#Ashefrye

[assassin-rumi]

Darren belongs to @anemoii-a (It’s finally up >///< )

So I had this thought for ages about Evie and Jacob parting ways and how that would affect them both. And then I had a little story in my head that I thought about writing but as it turns out; writing is hard. So I will just explain it here:

Evie and Jacob part as friends; Evie is excited for her new future and adventure that she chose for herself. Jacob is happy for his sister. He understands and wants to have the chance to prove himself a capable leader without standing in the shadow of Evie. 

However, some many weeks after arriving in India Evie is awaiting some return correspondence from Jacob, and does not receive any, even weeks after a return letter should have been expected. Worried that something might have happened to her dear brother, Evie applies to Darren instead.

When Darren receives the letter he finds Jacob at his letter desk with three open letters, a bottle of wine and a black piece of paper.

 As it happens, Jacob is not ignoring Evie’s letters, he is just having trouble articulating his thoughts; while he is glad to be independent of Evie, this newfound responsibility is slightly overwhelming and he can’t help feel somewhat abandoned by her, even though he knows its irrational. Furthermore, he is struggling to cope with being so apart from her for the first time in his life. He has never had to write anything of substance to her, and knowing any reply he will get from her will be weeks away means he feels what he write must be more important and meaningful, and this makes the act of writing anything at all more daunting. 

As Darren has an older brother whom he cannot always be with, he understands some of what Jacob is feeling. He pokes a little fun at Jacob to try and lighten the mood. Then he offers some useful advice, probably something along the lines of “Evie has always known the worst of you; nothing could disappoint her, except maybe nothing at all”, then he squeezes a shoulder, then he leaves.

Jacob stares blankly at his flickering lamp post, feels the rattle of the train as it endlessly chugs along, then he writes. He writes simply, but everything he writes is real. He tries not to think too much about what he should write, and just keeps writing, knowing that Evie will be all too overjoyed to read anything that is simply Jacob.

---------

I really like Darren as a companion for Jacob. They are so different but their personalities mesh so well. And he’s so well written it’s easy to forget he’s not in the canon. Even though I spend most of my time thinking of Henry and Evie’s adventures, I occasionally like to think of side stories like “What are Jacob and Darren doing right now?” XD

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as the world falls away the sweet expressions you make.

NSFW WARNING: full image here commissioned by @jenriver​

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heartbeat ‘he thinks the world of you.’

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untitled it’s alright if you can’t keep it together.

NSFW WARNING: full image here.

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a little indulgence lose your composure time to time.

NSFW WARNING: full image here.

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respite through all the chaos, you anchor me.

happy (late) birthday, darren.

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yearning it has been so long since i could truly breathe. o, how i missed you.

NSFW WARNING: full uncensored image here.

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pulling punches all in good fun.

—

a little doodle to accompany a short fic i wrote on a whim: here.

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i’m so tender .... i love getting commissions of these two. i hope people enjoy seeing them as much as i do. :’)

artist: hansoeii

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leash & collar such an inviting expression.

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as a birthday gift to myself, i commissioned my friend again ... i’m warm and tender. this turned out so sweet. :’llll she regularly opens up slots, but she also is high demand, but you can find her here!

and a bonus pair of potatos because she’s too good to me:

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conversation.

@datnovice so graciously reminded me that i wrote this a while ago when i first finished sequence 8 of the game. i don’t want to put this up on ao3 because i’m not sure if it deserves to be there.

anywho, please enjoy this little fic of pre-relationship ashefrye and dealing with the trauma brought by one mad theatre man.

---

The atmosphere around them was off balance even before Jacob returned to the hideout. He smells of ash mixed with an indiscernible number of perfumes only worn by the ladies and some gentlemen who were wealthy enough with coin and status to be invited to galas of grandeur scale. They had heard of what happened, about the Alhambra. If the billowing column of smoke and soot were not enough to tell, the locals chattering among the streets would be difficult to miss.

