#… and basim for some reason

[glouris]

the fact that eivor actually had a descendant at some point could be so hilarious if it ever comes up. most of odin's kids do not exist in the game at all, so perhaps one of those that survived ragnarok could be eivor's instead. got an interesting option too - vali, who was born to avenge baldr. by some weird ass stroke of fate there were mentions of loki also having a kid named vali, because of a translation error allegedly.

so. do you know who'd be the funniest father candidate for eivor's kid?

[teecupangel]

What if the assassins ended up in Far Cry 5?

It would be so chaotic if this was the whole ‘canon Assassins gets booted into Far Cry 5’. Those poor ‘kids’ wouldn’t have the time to actually get used to present day tech because Project at Eden’s Gate would be all over them so for this one, we’ll go for modern day versions of the Assassins getting thrown into Far Cry 5.

Now, the next problem would be how this would work considering the Brotherhood would prefer to send in a small group for missions (if it isn’t a solo mission) so if we consider the Assassins of the main game alone (not counting Chronicles, movie and other forms of media), we’re still left with 9 Assassins.

And, because it’s me, we’re adding Desmond into this so that would be 10 Assassins traveling into Hope County during the whole… cult thing.

So we’ll make this a bit… easier for us.

It’s meant to be a simple search and retrieve operation. William Miles got a tip that his runaway son was in Hope County. That was the official mission brief.

The unofficial mission brief is that the tip said Desmond Miles is part of the cult ‘Project at Eden’s Gate’ which complicated things.

It was meant to be a secret mission under Edward Kenway with Altaïr, Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton being his ‘field agents’ but someone tattled (it was Basim, Basim definitely tattled) and Bayek heard about the mission, taking his apprentices, Arno, Jacob and Evie with them because Bayek believed they’re too close to Desmond Miles to look at this objectively.

If Desmond Miles is part of the cult then the cult would be dangerous even for Master Assassins such as them.

Not to mention, Desmond Miles was their childhood friend and Edward Kenway’s godchild so they were pretty much compromised from the start.

Altaïr, Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton are ordered to secure their escape route while Bayek’s team find Desmond Miles. Edward and Basim stay in their ‘mission control’ van.

They’d picked the time the cops are taking Joseph Seed in custody so that people were focused on another thing and Bayek and his team are deep into the compound looking for Desmond Miles when Ezio contacts them.

“We found Desmond!”

“Ezio, I told you three to stay put and secure our exit.”

“He’s with the cops! Desmond’s- shit! Desmond!”

By the time Bayek and his team return to the van, they find Edward Kenway knocked out. When he comes to, he tells them Basim knocked him out for some reason and Basim has gone MIA.

The three Assassins are not responding to their comms and they fear the worst.

But Edward did know what Ezio was trying to tell them before everything went to shit.

Desmond wasn’t part of Joseph Seed’s cult.

He was the junior deputy that had cuffed Joseph Seed.

Altaïr, Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton recognized him when he went inside the chopper with Joseph Seed. By that point, it was too late and they watched in horror as the cultists sacrificed themselves to bring down the helicopter.

The last thing Edward heard is that they’re on their way to find Desmond.

Unorganized Notes:

Sooooo… there’s three (four if you count Basim) main POVs in this one. Desmond taking over the role of the Junior Deputy main character of Far Cry 5, Altaïr-Ezio-Ratonhnhaké:ton team’s POV of trying to find Desmond, always a step behind him, and Bayek-Arno-Evie-Jacob-Edward trying to find Desmond and the other three.

The cult being named Project at Eden’s Gate is too much to pass so the cult is related to the Isus in some way. To be more exact: the plant Bliss which the drug is derived from is actually an Isu experimental plant that is meant to ‘copy’ the powers of the Apple. It was developed during the Human-Isu war as a way to control the remaining human slaves and make them into cannon fodders who would do everything for the Isus. It was never finished but the cult managed to harvest and use it for their benefit.

This means that Bliss barely works on Desmond. Altaïr, Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton also has higher than normal resistance to it. The rest though? Yeah, good luck.

Joseph Seed is very much interested in Desmond. He does not say why though. He does call Desmond ‘angel’ more than once, pinging Desmond’s ‘uncle bad touch’ radar. Faith though calls him ‘an angel shackled in a mortal body’ which… might hint on what Joseph actually meant.

Basim didn’t necessarily betray them. He is, unfortunately, Loki’s Sage and he knows more than he’s letting on. To be more exact, his objective is the complete eradication of the Bliss plant. Or, as he called it, “a grieving wife’s final punishment”. It’s later revealed that Bliss was engineered to have ‘Isu’ DNA. To be more exact, the Isu DNAs of Nari and Váli. Basim is actually heavily affected by Bliss and it’s hinted that he actually got hit by it (airborne?) at some point and his actions are done while under the influence of Bliss (which is… a nightmare to him)

(I got sidetracked into making the Isu related plot. Anyway, the main point in this one is the Assassins have their work cut out for them just trying to find Desmond who doesn’t even know they’re looking for him. Oh, and each of them have a specific Fangs for Hire. Desmond gets Boomer, The Altaïr Ezio Ratonhnhaké:ton team gets Cheeseburger. The Bayek Arno Jacob Evie Edward team gets Peaches)

[lenasai]

evacuation fundraisers that need YOUR help - last updated 1/26

please reblog this post so other people can see these campaigns!! especially for the gaza funds campaigns - most of these people are not on tumblr and not actively fundraising here. many of them frequently stagnate and have not received a single donation in many days. please know that my posts for these campaigns do not get much attention at all. even the ones you may see from me with a decent number of reblogs are mostly me reblogging from myself. do with this information what you will. i do not check to see who reblogs what from me and will not judge you if you don't reblog, but please understand i am struggling to get any attention on these campaigns and would appreciate some help.

weekly gaza funds spotlight campaign:

£5,016 / £50,000 - NO DONATIONS IN A WEEK‼️‼️‼️

previous gaza funds spotlight campaigns:

bessan khalaf: $7,588 CAD / $20,000 - no donations in three days

mohammed ahmed: €9,844 / €100,000 - NO DONATIONS IN EIGHTEEN DAYS‼️‼️‼️

maha al-habil: €23,367 / €40,000 (from tumblr - #163, gazavetters)

karem al-kahlout: €45,900 / €55,000 - NO DONATIONS IN SEVENTEEN DAYS‼️‼️‼️

yasmin's family: $16,253 / $45,000 - no donations in six days!!

basim and hla: $7,587 CAD / $50,000 - NO DONATIONS IN TWENTY-SIX DAYS‼️‼️‼️

nada muhaisen: £9,076 / £32,340 - NO DONATIONS IN THIRTEEN DAYS‼️‼️‼️

omar shawwa: $22,472 / $70,000

ibrahim's family: €86,607 / €100,000

ghada and abdulrahman: €13,148 / €50,000 - no donations in six days!!

dr. isam's family: $7,819 CAD / $70,000 - NO DONATIONS IN NINE DAYS‼️‼️‼️

mahmoud qaddoha: €8,345 / €100,000 - no donations in six days!!

ahmad abuabdou: €8,688 / €12,500 - NO DONATIONS IN EIGHT DAYS‼️‼️‼️

hassan abdullah: $7,364 / $40,000

hossam abo shab: kr70,023 SEK / 200,000 - NO DONATIONS IN EIGHT DAYS‼️‼️‼️

firas al-shaer: $11,764 / $50,000 - no donations in four days

raghad's family: $84,099 / $100,000 - NO DONATIONS IN TWO WEEKS‼️‼️‼️

mosab moqat: €6,914 / €7,500 - no donations in six days!!

saja mashharawi: $7,519 CAD / $45,000 - NO DONATIONS IN NINE DAYS‼️‼️‼️

ghazi mekawi: €12,523 / €50,000

vetted fundraisers:

i try to not use links in vetting info where possible because tumblr limits the number of links in a post. many of these campaigns have provided vetting info in their pinned posts, so check them out! for campaigns reblogged by specific vetters, you can check the notes and see that people have linked their reblogs in the notes for easy access.

abedallhferwana1: €22,290 / €35,000 (#60, gazavetters)

mahmodje: $11,514 / $25,000 (#63, gazavetters) - NO DONATIONS IN TWO WEEKS‼️‼️‼️

shareeffamily: €3,258 / €50,000 (reblogged by 90-ghost)

hananfamliy: $16,546 / $30,000 (#152, gazavetters)

raedser1: £3,028 / £30,000 (#262, gazavetters)

hananmahmoud1: €3,505 / €50,000 (#270, gazavetters)

maram12tts: $2,613 / $80,000 (#431, gazavetters)

abujaradfamilyfromgaz: kr407,330 SEK / kr700,000 (#130, project watermelon)

certaintimemachinearcade: €1,617 / €120,000 (#332, gazavetters)

abdallah-gaza: $4,193 / $30,000 (#315, gaza-evacuation-funds)

nasreen-sg: $4,957 / $20,000 (#334, gazavetters)

ahmedziaad: £11,431 / £30,000 (reblogged by 90-ghost)

abuadam1: €10,812 / €50,000 (#187, gazavetters)

shaimash978: €4,740 / €50,000 (#62, gazavetters) - NO DONATIONS IN SEVENTEEN DAYS‼️‼️‼️

mahmoudayyads: €11,680 / €55,000 (reblogged by 90-ghost)

mohamed-meq: €6,873 / €90,000 (#94, gazavetters)

dh-maher: €7,388 / €30,000 (#35, gazavetters)

safa-sh: €24,282 / €45,000 (#53, gazavetters)

unvetted but likely legitimate:

use your best judgment, but know that gofundme protects donations and that a lot of times, the reason someone may not be vetted is because there are so many people in need of help and very few people actively vetting.

faraj1-family: $579 / $30,000

ahmedhadeel43: $1,106 / $35,000

kefah-hillis: €130 / €35,000 - NO DONATIONS IN A WEEK‼️‼️‼️

mohmmedaboalabed: €40 / €20,000 - no donations in three days

want to see even more fundraisers? check out my list of fundraisers from bluesky!

thank you for your consideration! remember, even if you can't donate, a reblog can go a long way. my posts don't get very much engagement, and it's a simple way to help people for free!

[bansheeoftheforest]

*knocks on the door*

Hello? Is anyone here?

Hi Banshee! I was wondering if you’d be willing to write a few hcs for Hytham? Among all the voices echoing through Tumblr, yours speaks of him with the most depth. And your Valhalla and Mirage storytelling? It’s magic; the kind that makes people stay a little longer just to hear one more tale! ✨

*sets down a small bundle*

I brought a few snacks, enough to share with anyone else who might be gathering around! We’ll be sitting here quietly, happily listening —ready for whatever you choose to share!

AAAAAA HI!!!!!! First of all you have no idea how happy this made me, I'm so glad you think so highly of my stories and storytelling!!! 😭

I will be so happy to share my hcs!!! Because I have an rp that involves Hytham with a friend, I have... Well... A LOT of personal, niche hcs and some more general ones I've seen around Tumblr. I'm also just going to ramble up as many as I can because I am a yapper at heart and I like throwing things at walls and hope that they stick 🫡 All of this is in absolutely no particular order and regarding no particular Hytham pairing as well! And it ended up. Long. Hence a read-more link!

He 100% was raised by a single mother and I don't think he either knew much about or liked his father at all. Solely based on the fact that he is orphaned in Mirage and he only mentions his mother, not "family" or "parents". My very personal hc here is that his father passed away before he was born, so it was always just him and his mother. Lately I also hc his mother's death as being directly related to the Order, hence why she was avenged by a Hidden One and why Hytham is so strongly passionate in his hate to the Order.

(We never get to know if Hytham actually has a 'last name' or second name at at all, he is always just Hytham, but I'd like to think he went against tradition and chose a matronymic instead of patronymic. It's not like he even still exists according to the Caliphate, since he joined the hidden ones, so no one can really stop him.)

Having been raised by a single mother could also be (one of) the reasons Hytham attaches so much to Basim! I'm thinking mostly in the sense of the father/son bond that is more or less the canon version, like that boy is probably desperate for fatherly approval he has never experienced before and he certainly has been around Basim more than he has been around Rayhan, even if Rayhan is his "true" mentor.

Anyways. Other hcs! He is a polyglot. He knows a LOT of languages for someone that never really had a formal or expensive education, like Syriac would be his mother tongue (since he canonically is from Syria), then when he ended up in Baghdad he learned the more commonly used older Arabic, when he was formally introduced into the Hidden Ones he learned Persian since Alamut is in what today is Iran, in his later teens when he and Basim were in Constantinople he learned the older Turkish or equivalent of the byzantine empire/the region they stayed in. Then he of course learned Norse and Old English when staying with the Norsemen in England. I also fully accept the hc that he is a big fanboy of the Greek Myths so I think he taught himself a bit of Greek as well.

The injury he gets after the fight with Kjotve is so vague but I personally think most of his problems come from broken ribs and at least one broken leg that never managed to get set correctly afterwards. He limps quite a lot (more or less severely depending on the day) and he always have to be careful with his torso movements to not make rib fragments poke into his lungs. There is probably some nerve problems there too with how mangled he was. Shakey hands? Occasional tremors? Fatigue and muscle tension? Yes pls. He probably handles it all quite well but better during the warmer months, all of this + his general inexperience with the cold just makes it all miserable.

On that topic: SEASONAL DEPRESSION! England being rainy and miserable and the winters being cold and dark and damp and he feels like he never sees sunlight for MONTHS. And all he can do is still light some candles and strain his eyes against the light as he tries to work, being relieved when Yule passes and the days grow longer and the snow begins to melt. Not to even mention how vitamin-c deficient he must be.

On the contrast I bet he loves the English/Northern spring and summer. It isn't as warm as back home (for better and worse) but everything would be lush and green and vibrant and full of LIFE and if that doesn't just sum up everything he loves with the world... Assuming he doesn't have any allergies, that is.

When he leaves Ravensthorpe after Basim's 'death', he promises Tove he will grow his hair out so she can braid it when he returns (game canon be dammed). She makes special metal beads to thread the braids through too, coz this promise is the 1 promise he gives them that he will not be gone for good.

