been is the burning question, followed by who broke your face? He settles on: “How have you been?”

Desmond gives him a long, considering look—uncomfortably reminiscent of MJ. Shrugs a shoulder, too stiff to be casual. “Been better, been worse. You know how it is.”

Disappointment curls in his gut, too heavy to push away. Right. Whatever made him think he might get a real answer for once anyway.

Wash, rinse, put away, repeat. The last of the dishes on the drying rack, he unplugs the sink and grabs the pot, emptying it into the water draining down. It’s probably unsalvageable, realistically, but it’s not in his nature to let go without a fight. His to-do list is long enough without adding shopping for kitchenware on it.

The chair creaks, dragging against the tiles. It’s entirely unwelcome, the tension that creeps up his spine, the sound alone enough to shift all his awareness to the movement behind him.

Desmond drops his dishes next to the sink one by one, including the mostly-full cup of tea that he puts down with an apologetic half-smile. “Thanks.”

He nods in response, scrubbing the pot harder.

Instead of stepping away like anyone with some respect for personal space would, Desmond keeps standing right there, resting a hand on the edge of the counter, seemingly watching the side of Shaun’s head. This close, Shaun can smell his own shampoo on him if he tries, the sweeter scent of his fabric softener underneath.

Desmond sighs. “I’ve missed you,” he whispers and—

And his heart still responds, the traitor.

They’ve been here before. They’ve been here so many times before that it shouldn’t even matter, now, that Desmond can still find it in himself to say the words. He’d said other words before; where did that get them?

“Well, you obviously still have my number,” he bites out, the words like ash on his tongue. “You’ve never had to get yourself kicked out of bars or—or—beaten up to use it.”

Desmond shifts away. The bastard doesn’t even care to look at him, staring at some spot on the far wall instead, the tip of his tongue back on the split as if he wants it to scar. Started something he can’t see through; how typical.

Dropping the sponge into the pot—not as if he was getting anywhere—he runs his hands under the water and grabs a towel. “Where have you been, Desmond?” he asks without looking at him, busying himself with dying his hands thoroughly, too tired to keep beating around the bush. There isn’t enough space in the room even with Desmond backed away—not nearly enough air.

“Around.”

Around. “I see,” he says, nodding slowly. “Perhaps I should ask MJ instead, see if they know all about that, too.”

Desmond stiffens, his hand clenching on the edge. “Don’t bring them into this,” he says tightly—not a threat, not quite, but a warning through and through.

So that’s how it is.

“As far as I’m concerned, you brought them into this,” he points out. “I didn’t even know they existed until tonight, now did I.” He rests a hip against the counter, folding his arms across his chest, the towel still clutched tight in his fist. “Who are they, by the way?”

“The only one on my side when I needed someone to be the most,” Desmond responds with a pointed look, his lips pressed together—and oh, isn’t that rich.

So many responses he could give to that, so many biting remarks, the weight of them almost physical on the tip of his tongue. “I thought you didn’t need people anymore,” he says simply, leaning heavier on his hip. Desmond flinches. “Big boy Desmond, running away from his problems all by his lonesome, no help necessary—just be there to pick up the pieces afterwards.”

Something dark passes over Desmond’s face, blink-and-you-miss-it. “I’m trying to do better.”

He lets his eyes wander down Desmond’s face, the cut of his knuckles that are still flaring red with a hint of purple. Desmond’s hand twitches again. “Clearly.”

“Jesus Christ, I forgot you were this much of an asshole,” Desmond mutters under his breath. It’s not even in the general vicinity of the worst names they’ve called each other—it shouldn’t sting. Not as much as it does.

“Can you blame me? You ring me up from a bar after—what, seven, eight months of radio silence, looking like this—” He waves his free hand up and down Desmond’s body. “—and expect me to give you the benefit of the doubt. Don’t get me wrong, Desmond, but you don’t exactly have the sort of track record that inspires blind trust.”

“I’m not—” Desmond starts only to cut himself off on a long exhale, shaking his head. Making the three steps over to the table, he drops himself on a chair in an ungainly heap and rests his elbows on the bread crumb-covered surface.

“I don’t expect anything of you,” Desmond starts again slowly, exhaustion wrapped around his words. Anger doesn’t drain out of Shaun, but it’s that much harder to keep going when Desmond starts rubbing at his temples with enough force that Shaun’s head throbs just to watch. “I’m not here to—I dunno, to get back into your good graces or whatever scheme you think I’m halfway capable of thinkin’ up.”

“Then why are you here?” Shaun snaps—realises, with an odd cramping of his stomach, that this was the burning question after all. This was the one that haunted him all this time, whenever Desmond’s name popped up on his screen. Whenever it didn’t.

Desmond looks up from the table sideways, one hand still at his temple. “What do you mean?”

Part of him wants to take it back, to wave it off with a curt never mind and making a hasty exit to prepare Desmond’s bed. The stupider, impulsive part is already pushing on with: “You make friends faster than I can lose them; I’m sure you could find somewhere to crash even in the state you were, didn’t have to suffer my hospitality.” Why me, he’s smart enough to hold back, at least.

The curl of Desmond’s lips is odd—too sharp for a smile, too soft for anything else. “Why do you always come?”

Why indeed.

Releasing a breath that takes more than air out of him, he makes his fingers uncurl around the towel and folds it into a neat square, placing it on the counter. The pot is still sitting in the sink, the sponge in the middle of it like a sunken ship. It’s too late to deal with the dishes—for this conversation—it’s too late for bloody anything.

“There are sheets and a spare pillow in the closet,” he says, pointing in the general direction of the closet in the next room. “I believe you can make your bed yourself. I’m going to sleep.”

Desmond nods, a barely-there movement. Shaun only lingers in the kitchen long enough to bin the used teabag and line the rest of the dishes around the pot to deal with tomorrow. Later today. Whenever.

It must be the hour messing with his head, why he pauses in the doorway just before he leaves and says, “And don’t leave without a goodbye this time.”

“Okay,” Desmond lies.

And so it goes.

#badthingshappenbingo #shaundes #Shaun Hastings #Desmond Miles #acmodernzine #Assassin's Creed #Cai does words #finished fics #catch me when I fall (from grace)#this fic was a rollercoaster to write #that's all I'm going to say #content warnings #alcohol abuse #alcoholism #past character death #blood and injury #I actually don't know how tagging works here #desynch gets rambly in tags

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cosmiciaria · 4 years

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Assassin’s Creed: Syndicate Review! (spoiler free - long post)

It's done! I finished my first AC game ever! And I loved it!! YAAAY!!

First things first: this is going to be an honest review. I liked the game, A LOT, more than I expected, actually, but it has flaws. Not many that I could find personally, but it has. But before I delve deeper into it, let's have an overview of the game.

AC: Syndicate is the ninth?, installment in the Assassin's Creed franchise. It's a sequel to Unity, that came out just a year before, but you don't need to play any of the other AC games to plunge into this one (or any of them, to be honest), since each game tells a self-contained story. If you've been living under a rock for the past decade or you don't know a thing about videogames, Assassin's Creed games follow a character in the present time, joining the Order of the Assassins, warriors and masters of stealth that have been at odds with the Templars since time immemorial. The Templars desire the pieces of Eden, magical artifacts created with ancient technology by the Precursors, gods and goddesses that somehow bear the names of the Roman pantheon members. These pieces of Eden are extremely dangerous in the wrong hands, but have been long lost to the folds of History and withered pages of books. The Assassins must find them in today's world, through the genetic memories buried within the DNA of the descendants of the Assassins that at some point in History have come into contact with those artifacts.

