Disclaimer: No I don't own Assassin's Creed in any shape or form if I did I would make Desmond have dyed his hair Snow white and have him go around getting information on how to defeat Juno without the use of the Animus. (The game I said I would make if I did own Assassin's Creed in the first chapter)
Guide:
"mimic" = normal speak (plain text)
"mimic" = Isu speak (Bold and Italic)
"mimic" = Desmond/other speaking in a different language (Italic)
'mimic' = Desmond's thoughts (apostrophes)
Mimic = writing (plane italics)
Author's note at the bottom of the work.
Mimic
Chapter 3: Reflections
Person: Malik
Day Two since Desmond's "Death"
I was walking through the market place trying to get rid of the tension from traveling all night to Jerusalem. 'Honestly, I just want to sleep for a bit before Altair and I go on our mission. Why does den master Tariq have to kick us out when our mission only arrives tomorrow night?' I wonder staring at a merchant who seems to be struggling with carrying his goods. I watch him wondering if I should help him or not. As I move to help him I see a person move toward the merchant. I watch to see what that person would do. The person takes the sack from the merchant with one hand and throws it over his shoulder. A few minutes pass before the man comes back and starts to carry the sacks to where I assume will be the merchant's stall. I notice how he does not use his right hand once while he moves the sacks.
I watch with curiosity as he seems to try to lift one of the boxes with only one hand. I am slightly amused as he kicks a rock in frustration when he can't. It is rather hilarious to watch him glare at the boxes. I cannot see his face, but his body tells me all I need to know. He is very frustrated at the boxes.
I shake my head as he tips the box slightly and slips his hand underneath. I start moving toward him when he manages to lift it and I can't help but be impressed with his determination and that he actually succeeded. I start to turn when I see the box slip and he brings his hand up. I hear the scream that tears from his throat and I sprint to him. I pull the box from his hands as he buckles and drops his head to his chest. I take the wrist closest to me and he gives another scream. I remove my hand from his wrist and place it on his back instead.
"Deep breaths. Breathe," I tell him. My heart aches at the pained sob that escapes the man. He gives a few gaspy breaths, probably trying to stop himself from crying. I allow myself to rub circles on his back.
He seems to calm down and with a final deep but shaky breath he looks up at me and gives me a shaky smile before saying, "Thank you."
Mind goes blank at the face that is in front of me. "Altair?" I ask not believing my eyes.
"What?" the man asks confused. I shake myself from the thoughts in my head. 'No not Altair,' I think noticing that the man's hair is brown rather than the blond that belongs to Altair and their eyes are more brown than gold. Their skin is also tanner than Altair's. There is so many difference between Altair and the man before me and yet are so similar. I have no doubt that they could be brothers if placed next to each other.
"Sorry," I apologize putting my musings away for later. "I thought you were someone else," I tell him.
"That is alright," he says flashing me a smile. "No harm was done." I get ready to get up when I hear him take a deep breath. My eyes meet him and I study his face better as he refuses to look away. His face is similar to Altair's down to the scar on his lip and has a shape closer to a noble or merchant. His face is softer than Altair's, far softer than a male should be even a young boy. The more I look I can spot differences that point to one conclusion. From the long eyelashes and the pinker lips to the feminine curve of the jaw, the man in front of me is female though not obviously so. If one was not to look or even if you did you wouldn't notice.
"Excuse me," she says. "It was lovely meeting you, but I need to get these boxes to my employer's stand," she says seems to escape my gaze. I notice how her right hand's fingers are the color of scorched wood.
"Where is it?" I asked deciding to carry the boxes for her.
She gives me a questioning look before turning and pointing at a stall. "Over there." I pick up the boxes while she isn't looking. "Why?" she asks turning back to me. I notice how her eyes widen as she sees me. "Wait. Stop!" she cries. "I need to carry them." She must fear that I would take the credit and take her pay.
I give her an irritated look and I can't help it when my eyes flit to her chest. It is very well bound and flat for a female. "You are obviously injured and I have some time to spare," I say which is true. Altair said that he would meet me at the Bureau in the Afternoon. "Accept my help," I tell her leaving no room for any argument. Her shoulders sag and we walk together to the merchant's stall. I can see that she aches to say something much like Altair when he wants to know something. I watch to see if she will do anything, but she doesn't. 'Much better disciplined than Altair then,' I muse to myself.