What can I say, the people of Ravensthorpe loves him. Be it as a friend or in a "poor dear has been inside all day, does he even eat dinner? He looks so sickly and skinny, should we give him some soup? What if he doesn't survive the winter? :("

Also can we all agree he mourns Basim much more severely than the game makes him out to? Like regardless of how one views their relationship, Hytham and Basim were each other's closes person, so of course he would mourn his mentor. Even if that mourning just seems like apathy and throwing himself back to his routine and his work to forget and not think about Basim dying mad and alone somewhere in the mountains of Norway.

Also. Hytham seemingly watched his mother's death (hence why he knows she was avenged). It would not be far off to say that Basim's death reminded him of that, in the way where he was just helpless and could do nothing but prevent the closest person he had from disappearing from him.

Hytham and Eivor are good friends. But imagine trying to act like everything is normal when your friend just told you they were forced to murder your closest friend/mentor/parent in cold blood. I personally think Hytham avoided Eivor for a while, not because he blamed him or thought he did the wrong thing, but because he kept flinching and shut down when Eivor was around.

... Anyways, some better hcs! If he became a father he would be a girl dad.

I also have never played the Wrath of the Druids DLC but despite that being decidedly not canon, I have decided he and Azar are old friends.

I've seen this hc a few times but I do find it funny to imagine Hytham having beef with Octavian regarding theories and translations of various greco-roman myths. Like Octavian is the one (1) person that is not an enemy of any kind that he just actively does not like.

A few people in the settlement wants to bell Hytham like a cat because he keeps (unintentionally) scaring them because his footsteps and he in general are very quiet.

Hytham sleeps curled up. I only thought of that hc bc his bed in the bureau seems quiet small in comparison to himself.

Reda and Hytham at least once has a one-sided 'pointing-spiderman-meme' moment when Hytham hears Reda tell the (other) settlement children about the story of Aya and Bayek and Hytham obviously recognises it.

I think Hytham in general (the Valhalla version of him, at least) is quite a mellow and generally content or happy person. In Mirage he has the teeniest bit of an attitude and, while i have not read The Golden City, the wiki summary makes me believe he had some teenage attitude. I think he can still be quite sassy if he wants to, but I also think he is just content with what he has and the situation he is in, in a way he wasn't really in Mirage and TGC. In Valhalla it is not like he is stuck on towers or nearly murdered every other day, after all.

Ooooh on the topic of murder attempts. Scars? I would assume it is a TGC canon scar bc many fics mention he has a large scar on his inner thigh and honestly, hell yeah. I bet he like many Hidden Ones have quite a lot of scars and knicks on his body and hands, especially from when he was beginning to train with actual metal weapons early on.

I also find it fascinating that Hytham doesn't hide his amputated finger or have a protective cover over it like Basim does, I suppose this could be that he doesn't feel any need to hide it, that the scar is very well-healed (in part because he kept having it out in the open, and therefore hardened/didn't become as sensitive), or perhaps that he has a bit of like. Texture issues? Like I wouldn't want to walk around with a single-fingered glove all day either.

I think Basim has given him at least a handful scars from their many many fights/sparring matches/training sessions. No hard feelings, of course, I just don't think Basim was as easy-going on Hytham as Roshan was on him in terms of actually fighting one's own student. Assuming one ignores the end of Mirage, that is.

Cant believe it's been around 1.3k words and I haven't mentioned Hytham being muslim yet. Anyways. In my mind he is muslim. That or syrian orthodox-christian, but I generally go for muslim. Either way he is religious and he takes his faith very seriously. Another hc I've seen before is that he told Eivor about the practice of Ramadan and Eivor entirely misunderstood and thought Hytham was actually not eating at all for 30 days.

I'm not at all well-versed in the more 'modern' games from more recent time periods but Bayek is religious so I will say that it is ok that Hytham is too, even if the modern assassins frown upon religion.

I feel like I sadly cannot say a lot about Hytham's personality because all my thoughts on it are vague and change from fic to fic. He is a lil jokester, he is passionate, idealistic, optimistic, and I think he is sassy and can have an attitude at times. Certainly more so pre-kjotve than afterwards, but I cannot get over his damn sass when Basim teaches Eivor to wield a hidden blade. He is a softie with dry humour, has a soft spot for animals and kids, and throws sarcastic comments out now and then that have the witnesses be absolutely bewildered because they had not expected for HIM of all people to say something like that. Occasionally he feels bad for sayings things like that, sometimes he feels it is entirely deserved.

This is long. My brain is fried. I cannot distinguish what is a hc and just a statement anymore /d

Hytham sees himself as a weapon and after Kjotve he feels kinda useless. What is a dented sword? A broken arrow? A bow without string? What is he if not a weapon? What is he if not a blade to which justice can be served? He becomes a shield on a wall and tries to find another purpose and tries to tell himself that he is okay with that because he is still alive.

I have so many thoughts regarding Hytham's injuries and how he coped with what he did, most of which i put in the Hytham of Ravensthorpe fic, although it wasn't canon-compliant. At some point I just think he has been through so much that he isn't continuing full force by sheer willpower, as he is choosing to pick up the pieces of himself and try to mend the metaphorically broken pot. He is not living as much as he is trying to work with what he has and make something worth continuing for.

I think that is also another part to why he kind of mellows out after Kjotve. In a way he learned his lesson with his own impulses and hubris, in another way he is fatigued, and in another he is just choosing to try to be better and try to be kinder, gentler, more thoughtful.

According to a TGC review/summary Hytham states he'd like to be a father one day and I think that if he never settled and actually got a child, training future generations of Hidden Ones sooths that urge, so to speak. Especially when he is older and the age gap between him and his students are larger, rather than when he and his first four students are all around the same age.

If an 11 year old came up to him and told him their parents were dead and they wanted to be a Hidden One he could NOT say no even if he reasonably knows that he should. RIP to Basim and RIP to Roshan the curse of the student wanting to be the opposite of their mentor continues.

And on my last hc of this list that took me approximately 3 hours to write. Hytham's fave fruits is citrus fruits and pomegranates. Why? No idea, but my brain says so 🫡

Is any of these hcs something you were actually looking for? No idea! I will happily elaborate on them tho, as I said, I'm a yapper at heart 💃

[faithfulcat111]

Okay, so I finished reading Journey to the North - Logs and Files of a Hidden One . Absolutely fantastic. Adds so many little bits and insights as well as doing an amazing job at summarizing the events of the game and context of the world. And it is all from Hytham's perspective, which you know I love. Gonna share some of my favorite bits:

Hytham describing himself as being a little too vigorous when talking about the Order's influence.

Also describing himself as a scholar by temperament 😃

Hytham being curious about how his own wergild would be assessed if he "were to be terminated in some illegal fashion." The answer was zero. Eivor found this hilarious.

Him being referred to as "the Levantine bilge rat" while sailing from Constantinople to Norway.

Also mentions that he and Yanli are the only two "exotic" townsfolk. (I did an assessment about a month ago and yeah, mostly. The town is 64% Norse and 25% Anglo-Saxon. Then you got a few Danes, one Welsh, one Chinese (Yanli), one Syrian (Hytham), and I guess he wasn't counting Reda as a townsfolk? I did. )

Basim apparently said Tarben's bread was some of the tastiest he's ever tried.

The children once let a passel of squirrels loose in the shipyard.

Hytham is not good at playing Orlog (a dice game the creators made up).

Hytham found Eivor formidable and intimidating at first (totally fair).

Hytham feels more at home in Raventhrope than he did in his homeland, even stating that it felt like he found his long-lost family in the Raven Clan.

Eivor regarded Bishop Deorlaf as well-measured and wise (honestly he was one of my favorite allies to work with).

I forgot Birstan joined the Seige of Portcestre. Whoops...

Even Hytham can't understand Brigid. It appears only Gunnar can.

Hytham agrees with Eivor's assessment of how Sigurd changed after being rescued from Fulke.

Apparently, Hytham met Azar while in Ravensthrope? I thought they knew each other before.

Eivor did tell him exactly what happened when she, Sigurd, and Basim were in Norway from her perspective. He admits he has no reason to doubt her, but he finds the whole story unsettling and hard to believe (fair). The hardest part for him though isn't while Eivor was in the Yggdrasil machine, but afterwards when Basim attacked them. Mainly that Basim had a son as Basim had never once mentioned having had a son to him. I imagine, if he shared that part with Eivor, she would be more confused because Basim did mention losing a son before to her while they were in Cent.

He also calls Basim's actions an 'apparent betrayal' as he continues. And that he finds Basim's disappearance deeply troubling. Why did the game writers never do anything with this? Feels like they just left this part of Hytham's story unfinished.

[demigoddessqueens]

I confess that I stalk your page daily, patiently awaiting your wonderful AC writing.

Can I please have some guilty pleasure headcanons for my favorite babies Connor, Arno, Basim and Altair?

aww anon 🙈 thank you so much! 💞😆

here on masterlist 9

A/n - they’re my faves too 👀

Altair

He absolutely does not feel guilty about anything especially if it’s spending time with you. Any of the other novices who demand your attention are met with a pointed stare as work can wait, but this is your time with him

Connor/Ratonhnhake:ton

Loves to just sleep-in with you. And it works out perfectly because good luck trying to get out of his tight, warm embrace when you’re snuggled so perfectly close to him

Arno

It may be a “guilty pleasure” for him, but on the other hand sometimes he feels guilty he’s taking up all your time. But you don’t mind it at all. Spending tons of time in the Cafe, or sneaking away (frequently) just to have time to each other

Basim

Absolutely has a penchant for casually touching you; be it a shoulder brush, interlinking your fingers with each other, hand on your waist or the small of your back, and almost always holding onto your hand for no reason

[frenchoravocadotoast]

Take me back to Constantinople

Hytham (AC: Valhalla) x GN!Reader

Word count: 2704

A/N: I finished reading The Golden City a few days ago and I'm inconsolable :] Have some more Hytham content! (because I fell down a rabbit hole)

Had Hytham been told that he would challenge the tenets of the creed again, he would have vehemently denied it.

Constantinople had already been a tedious enough task to complete, and with his feelings involved, the young man swore to never get attached again. The life of an assassin was always on the run, never stable. He wasn’t meant to stay anywhere.

But then they met Sigurd. He and Basim traveled to Norway with him, then to England – and then Kjotve happened, and now Hytham had to stew in his disappointment as he healed from broken bones. His journey of travels ended here. At least he had the bureau to keep himself busy, as well as the lavish dinners to keep him fed and entertained. He liked it when there were get-togethers in Ravensthorpe. 

Like the one from a couple of days ago.

The assassin didn’t know what the reason for the celebration was – not that the vikings needed any. As long as they were promised food and booze at the banquet, they would gladly pillage and conquer any village they were asked to. Hytham had to admit that their logic was pretty efficient, if not a little too simple. But with Eivor, it was different. Her loyalties lay with her own virtues, a moral compass that luckily aligned with Hytham’s; and thus, she would willingly carry out any task that the Hidden One needed of her, even without the promise of a full belly and a drunken tongue.

She’d done a lot for him and his creed, and he couldn’t bring himself to say no to her when she insisted that he attend the celebration. She knew Hytham tended to overwork himself. There was paperwork to finish, new feathers to stock – hell, even the bureau itself was a mess. If Basim were to return with Sigurd now, and find the bureau looking like a rabid drengr had rummaged through it, Hytham would probably have to spend the rest of the month cleaning up the place rather than working up the ranks. 

He pursed his lips, not amused by the idea, but he tried his best to focus on the moment regardless. The clan members had come to form a circle, swaying to the tune of the music, and clasped their hands together as they stomped their right feet in unison. Hytham could feel the tremor under his own feet, and the laughing of the people echoed all over the room, pulling a smile at his lips too.

For a group of drunkards, they danced with great passion and expertise. Practice, Hytham shrugged. It definitely wasn’t their first night drinking and pissing mead, and dancing until their feet hurt. The circle spun faster and faster as the music enhanced. The dancers paired up to twirl and jump, and through the motion blur of faces and twirling dresses, Hytham saw it. Well, he wasn’t quite sure he’d seen it, but the smile looked familiar enough – and as the dancers continued to spin, his eyes settled on you.

He was right, then. You had indeed joined the circle. But your steps were calculated, and you lacked the drunken sway of the vikings who could barely keep themselves upright. Your smile shone bright, and your eyes crinkled under its pull as you switched partners with a woman. Her cheeks matched the tone of her ginger hair, and you somehow managed to avoid getting splashed by her drink, horn in hand.

Hytham’s eyes softened. It was moments like this that made him feel at ease, with no fear of an uncertain future or the haunting of a dark past. Everyone in this room had their fair share of demons, even the children – but they somehow possessed the power to forget about everything for the night, swinging and swaying to the music as the smoke from the bonfire fed off of each chant.

But there was something about you in particular that fascinated Hytham. Perhaps it was the way you carried yourself. The way you spoke, your presence. Maybe it was just the way you looked at him last week, when he’d taught you how to use his throwing knives. He was fixing your posture, and perhaps you’d noticed that he lingered close for too long, because Hytham caught you looking at him on numerous occasions since then. 

There was something there, he mused. A potion brewing quietly, and you were both none the wiser. Even now, the mere memory made Hytham’s fingers twitch as he watched you disappear on the other side of the circle.

“You’re staring.”

He stiffened, not wanting to give the woman the satisfaction of his reaction. 

“I’m just watching them dance.”

Eivor huffed out a laugh, dragging a wooden stool and plopping down next to him. From the corner of his eye, Hytham could see the blade of her ax glimmering under the candlelight.

“Basim was right, you’re awfully transparent.”

Hytham met her eyes, slightly offended. “He said that?”

“You can’t deny it if it’s true,” the blonde shrugged, nodding in your presumed direction. “Why don’t you ask them for a dance?”