Well, that premise is true for all Assassin's Creed games. This time, we're following the same initiate we met during Black Flag and Unity, if I'm not mistaken. The previous games have followed Desmond Miles, an actual character with a face, but in these "in-between" installments, the initiate is a faceless placeholder for the player to incarnate them. But, to be honest, the present timeline is, uh, what's this word…

BORING.

Nobody cares what's going on in the present! Let's move on to the actual plot!

Syndicate takes us to Victorian London! Through the DNA of the initiate we travel in time to 1868, to the middle of the British capital. Our protagonists this time is a pair of twins: Jacob and, lo and behold, Evie Frye. I say "lo and behold" because this is the first official female assassin protagonist that we have in the mainline series of games. Prior to this game, we have Liberation which also followed a female assassin, the real first one, but that game is a spin off and mostly overlooked, since it came out only for the Vita sadly back in the day (although there's a remaster for the ps3!). Either way, all previous Assassin's Creed games (if Syndicate is the ninth, then you got the number) have starred male assassins as their protagonists. In Unity this came to a great peak when in the multiplayer co-op players were unable to play as female avatars, which caused a great ruckus. As Syndicate intended to mend many of the problems players found in Unity, we have now an official, canon female character in the main series! And I say: CHEERS TO THAT!

I MUST address this because it was one of the two reasons why I bought this game. I was never interested in the AC games but I've always wanted this one, because you could play as Evie Frye. As a female cis person, I find the lack of canon female protagonist to be baffling, to say the least (the actual word I'm looking for would be "annoying"). I'm not going to say that I'm forced to play as a male character all the time, because nobody forces me to play any game, I play them all because I wish to – but the truth is that, for many years, the videogame industry has been directed at one public only: boys. And some boys, for some reason, won't play the game if the protagonist is a girl or looks like a girl. And I don't care if the presence of a female character breaks your history immersion and whatnot: we have fricking magic in this game, do not throw historical accuracy at me for it. So, Ubisoft: I AM GLAD you created Evie Frye. She's fearless, she's relentless, she's clever, she has a clear goal in mind and solves every little piece to make the bigger plan work. She's badass without throwing her femininity off the window, and for a change she's the one saving the man in distress. I love her and her cloaks. Also she's cute as hell.

I am ALSO GLAD that Ubisoft created Jacob Frye! Jacob is a good balance to Evie, since he's more impulsive, a brawler, and likes throwing himself into battle. He speaks with fists, while never leaving his morals aside. He shows disregard for careful plans, but ultimately works in favor of them. He might sound a little stupid when I picture him this way, but he's not: he follows the creed strictly, during the assassination missions he shows clear precision, planification and ingenuity, and most importantly, he has a golden heart, and knows his ideals and principles very well. And for the love of Minerva, he's so handsome I might die.

So the Frye twins are both your protagonists this time! During the open world map and sidequests, you can switch between them on the fly. But during main missions, one of them will be assigned for you to play as and you'll be forced to complete the quest with either of them. Evie favors stealth, whereas Jacob is all about combat. This allows the player to tackle the game and the different activities as they see fit. If you're patient, probably Evie will be best for you, but if you can't handle the stealth, choose Jacob and start throwing punches! The city of London is open for you to choose the way you can liberate it.

And that takes me to my second reason why I bought this game: London.

For a not native-English-speaker as myself, who has learned and studied British English for over ten years, London will always hold a soft spot in my heart. Two years ago I was finally able to realize my dream and visit the city for the first time ever. I cried when I stepped out of St. Pancrasse station, understanding that my feet were touching English ground. So when I saw that this game not only offered me the chance to play as a female assassin, but it would also allow me to revisit London, I didn't think twice.

We follow Jacob and Evie to London, where they must meet Henry Green, the assassin watching over that city, in pursue of an important Templar figure: Starrick. Along the way to assassinate him, we'll take down other important Templar members, all responding to him. As I will keep this spoiler free, let's leave it at that. Let's just say that Starrick is in London, controlling every nook and cranny, while his second in command, Lucy Thorne, is reservedly researching the leads of a possible piece of Eden that might be hidden in the city's most secretive places.

London is so well recreated, I cried once when I stopped in front of the Big Ben. You're only able to visit and play through a portion of the city, around the Thames and Westminster, but still, even small though it seems, the map is big enough and full of activities to fulfill. The streets feel alive with its multiple, many, MANY npc's walking, running, driving carriages, interacting with each other, often having conversations as well! I was astonished when I was walking with Evie down an alley and an npc waved his hand to another npc that was some feet away, and the first one rushed to the second one to greet each other. It was such a realistic thing to see on the street that I was amazed at the technology behind it. As always, AC games excel at the presentation of countless npc's, each with a different animation and voices. On top of that, the city looks gorgeous, with so many details that I often stopped to stare, especially in the most emblematic buildings, like the different train Stations, the Parliament, St Paul's Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, and, of course, the Buckingham Palace. Everything is so faithful and vibrant and alive, that… yes, I love it. I fricking love it. I travelled again there in this game and I'm thankful for it.

There are nine sequences with 4 to 7 memories each, and all of them are different and unique enough to make them memorable. In particular, the main assassination quests were complex, using exclusive scenarios to the mission, offering the player different paths to tackle the killing – they were my favorite out of all the game. The last mission was *chef kiss*.

Apart from the main missions, you can slowly liberate each neighborhood from the Templars' claws. Each borough has a set of different activities to complete in order for you to "conquer" it. Gang wars, bounty hunts, Templar hunts, there's a lot to do. It might seem a lot at first, but you'll soon see the patterns across the sidequests, only to (unfortunately) realize that they're all the same. These can get tiresome and repetitive after a while, but they're also the best way to level up and earn money quickly. My personal favorite were the child liberations, because I felt like I was doing a good deed and also as if Charles Dickens himself was asking me to do it.

Oh, yes, Charles Dickens is in this game! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT, because I don't! He's one of my favorite authors, so, to be GIVEN a QUEST by HIM, I'm in tears guys, do you understand why I loved this game so much??

But Dickens isn't the only historical person that you'll encounter: Darwin also makes an appearance, as well as Marx (of whom I believed to be in Brussels, but I guess he visited London at some point – now I want an AC game set in Brussels), and Alexander Graham Bell, who will be your DaVinci of this game (Oh, now I want to play Ezio's games), offering you new toys to tinker with as you pave your way across the city. There are other historical people, but I won't mention them, since they're probably a spoiler, so I'll let you be surprised!

You'll have like a "hub world", or more like, a hub train – a train will be your hideout, your base, where you'll collect money, take some quests, interact with some characters and buy stuff cheaper. This train will constantly move around the city – sometimes I found myself appearing on the other side of the map because I was studying and investigating the things the train offered. I really liked the idea of a "moving base house", also it's quite fancy, and besides, I love trains. This game just keeps bringing me the good content.