Coming to the stall I place the boxes down next to the sacks that she carried here earlier. She bends down to adjust something and I walk away. I put her and her similarities to Altair out of my mind for now and start to search for a stall that sells food.
Mimic
I sit on the roof of a nearby house and watch the people coming and going in the market as I slowly eat the bread I bought. Looking up I judge that by the sun three hours have passed since I met that woman. 'How is it that she looks so similar to Altair,' I wonder as I try to throw out the thoughts that have my mind screaming at Altair's father for foul play. 'After all, she seems to be at the right age to have been born before Umar died and he has dishonored the brotherhood before. Who says he didn't take it a step further?'
A shriek pulls me from my musings and I soon hear a woman begging for someone to come help her husband. A sneer paints my face as I watch the people crowd around her, but doesn't help her. I can't help but feel angry at all of them. "I AM A HEALER. MOVE," tears through the crowd and the people split to reveal the woman that moments ago I was musing on. I watch as she says something to the wife and then starts inspecting the man. I find that my curiosity has been quirked. Silently I come down the roof and move towards her.
I arrive beside her just to see her take a long drink from a bottle of some or other alcoholic drink. I find myself chuckling at that. 'There is another difference between her and Altair. He doesn't like alcoholic drinks. He rather gets drunk on the feel of battle and bloodshed,' I frown at the sudden darker turn of my thoughts. I concentrate again on what she is doing and find myself shocked at the neatness of her stitches. I barely hear her when she shouts for someone to assist her in lifting her patient up. I am the closest to her and when no one goes to help I lift him for her. A bandage is shoved into my hand to hold while the other end is in her hand and I watch her finger wrap the man's chest wound. The bandage is taken from me again and she tells me to lower me.
I can't help but feel impressed with the care she puts into removing the arrowhead. Once again I help her with bandaging up the man. When he is finally taken care of I see how she almost shudders before pulling herself up. I see how her left-hand hovers over her right arm. I now realize that if her hand is as injured as I am to believe then the procedures must have caused it much pain. She stands still and smiles as various people congratulate her and leave. When everyone, but the woman and I are gone her knees buckle, but she remains standing.
I faintly hear the man's wife give a cry of surprised, but I am focused on the tension in the body of the woman in front of me and the fact that she was shaking slightly. She calmly gives instruction to the wife and hands her a bag of herbs. She protests when the woman gives her some coins, but the woman leaves before she can get anything in. She drops to her knees and the shaking mostly stops. I rest my hand on her shoulder—whether it was to offer comfort or to let her know that I am here I am uncertain. She looks up at me and gives me a wonderful smile that sends my stomach in knots.
"Thank you, again for helping me," she says her smile never leaving her face. I nod in acceptance of her thanks.
"Malik," I say offering my name before I realize that I do. I see confusion work its way on her face, confusion that turns her lips down in a frown. "My name is Malik," I say as to make her understand that that was what I had meant when I had said my name.
A smile is once again on her face and doesn't seem as if she was consciously smiling but rather that a soft smile was the natural position that her lips took – the opposite of Altair's frown. "Desmond," she says. It must be the alias that she uses dressed up as a male as the name lacks a feminine quality.
"Sounds foreign," I note.
Her smile becomes quirky in nature. "Because it is," she states simply. I wish to press for more but decide against it.
"So, you are a healer?" I ask.
"Yes, I am," she says and to my frustration does not say anything else. Instead, she moves to gather all the articles that she used to save the man. I gather all the objects before her and give them to her. Desmond places them into her strange bag. I help her up and she offers a small, "Thank you." I spot a Novice moving towards me and I nod at her before walking to meet the Novice.
"Malik, Altair is searching for you," said the novice I reach him.
I feel a shot of irritation shoot through me. "Very well, let us go see what he wants," I say and we climb up a building and start running towards the Bureau.
Mimic
Person: Desmond
Day three since Desmond's "Death"
I wake up from my sleep filled with irritation and murder in my mind. 'Why does the sun have to wake me up? Why can't I just stab it so it will leave me alone?' I wonder to myself. Unhappily I drag myself from my bed and move towards my designated kitchen area. I walk outside and draw some water to boil. Lighting the fire, I realize that I don't have any coffee or even tea to wake me up. Sadness sets in and I feel utterly lost.
Pain shoots through my right arm and I get an idea. I retrieve my messenger bag and pull some willow bark from it. I realize that I also do not have any cups or even cutlery. I feel frustrated. "As there is nothing I can do right now I might as well go buy or steal myself some things to make this an actual house. Both of my sets of clothes are dirty which annoying as well," sighing I decide to go steal some clothes. I sling my messenger bag over my shoulder and leave the house.