Immediately, the assassin clammed up. It must have been an amusing sight to Eivor; a trained killer with a blade strapped to their arm, refusing to approach a person of their interest. When he and Eivor first met, Hytham had gone into detail about the imperative need to separate one’s feelings from their work – to allow such a thing could greatly compromise both his life and his creed. But it was a blurry line for the likes of him, a game that tested their loyalty to the brotherhood. The young eagle knew that line had been tested before, trespassed by his peers and predecessors. It hadn’t ended well for them – after all, the life of an assassin was short. It was built on sacrifice rather than yearning, that was the true purpose of a Hidden One. But now, Hytham knew he was once again at the mercy of his own heart – and what would that make of him?

Human, the little voice in his head said. It sounded an awful lot like Basim, and the acolyte was sure he could almost hear the older man’s trademark smirk. He must have trespassed that line too, at some point in his life; and Hytham couldn’t blame him. He was almost tempted to do it for the second time, too – perhaps he was spending too much time around the man. 

Hytham gave the viking woman a tentative smile. “You know I’m injured. I shouldn’t be dancing anyway.”

Eivor cocked an eyebrow, like she’d been expecting him to say that. 

“I thought it was your ribs that were broken, not your feet.”

Hytham frowned, frustrated; not because of her insistence, but rather because of her ability to read him like a book. Unlike his mentor, Hytham lacked the talent to keep secrets, and he was seemingly obvious to everyone except for himself.

“I don’t know how to dance,” he tried again.

“And they do?” Eivor laughed, looking at a drunk man who tripped and dragged his dancing partner down with him. Hytham could smell the alcohol on their breath from his seat.

“They’re too drunk to care.”

“Hytham.”

“I know you mean well, Eivor,” he softened his tone, shaking his head. “But I believe I should sit this one out. My ribs have been hurting again, and I wouldn’t want to aggravate them.”

It was a lie, and Eivor knew. Nevertheless, without questioning him, the woman sighed and stood up with great effort. She squeezed his shoulder in one last attempt to encourage him, but Hytham only patted her arm. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, or that he lacked the confidence to do so – but Hytham felt like he’d be intruding if he were to approach you now. You gleamed and danced amongst the other dancers, stepping over the bodies of the people who had succumbed to a drunken sleep. You moved with the kind of expertise he would almost envy if he weren’t a skilled fighter himself. 

Someday, he told himself. Someday, he would try to talk to you again. Not now, when you seemed to be in your own world. Hytham was content with just watching for now.

»» ──────ஓ๑♥๑ஓ ────── ««

That day came sooner than Hytham expected.

The scenario was oddly familiar. As per your request, you were in the training yard once more, graced by the presence of a slumped dummy. The assassin didn’t stray too far from you, observing your posture as you readied another throw. 

“Remember to aim for a pulse point.”

Hytham muttered, not keen on interrupting your focus. You were deeply concentrated, he could tell. Your gloved fingers gripped the dagger tightly, readjusting your hold, before you pivoted and hurled the weapon at the humanoid sack. The blade hissed through the air and past the target, and the scowl on your face darkened.

“Damn it.”

The assassin smiled in amusement. Throwing knives were cheeky little bastards – they seemed to have a mind of their own and strayed wherever they pleased. And the wind today didn’t seem to be working in your favor, either. These weren’t the best conditions to be training; but for the two of you, spare time was just as slippery as the flying blades. The second you could find time to spend together, you’d take it.

So Hytham respected your choice to continue training. It was a good enough excuse to spend time with you, at least until he ran out of knives.

He drew another one from his belt, nodding at you. “That’s alright. Try again.”

You took the dagger from him, and perhaps your impatience was starting to get to you, because just a few seconds later, the knife was cutting through the air again. This time though, it embedded itself into the crotch area of the dummy, and true to its humanoid appearance, it slumped over as if it were in pain. Hytham let out an incredulous laugh, warily eyeing the dummy.

“Wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that.”

You grinned in triumph, satisfied that this one had struck the target. “But this would still work, right?”

“I suppose it would,” he hummed, instinctively handing you another knife. It was the last from his belt, and Hytham was relieved to know that he would soon be retreating back into the warmth of the bureau. He propped up the dummy before joining your side again. “Try one last time. Here, I’ll help you.”

Your posture was better than last time, but it still needed fixing. The man waited for you to curl the knife up to your opposite shoulder, before leaning closer to hover at your eye level. Gauging the distance by moving into your space was unnecessary, he knew you were capable enough to do so on your own. You knew you didn’t need him either. And yet, Hytham relished the side glance you gave him, one that lingered on his face longer than he’d expected. He fought back a smile as he reached to lift up your crooked arm.

“Focus on the target and take your time,” he reprimanded you playfully. You ripped your eyes away from him, and Hytham swore he could feel the heat emanating from your cheeks. “Your arm should be fully outstretched in a straight line. Aiming too high or too low will miss the target entirely, and you’ll quickly lose range advantage.”

He let go of your elbow when he was satisfied enough. Your eyes were trained on the dummy, unblinking, and the leather of your gloves groaned when you tightened the grip on the knife. Your voice was a soft mutter, but Hytham heard it. 

“You know, you sound a lot like Basim.”

The man gave you the ghost of a smile. It seemed the little voice in his head was starting to seep into his voice now, too.

“Well, he is my mentor,” a pause, and Hytham was tempted to speak again despite your focus. He added quietly. “Would you prefer his tutoring?”

“No. I would much rather enjoy your company.”

“And I yours.”

Another pause, and then, you flung the knife again. It cut through the air with a hiss, glinting for just a second before it sank into the neck of the dummy, and the stray strands of straw fluttered down at the stab. Hytham grinned as your eyes widened, and drew back to look at you properly.

“Good job,” he winked, promptly walking back to the mannequin to retrieve his knives. “Remind me to never get on your bad side again.”

“So this is how you do it?” you asked, and Hytham’s smile softened at the awe in your eyes. “I’ve seen you fling daggers from greater distances with just the flick of a wrist.”

The man shrugged, at a loss for words. He was never good at taking compliments, especially when they were this genuine. “It’s a matter of practice,” was all he said instead. He nodded at the bureau just as you joined his side.

“In that case, I’ll have to whisk you away more often. I need you to teach me how to do that.”

Hytham repressed a grin, but he couldn’t hide the blush on his cheeks.

“You know I won’t complain.”

»» ──────ஓ๑♥๑ஓ ────── ««

Complain? No, he could never.

Hytham didn’t know what it was that pulled him towards you. Other than his feelings, of course. Was it the way the fireplace of the bureau cast shadows on your face? The depth of your eyes, perhaps? The tender caress of your lips against his? Too many questions ran about in his mind, and no answer was valid enough to satisfy him.

There was one thing that did satisfy him, though; and he knew right then and there that he was doomed. The kiss started off with a peck –Hytham wasn’t sure who had leaned in first–; but then came a second one, and then another one, which turned into a lingering kiss. He felt the heat of your sigh, the gentle nudge of your nose, the caress of your lashes against his skin. The blood in his ears was roaring at your touch.

If this was how training ended every time, then Hytham wouldn’t have minded teaching you more often.

You had somehow found your way to the shelves. His body pressed you against them, caging you in his embrace as your hands cradled his face; and here, hidden away from any witnesses, your lips came to create a dance and language of their own. Hytham pulled back, desperate to relieve the burn in his chest but not leaning too far either. Your breaths intermingled once more as his finger skimmed over your cheek, and he whispered.

“I’m starting to think training was just an excuse.”

He felt you smile against his skin, like he had caught you in a lie. Perhaps he had, judging from the glint in your eyes.

“It wasn’t, at least not in the beginning,” you paused, interrupted by him as he surged forward to catch your lips again. Your words etched onto his skin as you whispered through the kiss. “But then you refused to dance with me at the celebration, and I had to come up with a new idea.”

Hytham stilled, and your smile widened at his reaction. He glanced between your eyes, trying to read you like he’d been trained to do in his novice years. It was so obvious now that he looked more carefully – maybe he was too distracted by his feelings in the past to even notice what you were plotting. That seemed to be a recurring problem for Hytham. His cheeks grew warm again, but his small smile said he was impressed.

“I was set up.” 

“Took you long enough.”

“You’re devious,” his words were teasing, but the assassin felt his eyes soften the more he looked at you. Your arms around his neck had never felt so welcoming. “Perhaps we should make a Hidden One out of you.”

“Only if you continue teaching me how to use the knives.”

Hytham grinned, whispering against your lips. “Deal.”

[alastorqueen]

You Are Enough

Ok, so I was playing AC Mirage in the middle of last night for the second time. I enjoyed the game for what it was, despite some nitpicks. It nestled right in with the og games. While playing, this idea popped into my head so I decided to write this little drabble. We all have our moments when we feel like we have to work hard to prove something to people before focusing on improving ourselves. Hopefully this can lift up someone who understands because I certainly do. Enjoy.

The story is a Basim x reader using the female pronouns instead of y/n. But feel free to use whatever you prefer.

Basim gasped for breath as he rose up from his sleep. Another nightmare. Nothing new, all the same. He gazed up at the ceiling for a brief moment and began to control his breathing. After looking around the darkened room, he was preparing to lay back down to fall back asleep, until he heard a faint noise downstairs. It wasn't quite loud, but just enough to be heard.

Curious, he lifted the covers off of him and stepped out of bed to go check the source of the noise. As he descended down the stairs, he peered around to see a faint light glowing with a female silhouette near it. Her back was turned and Basim was so quiet she didn't hear anything as she was attentively focused working on something.

Basim softly called out her name. She snapped her head to face him and smiled. She was a bit startled because she was not aware of his presence or how long he was standing there, but paid it no mind.

"Basim, I thought you were asleep." She said. He shrugged. "Well I was, but..." He paused, not feeling like addressing the matter why he was awake. So he focused on her reasoning instead. "Still working on that project I see."

"Uh-huh." She replied dismissively. Basim knew about this. She's been working all afternoon, and for whatever reason had a habit of doing projects well into the day without the consideration of rest. Once before when she completed something after many days working on it, the sheer fatigue was so evident in her face she looked as if she might collapse. He can see it now when she turned to face him in that brief moment. Dark circles formed around her eyes, the weary yet determined expressions.

Basim didn't want to intrude on her and tell her that she should take a break. Perhaps she was just a hard-worker and that was part of the regime. But now, he knows he needs to say something.

"You really should rest. You are going to work yourself into exhaustion." He said with genuine concern, stepping closer to her.

She glanced quickly at him before turning to her duties. "I-I know I just want to get this done first."

Allah, she even sounds tired. Basim thought.

"You can get this done another day." He suggested, reaching out to rub her shoulder. She looked like she was in pain being hunched over for however long she was sitting there.

Basim did not understand what happened in that moment when she suddenly stopped what she was doing and looked down at the table, only to begin sobbing.

He called her name again and turned her shoulder towards him so she could face him. He took her chin gently in his hand to raise her face up. "What's the matter?" She closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Talk to me habibi, tell me what's wrong."

She rolled her eyes trying to avoid more tears from falling, which failed. She still refused to look at Basim, even when she faced him. She felt embarrassed crying to him over this. But why?

"It's just that," she hesitated. "I feel like I'm not doing enough, like no matter how much I try it's never enough."

Oh. Now it all makes sense.

"What has happened to you in this place we have to call life, that makes you feel this way about yourself?" He asked tenderly. Her shoulders sagged when Basim started to massage them, patiently awaiting her answer.

"I see others work very little or about the same and they gain so much. It's like no one gives me a chance to prove myself, to show what I am capable of. This is why I work so hard, stay up late, compromise my well-being."

Basim stared at her with eyes of compassion and understanding. He knows what that feels like. He himself has endured it many times within the Brotherhood of the Hidden Ones. Even now, he still struggles with those moments of inadequacy. But he didn't want to focus on himself, he's going to tell her what he had to learn.

"Look at me." He said firmly, yet kindly enough for her to raise her tearful eyes at him. "You cannot waste your time trying to find worth from others before you find it within yourself. You have to realize that you are enough. Otherwise if you keep trying to seek everyone else's approval and they don't see it, neither will you. Embrace all that you are. Your flaws, your talents, your weaknesses, your strengths. That is what makes you who you are, no one else. That is what makes you more than enough, habibi."

He cupped her face in his hands, gazing intently into her eyes because he wants her to hear this clearly and concisely.

"You are enough."

As she stared into his honey brown eyes, she knew he meant everything he said. This was not about just making her feel better, she had to see her worth first before seeking anyone's validation. Risking her own self-care was not necessary for this.

"Thank you, Basim." She said ever so softly, still reeling from his words.

He gave her a small, yet sweet smile before leaning closer to place a kiss on her forehead. "Now come to bed, rest your body."

She nodded. Then after placing her equipment neatly on the table, she covered the small flame to blow out the lamp, and stood up with Basim to head upstairs.

"I will never forget your words Basim." She said. "But I sometimes do tend to fall back into my habits."

"It happens to all of us." Basim admitted. "But when you do, make sure my words come to mind."

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Just finished grinding Assassin's Creed Mirage! WOOHOO! ୧⁠(⁠ ⁠ಠ⁠ ⁠Д⁠ ⁠ಠ⁠ ⁠)⁠୨

I think it's a deffo wonderful game and a refreshment after the RPG trilogy (it does have RPG elements to it, but still), and it also have some things that are lacking. It reminds me of the good 'ol days, but deffo not on par with the good 'ol days.

Here're some of my thoughts and reviews!

🕌 Sleepy's Assassin's Creed Mirage Review 🗡️

(Spoiler Warning ⚠️ Including the ending ⚠️)

Disclaimer, this is just my personal opinion. You may agree and disagree. I’m just gonna talk a lot because I LOVE Assassin’s Creed with all my heart. Here goes.

VISUALS

(+) Basim Ibn Ishaq, the handsome man that you are… HOLY SHIT (yes I’m adding him as the first plus point of this game what of it). Man's fine AF. 

(+) Baghdad’s really beautiful, nuff said. The color palette is PERFECT - displays the warmth of the atmosphere really well, but also just enough greens and many starking hues of flowers. 

(+) The waters and environment textures are CRISPY.  The detailed patterns on the clothes, the engravings and the state of the arts is really cool. I haven’t really looked a lot into the 800’ Baghdad arts, but I can see lots of good details and art styles. SHOUT OUT TO THE ARTISTS!!