Evie and Jacob are good protagonists – I'm not going to say they slay at it, but they serve the purpose. They're quite stereotypical, specially Jacob, as he seems to follow the trend Ezio imposed back in the day, and to which Arno also contributed – and Evie is quite the "polar opposite", a cliché often used on twins to express how "different they are". Their personalities are nothing new; what is endearing and worth noting, though, is their interactions. At first I thought "this is going to be another of the never-ending cases of twins acting like friends instead of siblings". I do come across this mistake more frequently than I'd like to, only broken by some exceptions (World of Final Fantasy is a really good one), even more if the twins are a boy and girl. I'm not saying twins shouldn't be friends themselves, but they're siblings first, for the love of Juno, and most creators who put twins into their stories don't seem to remember how siblings treat each other. Luckily, this game proved me wrong, since the Frye twins showed me that they're real siblings: not because they quarrel (they do, sometimes, quite forced in my opinion), but because of the way they look at each other, they care for each other, they often joke about the other, the familiarity and complicity they treat some topics with, because of the small banter that you can hear them have in the train hideout, how Jacob teases Evie with Henry or how Evie teases Jacob for the cloaks he's wearing – that, all of that, all combined, make up for a good sibling relationship and show me that these two have been brother and sister for a while now. I'm glad they ended up being one of the exceptions to this godawful rule among the fictional twin characters. I would've liked, though, maybe a few more scenes with them having a real heart to heart – I think we were robbed of one or two (specially after sequence 8 if you ask me- Jacob please, let's talk, baby).

Henry is another important character – although I thought he'd be more important. He ultimately appeared in less missions than I expected, and is soon relegated to be Evie's love interest and that's it. And even that is, uh… a little underwhelming. I kinda shipped them at first, then I was like "please, they're FRIENDS, don't force this", only to see myself getting disappointed. I think Henry needed more screentime for me to care more about him, and I definitely believe that, after that mission with Evie, we needed a cutscene with an explanation. It was kind of forgotten later, and he felt more like a plot device than anything else. I'm sad, because he could've been a great opportunity to show us a bit of Indian culture, and also because by the end of the game he's treated like another protagonist, when it doesn't feel like he'd earned it, though, considering the whole game. My opinion.

There are other characters worth mentioning, like Freddy Abberline, another historical person, whose running gag about disguises soon grew on me; Clara O'Dea, a little girl who asks us to liberate her fellow children friends from the claws of foremen who exploit them and acts like a little spy for us; Ned Wynart, who brings trans representation into the game; and some other sequence exclusive characters, who I won't mention because it will spoilerish. Let's just say that Jacob comes across a very interesting man.

On the technical department, I already said that London looks great, but I want to stress this: the whole game looks great. From cinematography to animations, I think they nailed the direction in this one. As my first AC game I can't speak for the others, but this one is a gem. I must mention though that the game crashed on me only once, and I was looking for the "destruction trophy", the one that asks you to break 5000 destructible items of the city – well, it seems I had destroyed enough and the game couldn't take any more wrecked chaos across London, but other than that I didn't encounter any bug nor any trophy didn't pop up. It looks great and it plays great: the controls are responsive, you swiftly dash across the city feeling unstoppable – sometimes controls didn't do what I wanted but it wasn't the game's fault, it was mine, so I can't blame it for my own stupidity.

The soundtrack is also such an unexpected jewel in this game. The solemn tracks that play on the background while you're peacefully traversing the city – some are lyrical and dramatic, others go well with a rainy suburb. The vibrant and electrifying tracks during battles or escapes did bring all the Sherlock Holmes movies vibes to the game. It was all – so English, if you catch my drift. The music did fit well with the British atmosphere they were aiming for.

The ending is satisfying – don't expect an opera prima, or a huge revelation, or groundbreaking plot twists. The story is fairly lineal in its presentation: this is the goal? Alright, the whole game goes for it. We can say that it's quite predictable, but let's be honest, we're not here for the ending or the things that might happen to discover the characters in the present time, we're here to assassinate people with our beautifully hidden blade – wait, that sounded way too violent – we're here for the gameplay, for the historical events, for the feeling of being an assassin, and for some world-building regarding the Precursors.

In regards to that, I cannot not mention the World War I Simulation – a rift in time appears in the Thames towards halfway through the game, and you can enter it – it will take you forward in time, to the same London that is now under the attack of the German. In this more modern time, you play as Lydia Frye, Jacob's granddaughter, also an assassin, who collaborates with no other than Winston Churchill to defeat the Templars. In this kind of DLC episode we learn way more about the Precursors, Juno, Minerva and other important figures to this world-building, that it's mostly lacking in the rest of the game. This simulation does feel like a DLC since it only offers a few hours of gameplay, the metaphor isn't in vain – it's a huge change of pace, it plays a little different since you'll be doing war stuff, and you also visit a portion of the city that isn't available in the main game: the Tower Bridge. It IS worth playing, though, not only for the trophies or for the extended map, but for what I said earlier: world-building. Juno plays a big part in this simulation, and I encourage you to play it, even though it's optional. Slowly but steadily, the world of the Precursors is unfolding before our very eyes. Also, Lydia, YASS another female assassin joins the family!

All in all, Syndicate is a positive experience. Sidequests are repetitive and mostly boring after you complete the first borough, some characters needed more screentime, Evie and Jacob could've used a sensitive cutscene with a deep conversation – but the mechanics, the gameplay, the city, the main missions, the relationship between the twins, the customization of weapons and outfits, and the fact that I literally entered Buckingham Palace after killing a royal guard or two – that, is more than enough to compensate for what it's lacking. You might be tired of the same formula over and over if you're a fan of the franchise, but do give the twins a shot. If you never play an AC game before, try this one out – it might turn you into an AC fangirl, like it did to me.

I'm a trophy hunter myself, so I'll try to platinum it! And now my eyes are intent on Unity, because, if you've seen this post, you know that Arno and Élise resemble two of my oc's, so now I need that game to be injected into my veins, thank you very much.

#assasins creed #assassins creed syndicate #syndicate #evie frye #jacob frye #henry green #evie and jacob #maxwell roth #videogame review #review #ubisoft #london #queen victoria #fredderick abberline #winston churchill

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teecupangel · 1 year

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5:30 pm thought (its not 12 am for once) thinking of street racer/motorcycle racer Desmond who enjoys the feeling of freedom he gets from racing and the adrenaline shots from it. Could make it a modern day au if wanted to with other assassin's being other racers but mainly had the thought of Desmond being in at least one street race before veing captured

Racer Desmond setup:

Desmond being a dumb teenager and taking a race car for a spin because it goes whoosh sounds pretty believable to me.

Also, if he becomes a well-known racer and goes pro, it’ll be hard for Abstergo to just kidnap him.

… They’ll have to make some sort of ‘accident’ that would kill such a profilic racer.

Hell, all Desmond has to do to turn that all around is to get out of Abstergo and go to the nearest tv station, announce he’s been kidnapped and Abstergo will have a scandal on their hands.

Sure, they can probably spin it that Desmond is lying or on drugs or whatever scandal they think would stick but the PR nightmare alone would have their stocks taking a dive.

And Abstergo needs to be careful with this. One wrong step and they’ll blow the lid on who Desmond Miles was which was an Assassin (technically). The moment they learn about the whole Assassins and Templars shit, Desmond would definitely break the “Do not compromise the Brotherhood” tenet to tell his side of the story which is “I thought they were hippies or a cult”. Hell, Desmond could even spin it as “I didn’t know any of it was real. I was just a some kid back then and I left them long ago. Abstergo’s the one hunting me for something I’m not even a part of!”

The Assassins would probably hate Desmond for it.

