if i look back, i am lost
macklin celebrini has autism
$LAYYYTER
β£ Chile in a Photography β£
tannertan36
KIROKAZE
art blog(derogatory)
titsay
Cosimo Galluzzi
h
Show & Tell
hello vonnie
noise dept.
π
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
The Stonewall Inn
tumblr dot com
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Czechia
seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Venezuela
seen from T1
seen from Brazil
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from TΓΌrkiye
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Czechia
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from T1
@ecglesoul
#ECGLESOUL.
an independent, selective and private altaΓ―r ibn-laβahad of assassin's creed. game based with historical influences. low to moderate activity. canon and original characters are welcome. fine with crossovers. written by aquila, 30+. 21+ only please.
1. carrd. 2. headcanons. 3. memes. 4. opens. 5. wishlist.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
#πππππππππ. an independent, selective and private altaΓ―r ibn-laβahad of assassin's creed. game based with historical influences. low to moderate activity. canon and original characters are welcome. fine with crossovers. written by aquila, 30+. 21+ only please.
πππ ππππππ πππ πππππ πππππ ππ πππ πππππππππππ πππ have long faded from his skin, they now are the only fond memory of the two long years spent in Cyprus. More su'alat* than answers now swirl in the mentor's mind. But, did you know? No answer itself is sometimes a hint, a nudge to go over what one already has; thus, in his one hand sits one of Eden's Apples. Neon and marigold, its glow reverberates with the howling of his blood, and that itself raises a question: why does it resonate with him so? Why is he so drawn to it? Perhaps more than Al Mualim ever was. Can it be that his mind is weaker than that of the deceased betrayer? Or the artifact beckons to him solely because he is chosen in some way? Does 'why' even matter? More than once now has he gazed into the millions of secrets and memories laced β encoded into this small thing. Focusing on the wrong inquiries surely will cost a lifetime spent in circles, rotten fruits. So then, what about the future? Is this artifact truly as holy as the Templars make it to be? Vast in power rather than just mind infecting? Within him is the corpse of a fool, who once so blindly believed a mentor; it seeks for rest, to be freed of his folly and yet, wouldn't believing this alien toy bring him to the beginning? Million su'alat, million versions of answers and scenarios, a glowing fruit to a blind fly: while dipping for the sweet nectar he fears he will end up trapped in the very thing he yearns for. Right, Ezio? This would be the second time his earthy eyes have landed upon the other's face. A lot older this time, aged by his very own personal chase and weariness. A brother. Enlightened in the Brotherhood's Creed yet still at an odd with world's truth. If nothing is true, to whose flesh do we bury our blade and how many times? Are Templars the only pollution? A deep breath fills the assassin's lungs as he watches the light leave the eyes of yet another Templar. The same ambition had spilled from their mouth moments before their passing. It, in itself, is a harsh message to the philosopher: history is certain to repeat. Their fight is far from over.
β It saddens me to see our fight has yet to end, brother. β A nonchalant expression of darkening thoughts. Like the first time, surely no answer will be given. Yet, what is the harm in talking to a mirage? β If only I could find a solution for a definitive end. β | starter call , @hiddnblade
it is no secret that, upon acquiring the apple, altaΓ―r became literally fascinated by it, so much so that he dedicated his life to deciphering it as well as the other pieces of eden. despite maria, malik and darim's pleas for him to quit, he answers them by saying "it is my duty." listen, i think the reason why he thinks so and the reason why he rebuilds the entire hood is because at least once, he saw what became of the brotherhood in the future: extinction & templar reign (like perhaps not directly but from the massive calculations, historical cycles, and macro-knowledge). so, in order to combat that, he demolished the idea of gathering in one place like cattle ready for slaughter for starters. next, he urged that the brotherhood should survive without a single supreme leader and spread worldwide and welcome anyone that's enlightened by the reality of how this world, politics and templars work. not only that but he rewrite the rule of assassins not spending time with their family (in revelations we hear him saying he doesn't know much of his father, as umar was an assassin before anything; this actually affected him so, as we see he truly cares for his family's well being). and i love that ezio's story showcases all of these changes so well. tragic but in a beautiful way. i also love how ezio stops before becoming like altaΓ―r and chooses to spend his remaining days with his family. "no books, no wisdom, just you fratello mio." that, was altaΓ―r's message or well more like warning to ezio should he chose to walk the same path.