GAMEPLAY - Now here’s what I have a lot to comment on.

(+) Stealth -> I think they did quite good with the stealth. One of the many complaints that I saw on the previous RPG trilogy games was the fact that the main characters/players had no reason to be stealthy, because they can just barge in and defeat the enemies easily. Ubi has marketed the game to be more stealth focused and intentionally made Basim a less of a fighter (make sense, since he came from a thief background, unlike Bayek, Kassandra, and Eivor who are actual trained warriors since they’re kids). However, this brings me to the first lacking point.

(-) Combat -> The combat feels janky. I feel like I’m really fucked up in combat situations if I don’t upgrade my sword and dagger. Like I get it, Basim is not meant to be much of a fighter, but in the beginning parts (or… even the middle parts of the game, let’s be real), I feel like combat is HELL. I forgot the Youtuber who said it, but he said something along the lines of “I’m an assassin, I want to feel like an assassin and want to feel like a badass and can take down many enemies with ease.” And that actually rings true with me. When I’m in combat and countless soldiers are fighting or following me (and I don’t have the smoke bomb with the forgetting effect), I’m most certainly FUCKED. 

(+) The fighting style is cool though, it's stylish and the finishing moves are sick af. It could deffo use some work. 

(-+) Parkour/Movements - It’s alright. It’s most certainly better than the previous RPG trilogy, but it’s definitely not Unity or Syndicate. Sometimes Basim can do something that I didn’t want and I’ve lost count on how many times I got caught and died just from a mis-movement. I literally don’t understand why they don’t use the Unity parkours and combat styles. Unity’s parkour is smooth, swift, and stylish. It feels GOOD. 

(+) Stealing - I’m a loot goblin in games, and believe me, I think I’ve spent like hours just stealing from the entire population of Baghdad that by the end of the game I’m probably richer than the Taxmaster and the whole entire Abbasid Caliphate. It’s fun, it’s easy, but it can sometimes be hard enough to miss. I just hope there’s more variety/difficulty in the stealings in different places – Like maybe in the Round City the diamond thingy is much smaller, or in like for stealing merchants (who has particular fashion/silhouette or have wallets/pouches with different colors) can be harder to steal from but have more rewards and money. 

(-+) Map - OKAY. I love the fact that Mirage has a significantly smaller map than that of Odyssey and Valhalla. It’s focused and it’s much more centered. HOWEVER. For a game this caliber, and with this good of a graphic? It’s much too small and it’s too divided between two parts. Hear me out – The graphics are really cool, but I feel like the map is too divided between – either a densely populated city, or just barren lands of desert. I think the map could be much much bigger with much more collectibles and much more variety in the terrains. Like, for example in Black Flag (The S tier game. Argue with a wall), there’re more than one major city, while in Mirage the map is so very centered (Yes I get it it’s the Round City), but I’d love it if there’s another major city that we can travel to, like Damascus, for instace. + I love the Tales of Baghdad. MORE TALES OF BAGHDAD PLEASE. 

STORY - nOW THIS… I never liked the stories post - Origins and here's why : 

(-) LET 👏 THE ACTORS 👏 DO 👏 MOTION 👏 CAPTURE 👏 - My biggest complaint for the RPG game styles is always about the facial and motion animation. The cutscenes feel DEAD. The eyes are DEAD. I almost can't feel anything. Ubi is rich af, why not use facial capturing? AC3 was the first AC game to use motion capture, and holy shit… it's one of my fave games. Yes. All games, not only AC series. The emotion in their faces, the gestures, the small glances, the little movements - they all decide every character's personality. The reason why I love every AC since AC3-ACOrigins is because the actors pour all their voices, faces, even body movements into the interactions between characters, because they make the stories feel alive. Let the actors be actors. I can rant more but this is already a long post so I'll stop. MOTION 👏 CAPTURE 👏.

(+) I love Basim's origin story. Dude's a 17 year old street thief who got a bit over his head and ended up becoming a fugitive because he killed the fucking caliph himself. That was crazy HAHAHAH anyway even though I think the beginning felt a bit rushed I love it. I just wish they could milk it more.

(+) I love the side characters! Especially Ali (I think he's hot 👉👈 and he's the absolute freedom fighter). Anyway, even though they don’t really do much, they all feel alive and do lots of things (except Roshan prolly HAHAHAH but there's a reason I guess)

(+) Roshan. Mentor and reminds me of Al-Mualim. I particularly love the fact that after all that wise words throughout the game, she literally threatened Basim if he actually went to the underground temple. And when she showed up covered in blood??? And THE TWIST AT THE END??? "Roshan bint La-Ahad". SHE'S ALTAIR'S ANCESTOR. THAT FUCKING SHOCKED ME YOOOO. She's just amazing. 

(-) Pacing - I feel like this is because they’re speeding things up (which is a good thing), the pacing is pretty standard in the beginning, but the ending is a bit too high of a rollercoaster mount. The ending went from 0-100 real quick. I feel like we need a more of a climbing storyline. This is why I kind of don’t agree with the ‘centering’ storyline instead of a linear story. Centering styles of story has no climb in the intensity, and because of that we can’t feel the character developments because he’s supposed to stay the same even though we’ve killed like 3 bosses already. And then when all the underlings are dead, finally the boss racks up Basim’s curiosity super duper high that it becomes too sudden.

(-) Weak Villains - The villains since Origins are always hidden and unknown, unlike the previous games where the Templars are literally KNOWN by the people. I want more villains like Haytham tbh, where he literally doesn’t care about the precusor sites and only wants stability in his reign as a Grandmaster. Or if the villains do care about the Pieces of Eden or have a prior interest of the First Civ, at least let them have an actual personality and character, let them be a menace and a threat since the beginning of the game instead of being the NPC’s we kill to finish the game. Let them challenge our beliefs as an Assassin/Hidden Ones. Let the villains actually have an impact to the main storyline. Imagine in the end Basim and Qabiha really went to the underground temple together, and got confronted by Roshan. That’s where the conflict in Basim climaxed! Imagine the emotion! The drama~! 

(+) How the stories interlinked with Valhalla. Basim is a sage, and host of Loki who sought revenge to Odin (who wronged him). So I don't think Basim nor Loki are evil per se. They're just gray. Now the stories aren't just about Templars vs Assassin, it's more focused towards the First Civilization. It's a bit hard to keep up but it's nothing a bit of reading/looking up some lore videos wouldn't solve.

MISC

We need more outfits! The outfits are far too few for us to choose from! 

Wonderful and mystifying music. Nuff said. Brendan Angelides and Layth Sidiq nailed it. One Republic and Mishaal Tamer’s “Mirage” in on repeat on my Spotify right now.

I love gear chests hunting and all the collectibles. I just wish the map is bigger and there’re more collectibles T_T I’M A LOOT GOBLIN OKAY.

I learn history of Baghdad LFG. I play largely for the stories and not the gameplays, so if there’s a codex entry or any new historical sites I always read it. Learning history doesn’t hurt! 

How I can really relate to the real world. I live in Indonesia where 90% of the people is Muslim (I’m a Christian), so when I here familiar words like Alhamdullilah, Assalam’ualaikum and Wa’alaikumsalam, or see the people praying, the Adzan sounds throughout the city, the people praying towards the Ka’bah, it kinda feels like home! Just hope that they add more funny shit to it though, like “Yaallah Basim! Istighfar!” Or “WALLAHI.” Or more Arabic sayings so we can immerse more to the world.

MAKE BASIM DO THE 5 PRAYERS (maybe when we pass time or after a big mission we come back to him finishing a prayer).

FINAL VERDICT - 7.8/10 -> It’s a focused game, and it really did come back to some of the original elements of AC before the RPG trilogy. It’s not too long and casuals can play it without feeling like we have to grind like Odyssey or Valhalla. Deffo would recommend playing it!

Once again, BRING BACK MOTION CAPTURE ‼️‼️‼️🗣️🗣️

If you did play it gimme some thoughts in the comments! Thank you for reading! (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

[pomellon]

Finished the sketch!

This is the scene where Hytham sees Basim in his dragon form for the first time, due to Basim getting hit with a poison that forcefully makes him shift and go berserk. Some lil au lore about shifting:

They're in their saurian (humanoid) forms for most of this au since shifting is not an easy thing. Saurian bodies need time to stockpile both energy and material to safely turn. If they haven't had enough time to build these up between shifts it can result in grave injuries (this is the reason Malik ends up losing his arm in this setting), or even death. Even turning dragon and then back to saurian too soon can lead to complications or death due to the amount of strain their bodies go through when shifting

Because of this they stay in their dragon forms as long as they're able and use shifting sparingly once they're back to saurian, often only to take on other saurian dragons or beasts, or for travel.

[erzsebetrosztoczy]

saw your requests are open. If its not ignore this .

can u do AC Valhalla hytham x reader ? Maybe reader is evior sibling? And hytham is falling for them but is shy to confess . They fall in love and basim is like :

Amongst hidden ruins

I am so sorry for the long wait I was havig life and death situation with uni I didn't consider that would be there but I hope I can make it up to you by offering a 3 part slow burn?? Ya girl is trying I promise🙈🙉🙊

Pairing: Hytham x reader

Genre: fluff, awkward fluff, idiots in love

Warnings: none, except if you count me not knowing what im doing???

Note: Shy Hytham is canon to me, let he be nervous and giddy with his crush🤌❤️. Also, Basim with his wolf dad energy 100% supports his adopted son like "i teach you how to be an assassin, now i teach you how to rizz, boy" and Eivor finally can live through what Sigurd needed to, aka being the older sibling and they will quickly find out why Siggy has eyebags lmfaoo

Here's part 2

Being related to the leaders of the Raven Clan was not easy. Especially when it came to two battle-hardened brothers. From the dawn of your life, you had to have someone by your side to keep you from being "hurt." First came the cautionary orders of your father Styrbjörn, which you cannot remember unless it is from Tekla's evening stories. Taking in and raising a newborn baby with two troublemaker squirrels aged a lot on your fathers, even during the early winters of your lives. Then, as you were growing, Prince Sigurd's sense of duty began to surface, and who else could he begin directing, rebuking, and protecting than his youngest sibling. Most of your childhood thus consisted of tramping in your eldest brother's heels, holding his hand, and obeying when he forbade you something. And just when you thought your troubled years would cease to exist as you grew up, Eivor's pestration began.

"I'm just saying it doesn't hurt to call Randvi next time. More eyes see more, more blades cut more." Eivor continued as he dodged those who came across him, trying to catch up with you, who was trying to get rid of his brother with wide steps. You rolled your eyes grumbling as you picked up a bucket from the riverbank, heading towards the stables.

"Eivor, last time, I just went riding for an hour. To the neighboring fields. If you climbed up the top of the Longhouse you would have seen it!" You patted it over your shoulder as you trampled up the path of the settlement.

"Yes, but Tove reported that Saxon bandits are passing nearby lately and-" "Eivor, I don't need a nanny! I can defend myself. I might as well show you how good I am." You raised your voice a little harder than you wanted as you spun back, defiantly shouting into his face. Eivor backed up with wide open eyes, raising his arms to the surrender. 

"Hey, hey, you have no reason to yell at your brother, little one. I just want the best for you." Eivor's voice sounded suspiciously metallic, sarcastic. You knew he was almost certainly  taking your words half-heartedly.

"And if you want any good for yourself, you'd better shut your mouth before I stuff it with Gunnar's footcloth!" Your fingers and fists almost turned white from the effort you used to hold the bucket close to your chest – you had to concentrate very hard not to hit your brother's head with it.

"You talk like you have a chance to beat me." Eivor chuckled to himself in a pitiful grin.

"Listen here, you smartass, Sigurd entrusted you with the leadership of the Clan, not that some blister-headed—"

"I think it will be enough of spreading curses for today. Otherwise, Valka won't be able to make enough talismans for all of us if you keep going like this." In your big arguments, you didn't even notice that Randvi walked next to you. She looked at the two of you with a raised eyebrow. "Maybe a retreat would be good.”

"But Randvi, don't you hear that Eivor runs to me at the slightest crack of a stick to see if I'm still alive? Can't you see that even though I've had the same training as him in our childhood, he acts like I'm a defenseless baby? " You turned to Randvi in desperation, not even paying attention to the water, whether it would stay in your bucket or not.

Your sister in law looked back at you with a pursed mouth. Please, be the more mature one. Reflected in her gaze.

Why do you always have to take the shortcut, for the sake of peace?

You nodded with an annoyed sigh.

"Alright." You grunted in agreement turning back to Eivor, but your flaming stare could have almost scorched him. "Next time I'll tell someone to come with me when I leave home. Okay?"

Eivor's face softened, his eyes sparkling with joy as he grinned in satisfaction.

"Perfect, little sister." He almost sang it as he straightened his back and walked off as if he had done his job well.

"I'll drown him in Tekla's beer one day, you'll see." You fumed at Randvi as you watched with narrowed eyes your brother’s leave.

Randvi laughed hearing this, and patted your shoulder. "Don't be so angry with him, he really only wants good for you." She said apologetically, voice full with kindness.

"His desire for good crushes me. He suffocates me with his fear. No one could live that way." You answered defiantly, speaking from your heart. When will the moment finally come when you can live your life for yourself and no one else?

You sighed dejectedly, then lifted the wooden bucket to your side again. "..I'd better reload this." You muttered, then waved goodbye to Randvi and turned back towards the water.

It seemed to be a long day ahead of you. 

That night you felt like all the joy had been drained from you. Despite the feast, time passed grimly. Despite the music, singing and celebration, you couldn't cheer up - the meat felt tasteless in your mouth.

Since what happened in the morning, you didn't even want to see your brother, specifically for that reason you went to the other side of the longhouse, where you won't even accidentally come under Eivor's watchful eye.

You wondered what you should do to make your brother's overbearing subside.

"Is this seat up to take?" A question came to you behind your back. At first it crossed your mind that it could just be Eivor, that he can't even leave you alone while eating, but then you realized that the voice asking the question sounded much softer than your brother's thunderous one. 