Their quarrel had not been smoothed over yet. The twins, at each other's throats more than usual, were sharp and defensive with their words. When Evie asked her brother what had happened, Jacob's retorts lacked their usual color; they felt bitter, angry, and confused. Though for what reason, no one knew better than Jacob himself. When Evie made another attempt to press him, the results remained the same. Instead, Evie, Henry, and Darren watch him take the red marker to the assassination board and, with purpose, draw a large x over the photo of Maxwell Roth. The blood-stained handkerchief then pinned right next to it with a letter opener grabbed in haste from the desk. 

Darren looks to Evie, a wrinkle in his brow as if to ask her what could have caused her spirited brother to suddenly be so unlike himself to such a degree, to an uneasy ripple that grew wilder and vaster. They glance up from the silent exchange when they hear Jacob speak.

"I'm going out," he says, and even if anyone had the intention of stopping him, he was off the train and into the streets before the chance presented itself.

Left with more questions than answers, they would still continue their discussions of the following moves regarding the liberation of London. For whatever emotional turmoil plagued Jacob, it was, unfortunately, lower in the priority list. Evie insisted Jacob would figure himself out, that this wasn't the first time he had left his responsibilities in a huff. Darren was hesitant to fully take her word. From where he stood, it didn't seem like this was something that could be drowned in bitters.

---

Darren hears from Jacob's Rooks over the next few days. Some reports come because Evie asks of them, others off-handedly voice concerns that their boss is a little worse for wear. And some speak loud enough that he hears of Jacob's whereabouts in passing. All of which amount to the fact that Jacob has been bar hopping since the evening he left the train. 

Work continuously gets done regardless. Jacob's duties were not offloaded onto his twin, surprisingly. Instead, he seemed to take Blighter territory control in stride. Though they don't get notice from him directly at the hideout, the Rooks that come back to update Evie and Henry tell them of their drunken boss who has been clearing remaining districts of Templar agents. Darren wonders what really happened within the Alhambra blaze.

"The beer here is pretty horrible. Tastes like nothing," Jacob says before knocking back the rest of the stein.

Darren finds Jacob later at a pub in Southwark, courtesy of a tip from a worried Rook. He looks at the bartop, four other steins are huddled up to Jacob's right, one of which laid on its side. Jacob's hat remained worn. Uncharacteristic, he's learned. There was the same unsteady air about him, mottled with something else that Darren could not read.

Jacob calls for the bartender, a hand barely raised from the countertop. The man serves the sixth drink without a word. Jacob slides him a coin. In one breath, he drinks half of it, like he wants to further numb whatever it was eating at him. How much does one man need to drink before he loses all feeling in his limbs? Darren watches in silence. Should he step in? Or let Jacob continue to deal with his problems the most comfortable way he knows how?

“Did one of my boys send you?” 

He spins around in the stool, mouth twisted in a grin, but one that lacked the playful nature anyone was used to. Jacob puts the cup to his lips and drinks again, eyes over the rim, fixed on Darren, as if he had expected someone to show up and drag him out of the pub by the ankles. 

Darren listens to him lie through his teeth. He recalls the curiosity and excitement that Jacob exuded upon receiving a mysterious letter. For the better part of a few weeks, he would watch Jacob eagerly attend to whatever invitation it was. On nights that he returned, his spirits were always high. Though when they learned he had been spending nights with Maxwell Roth, doing god knows what, Evie warned her brother, reminding him of what happened with Attaway. And despite his reassurances that Roth’s intentions were to uproot Starrick’s hold on London’s resources, Evie was no less suspicious to Templar methods.

“I’m fine, Darren,” he says. “Still taking care of business, as you've all clearly been told.” His words are slurring.

Jacob spoke of Roth highly, with hints of misplaced infatuation that made Darren’s stomach twist in discomfort. It was difficult, to say the least, to accept this without considering what Roth had done to manipulate the narrative in order to take advantage of Jacob’s naivety. Was it the thrill of Roth’s methods that excited him? To be able to work with someone as chaotic as himself? Or was it because Jacob had been given the freedom to make choices for himself with the help of someone who didn't berate him at every turn? Darren wasn’t sure if he would get the answers he wanted. Or if he wanted to hear them.