πππππ ππ ππππππππ πππ ππππππ ππππ π ππππππ ππ ππππ, the assassin slithers through the city of Acre. Listening, observing and adapting so that his presence remains hidden to the eyes and ears of both saracens and crusaders scattered about. Even the robbed haughty scholar before him is not aware of the missing letters under their robes; those letters are now his to deliver to a different master. His very own master, whose wisdom helps shape borders and ever so subtly change the course of battles' fates. No innocent is ever harmed by his blade, that same mentor has done well to drill this tenet into him. And so, today too he shall spill not the blood of the harmless but rather of those who torment them. Like the very ones in front of him, shaded well by the ledge of a quiet corner. No words, no warning comes when his hidden blade buries deep into one man's throat while his short blade greets another's swearing mouth. By the time the abusive group realizes what's going on, two of their comrades have fallen to his talons. Bloodied, his dagger remains solid between him and now the alerted foes. And for the briefest moment, his eyes of earthy shades meet the victim's, it is when he finally breaks his silence to deliver a simple yet vital command to the other:
β Run. β
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
This was not the first time she found herself in these lands. Nor, did she suspect, it would be the last. The eternal traveler, never settling in any place for long, leaving indelible marks wherever she passed, for those who know what to look for. Many did not. There had been whispers around the Brotherhood, formerly the Hidden Ones, of a woman who would sometimes appear whenever an object of great interest was nearby. A specter, perhaps a ghost, some even said she was a guardian of sorts, often adorned in gold and standing taller than most women would. The cries of an eagle often heralded her appearance.
But Ikaros was silent tonight. A sentinel guarding the area she had entered, scaling the wall to approach the young assassin. It had been Aletheia's idea, for the second time in a handful of centuries, to seek aid in her endeavor. Usually she relied on clever tricks to throw the scent off from her. Leave a little treat, and they won't search for the bigger threat. The statues she left behind in those temples never quite did justice to the real thing that presented herself to the assassin now.
The world had forgotten about Kassandra of Sparta, at least who she used to be. All that remained was smatterings of a forgotten demigod, or minor god, depending on who one asked. The Eagle Bearer, her eternal legacy, built entirely on rumors, hearsay, and a lack of someone to deny the whole thing. It would be a lie if she didn't enjoy it a little bit. She only wished they knew her real name. To not hear it spoken for hundreds of years at a time, it did things to a person. Terrible things. Golden eyes regard the man in his white robes, curious as to why Aletheia was interested in this one in particular.
"Do I appear to be a trick to you? An apparition?" She steps down from the window and walks into the flicker of the candlelight. "I am as real as you are and I do not whisper lies."
After a few steps, she stops, holding out her left arm with, the gold of the medusa head and the hidden blade tucked inside of it glisten under the flame's light. "Your creed is not folly, in fact, I believe we may be more aligned than you think... AltaΓ―r." She had heard his name during her first night surveying the castle, but he didn't need to know that. Perhaps she had her tricks after all.
β My blade has yet to slit the throat of a liar that owns up to her lies. β πππππππ πππ πππππ πππππππππ, his wit carries the truth over to the one lingering at the windowsill. Though hazed, his instincts instantly do command his trained body to take the subtlest of stances; sorcery or not, anything and anyone that has deceived the eyes of his fellow brothers on night watch, even those of his mentor despite his old age, is to be treated with caution. To be dealt with should they prove to be trouble. And despite the golden glow that stabs through the image of the old man with false susurruses on aged lips, despite the pristine beckoning to the blood within his intoxicated veins, he whose tact and skills have brought him a master's glory, presses the sharp end of his short knife to the other's throat β in the very second the moonlit gleam of her hidden blade hit his eyes. πππ π ππππ ππππππππ πππ πππ ππππππ πππππππ ππ ππππππ ππππ. The thud of a fallen book never comes; it remains clutched firmly in his other hand. Who knows when a heavy tome might prove useful tonight. Surreal with the marigold tints his sight captures yet indeed very, very αΈ₯aqΔ«qΔ«* in the way she lulls to his instincts. Even the most 'innocent' of animals can bear teeth when they feel like it. That and, he knows not the design that her blade carries.