You turned around and found yourself facing Hytham's slender figure. ​He wore his usual white caftan, but now the hood did not cover his lush brown curls. In the darkness, the light of the fire showed a deep brown iris of warm honey, his skin golden from the dancing embers.

It was as if the summer night itself was standing before you.

"For you I am gladly saying yes." You smiled with relief, motioning for him to take the seat beside you.

With a chuckle Hytham took a seat beside you and as he was settling, his shoulder and elbow rubbed against yours.

"Oh, sorry!" He gasped in fright, immediately pulling away from you, offering a decent distance.

"Ah, don't even  worry about it." You waved it away, turning to him. "And what's new in the office? Have you found anything recently with… Eivor, that would advance your research?" You asked, leaning on your elbows.

Hytham shone a timid smile towards you, shaking his head.

"I'm afraid I can't give you exciting news, there haven't been any new leads for weeks. Eivor has been too busy lately, taking care of the clan's affairs with the surrounding allies, to be thinking about that right now."

Pursing your lips, you pondered; your attention falling on the beer mug in your hand, you didn't even have time to notice the warm, longing look with which Hytham stole a glance at you. 

You couldn't notice it - but Basim did; from across, beside the fire. 

"And if I helped instead of Eivor? Trust me, I'm just as good at tracking as he is!" It came out of your mouth suddenly. The thought that you could finally break away from the prohibitions of your brother, from the small life of the settlement, had an invigorating effect on your soul.

"Uh…well…I don't know." Hytham was suddenly speechless, fidgeting shyly, glancing around the hall. "I don't think your brother would be happy if I took you."

"Eivor would only be happy if I was sitting on the shelf in his room until Ragnarök." You rolled your eyes, poking at your brother in annoyance. "Please Hytham! I promise I'll be of use to you!" Leaning closer to him, you betted your eyelashes so sweetly, gazing up at him in the hope that his heart softens for your request. 

But Hytham's heart no longer needed cunning tricks to seduce him.

An indescribable force has drawn him to you since his arrival in the North. The man stood mesmerized by your beauty and as the months went by, as he got to know your pure soul, bright mind, and sharp tongue more and more, he grew a great passion for your person.

Young fierce love or it was a heart-wrenching, bittersweet yearning;  he didn't know yet – Hytham was only certain of this: that your nearness filled him with hope and happiness.

And that was enough for him.

"I— I can  Basim when he might not need my help, and if he releases me, we can go…if you really want to, of course." He agreed with a warm smile on his face.

Sheepishness filled you under his penetrating gaze ���  your heart pounded, and slowly the heat of the fire seemed cold compared to the warmth of your skin, as you could only look at your mug while blushing.

When did the young man from the far east start to interest you? When did you notice his charming smile and delightful gaze? How many times have you melted by his eloquence, gentle speech, patience or care? Why did you feel you could never tell Hytham this, because of Eivor? That your brother would definitely stand in your way, even if only for a spark of happiness.

Perhaps better at rest; to live unchanged; as in shame and regret.

"So be it, Hytham." You agreed, now in a much more subdued tone. "If you have come to an agreement with Basim, please tell me immediately!" You promised him as he bowed in agreement.

Maybe you were given a chance for a way out after all. Maybe you'll finally manage to break free from your brother's wings. Maybe if you start on this unknown path, you can find yourself in someone else's arms.

[teecupangel]

Okay, okay, my brain did the thinking. I just skimmed over the ATLA ask and it got me thinking, how about like an actual ATLA AU?

Like in, ofc following Desmond (precious boy) and him bending water (and ice (and maaaayybee later blood?))

He grows up in the northern Water tribe, learns grows up etc. is still fed up with William, but can't really leave this godforsaken huge piece of ice swimming in the ocean, until at least the raid with the fire nation (and aang). Maybe he can convince him to just take Desmond with him (he doesn't really want to journey with them, he just wants to go somewhere else).

One way or another, he either finds himself in the earth kingdom, and meeting Connor(earth) and/or Ezio (dunno what kind of element he would be) or through some unlucky coincidence finds himself on fire nation territory. Here he could stumble upon Hama and maybe somehow convinces her to teach him some blood bending. Some time later he would stumble upon Altaïr, literally, because he runs from guards for stealing something and Altaïr just pulls him into the next best alcove so the guards won't catch Desmond.

Somewhere down the line they befriend each other, while Desmond is trying to find a way out of the fire nations territory (could be the reason for him to steal something and then the guards running after him) because being a waterbender there is kind of a death wish.

Long story short, Desmond finds a way, Altaïr sticks along and they meet Connor and/or Ezio again, at least Desmond meets them again and is ofc happy. I can absolutely see the rivalry between Ezio and Altaïr.

They all travel a bit and somehow meet the Aang-gang again. Desmond being like, what's up, while the others are like wtf, you know the Avatar? Yeah like, he helped me get out of this shithole called home.

Meeting Iroh for good measure.

Like all is fun and games, until they stumble upon a town or city who completely suffers under its ruler and commanders and they take it upon themselves to get rid of them (heh, there is no murder weapon if the ice melts).

And that kind of becomes their thing? Like, while the 'canon' plot from ATLA moves forward, they unintentionally help them and destabilize corrupt power (mostly inside the earth kingdom). Along the line they could also meet others like Clay, Lucy, Malik etc. who won't travel with them, but still join their cause (or some could join, I imagine Malik, who already wishes to slam his head against a wall after only one day with them)

And bam, brotherhood in ATLA, or something

If we stretch it towards Korras time, we could use the assassins from the newer generations like Basim, Eivor, Kassandra, Arno etc. who are the successors.

Okay, this got quite long, but I still have some thoughts:

- William could be like the head of the guard for the mother's Water tribe and as such pushes Desmond further and further (but Desmond knows he won't be happy just staring at Ice for the rest of his life)

- Some of the others out of the modern era could grow up alongside Desmond, maybe Lucy or Clay

- I would have really loved to give Ezio Air, but like... That won't be really possible. I can absolutely see him using his bending to let his hair be moved by a breeze, whenever he tries to flirt

- so Ezio would come from a kind of rich family (I don't really have more, I'm sorry)

- With Connor I actually don't really know, like he could live with his mother or tribe in the woods (kind of like Jet's crew?)

- Altaïr would probably be that kind of braindead genius, who saw Azulas Lightning bending one time (his grandfather, Rashid, dragged him to one of these highly important events, when the princess visited) and decided to learn it on his own (Malik is just kind of horrified, bc this Idiot simultaneously thinks and doesn't think enough)

- Rashid would definitely stand completely behind Fire lord Ozais visions

- and ofc AltDes, bc I'm a sucker and shameless :P

Anyway, it's good to hear you are doing well, many hugs and kisses

Have a great one and take care!

I’m unsure which ATLA idea you mean but here’s the Avatar AU ask that has both “what if Desmond and his ancestors were the next line of Avatars?” and “Okay, but what if, they were like… Pro-bending pros?” and the Pro-Bending AU idea expanded.

If you want to fuck with Desmond, you can make it seem like he’s a non-Bender. To be more exact, no matter how grueling the training becomes, Desmond could never bend water even to make ripples in a tea cup.

But Bill still persisted and kept on training Desmond until Aang came along and, in the confusion, Desmond manages to escape.

The truth is Bill was trying to force Desmond to learn how to waterbend because Desmond instinctively uses Blood Bending.

To be more exact, he doesn’t realize that people become weaker or slower when they fight him because Desmond is actually instinctively blood bending.

Bill realized this when Desmond was a child and had killed a beast that attacked him with blood bending. Desmond has no memories of such a thing, remembering it as his father actually using spear made of condensed water to pierce the beast.

But the beast exploded, not because of the water spear, but because Desmond had boiled the blood inside to the point that an internal explosion occurred.

So Desmond starts traveling, thinking that he’s a non-bender and he met Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton along the way, just, you know, helping out people and doing jobs here and there to have enough money for their travel expenses.

Ratonhnhaké:ton left his village to understand the world outside as part of his training to be the next chief of their village. Her mother is the current chief and they’re hidden from the rest of the kingdom. This travel is meant to give him an idea of how to protect their village and to ‘survey’ the outside world and the danger it possesses.

Ezio is actually looking for his family and he’s a member of the Southern Water Tribe. During an attack from the Fire Nation, he was separated from his family and he’s traveling to find them. He tries his best to believe that they’re safe and sound but, sometimes, he does worry…

Altaïr though…

Altaïr is on the run because he defied orders and got into Azula’s bad side. He was meant to be just a rank and file soldier under Azula (with Rashid ordering him to climb up the ranks) but his arrogance brought unnecessary conflict between him and Azula.

Azula tried to put him in his place by dueling with him, only to learn that he copied her lightning bending after only seeing it once.

The worst part is that he showed that he copied it after Azula tried to hit him with her lightning bending during the duel itself.

In her rage, she tried to attack him hard enough to cripple him (and if she wasn’t careful, kill him). Altaïr answered in kind and he was arrested for the ‘attempted assassination’ of Azula.

He escaped his confinement with a little help from another rank and file soldier, Malik, who suggested that he hides in the Earth Kingdom.

He meets Desmond and the others while they were hunting down a band of bandits who had terrorizing the road and they actually fought because they thought Altaïr was a bandit and not… the dude who took out the bandits because they tried to rob him.

He joins them because he had nothing else to do. (Ezio absolutely noticed that Altaïr was attracted to Desmond but doesn’t seem to realize it and he plans to enjoy the ‘romance’ between these two dense idiots. Ratonhnhaké:ton will not be enjoying any show but he will also not help because he believes romantic relationship should only be nurtured by the people involved and “no, Ezio, we are not involved in this”)

And then we have the great misunderstanding where Desmond and Altaïr look similar enough that wanted posters distributed by the Fire Nation included a drawing that can look like either of them.

So Desmond assumed he’s being hunted because he did kill a few Fire Nation soldiers when he ran away during all the confusion and he was pretty sure one of them was a high ranking official.

Altaïr knows this is Azula hunting him down because he tried to ‘assassinate’ her.

And they would talk about it in ways that made everyone believe that they’re the target (aka: Desmond believes Altaïr knows that Desmond is a wanted man, Altaïr believes Desmond knows that Altaïr is a wanted man, Ratonhnhaké:ton and Ezio both think that it could be either of them and assumed both Altaïr and Desmond are on the same page)

(It would absolutely be funny if the twist is that the wanted man is actually Elijah, Desmond’s younger half-brother, who did (1) destroy multiple Fire Nation ships and (2) killed enough high ranking Fire Nation officials to be counted as a dangerous ‘terrorist’. Desmond would be like “Elijah? No. He’s a sweet boy. He’d never hurt a fly.”. Cue Elijah using water bending to waterboard a Fire Nation official. Elijah shares the same mother with Desmond who is actually a blood bender. Elijah himself doesn’t bloodbend but he, their mother and Bill are the only ones who know that Desmond instinctively bloodbends. Shaun and Rebecca are his ‘handlers’ which doesn’t really say much because they can’t stop Elijah at all. They’re actually looking for Desmond because Desmond is the only person who can stop Elijah without even realizing how bloodthirsty his younger brother is.)

thank you! things had been a bit hectic at work and I'm really hoping that I'd be compensated for it hahahaha

[beeboos-creativecorner]

Visionaries - an Assassin's Creed: Mirage found family fanfic

Final day, baby !! This was the beginning to a wholesome, found family story, heavily inspired by a post my bud made about one of her dreams early this year. I was hooked on the concept, it got out of hand, but the story itself didn't carry through to its glorious end </3 One day I hope to return to this fic (if I find inspo or play Mirage again), it was about to get quite deep into spiritual concepts that really hit home for me, while also expanding more on Eagle Vision lore (because I never see anyone talk about it in depth ??). For now, I'm perfectly happy with sharing what's already here - just because it's unfinished, doesn't mean it's not worth something Be warned : side mission where Basim has a massive attitude hehe

Fic under the cut x

“There are no explanations for how or why these mysteries affect our lives. But they’re like imprints, innate, woven into the fabric of our souls so when we walk this earth, we experience the world in its true light. You see things differently, do you not? You need not say so. You read differently, that’s all. You may not know it, but you cast a weary gaze upon the earth. I do not find the same qualities among many of our brothers, meaning our creed, our ideals are taught and applied to the world but not fully understood. It takes a talent many humans have not mastered. Not all can see through the veil that is the physical — the abstract. When we gaze upon a tree, we see its roots. I do, I’ve seen you have, and Sahar will see more of it too as the time passes. I sense the same sensitivity in her. There is no value for the sense we have been given and oftentimes it may feel like a curse to be free of ignorance and exposed to the harsh light of the world and its people. Although we are few, be reassured that your experiences are not misunderstood and are shared by a select few scattered throughout this life.” — Hamid, unused excerpt

'Hasty' and 'with an agenda' were the last descriptors Basim would use to pin to his personality, but coming from the lips of his mentor, almost anything rang true. He may have pushed his limit in arguing his point, true, and as futile as it was, it was worth every word to try — he was right, he'd take that to his grave. It earned him a following jab at his apparent 'growing ambition' and 'if he cannot execute a basic task, he has no place in executing the morally corrupt'.

Within his very essence, Basim knew this was to spite him for his cheeky defiance and even so, he had worn a smile to dress the wound of being outwitted. He'd wrestled with his features to achieve such a slight feat; his face betrayed him even at the best of times, but he denied giving her the satisfaction of any visible sign of defeat.

Incisions aside, he believed Roshan to be above petty, childish constructs like dealing punishments. Today he was proven wrong. Some days she had shorter patience for him than others — that was a topic he never had the courage to broach — and despite being a full-fledged member of the Hidden Ones, his autonomy was lower than he'd hoped for. He wasn’t an initiate anymore, so where was his wiggle room? He could follow a set of directions and traditions just fine, so long as they were reasonable. What he was being subjected to, was not.

Basim wasn't impatient per se, but he found sensibility in efficiency. Anything that wasn't consuming his time in a week-long, leisurely fashion suited him. This newest task, however, was of the painstakingly slow kind.