But, god damn, was it now fun to watch Abstergo burn because of him.

For an actual Racing AU

My idea for this is limited but, may I suggest:

Desmond having a racing team composed of:

Driver: Desmond Engineer/Mechanic: Altaïr Support and All-Rounder: Connor Team Manager: Ezio

We can even make multiple teams like

Driver: Jacob Engineer/Mechanic: Evie Support and All-Rounder: Arno Team Manager: An always drunk Edward

Driver: Eivor Engineer/Mechanic: Layla Support and All-Rounder: Kassandra/Alexios Team Manager: Bayek

Driver: Shay Engineer/Mechanic: Lucy Support and All-Rounder: Maria or Fulke Team Manager: Haytham

Driver: Aguilar Engineer/Mechanic: Ade Support and All-Rounder: Aveline Team Manager: Bill

(if you’re interested in a ttrpg racing with scifi elements, may I suggest Gravity RIP?)

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jasontoddiefor · 5 years

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Title: When in Gotham, do as Batman does

Summary: Desmond Miles, the mentor of Gotham, and Batman have a serious discussion. (Meanwhile, Robin shows the little Novice accompanying their local Assassin how to do the coolest flips.)

AN: AssCreed/Batman Crossover for the 2nd day of AssCreed Week - Assassin Brotherhood.

Desmond loved Gotham. It was like Florence or Venice or Rome, except better because it was his city. You could tell that it had been built on the bodies of Templars and Assassins alike, particularly the Assassin influence was hard to miss if you had their training. Every corner was easy to disappear into, the buildings were high and the houses crammed into each other to create one fast-paced track for rooftop chasers. Not to mention the abandoned underground railroad tracks or the catacombs sleeping even deeper below. Gotham was built for its shadowy protectors and took good care to hide them all away.

Shaun and Becca had declared him officially mad for settling in this city. He could have gone everywhere in the world. Assassins as skilled as Desmond were hard to come by and currently needed all around the globe.

But Desmond had died for their cause once already (and then been fished out of terror-filled green pits of screaming nails on blackboards) and so they had allowed him to pick.

And Desmond had chosen Gotham.

Or maybe the city had chosen him.

People didn’t really move to Gotham, Desmond had noticed. Nor did they ever leave despite having the funds or the motivation. They cursed and screeched and begged, but they never went further than a vacation away.

And some people didn’t leave at all.

It was a moderately warm September night still. They had been blessed with a warm summer, and its remnants were still chasing through the winds, rolling in-between the skyscrapers. Gotham’s chaos had been calm lately. It was only a question of time until the first Rogue broke out of Arkham again, but right now everything was still. It was one of those nights in which they actually had time to look out for the candles and the flashlights asking for their help. Desmond had sent most of his recruits out for training, errands and information gathering. Maybe also a little blackmail depending on how they brave they got tonight. Instead of supervising from their headquarters, Desmond had chosen to take their youngest recruit out. Though Jason, by all means, wasn’t really a recruit as much as he was a kid that had realized the city’s Thief guild might support him on the streets, but the Brotherhood could get him away from them.

Or as away from them as Jason wanted to be.

He’d seen Desmond teach the Novices how to do a Leap of Faith and that was it. He hadn’t stopped pestering Desmond about teaching him, even at the bar where minors definitely weren’t allowed in, until Desmond had agreed. Jason wouldn’t stop arguing that Robin couldn’t have been much older than Jason either when he had started tailing the Bat. However, Jason also didn’t know that Robin had been trained to be an acrobat (and unknowingly an assassin) from birth.

Desmond knew because he had made it his business to know what was going on in his city.

The identities of its brightest protectors were simply a part of that. Batman had been here before Desmond, had bled for this city. Sure, Desmond could argue he had died for the whole world, but at sixteen he had run away from it all, unlike Bruce Wayne, who had already known his destiny then.

This was also the reason why Desmond’s Brotherhood didn’t kill. He respected Batman’s code as the superior rule. Even law enforcement worked with him while they certainly didn’t know about the Brotherhood.

(Well, they did to an extent. You couldn’t miss the spray-painted As that had shown up all over the city, but the police thought those belonged to a random tagger or, at worst, a gang.)

It was another matter that had his out of town Assassin contacts roll their eyes and bite their cheeks at. Desmond had no problems with assassinations. He was freakishly alright with them so much that he wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out the Isu had engineered him that way.

However, their Brotherhood’s no-kill rule was the only reason the Bat tolerated their presence. Maybe the fact that they had quietly gotten rid of the Court of Owls had contributed as well. It wasn’t murder if you cryogenically froze them to be picked up by the Justice League later on.

The Gotham Brotherhood didn’t kill. It made them child-friendly enough that Desmond had given in to Jason’s demands and let the eleven-year-old become his protégé.

And so here they were, standing on a rooftop and waiting for the Bat to drop in.

“How much longer do we gotta wait?” Jason asked.

After tonight, Desmond would work on the boy’s situational awareness. He remembered a few games Ezio used to play with his recruits and their children to teach them how to observe. They also had the neat side-effect of detecting whether someone was predisposed for eagle vision. Desmond thought he had seen Jason’s eyes flash gold once or twice, the speed at which he managed to track down people certainly spoke for it, but he couldn’t be sure.

He knew Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson both had the gift though, and that Wayne was aware of it. You didn’t train with an old splinter group of the Brotherhood for years to be ignorant of eagle vision.

“Mask on, kiddo?” Desmond asked instead, studying the shadows to their right that had become just a little too dense.

He had felt ridiculous the first time he had put on a mask, he didn’t need one to obscure his face, but masks made people think of vigilantes, and it was better to be mistaken for those (and honestly in these times the border between Assassin and Vigilante had become thin) than be known as the Brotherhood. Gotham was mostly Templar free and Desmond would like to keep to this way. He didn’t need their attention, not when his people weren’t strong enough yet. Nowadays, Desmond was used to the weight of the mask covering his eyes. He had grown fond of the red and gold Venetian Rebecca had bought him as a joke.

“Never took it off.”

Desmond smiled. “Good.”

Then he turned back to the shadows. “Hello, Batman. Robin.”

Behind him he could feel Jason tense, looking around to spot the vigilantes Desmond had already identified.

“Mentor,” Batman greeted him and finally stepped forward, Robin following him easily, being just a step behind.

“Oooh, who is that?” The Boy Wonder asked, mustering Jason.

“My protégé. Don’t take him too far, please, he’s untrained still.”

“What do you mean ‘don’t take him too far’?” Jason asked, but Robin had already crossed the distance eagerly.

Desmond wasn’t sure whether Batman took Robin along to these meetings precisely to have him distract the companion Desmond had chosen to take with him or if Robin really was just that sociable. The Bat’s intentions were hard enough to read on the really good days and Desmond had better things to do than waste hours on that particular headache.

Within seconds Robin was talking with Jason, contributing most of the conversation, while Jason nodded at the right moments, his eyes never entirely leaving Desmond.

“He’s young.”

Batman too was observing the boys’ interaction. He had his arms crossed over his chest, suggesting a relaxed posture, but his shoulders were tensed.

“I have questions about Abstergo, Desmond Miles. And about those you call Isu.”

Desmond sighed. He had wondered how long it would take Batman to actually figure out his identity. They had pretty much erased Desmond Miles, or any other alias he had used before Abstergo had captured him, from history. By all means, Desmond was a ghost. But apparently, even death couldn’t keep the world’s greatest detective away.