Even still, Darren listens to Jacob, lies and all. Lies about what he’s really feeling, that he’s not covering up what happened. And all about how he had been baited and switched so easily, right up until the last moment.

“The children in that home, I nearly took it too far. And it was what he wanted from the beginning!” he says. “All those people in the fucking Alhambra..."

It’s as though he hears the explosions in his head on loop. And yet, he still laughs. The strain in it is noticeable. Jacob laughs into his beer, nearly chokes on it. Continues to laugh. At himself? At his own foolishness that cascaded from one thing to the next to land him in this state? Perhaps all of the above.

Darren tells Jacob to go home. He pays the barkeep twice that of a full stein to cut Jacob off and leaves. Unsurprisingly, Jacob still doesn’t return that night.

---

Darren finds Jacob's hungover self on the way back to his flat in London City proper the following afternoon. His face holds an expression of being woken up too early, and he smells of a ghastly combination of the Thames water and poor quality bitters. Darren has to drag him off the sidewalk and into an alcove that is nestled between buildings.

“You didn’t listen to me, so now look at what’s happened,” he says, pushing Jacob down to sit.

“Didn’t want to go,” Jacob grunts as Darren handles him. He twists his arm away. Doesn't seem to want to be touched. “I managed alright after you left. Slept like a baby.”

Darren’s expression is flat, unimpressed and clearly believes none of what the man is saying. He clamps a hand around Jacob’s chin at the protest, fingers on both his cheeks. He inspects left to right, notices cuts and bruises where they weren’t the night before. “'Didn’t want to go' so you decided to start a fight?” It's difficult to not scold.

Jacob tenses almost defensively, then deflates a little, like a child that had been caught but didn’t want to admit to it. “I didn’t start a fight. Just a tousle with some arses ‘cause they bumped me.”

“They bumped you or did you bump them?”

“Same thing.”

“Really isn’t.”

Darren doesn’t do more than run his thumb along a scabbed cut. It’s still red, hot to the touch, but a trophy not unlike any of the ones Jacob has gotten before. He squats down to eye level. Jacob’s gaze is fixated elsewhere.

“How long do you intend to do this?” It’s like cornering an animal. Darren can see the tightness in his shoulders. “If a slip-up doesn’t kill you, then your liver certainly will.”

Jacob laughs. “You should spend less time worrying about what I’m doing when they’re my own choices.”

“I’m not worrying--”

“Is it Evie then? Did my dear sister tell you to keep an eye on me?” He swats Darren’s hand aside. “Pass this message along to her for me, will you?” And then leans forward. “‘Mind your business.’”

Darren doesn’t flinch. Nor does he recoil from the impetulence that Jacob is showing. They linger in that silence. Swaths of people just around the corner bustle up and down the walkway of the strip. It’s noisy, but between them it’s a soundproof chamber, a thick barrier that neither wants to knock on. It feels like hours pass, but only a handful of minutes do. Darren has to stand before his legs go numb.

Jacob’s dark circles twitch even under the shadow of the building he sits against. The man looks more restless with every pass of the sun. When was the last time he got a proper night’s sleep?

“Alright, I won’t prod at what ails you because it is also 'not my business',” he says, tone sharp. Deliberately so because Jacob doesn’t seem to want to listen if it was anything less. “But for what it’s worth to you, not every plan will go the way you want. Shit would be too easy if it did.”

“You can stay here festering with your hangover as company, but I would appreciate it if you weren’t a danger to society, or yourself, while in your stupor.” He taps Jacob’s boot with the tip of his own. “Come by my flat if you want to talk. Or don’t. The choice is yours.”

A long listless sigh is Jacob’s response. Followed by a sound that is both frustration and resignation.

“Just don’t make any more stupid ones today,” Darren says before he turns and disappears into the crowded sidewalk.