Holding petty grudges was not worth Basim's time but neither was this supposed 'mission', so he allowed himself to be at least a little resentful towards Roshan. He didn't do mindless things, he hated mindless things. If he wasn't learning, progressing or excelling, what was the point?

If he had no respect, he'd accuse his mentors of being lazy. He didn't see anyone else claim contracts off the board, he didn't see anybody else offer to help out allies in need. The first and final verdict was: "Basim can do this." They were right. Basim can do this. Something sparked up in him, a spur of cleverness and optimism. He wanted them to validate what he already knew and he aimed to win that battle. He planned on doing this errand and doing it so well that his betters would simply have to admit: "Basim is above menial chores" and tell him he can be on his way. Then the invisible rope that tethers him to Roshan would loosen. Wiggle room. Deserved space. So his step lightened as he followed the path he was instructed to take. He'd do it and make light work of it. Although a little begrudgingly.

—

He waited outside the walls of Baghdad, leaning against the post of some merchant's stall, fading in and out of a doze. A sensible rendezvous point, excluding getting over the wall, which happened to be half the mission. It was a necessary precaution. Apparently the guards did not favour someone who looked just as suspicious as the next person that walked past. Getting past the gate was the easy part, slipping past the guards' line of sight was another. It was a post dependent attribute; those posted at gates had a heightened sense of paranoia. There was always something tense about the atmosphere when walking into a guarded gate. He knew not why. His muscles clung to the ghost of a memory of that provocative experience and that was sufficient information to remind him not to repeat that mistake of waltzing in where he supposedly didn't belong.

He wondered how he'd get back in, now that his foggy mind was drifting in that direction. If it was him alone, he'd routinely backtrack and go back the way he came. His dismay was in knowing he would struggle to do so with others accompanying him. Again, proving he wasn't the man for such a mission. One or two allies wasn't a problem, solo tasks were preferable, though. The nature of this mission, however, entailed allies of lesser physical aptitude than he, so he was told. That side note subtly nagged at him. He found himself beginning to reroute in his head to vacate for the newcomers. What a headache. He wished he'd succumbed to sleep instead, a nap would've been more beneficial for the moment. No matter how dwindling his rest was, his thoughts continued to tick, preventing him from absconding reality and forcing him to focus on identifying his new brothers.

Picking them from the crowd wasn't an excruciating challenge whatsoever. He gave them credit if they were feigning incompetence to make an innocent first impression to the public. Basim watched them for a minute, stumbling, struggling to carry items, settling the crates down in a spot that looked 'good enough' when it very obviously was inconveniently in the middle of the road — clever. Almost believable. It wasn’t quite 'hiding in plain sight', but one could never be too careful as a Hidden One. Perhaps remaining hidden sometimes meant to call yourself to attention. Oddly counterintuitive, yet effective nonetheless.

Feeling a little guilty he hung back for so long, he approached the pair. He plastered on a smile like he was reuniting with family and not like he was wishing to be curled up, snoozing in the shaded patch he was previously sheltered by.

"Allow me," he offered kindly, taking a box out of the hands of the smaller of the two, lightening the load. His eyes snapped to the corners, searching for the small imperfection that would confirm these were indeed his allies. A little triangular carving, resembling the symbol of the Hidden Ones. He got the right people. The boost of dopamine didn't last long when he honed in on the exact situation he was placed in, regarding present company.

His 'allies' were a man and his young daughter. It all clicked into place. Every letter of the mission briefing was true and didn't hint at any grander, more exciting scheme, despite being so vague. Bothersome and disappointing. The girl — who may have been no more than twelve — shyly thanked him for the assistance but her voice faded into the background of his own internal one. He began to conspire what he'd do when he broke from the bounds of this living purgatory. Deep, undisturbed sleep. If he was lucky.

Poor hospitality, Basim. Ripping himself from his daydream, he turned to the girl's father to introduce himself. The polite thing to do.

"Basim."

"Hamid." His eyes creased with lines of kindness as he smiled. "Sahar." He gestured to his daughter, who perked up but retreated into her father's shadow. He sensed her discomfort and sent the girl a nod of solidarity. She didn't warm to the telepathic message and he understood well enough. He adjusted the crate in his arms and hugged it to his chest to prepare him for the path ahead.

Unnecessary words were not spent and hence introducing themselves, nothing else was discussed. Prearranged missions had a tendency to be smooth sailing if well-thought-out. This one was no exception, considering its low risk of running into danger. Save from the looming gate in front of them. Both dangerous and not thought about at all. No one was to blame for the gate problem, but the responsibility fell to Basim to deduce how to navigate said problem.

They neared the gate and Basim's own inner safety mechanism was already firing off warning shots. He kept himself cloaked between the man and his girl as they walked, appearing as if he was their servant carrying their luggage. Or he hoped that's how he was being perceived by the jittery guards at their designated stations.

"Just to be sure," he raised the question, inclined towards Hamid, in nothing more than a whisper to maintain the ruse he'd made on demand. "What are in these crates? If we are pulled up by the guards, I'd like to know what it is I'm carrying." Routine security checks were common but as long as Basim wasn't hauling a crate full of contraband or smuggling other living beings across the threshold, he wouldn't take issue with it. Surely not, especially with someone so young in his company. He couldn't imagine dragging a child into illegal activities. No child should be raised in an environment like that, he'd never been more adamant about anything.

Hamid flashed a surreptitious smirk and replied, "Secrets." Basim's expression hardened. Any more vague information could get them killed for sure, his gut told him so. He itched to pry the lid open and look inside this burden to reveal these apparent secrets. Were it not nailed shut and in his arms, his thief's fingers would make that happen.

"I must know." Basim grew desperate, his alerted senses picking up every potential threat in the near vicinity. They were within the gate's suffocating grasp and Basim need not even be told. His ribcage felt as if it were curling in on itself and his physical surroundings grew dense. "Some peace of mind," he clarified, wondering if his anxieties were creeping through. He noticed it was beginning to get harder to mask fear when fatigue runs the body and mind down.

"Nothing more than dusty, old books and crafting materials, my friend, you need not worry. We'll pass the guards with ease." Basim wished he felt reassured by those words. He did not in the slightest. "Keep close, Sahar," he instructed the girl and she obliged willingly. Out of apprehension of the new environment, Basim figured.

They all crammed uncomfortably together to indicate they were associated with one another. Hopefully not condensed enough to separate themselves from the normal passersby. They walked on through the crowd, almost making it through the gate entirely before they were singled out by a heavily armoured man seated at a desk. Horribly out of place in any other circumstance, but in the moment he was booming at them to come over, nothing felt contradictory about his cladding and his passion for logarithms.

Hamid advised Basim not to say a word and leave the talking to him and Basim would've loved to verbalise his agreement, if his throat hadn't sealed itself off. His breathing ran shallow and he had to redirect all his energy towards controlling the onset of panic.

They knew his face. He knew they knew his face. Or his robes at the very least. Posters depicting his visage were all over Baghdad. Shoddy depictions at that, but sometimes that was enough for the brain to use as an identifier. His head drooped, staring at the box he held, passing his fear for submission or shame. This is the last time he ever played movers or servants, he swore to himself that. He didn't particularly mind it, but it was always the situation in which he had to do so was what bothered him most. Always a close shave from being sprung. Being that close to death left him in no control, like dangling above molten lava tied to nothing but twine. To say the least, he did not favour it.

It was a falsely polite, drab exchange of 'where are you headed?' Abbasiyah. 'What are you transporting today?' Writing materials, tools, homeware. 'What brings you to Baghdad?' The awaiting world of learning. 'Oh, Abbasiyah is wonderful for that' and 'is that your daughter? That's lovely. There's much to see, young one,' and a threatening, 'I don't want to see her out unescorted; supervise that one.' Amidst it all, not a single eye batted at Basim The Servant and he'd never been so grateful for a small stroke of luck. Hamid offloaded a pouch of coin and they passed through into the light again, into Baghdad.

"How did you do that?" Basim queried, once he'd regained the ability to breathe steadily.

"Do what?" Hamid's tongue phrased it just right to make Basim sound like the fool, although his answer was another question. "Bypass the guards? Simple. Don't act as if you've something to hide." Basim pursed his lips. This new ally had an attitude. "A little honey makes even dirt taste sweet." An odd answer, if not cryptic.

"Bribery?" A guess to decipher the riddle. That pouch of coin...

"Not at all. I paid my fee. It's all in the understanding, my friend. A bit of sympathy for the guards, uh? They get bored and tense, working tirelessly. Give them some small talk, some kindness, make their job easier for a minute and be on your way. It's not only you on edge. To change the energy received, you must change the energy being emitted." Basim almost stopped dead in the way of an oncoming camel. He'd completely froze in puzzlement. Was he a window? Was it so obvious that he was sweating through his robes? Perhaps he was a terrible actor.

"I see," he said, letting the scepticism tint his words. "Unfortunately, some of us do not have the luxury of conversation. Forgive me if I'm wary of being attacked." That, in fact, was a confession. One he didn't want slipping from his mouth.

"Ah. Not a friend of the Caliph?" A joke? "I hope this won't become a problem." The inflection indicated it was more cautious question than statement. Basim followed his eyes to Sahar, who was tailing her father, invisible in the shade of the shadow he cast. Therein lay the worry.

"Nor do I. I will do my best to keep you both safe. You have my word."

"To the letter," he affirmed, nodding a split second before a bag tumbled off the stack of precariously balanced luggage Hamid was hauling. He uttered an obscenity under his breath. "Sorry." Basim wasn't certain on who he was apologising to, so he kept quiet. "Did not think transport through. We'll have to carry everything the rest of the way there, if it doesn't trouble you."

Oh, it did. It did a lot. "Not at all." Lying through his teeth. Basim wasn't one to do such things. Not normally. Being crabby over this mission since the briefing had a domino effect and he'd rather be feigning kindness than maiming with honesty. He'd get over it. Whenever he forgot that it was all Roshan's fault for assigning him this colossal time waster.

From the shade, Sahar peeked out to claim the bag, as her arms were void of baggage, then slinked back to her hiding place. Hamid appreciated his daughter's help and did so verbally, whilst scanning the area for his bearings. His thorough search soon morphed into uncertainty.

Basim was tired of this. He was before, now it was painful. Any more incompetence and he'd lose his mind. For someone who spoke so eloquently, he had no idea how Hamid couldn't discern his north-east from his south-west. Wanting to move this process along, Basim suggested,

"Do you have a map?" He tried not to sound like he had better things he could be doing. Albeit true, anything to minimise lingering out on the streets would be beneficial for everyone, not just him. Hamid peered past the countless boxes and bags to his belt, where many pouches were attached.

"Uh, I don't suppose you could look?" Basim repressed a sigh.

"Of course." Of course you would, he wanted to say, but he knew better. Growing up a pickpocket didn't make him exempt from showing courtesy. He was doing his best to give his new brothers (burdens) a warm welcome, no matter how unhappy he was with the task at hand.

He put the singular crate down at his feet and sifted through the pockets for a map that might pinpoint the location of wherever they were meant to be headed. As he fixed his mitts on a square of paper that could have possibly been a map, a shriek tore through the peaceful bustle of Baghdad.

"Thief, thief! Guards! That man is stealing from his purse!"

"No, no, no. Not now." Retracting his hand in a flash, out of impulse, he scooped up the crate again. Hamid spoke a thousand words with one look, but the baseline was: 'what in the world is going on?' "We should get going," he instructed with urgency, ushering them away as quickly as he could manage with his hands full. So much for ensuring their safety.

Swords drawn, a pair of soldiers spliced through the crowd to pursue Basim and his newfound kin. He placed himself tail-end in defence, hurrying Hamid and Sahar forward with his quickened step. A struggle, factoring in the weight they bore in their arms. Basim hadn't given a second thought as to where they were going, it just had to be a lengthy distance between him and any armed forces. Not the warmest of receptions, but he'd had colder — Roshan earlier that morning, for example. Not that he had the second to spare to ruminate on that instance. Food for thought he had no time to digest.

—

They lost their pursuers eventually. Veering down countless trails and disappearing on something so simple as a bench did the trick. An old trick, yet effective to no fault. Prior to that debacle — the other part of Basim's brain not kicking up adrenaline and spurring him to run, counted at least twenty apologies to the public, all served by Hamid as they pushed past with impudence. He'd changed his tune, resting his forehead against the tower of boxes he had in front of him, speechless and more or less breathless. Basim concurred, his heaving created an offbeat overlay, loud in his ears.

Next to her father, Sahar clutched her one bag like it was precious, making almost no noise as she caught her breath. At intervals, she'd cast her gaze to Basim, full of spite that he'd broken his vow moments after pledging it. Her displeasure with him was fair, Basim accepted that. But the scrutiny of a little girl was unsettling, especially feeling it impact his perception. If he'd disappointed a kid, surely he was inadequate for this kind of job. He didn't even take a glance at her — couldn't bear to. Though his eyes were elsewhere, he could feel her emotion beginning to hang about him like a shadow, reflective of the few moments he spent in her company.

His mind spiralled, remembering friends he'd let down before. How many kids' lives he cut short from his recklessness. He didn't mean to. Just like he didn't mean to this time. Oh no. Guilt. Too deep now. The darkness was familiar, an old friend returning to visit. A resented old friend. Familiar though, and strangely reaffirming. A nightmare was his waking hours. His resting ones too (if he could call it resting these days).

That's it. The jinni. That's what it reminded him of. Sahar's glaring mirrored that of his personal demon and that was a terrorising sensation he thought no person could replicate. His chest was tightening a few notches again, squeezing his lungs, twinging a few heartstrings. His bottom lip jutted out. Perhaps it wasn't just Roshan who was overly sensitive today.

Having had enough of the restrictions, Basim stood up abruptly, without the crate he was responsible for lifting and began a pace in a seemingly random direction. Inner turmoil was no easy conquest. External ones, however, he could deal to and that was a better place to start.

Those posters with his features scrawled on them posed a problem for any future moves he or his companions wanted to make. First thing to tackle: getting rid of those. From there, he hoped, their journey would be less a superfluous plight and more a meaningless meander.