β A ππππ ? β Tell me, how do you know my name? β
Myths of the west intrigue those of the Christendom the most. Templars. And with the way Robert de SablΓ© so easily stood his ground against him of all people at the Temple, it is safe to assume the Brotherhood's ways are compromised way more severely than they thought. The more his skepticism grows, the hungrier his blade's need to bite gets. It'd be too easy to slice into the skin pulsating against his short sword. Yet, AltaΓ―r stays his hand, merely pressing the edge a tad harder. She has yet to prove herself to be guilty or a foe, so he must stay his blade; Malik's irritated voice is ever louder than before in his ears at this very moment.
β Better tell the truth, and make me believe it now. β A warning, a last chance.
headcanon. one thing that i absolutely adore is how wise altair had become. there was a time his vanity peaked but then, he allowed himself to be humbled. and better yet, he continued to search for wisdom. during al-mualim's reign, the creed's maxim remained the same: "nothing is true, everything is permitted" and the old man, in order to hold absolute control over his assassins, rather harshly drilled this and the tenets into the assassins' mind. but, at the end of altair's journey, in ac: revelations, we find the doors to the library of AltaΓ―r Ibn-La'Ahad and they were engraved with the following lines "revere the blood of the innocent β’Β nothing is absolute, everything is possible β’Β hide in the midst of the crowds β’Β we are the ones who have entrusted you β’Β do not betray our trust". those lines are paraphrasing the tenets of the creed but if you pay attention you'll notice that he didn't just paraphrase the maxim but rather polished the creed to its true form/to the form that it should be. why is the true form? because that form prompts the listener to be wise whereas "nothing is true, everything is permitted" only guides the listener halfway and thus gives birth to wrong interpretations; for that you can take edward kenway as a perfect example, or the time when altair's vanity peaked, especially at the temple of the solomon.
βAnd this is why so long as men maintain free will, there can be no peace.β βI killed the last man who spoke as such.β
π ππππ πππππππ ππ πππππππ. Thoughts that swirl and slither around the teachings of a mentor most respected; they seep into the wisps of hashish remnants cloaking Al-Mualim in his mind and dare to infect the old man's voice with susurruses that don't belong to him. Arrogance from Solomon's Temple is still breathing, bruised mayhaps but not yet mayyit*. Add ignorance to it, and you have his consciousness howling in denial and defiance against the image that somehow fits so well to his mentor. πππππ is a seed most dangerous, he should know, for he and his brethren have used it many a times against foes and rogues. ' Rip it out before it dulls and breaks your blade, child. ' In his younger years, this phrase was uttered one too many times in the teaching grounds. Memorized and sunk deeply into the hollow of each brother's ribs; hence, currently, it is bearing teeth in fear and violent desires toward the absolute teachings. Still though, tonight, his humbled self finds it impossible to dismiss these su'alat**: What if doubt is not just dangerous but also a guide to wisdom? Does Allah truly demand πππππ loyalty or is it men? Deep is the frown that settles on his brow. Would Malik or any of his brothers listen if he were to speak of this seed in his chest? ππ, comes the answer as unabated as the remarks of this strange, surreal woman in front of him. This is the second time he finds himself laying his eyes on her. In this exact same place. Moonlight seeps through the windows of the library tonight as well, this time a tad brighter than then. Perhaps, she too is an image created by the scent of the calming, burning mix of herbs filling the west section of the Castle. Tonight, and that night too. Even so, what are the odds of Allah sending a sign to him? A sign of either catastrophe or wisdom. Who to say? Who to know? Has he gone mad? A light scoff. All he knows is that his mind is in need of rest. Rest that never comes.
β You call my creed folly, yet your only proof has been tricks. How are you different from the sorcerers who whisper lies into men's ears? β
The book in his hand is finally closed, however, his eyes remain hungrier than ever for knowledge. Solemnity reeks from his tone but there is a crack on his pillar of faith. The curiosity within, behind all that dogmas, is seeking to be broken free, to be fed. Punishment can come later ππ this all turns out to be a witch's nonsense. πππ ππ πππ.. Ah, then the glory of knowing shall aid his blade. | starter call , @ofspvrta
ooc. starter call.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
ooc. no fancy graphics but uh, if you'd be interested in interacting with game-based altair ibn la'ahad please give this a like or reblog this tiny post! mun is 30+. no minors please. ocs are welcome. i'm open to crossovers.