I go find a secluded corner that I can catch someone in. There is also a convenient place haystack. Unfortuanalty the first person that walks close to my corner happens to be a scholar. I feel slightly bad when I knock him out and strip him. With the clothes in my arms, I decided to pat him down as well and take all his money. After all, if I am going to steal something I might as well go all the way. "Sorry," I whisper as I drag the man and dump him in a conveniently placed haystack. I strip myself from my robe and pull on the scholar's robe. I pull up the hood in an afterthought. Moving through the crowds I feel comfortable in the robes that I stole.
I walk seemingly without a care. Nausea overtakes me and my vision greys at the edges. I snarl at the man that swings his blade at me. I jump back and pull out my own blade. 'What is this Templar thinking attacking me, Ezio, in broad daylight. I'm the greatest Assassin in this century. I will get Leonardo back damn all those that try to stop me,' I think.
I gasp as I jump back from another swing of the Templar's blade right into a wall. 'What? That isn't supposed to be here,' I think finding myself reeling. 'Does not matter,' I think steeling myself and attacking the Templar with vigor.
I find myself smirking when my blade catches his shoulder and he cries out. "Good," I whisper. "That is what you deserve for trying to stop me from getting Leonardo." The next swing that he gives gently grazes me making a cut in my sleeve. I must admit that even though I have injured the Templar he is still graceful in his movements. It fits with his lithe frame and I find myself disappointed.
"A pity that you are a Templar. Overwise I have no doubt that we would have had a bit of fun together. After all is there not a saying that says, 'Make Love not War' no?" I ask and enjoy the fury that burns in the Templar's eyes. His lips pull up in a snarl and he lunches at me. His anger blinds him and I decide to toy a bit with him.
I regret that decision soon after as his blade catches me again, but this time it cuts my skin. I quickly go in and pin him with my heavier frame. I plunge my hidden blade in his chest as I watch him fight desperately to throw me. I feel an unbidden sadness in me as the fight leaves his eyes and he goes limp. "Requiescat in pace," I say closing the man's eyes. I come up and hit my head against a wall that isn't there. I fall over from the impact.
I blink and see some people giving me a concerned look. "Merda, that was a bad Bleed," I whisper before realizing that I said that in Italian. I shake bringing my hand to my mouth. My breathing is shaky at best and I pull myself from the ground that I landed on after my head hit the wall. "Never mind that. I will go shopping and that is it," I snarl. Some people give me a nervous glance before going on their merry way.
"Okay first on the agenda. Plate or bowls or whatever people eat out of and maybe another pot. You can never have too many pots," I tell myself. I come to the market place but can't really see any bowls or what not. I do however see a merchant selling carpets and a spice merchant.
I haggle with the merchant until I manage to buy some ginger, more willow bark, honey, basil leaves, and cinnamon. Pleased with my purchase I move to the carpet merchant. 'The floor in my house is rather cold isn't it,' I think. My eyes trail over the carpets that the merchant has to offer. I ask about how much they cost and wince at the price he named.
I never learned what the money rate is here but 200 silver seems excessive. As I try to haggle the price down for one of the lesser quality carpets. I hear the city alarm bells ring and note that it is probably Altair's fault, because I may have seen, Malik but he would never have messed up so badly as to alert the entire Jerusalem. Or maybe another Novice or something.
I hear a shout of, "Assassin," and guards running. I give up on the carpet and walk away.
I hear it again closer again, "Assassin!" I start walking away and a hand roughly grabs my shoulder. "Die Assassin," shouts the guard and my hood falls back and I realize that I stole a rob from a scholar. A white robe. "Shit," I breathe before I rip myself away and start to sprint away as far as I can.
I leap over a woman vending down To pick up something. "Sorry," I shout as I stumble but pick myself up. I hear the guards coming closer. I rip a shawl off of a passing woman and ignore their shouts if protest. "Assassin," the guards shout again and I pick up my pace.
"Can't they say anything else?" I ask rhetorically as I run I slop around a corner and see a large crowd my eyes quickly spot a man with a limo and a short woman. I quickly through the shawl around me and mimic both the gait of the short woman and the limping man. I pick up a jar from a bunch of ladies that is busy filling their jars together and talking. I place it on my head and walk.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I see the guards rushing into the area and they try to find me the "Assassin". They search for a bit but gives up.