"Where are you going?" Hamid's voice strained with worry. When Basim's reply was dead air, he called out, "Basim?" Suppose his vigour returned.

"Posters. I have to get rid of them," he stated. He didn't mean to sound short and snappy but his patience was wearing thin. His faux perky disposition was corroding.

"Oh, a known face, are you?" His jokes grated on Basim. He wasn't certain if it was the condescending undertones or the fact that it was something he would've said on the other end of the stick. "If you don't mind my curiosity, I'd like to see one. Local art sparks my interest, even if it is so small as a wanted poster." Basim gritted his teeth and prayed no other sign of frustration seeped through. Movers or tour guide, Basim did not sign up for this test of willpower.

"If you can call it art," he muttered. "All right. Keep in sight, I'll show you." Hamid sprung out of his seat with renewed energy. He entrusted the safety of their possessions to Sahar, who was told specifically to stay seated and keep watch until they got back. He felt her uncomfortable presence on him again the second he turned away, leading her father to wherever a poster may be. Being rude wasn't in Basim's nature, but in that beat, he was grateful to be parting ways with her temporarily. Maybe in that time she could fix her sulky demeanour.

—

Fascination was an odd thing, tailored to the individual through innumerable factors. For Basim it was classical literature and the wonders of the sky above. For Hamid... it was an unintelligible scribble based off who knows what. Some eyewitness who had a hard time remembering faces? Because he was sure he appeared nothing like that in his reflection. They said that was the door to narcissism. They may be correct in this case. Though who was he to complain? The less the image looked like him the better.

Basim scrunched his nose, staring at what Hamid could possibly be so enraptured by. There was a likelihood that there were just some things he'd never understand. For once, that notion didn't string him up. Instead, he gazed off into the blur, blank as ever, save from fatigue's dark circles.

"The line work is incredible, the use of colour is eye-catching — an interesting piece," he mused, then paused to lower his voice for only Basim's ears, "if not a little inaccurate." Basim idly nodded in reply, humming a tune between an agreeing 'yes, thank you,' and a sarcastic 'yes, thank you'. The sooner he could dispose of the target on his head, the sooner they'd all be safe to roam. Not that Hamid was too concerned with that at the minute.

Impatient and bored to no imagination, Basim took hold of the edge of the sheet of paper and yanked downwards, shredding the poster in one satisfying tear. On automatic, he balled it and shoved it in a pouch, out of sight, not bothering to look at how they failed to do him justice.

Hence would be the appropriate time to walk away. A hundred times over he'd have done so. Had Basim had the energy, this unimportant instant would have followed trend. Unaware to himself, his psyche sailed off to distant shores once more, starting a new life away from unreasonable mentors, silly missions, sleepless nights, odd companions and bounties on his head. That was a life worth living. He'd have played the scenario out too, were it not for an obnoxious cough that erupted from beside him.

Another civilian out to try their luck and challenge the limits of Basim's sanity. A stream of accusations flowed from their mouth, whirling around Basim but not threatening enough to strike an alerted response. He phased out of reality again with hooded eyes, unamused. Amusement must have been what this civilian was lacking, for creating all this fuss served no other purpose and drew no eyes their way. It was him on the poster, yes, but his refusal to entertain the drama outweighed his instinctual reflex to be honest.

To his relief, words that would have been wasted were preserved and better utilised by Hamid, whose bearing suddenly exuded a graceful, disarming authority.

[lenasai]

evacuation fundraisers that need your help - last updated 1/2

please reblog this post so other people can see these campaigns!! especially for the gaza funds campaigns - most of these people are not on tumblr and not actively fundraising here. many of them frequently stagnate and have not received a single donation in many days. please know that my posts for these campaigns do not get much attention at all. even the ones you may see from me with a decent number of reblogs are mostly me reblogging from myself. do with this information what you will. i do not check to see who reblogs what from me and will not judge you if you don't reblog, but please understand i am struggling to get any attention on these campaigns and would appreciate some help.

weekly gaza funds spotlight campaign:

€9,784 / €100,000

previous gaza funds spotlight campaigns:

maha al-habil: €20,617 / €40,000 (from tumblr - #163, gazavetters)

karem al-kahlout: €45,750 / €55,000 - NO DONATIONS IN EIGHT DAYS‼️‼️‼️

yasmin's family: $15,778 / $45,000

basim and hla: $7,562 CAD / $50,000

nada muhaisen: £8,711 / £32,340

omar shawwa: $21,925 / $70,000

ibrahim's family: €86,034 / €100,000 - no donations in three days

ghada and abdulrahman: €12,898 / €50,000 - no donations in five days!!

dr. isam's family: $6,681 CAD / $70,000

mahmoud qaddoha: €8,115 / €100,000

ahmad abuabdou: €8,428 / €12,500 - no donations in three days

hassan abdullah: $7,045 / $40,000

hossam abo shab: kr68,878 SEK / 200,000 - no donations in five days!!

firas al-shaer: $9,492 / $50,000

raghad's family: $84,089 / $100,000

mosab moqat: €6,758 / €7,500

saja mashharawi: $7,214 CAD / $45,000 - no donations in five days!!

ghazi mekawi: €12,331 / €50,000

vetted fundraisers:

i try to not use links in vetting info where possible because tumblr limits the number of links in a post. many of these campaigns have provided vetting info in their pinned posts, so check them out! for campaigns reblogged by specific vetters, you can check the notes and see that people have linked their reblogs in the notes for easy access.

razan12: $5,384 / $50,000 (#159, gazavetters)

eman123123123: $1,935 CAD / $30,000 (#311, gaza-evacuation-funds)

basil76: €1,168 / €40,000 (#200, gazavetters)

kisirahaf: £1,337 / £100,000 (reblogged by bilal-salah0)

feras8: €2,363 / €45,000 (more info here)

heba-213: $6,116 CAD / $30,000 (#125, gazavetters)

moomen-mes2: €2,239 / €30,000 (#322, gazavetters) - no donations in four days

alamoudiblog: €3,872 / €70,000 (#89, gazavetters)

alaafamely11: €2,170 / €10,000 (#339, gazavetters)

ashrafabeer3: €4,611 / €50,000 (#79, gazavetters)

nadeenabd-blog: $4,639 / $10,000 (#231, gaza-evacuation-funds)

tahseenfamily: $17,481 / $30,000 (reblogged by 90-ghost) - no donations in five days!!

deyaa-97: €34,370 / €45,000 (#43, gazavetters)

mohalwadiya: €70,765 / €100,000 (#1013, butterfly effect project)

safaayasser: €2,772 / €20,000 (#269, gaza-evacuation-funds) - no donations in three days

kholoodpals: £1,087 / £5,000 (#337, gazavetters)

shareeffamily: €2,672 / €50,000 (reblogged by 90-ghost)

ranagaza: £6,624 / £50,000 (#12, gazavetters) - no donations in four days

samarhashem: €22,120 / €45,000 (#53, gazavetters)

mahrahpalestine: $348 / $25,000 (reblogged by 90-ghost)

drfamily11: €10,524 / €20,000 (#309, gazavetters)

linakhamis: €9,127 / €100,000 (#103, gazavetters)

lenaps: €5,995 / €50,000 (#291, gazavetters)

hala123sposts: $6,349 / $35,000 (reblogged by 90-ghost)

anas-basil2: €15,690 / €29,000 (#83, gazavetters)

1leenmatar: €4,421 / €64,000 (#33, gazavetters)

walidfamile: €5,710 / €20,000 (#246, gazavetters)

walaa95famely: €145 / €25,000 (reblogged by 90-ghost)

unvetted but likely legitimate:

use your best judgment, but know that gofundme protects donations and that a lot of times, the reason someone may not be vetted is because there are so many people in need of help and very few people actively vetting.

noorsh11: $284 CAD / $30,000

aiamaher2: €5,503 / €55,000

ahmadkolab: €2,329 / €5,000

husam-alser: €2,080 / €42,500 - no donations in three days

akram-2024: €240 / €30,000

mohamedshasta: €4,834 / €20,000

want to see even more fundraisers? check out my list of fundraisers from bluesky!

thank you for your consideration! remember, even if you can't donate, a reblog can go a long way.

[bansheeoftheforest]

A Leap (Into Your Arms) [AC Basim & Hytham]

A/N: So I unintentionally lied in my written-in-8-hours-in-one-sitting fic from two days ago and I proceeded to unintentionally write another fic. That I have learned my lesson about and won't claim to be my last fic of the year even though the odds are very big.

I am also keeping their relationship vague for the sole reason of me not having finished any media that they are in so I simply Do Not Know Enough. So this could potentially be either platonic (like intended) or a shipfic if you squint <3

Summary: After being left behind by his mentor for weeks, Hytham gets fed up and refuses to speak to him upon his return. Basim realizes that, above all, he doesn't want to lose his little eagle.

CW: Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Fluff. And also most likely OOC depictions and general inaccuracies.

Wordcount: 3,486

The bureau was... Quiet. 

  It was the middle of the day, the settlement of Ravensthorpe was as busy and active as ever as the villagers worked their trades, yet his apprentice was nowhere to be seen. Ever since the little green building had been built, the Raven Clan could be sure to find him tinkering away with his scrolls within its walls. Yet today, he could not find him.

  He had arrived with Sigurd a few hours earlier. Their return had been welcomed, the Wolf-Kissed seemed especially happy to have their brother by their side once more, however briefly, yet by the small crowd that had gathered, Basim had not seen Hytham among the friendly faces. He had, therefore, concluded that he was not aware of their return, or that he was waiting for him in the bureau. Yet, as the assassin peeked inside, he had seen neither hide nor hair of him. He couldn’t say he knew where to look, either. 

  Yet, look he did. In the longhouse, by the stables, and now he stood by the little square between the docks and the merchant-child’s tent, and while he began to grow a little worried, he refused to ask any of the Norsemen for the acolyte’s whereabouts. He could not let them believe that he had simply let Hytham run off, that he could not keep track of him, even if that is precisely what had happened. In all honesty, he began to feel frustrated. Yet he knew that it was unfair for him to assume that Hytham had been made aware of their arrival, and that his mentor’s struggle to find him was no fault of his own.

  A flutter of white fabric passed the corner of his eyes. As he turned, he saw the tail-end of Hytham’s robes disappearing behind the corner, up the path between the trader and the bureau. It was undeniably him, he could recognise him anywhere. He called out for him, successfully gathering the attention of the villagers, but Hytham did not stop. 

  He hurried after him. While Hytham still limped, he was fast. He called his name again, he saw the acolyte’s head turn only slightly, purely by instinct, showing that he heard him, yet he continued. Basim would have to jog to catch up with him. Momentarily, he wondered if this was some sort of game, cat and mouse, yet as Hytham hurried his pace, the master assassin quickly realized that he was trying to lose him. It was harder in the small settlement of Ravensthorpe than it had been in the bustling city of Baghdad, yet he did his valiant attempt at moving between the buildings and keeping his calm, as if to not alert anyone or anything. Basim knew better than to take to sprint for exactly the same reason.

  Perhaps he was lucky that Hytham was injured, even if that thought tasted bitter, as the younger one had no choice but to slow down once he came to the red-leaved tree in front of the stables. His steps haltered, slowed, and his laboured breaths echoed throughout the air. He seemed to have no choice but to stop fully, lean his side against a tree by the road, and wait for Basim to catch up. 

  “Hytham-” Still, his apprentice did not look at him, “what on earth has gotten into you?” 

  Hytham took a deep breath. Finally, when Basim cornered him against the tree, he had no choice but to look at him. For the first time, or perhaps the first time Basim could remember, the acolyte’s blue eyes felt like spikes of ice. As he spoke, aware of the interested eyes of the Raven Clan, he switched to their arabic mother-tongue.

  “So now you wish to speak to me?” Was all he said, voice coming out in short wheezes while he still steadied his breathing. 

  “Am I not allowed to speak to my apprentice?” Basim replied, effortlessly so in the language only they knew. There was no denying that he was frustrated, to some degree mad. What right had Hytham to run from him, to look at him, to speak to him like that? “Have you forgotten that I am your mentor?” 

  “No.” He said simply. “Have you?”

  He might as well have stabbed him clean with the blade on his wrist, and thrusted the cold metal between his ribs. Hytham seemed to recognise the momentary slip of expression, the way Basim’s eyes widened only slightly, the way his breathing hitched, the way his confusion became evident through the small changes only his own apprentice could recognise so close up. 

  “You take me to Norway,” he continued, “to kill Kjotve. Yet when I fail, you speak no word to me, you take me across another ocean to England, just to leave me with yet more silence. You do not speak to me, you do not look at me-”

  He took another deep breath, a pause. And when Basim did not interject, he continued.

  “-you leave me in my bureau as if I am an object to leave behind or a hindrance that will only slow you down. You run from me like a coward. If you wish to speak to me, then speak to me what is already on your mind. Tell me to my face that I am a disappointment, that I am your failure, and that the very sight of me disgusts you.” 

  In all their years together, he could never remember a time where he had heard the other’s voice drip with so much venom, seething with a quiet rage he could barely hold in, a vicious dog, cornered. Yet, of all the things Basim had imagined his silence to be caused by, his words surprised him. For the better part of a moment, he could do little else but to merely stare wordlessly at the other. Finally, he swallowed dryly.

  “I cannot tell you that,” He said, “because it is not true.” 

  Wrong answer. 

  Hytham let out a frustrated growl, and used his last bit of energy to push Basim away from him. He did not run away, but he refused to let that man corner him and lie straight to his face. Basim was quick, skilled, silver-tongued, yet he felt helpless against the watchful gaze of his apprentice. 

  “Then what is true? Hmm ? You tell me nothing . How am I to know what is true when my very own mentor will not speak to me?” 

  “Hytham-” 

  “You run away. Every time, you run away. For such a blood-thristy man, you have done nothing but run away from me ever since Norway. You say it is for the Order, for our Creed, yet you leave me to pick up those pieces and hand them off to someone else. Instead, you run away with barely as much as a goodbye, an acknowledgement that you are leaving your very own apprentice behind.” 