“Alright, Mr. Wayne,” Desmond replied. “But does that mean I can take a look at the Piece of Eden you keep at your manor in turn? I don’t want to criticize, but these things really shouldn’t be handled by someone without experience.”

Batman fell silent. On the rooftop next to them, Jason was shouting in joy while Robin performed his quadruple flip for him. He should watch that jump. It was common knowledge, at least for those interested in acrobatics, that not many people could perform it – Gotham’s resident prince Dick Grayson being by far the youngest person. It was even on his Wikipedia page.

“And you have that experience?”

Desmond tugged at his hoodie’s right sleeve, revealing his black glove first, and then his burned arm beneath. The golden circuitry was shining brightly in the dark. Once he stopped using eagle vision, it would return to a muted yellow you could mistake for tattoo ink.

“You’re standing in front of the world’s expert on these cursed artifacts.”

His smile was weary, but there was no point in lying. Ever since his death, Desmond had been able to feel these remains of Eden if he got close enough to them. They didn’t make him uncomfortable, but he could almost tell what each piece had been crafted for, and the thought of letting them lie around left to their own devices was fear-inspiring.

“We have much to discuss. I’ll contact you. Robin.”

Across, Robin perked up and moved from his handstand into a bridge and then into a stand. Batman waited just long enough for Robin to plunge into a print and jump over the gaps between the rooftops before he too leaped away into the alley on their right.

Jason wasn’t far behind Robin, crossing the space between houses without hesitating. Whatever Robin had demonstrated or told him, its effects were already showing.

“You done already?” Jason asked.

“Mhm. Why are you asking?”

Jason clicked his tongue and shot Desmond an annoyed look. “Nothin’s true. I should ask questions.”

“I taught you that sentence,” Desmond replied and began to walk into the direction of tonight’s second destination. He’d drop Jason back home on the way. Sure, the kid had seen much already, experienced too much for his age, but Desmond wasn’t going to take a ten-year-old to the Foxglove. Not even for information gathering. “And I’m sure it definitely had nothing to do with Robin.”

“Oh, c’ mon, D. It’s Robin. He’s the coolest. So you gotta tell me what you talked about ’cause he was gonna teach me how to do the neat flip.”

“I’m sure you’ll get another chance to learn from him. Batman just asked for some credentials.”

“Credentials? That can’t be everythin’. Come oooon, tell me. Tell me, tell me, please. You know I can do this all night and day.”

Desmond didn’t doubt him, he knew better. Jason’s presence at his side was proof of that.

“I know. You showed me that you had endurance and now you’ll learn patience.”

“What? You can’t be serious! Des- hey!”

Desmond chose that moment to jump from the balcony into the dumpster beneath. The smell of these containers really made him miss the haystacks of his ancestors.

“Patience, Novice,” Desmond repeated.

Batman would tell him soon enough when he wanted to meet up. You couldn’t shake off Batman once you had his attention.

(And true enough, he got an invitation to Wayne manor a week later. He didn’t dwell on the fact that Batman knew where he lived. It was only fair.)

#dc #dc comics #batman #desmond miles #asscreed #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #fanfic #asscreedevents19

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joe-mazzello-archive · 5 years

Text

Agape - Chapter Six

A Joe Mazzello x Fem!Reader fic

Rating: 18+

Chapter Six

Warnings: Language, Fluff-ish, Absolutely cheesy writing Word Count: 2600 A/N: Definitely didn’t think I would have time to write this weekend and then I wrote this entire thing on the plane. I appreciate the support on this series so far. Especially since I'm relatively new to the scene. Much thanks! Also I'm not a trained writer by any means so apologies for the amount of cheese when they're filming the final scene.

You and Joe made your way to a bar on Sixth Street, one of Austin's many nightlife spots. You picked a quieter one, one where the two of you wouldn't be bothered too much. You ordered your first round and took a seat at a high top.

"So are you going to explain why we couldn't go to dinner with Leah and Bri?" Joe eventually asked. You took a sip of your cocktail, thinking about your word choice carefully.

"As much as it might have looked like Leah was inviting all of us, she really was only inviting Briana," you replied. Joe gave you a confused look, the wheels turning in his head. Suddenly he understood.

"Ohhhh! Well that explains their weird interaction in the makeup trailer," Joe said, earning a nod from you.

The two of you chit-chatted for a bit, enjoying your drinks and each other's company. Occasionally someone would come over to greet the two of you, sometimes asking for a picture. You obliged, mostly because you were in a particularly good mood still. Your jealousy from earlier had completely dissipated and you had finally confessed your feelings for Joe. Well, to Leah at least. Close enough.

Joe seemed to notice your chipper mood.

"So you're particularly smiley tonight. I take it you're feeling better?" Joe commented.

"Feeling better?" you asked.

"Well it seemed like during the shoot you were getting a bit frustrated," he answered hesitantly, almost as if he was afraid to bring it up. You felt a little embarrassed, wishing that your feelings hadn't affected your work day so much.

"Yeah, I was kind of going through something personal and I brought it to work with me. Luckily I was able to work through it during the break so that I wouldn't hold us up anymore," you admitted, completely beating around the bush. It's not like you were going to tell him the whole truth.

"Anything you want to talk about? As cliche as it is, you know you can talk to me about anything," Joe said with a soft smile. Damn that smile. You felt your cheeks get warm once again, and you prayed he couldn't see them in the low light of the bar.

You thought about what he said. You were so tempted to just blurt it out right in the bar. Just empty out all of your feelings for the redhead sitting across from you. You opened your mouth to speak but stopped yourself. All of those nasty headlines from your last break-up flashed across your vision, reminding you why you shouldn't say anything. You finally spoke.

"Thanks, Joe. I appreciate it. I kind of talked it through with Leah, so I think I'm fine. But I'm glad to know I can go to you about stuff too," you said smoothly.

"Yeah, it's not a problem. I know before this we were just casual friends, but I feel like we've gotten really close over this shoot. I consider you a really close friend and I hope you feel that way, too," Joe admitted. Your blush only grew.

"I consider you a close friend, too," you replied, trying to will the redness in your face away.

"So....last day tomorrow. You ready?" Joe asked. Damn, you honestly had forgotten that the last day of shooting was so soon. You suddenly thought about the fact that soon you would be going home to LA and Joe would be going home to NYC. You felt a twinge of sadness; while you were looking forward to the distance to get rid of your feelings for Joe, you were bummed that you wouldn't be seeing him anymore.

"Yeah, I think so," you answered, trying not to reveal your sadness. "Shit, this shoot went by really fast."

"It really did. But as they always say, time flies when you're having fun filming an indie film," Joe joked. You chuckled.

"Oh, I don't think I’ve ever heard the full phrase before," you countered.

"Yeah, most people don't know that the phrase was originally said about filmmaking," Joe added. You shook your head lovingly. You raised your glass.

"To a great shoot with a great scene partner," you said, a huge smile plastered on your face as you looked into the eyes of the man you had fallen for.

"Here here," he replied, clinking your glass. You each took a sip of your drink.

You didn't stay at the bar too much longer, considering you both had to work the next day. You closed out your tab before heading in the direction of your apartment. Joe insisted he walk you back to your temporary home, which you appreciated. Once you arrived, you resisted the temptation to invite him up to your place. You exchanged goodbye hugs and Joe left your apartment lobby, headed to his own condo.