"Fine," I hiss. "I will go back and stop my shopping." I turn and start to walk back to my house. I admit that I may be stomping, but I am upset. 'I really wanted to get some shopping done today and instead, I have gotten a nasty Bleed and got chased by guards,' I think sadly to myself.
"Excuse me," someone asks. I keep walking upset and slightly irritated. "Excuse me," someone asks again.
'It is unbelievable how unproductive this the trip was,' I complain to myself.
"Excuse me," the voice askes again this time placing a hand on my shoulder.
"What?" I harshly ask turning to the voice. It is a woman.
"I am sorry to bother you but are you the healer that healed the man yesterday in the market?" asks the woman quietly.
"Yes, I am," I confirm.
"That is good. My master's son is very sick. Yesterday at the market my master saw you healing the man. We have searched everywhere for you since yesterday. Please, my master asks that you come to heal his son. He will pay you anything," the woman begs. I feel bad for talking harshly to her she was only looking for me because it is her job. Well, sort of.
"Take me to him. I will see what I can do," I tell her.
She smiles gratefully. "Thank you. Please follow me." We start walking.
"So what does your master do?" I ask as we start coming closer to the darker part of the middle district.
"Oh, uhm. I do not think my master would like me to tell you this," she says sounding panicked.
"Okay, so what he does is illegal. Got it," I say shrugging.
Her squeak of horror answers my question.
"Well, then. Is he a mercenary, a thief, or something else?" I ask looking at her.
She clenches her hands and shuts her mouth.
"Whether or he is in any business, I need to know. I have no interest in handing you into the guard, but I would like to know which business he does so that I can know what sort of illnesses and injuries I will have to treat in the future," I tell her.
She stops suddenly. "Here we are, please come in," she says pushing open a door. I give her one more look before entering. Inside the building, it is warm and covered in carpets and drapes. "This way," says the woman gesturing to a doorway with drapes acting as a door. I go through the doorway and see a boy lying on a pallet covered in blankets. His breath seems labored and wet. There is a woman sitting next to his bed.
"Mistress, I have found the healer. I will go and find the master now," says the woman and she leaves. The lady looks up at me and there are tears in her eyes.
"Will you help?" asks the lady, her question a barley whisper.
"Yes, I will. Please move out of the way so that I will be able to see what is wrong with him," I tell her and she moves away. I kneel beside him. He gives a choking gasp and goes into a coughing fit. I bring my shawl up to cover my face. I sit him up and rub his back as he coughs.
"It hurts to cough. It hurts to breathe," he says pathetically.
"Shh, calm down," I say continuing to rub his back. I place the back of my hand on his forehead and fell his temperature. "Does he vomit?" I ask his mother.
"Yes," she nods. I take a deep breath. 'The the boy has flu,' I think. I open my bag and pull out some ginger and honey.
"Do you have a bowl that I can use and boiled water?" I ask as I turn to the mother.
"Yes," she nods and goes to fetch it. The boy goes into a coughing fit again. The mother comes back with a jug of boiled water and an empty bowl. I mix the ginger and the honey together and dilute it a bit until it is liquid-like. I see the woman that brought me, come in and a man that assume is the father.
"A cup," I ask. The mother gives me a cup. I pour a bit of the mixture into the cup. "Hear, drink," I say softly to the boy. "It will soothe your throat, settle your stomach and bring down your fever." I lift the cup to his lips and help him drink. "Get him more pillows," I tell his parents. His mother goes away and comes back with many pillows. I look at the father. "Hold him up," I tell him and then look at the mother. "Help me place the pillows behind him."
I see the genuine love for his son as the father holds his son and whispers calming words to him. I feel a stab of jealousy, longing, and sadness at the sight before I shake the thoughts accompanying those feelings away. I place the pillows behind as to hold him up in a sitting position. "Okay, he can lean back now," I tell the parents. The father helps him lean back and the boy gives a soft sigh and closes his eyes tiredly. The honey has already started to work and relevel the pain in his throat along with the coughing. He quickly slips into sleep and I get up and turn to face his parents.
"I am Desmond," I tell the parents. They look at me confused I sigh. "Please tell me your names so that I can give you further instructions." They still look uncertain.
"My name is Faraj and this is my wife Azhar," the man introduces him and his wife. "May I ask healer Desmond why you asked for our names?" the man asks.
"It is nice to meet you. I wanted to know your names so that I would know what to address you as in the future," I say tucking the boy in his bed with his blankets.