  “I am not leaving you behind-” 

  “Then what are you doing?”

  He wanted to sigh. He wanted to tell him that he was being ridiculous. He wanted to tell him that he cannot talk to him when he is like this, yet he knew very well that such words would only set the young one off even further. 

  He... He wasn’t sure what to say. And finally, as his thoughts ran away from him, attempting to find the words that would reel the other in, calm him, assure him, time ran out. His apprentice sighed. 

  “You will have an answer before you leave.” He said. “Or I will return to Alamut alone.” 

  With that, he stalked off. He seemed to care not for the pain it caused him, hurrying his steps, away from the conversation, away from Basim, who could do nothing but watch, as the observant villagers began to scatter. 

--

Sigurd had decided that they would be staying in Ravensthorpe for a few days, until they next departed. 

  Somewhere, Basim was... Split. He refused to admit it, he swallowed the angry, bitter feeling within him, the admittance that he wished to leave immediately, dare Hytham to leave and return to the Brotherhood in Alamut, in disbelief that he would ever dare to abandon his mission. The other part of him, the softer part, the weaker part, ached. Yet his reasoning won over both his anger and his grief, he knew that, logically, Hytham’s departure would be a stick in the wheel for the destruction of the Order in England, and it would reflect poorly on him as a mentor if his apprentice returned home alone, injured, speaking of abandonment. 

  Cold. Calloused, perhaps, though he didn’t know if it was him or Hytham. 

  So, for the rest of the day, he attempted to... Figure something out. Hytham had, logically, burrowed in the bureau, he had closed and locked the doors and the shutters to the windows, clearly he did not wish to be disturbed, and Basim knew that angering the normally level-headed one further would only insite more violence. So he wandered. Away from Ravensthorpe, where he had no doubt that their conversation was and would remain the gossip of the week. 

  And as he wandered, he... Ached. 

  Hytham’s words, his insults, his threats, rang as clear in his head as if he was still there with him, spitting them out over and over. It was not like him. Hytham had always been soft-spoken and eager and gentle. He looked up to the Brotherhood, to Basim, as a worshipper would their god, with an everlasting faithfulness and the loyalty of a lapdog. Yet he had wronged him so majorly that he ran away from him, despised the site of him, and seethed in his very presence. He wanted to excuse it. He wanted to convince himself that it was not his wrongdoing, no, it had to be something else- did he perhaps not like Ravensthorpe? Or had one of the Norsemen wronged him? 

  He knew the answer. At the very least he did when he returned for the evening, exhausted and tired and weary, entering the longhouse for food, and saw how Hytham went from laughing in the clan’s company to quickly excusing himself and stalking off the moment he sensed Basim’s presence. As he walked past him by the entrance, he did not even look at him. 

  He had, against his better judgement, attempted to speak to the Wolf-Kissed. Yet they had merely looked at him strangely, almost suspiciously, surely having heard about their public argument, and stated that Hytham got along well and seemed to thrive with the Raven Clan. Further than so, they did not say, and Basim felt no need to ask more. 

  For two days, he haunted the settlement. When he was close by, Hytham practically barricaded himself within the bureau, and when he had deemed Basim far away enough, he easily slipped out and socialized with the Raven Clan, trained on the dummies placed outside the bureau, or merely cuddled the cats that roamed the settlement, even when he knew that Basim was watching. If he was far away enough, he did not seem to care. And so Basim extended him the grace of being the one to leave the premises during the evenings when the clan gathered to eat, so that Hytham would not feel the need to hide away and starve within his little cabin. In the end, as infuriating as that man was, a thorn in his side and an ache in his heart, he did not wish for him to hurt more. 

  That, he could not deny. He did care. He always had, in some way, even if he had to admit that it was true that he had not shown it lately. They were not in Constantinople or Baghdad anymore, where they could be side-by-side, fight shoulder-to-shoulder, jump from the same ledge and land in the same haypile. They were older, if only slightly. Perhaps that Hytham, that Basim, were long gone already. Perhaps this Basim was risking losing this Hytham, slipping through his fingers like soft sand. 

  Sigurd had announced their departure for the following day. If he would speak to Hytham, he had to do so now. 

  --

  He jumped from the cliff ledge at which he had been perched, landing soft as always, and continued towards the bureau. It was dark, late into the night when the feast had died down, the glow of firelight in the windows of the various cabins already extinguished, but the light in the bureau slipped through the cracks of the closed doors and the shuttered windows. He knew Hytham well enough to know that he would never sleep with fire still burning. 

  He attempted to knock. No answer. And so he attempted to open the door, and found it unlocked. Perhaps Hytham had expected him tonight.

  The apprentice in question was seated by a desk, his back turned to him, writing something. He knew he heard him, yet he did not acknowledge him, not even as Basim stepped inside and closed the door behind him. His writing, however, stopped for a very brief moment. 

  “Am I interrupting something?” 

  Basim did not need to see Hytham’s full face to see that he was trying to not roll his eyes. An ‘of course you were’ echoed in both of their minds, yet Hytham merely sighed, laid down the quill with which he had been writing, and stood up. He turned, and leaned the back of his hips against the desk, and crossed his arms. He said nothing, clearly waiting for Basim to start. 

  While he had spent the better part of three days attempting to decipher his own mind and formulate what to say, now, standing face to face with his apprentice, he could not help but feel mute. Was it shame? Guilt? Anger? He had never been one for emotions, and now they were nothing but a tangled mess of audacity and fear, and for every moment that passed in silence, Hytham’s expression soured. Finally, Basim stood straight, clasping his hands behind his back, a familiar position he had yet to tell who had gotten from who.

  “Hytham, I...” Dear God, he could not begin to stutter now. He took a deep breath, and started over. “I apologise.” 

  This was clearly not what Hytham had expected. His eyes widened, his eyebrows rose, almost comically expressive with how they had been knit together just a moment prior. 

  “You are right. I have been a poor excuse of a mentor as of late. I should have communicated with you. For that, I am sorry.” 

  It felt... Strange, with how their dynamic had always been. While they got along like a wildfire prior to Norway, Basim did not apologise, he had little regrets in the life that he had lived, it was Hytham that made mistakes and apologised and was forgiven, but now... 

  Hytham moved to speak, but Basim continued.

  “And I do not want you to think that I think of you as a failure. It is true I have treated you less than well since Kjotve, but not because I was disappointed in you. I will admit, I was mad, but above all, I was...” He hesitated. A mental lock that he did not wish to unlock, but Hytham’s mere presence held a key. “...Scared.” 

  “...Scared?”

  “Absolutely terrified.” 

  His apprentice, his Hytham, looked at him with such confusion, like a lost puppy. Basim dared to take a step closer, and Hytham did not attempt to flee. 

  “When he threw you towards the cliff wall,” he continued, “I could have sworn that I heard your spine snap. And when you laid lifeless against the ground, I thought I had lost you for good within a few seconds. I thought I had watched you leap to your own death.” 

  Hytham... He did not know what to say. Not when his mentor was mere steps away from him, a distance not closed since Basim had returned, and cornered him against that tree.

  “I...” Hytham swallowed, nervous, or perhaps merely shocked. Perhaps faced with a possibility he had not yet considered. “I apologise.” 

  “No.” The forceful tone almost got the apprentice to flinch. “I should not have encouraged you. You were following my orders, and for that, I punished you.” 

  He did, undeniably. He had barely spoken to him, and when he did, he had snapped, forced the poor boy to cower from both pain and the fear of his very own mentor’s anger. It was downright shameful. Hytham did not deserve that, he never did. 

  Basim took another deep breath. A short moment to gather his thoughts, swallow the inherent shame of the situation, the memories, and the conversation, down. 

  “I cannot claim that I can fully grasp why I have behaved the way I have,” he continued. “But I think I have... Underestimated the situation. You, as a skilled assassin, and my own fears that I might one day lead you to your death.” 

  “I know what I got myself into-” 

  “I know that you do. I know that you know that the life of an assassin is dangerous, and that the path I track is no different. But where my own self-preservation falters, it searches for you.” 

  Basim had never been an affectionate person. He was undeniably aloof in many ways, actively so in his mentoring, yet what he might have wished for as an apprentice himself was not what an apprentice like Hytham needed. Neither of them needed the secrecy, Hytham did not need a superior to simply watch over and judge him. He needed a mentor. 

  “I hope,” Basim continued, “that you can forgive me. And I promise you that I will do my very best to keep this from happening again, should you wish to stay. But I will also understand if you wish to go home.” 

  “...Promise?” 

  A voice so small, so soft. For a moment, Hytham was once more the little boy on the tower, trying to leap. Basim could not help but feel his lips twist into a small, reminiscent smile.

  “I promise.” 

  The apprentice seemed... Shaken. And while he tried to brush it off, attempted to calm his breathing, Basim leaped. He closed the last distance, and with Hytham’s questioning words silenced, he wrapped his arms around him. A hug. Holding him close, as if afraid that he would disappear if he let go. An arm around his back, the other cradling the back of his head.

  The ever faithful acolyte tensed. Both were ready to flee, yet, before Basim could let go, Hytham’s own arms wrapped around the taller one’s middle, burying his face into the crook of his neck. There, they stayed for multiple moments, until the smaller one began to dig his fingers into the older one’s robes, breath rasping, knees buckling. His body was exhausted, and he could hold on no longer. 

  “Basim- I-” 

  “Shhh,” He could not claim to know Hytham as well as he wished he did, yet he knew what was ailing him. He tightened his grip, and gently lowered the both of them, until Hytham was safe on the floor, legs no longer giving in under him, and the hug never parted from. Basim positioned them, he rested his own back against the leg of the desk, parted his own legs, and let his apprentice’s meager frame rest between them, against his chest, arms still holding him tight. He did not want to let him go, and Hytham let him. “I got you.” 

  They were grown. They were grown men, deadly assassins, with the blood of thousands upon their hands, yet now, as he held him, it did not feel strange. It felt like returning home, as he nuzzled against the top of his head, felt his soft hair against his cheek, felt the weight of Hytham within his very soul. And as Hytham finally allowed himself to relax, untense, and close his eyes...

  “...I forgive you,” he murmured, somewhere against the fabric of Basim’s hood and his shoulder. “And I wish to stay, if you will have me.” 

  The mentor’s grip tightened. For the first time since Norway, it felt as if a burden was eased off of his shoulder, a grip loosening around his heart. 

  “I will have you.” He whispered, placing a soft kiss to the top of his acolyte’s forehead. Hytham let out a soft, content sigh. “We will make this right.” 

  Perhaps he could convince Sigurd that he could join the new expedition later. For now, his priority lay with Hytham. For the first time since Norway, they felt... Content. Even as Hytham’s exhausted body lulled him to sleep, even as Basim stayed, unmoving, savouring the moment for as long as he could. 

  He did not know for how long he would have Hytham by his side, but for now, he was content. 

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[anactualinsomniac]

about ac valhalla's plot...

*rant ahead*

Okay, so to preface, I love AC Valhalla - I litterally write old man yaoi about this game - it was my introduction to the Assassin's Creed franchise and I don't regret one of three hundred hours I put into the game.

But that being said, as an extreme viking age history nerd, I have some opinions on how this game's plot could have been executed.

First, the time period. While I don't deny that the campeign of the Ragnarssons isn't a great period of the viking age and it's one of the more well-known parts, which is likely why it was chosen, you have to realize that this age in history is four centuries long. It seems like such a waste to start at the beginning (like, if you're going to do that, just start the game with the Raid on Lindisfarne). While Eivor does become a part of the Great Heathen Army and meet and fight along side the Ragnarssons, this is very spread out or doesn't happen until later in the story. And Ragnar Lothbrok's death itself is a literal side quest. It's optional. You find his remains and even though you know his sons are here because they lost their father, you nothing with it. This game isn't involved with a lot of the history it's about. My personal choice would be mid tenth century Russia (or the Rus, as it would have been called).

And second, the perspective. I love Eivor, she's the main reason why I fell in love with the game. But from a story-telling stand point, she's not the best choice. From what we've been presented, Hytham would be the choice - think about it - he's a Hidden One, his injury is just screaming character arc (we never get that or see in depth the struggles he faces), he's an Acolyte meaning he fits the scheme of 'character in a new world that the audience may also be unfamiliar with', and it would shed more light on the whole Basim situation because if Hytham was the main protaganist the story could show Basim acting sketchier as the story goes on and we would actually see the emotional consequences of Basim becoming stuck in the Grey.

Now, the finer details for my choices:

The Rus has also an arctic climate, so it would still match up for Eivor's overall background

This era still co-insides with the Abbasid Caliphate, meaning AC Mirage can still happen

The raiding game mechanic can be changed from 'random ass European river' to raiding along the Volga River, the longest river in Europe, a very common practice of the Rus vikings and the river itself and those it branches into runs into Russia, Ukraine, and close to Kazakhstan (which at this time was shared with Islam and others) which makes sure that cross-country travel is possible

Because it's set in Europe, there could be more Jomsviking content, such as even a visit to their stronghold in modern day Poland (I personally feel like Valhalla unscored their reputation)

The Russland would be a big inspiration for the Brotherhood to expand their territory because of Christianity (aka the Order of the Ancients) would be taking root there in that point in time

Leading to our villain/s: St. Olga of Kiev & the Emperor of the Byzantine Emperor, Constantine VII. Because let me tell you alongside of being the descendant of the Russian monarchy and the one who brought Christianity to Russia from her travels to Constantinople, this badass of a woman did things that scream Order/Templar member. She teaches you that if you play your cards right, you can die from natural causes in your bed. Constantine VII would basically be King Alfred but better which would make sense because we know there's history of Order corruption in Constantinople

The tenth century traveller, Ahmad ibn Fadlan, member of an embassy under the Abbasid Caliphate who is famous for his account of the vikings in the Rus would be a huge inspiration/idol to Hytham upon his arrival in the Rus because what will start out as admiration for his work (like the literature nerd I know he is) which will turn into him following in his footsteps and recording the viking culture. This will help him realize he has more to offer than fighting skill