You slept soundly, only dreaming of Joe and his damn smile.

The next day arrived and you made your way to the set, a mix of emotions swimming through your head. You were a bit sad that you were going to have to say goodbye to the project as you had made really strong connections with the cast and crew. Plus you were bummed to say goodbye to the character of Ruby, who had become your favorite character you've ever played. You were also a mix of nervous and excited to film the final scene, hoping that the chemistry that you had developed with Joe would be evident as your characters realized they were in love.

You arrived at your trailer to drop off your purse when you noticed a folder on the table with a sticky note attached.

Last minute rewrite. -Julia

You opened the folder to find a rewritten version of the final page of the script. You sighed, hoping there weren't too many changes, as you had worked through the original several times. You skimmed the page, looking for any major differences. Your eyes landed on the final parenthetical.

The pair sit motionless for a few moments. Ruby turns to look at Desmond; she is feeling the strongest feelings she has ever felt in her entire life. Desmond mirrors Ruby, almost telepathically telling her that he is right there with her, flooding with emotions.

You cocked your head. Nothing had changed so far. You continued to read.

Silently, Ruby reaches up to cradle Desmond's face. Desmond reaches up and gently caresses Ruby's face. The two bring their foreheads together and close their eyes, paralleling the moment Desmond found Ruby at her weakest. They pull away slightly, looking right into each other's eyes. A tear runs down Ruby's face. Desmond gently wipes it away, just as before. After a few seconds of this, their lips connect. It is the most passionate, loving kiss we've ever seen. The two pull away, overwhelmed with emotions.

-RUBY: It's you.

Desmond smiles and nods.

-DESMOND: It's you.

Silently, Ruby shifts and tucks herself into Desmond's side, his arm instinctively coming up behind her to pull her in closer. They move as one, settling as close to each other as they can. Their attentions turn back to the television. Tears continue to stream down Ruby's face and she can't help but smile. She has found her true, unconditional love. Fade to black.

You're dumbfounded as you finish reading the paragraph. Before you have time to react, your phone buzzes.

Did you see the rewrite?

Joe. You had to kiss Joe. And not just any kiss. The "most passionate, loving kiss" the audience has ever seen. Normally this wouldn't phase you. You have had your fair share of on-screen kisses before. It was all part of the job. But this was different. This kiss was between you and the man you have been pining over for almost two months.

Yep, just read it.

You sat down on the couch, feeling almost dizzy.

I ran into Julia, she said that she was inspired by our performance in the pills scene. Specifically the part with our foreheads.

You almost laughed. Your performance in that scene was good enough for Julia to rewrite the final shots of the movie. So in turn, this was your own damn fault.

It was powerful stuff. I guess we're just that good.

His response was almost instantaneous.

I told you. Look out for those award noms, ma'am.

This time you actually laughed, shaking your head. Before you could come up with a clever retort, your phone buzzed again.

Want to rehearse it?

Your heart started beating even faster. You were conflicted. On one hand, you found rehearsing with Joe brought out the best performances from both of you. But on the other hand you were still processing the fact that you were going to have to passionately kiss him. You caught sight of the time and realized you were due in the makeup trailer.

Gotta head in for makeup. Maybe we can sneak one in after?

Sure. If not, no worries, I know we'll nail it without a rehearsal anyway.

After finishing in the makeup trailer, you made your way to the apartment set. The food containers and beer bottles were absent this time, since by this point in the film, Ruby has worked through a lot of her self-hatred with the help of Desmond.

You found Joe stretched out on the apartment couch, absentmindedly tapping away at his phone. Once he noticed you, he immediately adjusted to make room for you on the couch. You found yourself more nervous than normal, your heart beating a mile a minute as you took a seat next to Joe. Julia scurried over to the two of you, a huge grin on her face.

"Alright my lovelies. Are you ready?" she asked. You each nodded, both apparently at a loss for words.

You began to work through the beginning of the scene. Ruby and Desmond were seeking solace with each other, Desmond coming off a break-up scene with Talia and Ruby coming off an intense scene between her and her grandparents. The two characters always seemed to find each other in their times of need.

"Talia never loved you. And Dez, you never loved her either. Love doesn't look like that. Not the kind that matters. The kind that stops your heart cold. The true, everlasting love," you pleaded.

"How am I supposed to know when it's that kind of love?" Joe asked, dejected.

"You just know."

And just like that, you had reached the final page of the script.

You stared forward, your heart feeling like it was going to beat out of your chest. After a few moments you turned to look at Joe, overcome with just how strongly you felt for him. He turned to look back at you, his hazel eyes piercing into your soul. You had never seen Joe look at you like that and your breath caught in your throat. You took in the man in front of you, every beautiful feature. Your chest swelled and your stomach fluttered.

You weren't even acting anymore. You were absolutely, ridiculously, completely in love with Joseph Francis Mazzello.

You reached up to cradle his face, just as the script had said. His face had a bit of scruff, and you softly caressed the stubble. His hand reached up and mirrored your action. You leaned into the touch a bit, a soft smile on your face. The two of you slowly moved closer until your foreheads rested against each other. You closed your eyes, taking in Joe's familiar scent, bringing a bit of comfort. You were overwhelmed with feelings again, and the tears easily came. You were so happy to be where you were. You almost didn't care that it was all pretend. You were doing what you loved, telling a story. And you were doing it with a man you loved.

When you pulled away slightly, you made eye contact with Joe. You could stare into his eyes forever. He gently wiped away a tear, a smile appearing on his face. And then you both moved closer.

Your lips touched and suddenly you were kissing him.

Fireworks exploded inside of you. His lips were soft against yours and his fingers slid into your hair as he pulled you even closer. You kissed him hard with every feeling and emotion you had. He kissed you just as hard, massaging your lips with his.

While it was only seconds in real life, it felt like you were kissing him for hours. When you finally pulled away, you were breathless. Joe's eyes were sparkling and his smile returned. You smiled back before speaking.

"It's you." You were surprised with how soft your voice sounded. Joe ran his fingers through your hair again.

"It's you."

After a few seconds, you shifted to cuddle into his side. His arm snaked behind you and he pulled you tight against him. Your head settled against his chest. His hand ran up and down your arm, and you immediately relaxed at the gesture. You felt warm, safe, and happy. One last tear fell as you sighed deeply.

"CUT!" And just like that, the spell was broken. "Amazing work, you two! Let's reset and do it again in a few minutes!"

Joe still hadn't let go of you. And you weren't protesting. Especially since you knew it would be a few minutes until they were ready to start rolling again. You savored the moment, never wanting him to let you go. Neither of you spoke or moved. You debated saying something. As much as you wanted to stay there forever, you wanted to ask why he hadn't let you go yet. Not wanting to ruin the moment, you kept your thoughts to yourself.

Joe didn't release you from his embrace until the makeup artist appeared to touch you both up.

You did the scene a few more times. Each kiss was just as powerful as the first. Julia sang down praises endlessly, only offering small tweaks for each take. And after a few more takes, Julia gathered everyone around. You stood by Joe, who still hadn't spoken outside of his lines.

"Ladies and gentlemen, that is officially a wrap on Agape!" The entire crowd applauded as Julia continued her speech. She thanked the crew for their hard work and patience throughout the shoot. And then she turned to you and Joe.