"In the future?" questions Faraj.
"Well, I will tell you, but first on your son. He has bad flu. The medicine I made will – as I said – sooth his throat, settle his stomach and bring down his fever. Give it to him every time he starts going into a coughing fit. Make him some broth as it will be easier on his stomach. Boil water and put it in a pitcher to cool and use that water to give him to drink. Give him a lot of that water. Now if your servant or one of you will follow me back to my home so that you will know where I am. The reason for this is so that if he does not get better in a day or two that you can come to find me," I tell them.
"Oh, very well. Please, tell us what we need to pay you?" asks Azhar.
I rub the back of my neck. "Well, I have only recently moved to Jerusalem and all my things was lost when my last practice went up in flames. I would appreciate it if you can maybe tell me where I can get cups, bowls, and other such things," I tell them.
I see Azhar give Faraj a look and he nods. "Well come with me. I have much pottery that I do not need. I will give it to you as payment," she says and takes my right hand. I cry out and she jerks away.
"I am sorry," I tell her. "I injured my arm in the flames."
"Oh. I as your forgiveness," she says looking horrified at the pain she caused me.
"No, there is nothing to forgive Azhar. You did not know. Now you were saying about the pottery," I assure her.
"Yes, come with me." I follow her out. A few minutes later I find myself on my way with me carrying as much as I can manage with one arm and Faraj carrying a crate filled with other pieces of pottery including the jar I stole earlier.
"Fajar this is really far too much as payment for some ginger, honey, and advice," I try to tell him.
"No, my wife and I are grateful. No other healer would come to see my son and if you really have a problem you can see it as an early payment for some future visits," he tells me.
"Fine, but why would they not come to see you or your son?" I ask after sighing in defeat. I watch him tense.
"Oh," I say as realization strikes me "It is because of the illegal business that you are in. Isn't it?" His wince is all answer I need. "So that brings me to my next question. What profession are you in? The reason I ask is that then I will know what sort of wounds and illness I will have to treat in the future," I ask him, watching as his face shows his shock.
"Does that mean that you will not turn us away?" he asks with wide eyes.
"Of course not, now what profession are you in?" I tell him while rolling my eyes.
"I am a mercenary," he tells me.
"Nice," I shrug and we come into my area. "This is my home," I tell him. "Please place the crate down here," I said leading him into my house and pointing with my head to a corner.
He does. "Why don't you have a proper door?" he asks gesturing to the cloth that acts as my "door".
"Well," I say putting the things I was carrying on the crate. "The door of this house was broken when I bought it and I haven't yet had time to put a new one on. Thank you for your help Fajar. I will be seeing more of you soon then I believe," I say giving him a smile.
"Ah, yes. I wish you good fortune Healer Desmond," Fajar says as he leaves my house. I sigh a breath of relief.
"In the end, I may not have been able to shop, but I got all the pottery I need. Next, I need a table and a cupboard for my pottery and foodstuff as well as my healer equipment," I tell myself as I run my hand through my curly hair. As I am fairly hungry I pull out my pot and take it outside. I light a fire with some wood underneath it and I pour water into it. I get out some vegetables and spices that Azhar packed into the crate and some of the dried meat that I stole from the Bureau. I start making some soup after the water has been fully boiled. I go back inside and get the bread out of my messenger bag. I come back to my pot of soup to see a street kid try to take some of the soup.
"Stop," I call out worried that the child will get hurt. The kid looks up at me and sprints away. I shake my head. "It's not ready yet," I say to thin air. Some time passes and the soup is almost done. I see the kid poke his head out from behind a large pitcher that belongs to the neighbors. I cackle softly. I ladle the soup into two bowls and place one a little further from me and break a piece of the bread off and place it on the bowl too. I take the other bowl inside with me and I enjoy my meal. When I am done I take the bowl outside and see that the other bowl is empty and the bread is gone. I smile quietly while picking it up. 'It is getting late,' I note and I decided to quickly clean the pot, bowls, and ladles. By the time I am done it is already starting to get dark.
'It takes a lot longer to wash dishes when I only have one working hand,' I muse as I bring in all my cooking utensils. Placing them all in the corner I take my messenger bag and go to my bed. I strip down and start to inspect my burnt arm properly. The skin is pitch black on my hand and gets progressively lighter until it is only a light red at my shoulder. I wince. 'I will need to treat this,' I think. I go back down to my cooking area and I bring the jar of cool, boiled war back to my bedroom. I sit back down on the bed and dip a cloth in it. I start cleaning my arm.