"And a huge thank you to my two stars, who took two characters who are close to my heart and brought them to life. They put everything into their performances and I'm so thankful for them." The crowd cheered and clapped for the two of you this time. You thanked them all and thanked Julia for giving you the opportunity.

"Thanks again everyone, and we will see all of you tonight at the wrap party!" Julia shouted over the crowd.

The wrap party. Your last hoorah with the group before heading home.

You felt a hand land on the small of your back. You turned to find Joe.

"You're going to the party, right?" he asked, his face unreadable.

"Of course. How else am I going to sing drunken karaoke with you?" you replied, grinning like an idiot. Joe's face lit up and he shot a fist through the air.

"YES! Oh this is totally happening. And I'm not letting you back out this time!" Joe countered, pointing right at you while he walked in the direction of his trailer.

"I won't, I promise," you said with a giggle, already thinking about what song you were gonna sing with him.

#joe mazzello x reader #joe mazzello x you #joe mazzello imagine #joe mazzello fic #joe mazzello fanfic #joe mazzello #joemazzmatazz

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stealingpotatoes · 3 years

Text

Trying to explain the Desmond (sorta) Lives AU: part 3

the rest of the explanation // whole au tag

>> sorry this one’s kinda long, abt 2.7k words, because i talk & ramble too much -- despite TRYING to leave stuff out for streamlining. but dw the next two parts after’ll probably be shorter again.😅 anyway bla bla bla im explaining my apologies let’s get on with it!!!

--------

Six days after they first arrived at the safehouse, the Assassins’ mystery backup arrives. Or at least, they assume the woman at the door -- whom Rebecca, on watch duty, doesn’t recognise -- is backup because she knows the secret Assassin stuff or whatever.

The trio head to the door to let the woman in and be prepared to fight if it turns out she’s not the backup or smthn. She comes into the safehouse, Shaun and Becs still don’t recognise her, but Desmond’s eyes immediately widen. That’s her-- she looks older (obviously) and her hair’s grey now but that’s her.

“Mom?!”

“Desmond--"

And before either of them know it, before they even say ‘hi’ or ‘hey’ or whatever they’d expected to greet each other with again, Desmond and his mum pull each other into a tight and very loving hug.

Bear in mind, Desmond hasn’t seen his mum since he was 16, when he ran away from the Farm! So this reunion is so damn emotional for him as well. Whereas Shaun and Becs seeing him again was more emotional for them, as for Des it only felt like he hadn’t seen them in a few days, not six years, this one actually is super emotional both ways. Des, in his memory, seen his mum in nine years (but she hasn’t seen him in fifteen years), so… yeah.

(small interlude: I drew her and dumped several headcanons about Des’ mum a serious while back, if you wanna click that link and see. Small change since then in my hc her name is Hadiya Miles -- so when I talk about a “Hadiya” person, it’s her.)

They’re hugging for a few moments before general rationality kicks in and they pull away and just look at each other and actually say their greetings and “I missed you”s lol.

They’re both older than the version in each other’s memories (2003 was a while ago lol), and Des of course has Isu markings -- but he still looks like his mother’s son. He’s still got that scar over his lip, the one she patched up after the training session, and he’s still got the slightly lop-sided smile from when his lip was healing up, and he couldn’t move the right side of his mouth too much. Hadiya never thought she’d see that smile again.

The rational, veteran assassin part of her is like “he totally could be a sleeper or clone” but right now that part’s being completely drowned out by the part of her that’s a mother who hasn’t seen her son in 15 years.

While this is all happening, Shaun and Becs highkey feel like they’re standing in on a Moment they shouldn’t be and Wow! look how interesting the floor is! Let's look there instead of feeling like we’re barging in on our friend’s reunion with his mum.

Luckily, Desmond and his mum do quickly remember that Shaun & Becs are also here, Des introduces them, still :D about the fact his mum’s here. They actually haven’t met Hadiya Miles in person before, only messaged her once to offer condolences back in 2012 (which felt… weird). But now they’ve been around her for about 10 seconds but quite frankly might like her more than William already lol.

ok bla bla Hadiya then explains that she would’ve been here earlier, but her and her team had gone dark, so they didn’t even get word of Des showing up until a few days ago. When she did get word, however, she was immediately contacting the other assassins (she contacted William, though she doesn’t say it to them for reasons we’ll come onto) and asking literally every question she could.

Des asks about William, but Hadiya says he’s really busy with mentor stuff, which we ALL know means “he doesn’t want to see you & he’s a shit dad”.

INTERMISSION THAT WASN’T MEANT 2 B THIS LONG: ok so let’s discuss what some people are thinking about Des bc idk where else to put this:

Rebecca is the one person who unequivocally believes that Desmond is Desmond -- and a complete ally, not a sleeper or anything. She works it out as Why the hell would the Templars send him as a sleeper agent?? He’s not exactly inconspicuous. He glows and has PoE powers now, and more importantly he DIED. None of those things make it easy for him to just fit back in to the point where he could easily infiltrate and destroy them from the inside. And why would the Templars even send him on the inside when, if they had a way to control Des, they could just use his crazy new eden powers to destroy the assassins as they are? It doesn’t make sense to her, and she’s frankly happy to have her friend back.

Both Des’ mum and Shaun are a little more on the fence than Becs -- Hadiya out of years of Assassin paranoia and Shaun out of always being a little skeptical of things. They do 100% believe that the (maybe-)human glowstick in front of them is Desmond and not a clone or smthn, and they mostly think he is an ally and not a sleeper -- but they’re both going to be a little wary and concerned until they find out what happened in the six years. However, they’re both very very happy to have Desmond back and will treat him as Desmond. There’s half a sense of they wanted him back so badly that they… that they almost don’t yet care if he is bad or something?

William is-- well, I once described William Miles as having the personality of a brick wall with knives attached to it, and I stand by said description. Bill is feeling hella paranoid about this being a bit of a Daniel Cross situation (ie sleeper agent that destroys everything), so he’s almost sure that this Desmond is a hecked up Abstergo Desmond-mixed-with-Isu-DNA clone and not his son. That… that and he’s not prepared to lose his son for a third time if smthn is up with him. He can’t go through that again. Thirdly, Bill’s feeling REALLY guilty about the fact he left Des’ body in the temple, leaving him for Abstergo to yoink. And he probably thinks his decision to keep away from maybe-Desmond is a rational decision -- which in part, it is -- but there’s a lot of pain attached to it.

Needless to say, Bill’s reaction fucking hurts. Especially as Des doesn’t have any memories of the missing six years, so it goes from one second “my dad and I are getting on better terms” to the next “my dad lowkey hates me and thinks i’m not even me”. Des, as I’ve said before, gets it to an extent, he gets that the assassins -- his family -- can’t risk fully involving him again because of various reasons, but the knowledge of duty. Oof moments.

I also want to point out, that Desmond lowkey feels… bad for his friends and mum who think he’s himself? because what if he does turn out to be evil? And they have to do smthn? There’s some very messed up crap going on.

All in all views on desmond come down to 3 categories: “that’s desmond 100%”, “that’s definitely desmond but i'm wary”, and “that aint it chief”.

ANYWAYS BACK TO IT:

Hadiya isn’t just the backup; she also brought an Animus with her so they could see if that was a way to see Des’ memories. Which, after some time of her and Desmond being happy to see each other, they try to use.

Desmond is confused as to why the Animus is so damn small (it’s just a headset! wtf) and not a big chair thing -- yay, yet another thing that’s changed in the apparent 6 years he’s been gone .

So they get the headset set up, and Rebecca’s about to parse through the data to look for a memory in the six years but… there’s nothing. No memories during that time. The data’s showing there exists memories during and before 2012, and now, but nothing then . Well, except for what looks like half a memory of what seems to be… some kind of a corrupted Animus White Room

The Animus would suggest he’s been quite literally “no thoughts head empty” , so to speak, for all that time. Des gets out the Animus and knows it didn’t work and is very much /: because that could’ve been their quick answer to just about Everything going on with Des.

Rebecca starts hypothesising that maybe the Animus doesn’t completely work with Desmond’s crazy new genetic makeup, that it can’t read it -- because even if he was in a coma or the Animus in that time there would’ve been something... ‘cause there’s no way , like zero way possible for Abstergo to have actually deleted genetic memory… then again there should be zero way possible to make a human have First Civ--

She walks off with the Animus headset continuing to mumble about fixes and theories.

Shaun realises he should probably leave Desmond and his mum to catching up by themselves, and says he’ll go make some dinner.

About an hour later when Rebecca (who did move out of her workstation to come have dinner too) yells that they’ve got something. Everyone crowds around her computer.

So as it would turn out, some wonderful Initiate managed to scrape up a roughly-2-day-old surveillance recording between an Abstergo higher up and a Swiss Abstergo scientist named Dr. Jacques Hanes (an OC, btw). Here’s pretty much how it goes:

“Dr Hanes, take a seat. [pause] Apparently you’re the person who can tell me how Subject 17 -- who last time I checked was dead -- took out half an abstergo facility?”

“Last time you checked was some time ago.”

“So is it him? Or is this part of Gramatica’s... project Phoenix?”

“That is subject 17 in the flesh. Not a clone, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“How? And--“

“All due respect madame , but I would prefer if you turned off your recording device for the remainder of this conversation.”

“[pause] Hm. Fine.”

And then the recording ends. Now this answers several questions! They now know who they need to find, and that Des is not a clone (though they mostly thought as much anyways) -- however it obvs doesn’t rule out any sleeper agent theories /: the mystery do be thickening like out-of-date milk

But it also points out that the Templars were hiding this from each other, and this serves as a potential explanation as to why the Assassins haven’t found bull or crap about this before; just maybe, the Templar scientists didn’t want their fellow Templars finding out about the fact they’d rezzed a highly skilled Assassin, and so made sure their efforts were secret. Or were they hiding it from something else?

Ok so yeah bla bla bla Hadiya and Desmond continue to catch up, Shaun and Becs continue to notice how very different Desmond’s mum is from his dad lol.

So after a lil while, Hadiya -- who, like Shaun and Becs, has now gotten over the initial ???-ness of this all -- says she’s got something for Desmond.

Des is like oh?? And she gets the gift from her bags or smthn and hands it to him and… It’s a hidden blade gauntlet.

“It would have been yours.” She says

If he hadn’t ran away . “Thanks,” Des smiles.

He gets it set up, and tests it out. The quiet ‘snick’ of the hidden blade fills him with a strange sort of comfort. Something he knows about, finally, something simple. At least hidden blades haven’t changed in the past six years.

That being said, Shaun does offer to make Des an electroblade, like the ones he and Rebecca have, but Des assures him that he's fine with his stabby-stab blade. They’ve been assured they’ll get some missions soon.

I’ll admit I don’t have many details on their first few missions thought out. They’re pretty much all simple ones, nothing too big, or even too murderous lol. Mostly just recon and assistance. It is just very few, they don’t do that many. And their main objective is just find out wtf happened . But as I said, you’re gonna have to do the work here and

It’s not like they can take a plane around lol, but luckily they’re in Europe so driving places is an option. I still don’t know where, just Europe™, tho they never go that far from the og safehouse.

Remember how in AC3 the gang was Rebecca, Shaun, Desmond, and Desmond’s worse parent? Well now we’ve got that crew except we replaced Bill with the Better Desmond Parent!! Because Hadiya hasn’t seen her son in 15 years, and she’s not about to waste any time she could be spending with him. Unlike some people.

But also, Hadiya, literally being in her 60s, is most often on mission control/ at base -- though she does do her own Assassin stuff as well; she’s old, not dead.

Which leaves the main trio now as a field squad. They have this really great dynamic in the field, because they’re all trying very hard to protect one another, even though they don’t really need protection and can handle themselves fine. See, Desmond thinks “okay, I heal super fast and I’m the most trained Assassin. I have to keep my techie friends safe”. Rebecca’s like “Shaun needs help and I need to make sure Desmond literally never dies again”. Shaun’s is the same as Rebecca but vice-versa (ie him thinking Becs needs help). They’re all just like “must protect friends”, it’s great.

Their missions all feel a bit useless; not much happens, and they don’t seem to be progressing forward. Desmond feels particularly useless: he can’t exactly blend in with most crowds anymore, so he generally has to stay hidden while completing objectives. And when they’re staying in a safehouse (which is most of the time), there’s nothing he can really do because he’s not a proper Assassin again, and nor is he a researcher like Shaun or Becs. it’s /: and so all he can rlly do is train (he does spar w Shaun & Becs and is a little ?? at how good they got at fighting. also w his mum) and catch up with the world, ig.

And even on missions he’s feeling a bit disused. I mean-- he’s lived through the lives of multiple damn good assassins (+ one templar), and he’s an insanely skilled assassin himself, so he feels like a sword being used as a walking stick, I guess. Maybe not even that, because a walking stick is still useful!

But during this short time, they accidentally discover some new abilities of Desmond’s! The first one they find is that he’s able to just compel enemies to pass out, which is fun and leads to a lot less illegal murder times lol.

Shaun and Becs slowly begin to theorise that he has the powers of the Shroud, and a few powers of the Apple of Eden. Still begs the question how has he got these powers? (and doesn’t answer the “how’s he here” question at ALL).

Now, they soon discover another ability and the extent of his “shroud” powers -- however Shaun did not have a fun time discovering this:

They’re on a slightly less useless-feeling mission, and not much happens. Shaun and Becs infiltrate the small & remote Abstergo base without much of an issue, place their bug that’s gonna give them a backdoor to Abstergo servers, Des is outside (sidelines, yay) and they’re about to leave. But of course, things aren’t that simple. Shaun and Becs just HAD to get caught by two Abstergo guards on their way out.

Rebecca yell-radios to Desmond for backup, but Shaun quickly realises Des isn’t going to be fast enough to stop the Abstergos, who’re equally too far for Shaun or Becs to do something. Time seems to slow down, and Shaun realises he’s acting on instinct more than anything when he shoves Becs out of the way of the Abstergo guard’s bullet. He doesn’t really think about how he’ll definitely end up with a bullet in him instead. He just shoves her out the way.

Then everything comes rushing back and Des comes out of wherever he was hiding, making quick work of the Abstergos and then they’re getting the hell out of there.

They get to cover, all out of breath, when Becs and Desmond look at Shaun with wide eyes.

“What?” Shaun looks down. Oh, well would you look at that. Great. He’s been shot.

Oh crap -- Shaun’s been shot!

#desmond (sorta) lives au #Desmond Miles #Shaun Hastings #Rebecca Crane #desmond miles’ mother #Hadiya Miles #Assassin's Creed #asscreed #potes wrotes #the night that the sun came up

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