The cool water feels really good on the injured skin, but the cloth still hurts. When my arm is dry again I smear honey and powdered white willow bark mixture on my arm. I wince. It feels disgusting. "Hard to believe that something that feels so sticky can be so good for you," I say in disgust. With that done I wrap my entire arm in clean bandages.
I sigh. "Hope this makes it feel better," I comment to myself. I put away the herbs and honey and pull out the journal that I stole along with a quill and ink. I open on the first page and scrawl on the page as neat as possible in English.
Journal of Desmond Miles
A wayward bartender/healer.
Entry one, Day three since I "died"
Mimic
Date: December 14, 2003
Place: Clay's Apartment, New York City
Person: Desmond Miles
Age: 16
I grumpily come to as the sun filterers gently in through the window. 'What the hell?' I think when I open my eyes just to come face to face with a stuffed bear that had a note pinned to it. "Wha…" I question at the strange sight. I pluck the note from the bear and start to read it.
Hey Desmond,
I have to go to college.
I left you at my place.
Hope you are okay with that.
Anyway, there is some leftover pizza in the fridge as well as Chinese
(please tell me you know what I mean)
I will be back tonight and until then you can watch TV or read or something.
Yeah, so best of luck I guess.
-Clay
I blink slowly. "Well, okay then," I say shrugging before getting up to draw the curtains. After I yanked the curtains closed with perhaps too much force and disgust than is strictly necessary I curl back up on Clay's couch that shouldn't be as comfortable as it is. I pull the heavy, but soft and warm blankets around me and try to go back to sleep. I can't help the content feeling that settles in me despite the cold outside, my stitched lip, and my overall shitty life prior to this. I give a tired yawn and drop back into sleep.
Mimic
I wake again this time by my stomach. Pulling myself up from the tangle of blankets I go to the fridge. I take out the pizza and heat it up. With my food in hand, I go back to my nest of blankets. I remember the TV that Clay showed me last night and I turn it on. Eating the pizza, I hear that the show talks about how each person's gait is unique. That piques my interest. I finish the food and run to the full-length mirror in Clay's hallway. I place it against the wall and start trying to mimic the gait of the various people on the TV.
'It is weird,' I note, 'How it feels when I get someone's gait almost right. It feels wrong.' I blush slightly when I try to mimic the gait of a woman. The sway of hips when walking feels odd to me and it is in an attempt at swaying my hips that Clay returns. I freeze and he gives me a weird look.
"Okay, I'm going to pretend that I did not see that," he says putting his bag down. "Okay I have a lot of homework and I feel like an idiot that I did not leave this for you to do before I left, but would you please write down all this for me while I do homework. then when you are done we can go get something to eat. Okay," he says and gives me a paper. I come and sit next to him at the table while he is busy doing work. I start filling it in.
Age: 16
Full name: Desmond Devland Miles
Where did you grow up?: South Dakota
And many more. When I was done Clay laughed and said, "Finally." He dragged me off and we went to Subway for something to eat. I enjoyed the meal and Clay promised me that when we get back we will start working on my identification. 'I guess this isn't so bad,' I think to myself as laugh at a joke that Clay tells.
Mimic
Author's note:
So I managed to get this chapter up before the end of Sunday by some standards, but not by my country's standard. Soooo, yeah. School has started up for me again, but I will try to at least upload a chapter a week of more or less 5,000 words.
This chapter and basically the rest of this fic is inspired by "Surrounded But Alone by DustToDust", "Apotheosis by QTCutie (CanisMajor1234)", "I was born for this by esama". All these fics are on AO3 just so you know and now for the explanation as to why. So the first fic is my inspiration for the whole Malik x Desmond thing if only really the part where the author says "Desmond's main problem has always been that he falls in love far too easily" which I find cute. The other two fics are my inspiration for BAMF/Healer Desmond. As for the female part of Desmond, well, I actually just really like to screw with his mind even more. You know besides the reasons I gave in chapter 1 I think. One more thing. Yes, you did read right. Altair is blonde in this fic and in my head. His hair is not Thor blonde, but more like sandy blonde.
All the usual. I don't have a beta. So all this is un-betaed. Please bear with me. If you see any mistakes, please let me know in a review or PM me about it.
If you like this fic please consider leaving a review or following it. And thank you so much to everyone who is following or favorited my fic. It is much appreciated.
Silent out. ;)