---

Darren doesn’t expect Jacob to accept his invitation, if the previous few days were any indication of how the man handles his emotional baggage. He doesn’t expect the knock at his door, and behind it a disheveled Jacob, who still smells of alcohol, asking to talk, refusing to step into the flat because he says ‘if he comes in, he won’t want to leave’. He doesn’t expect to spend the next few minutes in hanging silence, loitering in his own doorway, waiting for Jacob to find his words to no avail. And he absolutely doesn’t expect for his door to be blocked by the tip of Jacob’s boot when he gives up and dismisses him, or the gaggle of words that are far too many thoughts, all unloaded like every bullet in the barrel.

The whole story. Out just like that. Not in order, but sometimes it makes more sense for it to not make sense. Jacob finally let the dam break.

And it makes Darren’s chest ache a little. For all the wrong reasons. He would like nothing more than to lock away his feelings, nothing more than a child’s crush that would not come to fruition. He despises how his own infatuation was the first concern when Jacob was pouring himself out to him. There was no time for that. Was it jealousy that he let implant itself in his thoughts? Of a Templar? Revolting. Darren thinks himself selfish. 

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to offer his ear. But as a friend, Darren opens the door and invites him in.

Jacob isn’t sobbing, just a little wetness. He isn’t sad or furious, despite the red in the tip of his nose and the corners of his eyes. He’s uncertain. Confused. Complete opposite of what Jacob Frye had made himself to be and what he had built into his name. Self-assured and determined. The “roll with the punches” type of man. Now dealt a hand of jokers, his perfect streak of flushes and jackpots, no matter how rough the game was, had been dented and forced to fold.

Darren watches him sink his face into his palms, fingertips threatening to gauge his own eyes out. He offers a handkerchief.

“Being unsure of yourself is not a bad thing,” he says as Jacob takes the cloth.

Jacob holds the offering in a loose grip. “You say that as if you don’t already have yourself all figured out.” 

Darren grunts at that. “What makes you so sure that I have? Even I have my share of uncertainties.”

“Because you talk and act without a hair out of place. You don’t waver. You have confidence.”

“Don’t you do the same? You just described yourself, how we all see you.” Darren forces a pause from him. “Is that not your every day?”

“I thought it was.”

“So you let a few mistakes strip you of your confidence?” He eases off the edge of his desk. “Perhaps they were harsh ones, but every person is capable of a lapse in judgment. And if I’m going to continue being honest here, I don’t know what you could have done differently.” Jacob scowls at him. “Life isn’t going to present you with all the right choices and effortlessly fall into your lap, Mr. Frye. What we do for our cause and the Brotherhood is a child’s game in comparison.”

There is a second of hesitation before Darren wipes at the corner of Jacob’s eye with a thumb. He studies the man’s face, tries to read his expression to figure out what he is thinking at this moment.

“You can continue to brood and put yourself through your tar of misery,” Darren softens. “Or you can take what happened and learn from it.”

Eventually, Darren is able to usher Jacob to the door, seeming less tense and tangled in his thoughts than when he first arrived. He presents Jacob with his hat and tells him to get some sleep. God knows he needs it.

He considers his next move, unsure if it was hubris or something else entirely, and wonders what tremors it would put in the ground he walked. Darren lets himself the reckless act for just a moment, lets his pulse rock in tempo with those tremors. Lips press to Jacob’s forehead in the new wrinkled spot between his brows. And those mere seconds feel like an eternity.

“You’ll be alright.”

They stand an arm’s length apart, in another kind of silence, disrupted only by the creaking of the door.

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hands some studies that became an excuse to draw some tenderness.

yes, this is ashefrye. no, i’m not being subtle.

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night lights the heat of you thrums deep. outfit inspo.

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avalanche one look and my heartbeat stops. — full image is too spicy for this website. uncropped on my nsfw twitter (if you can find it or message me for it)

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'you are enough. a thousand times enough.'

thank you for being patient as i fill these writing prompts out slowly!! this one has been brewing in my head for a week or so. finally got around to writing a little bit. :3 this one is a little more angsty. please enjoy.

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He rarely doubts himself. Steadfast and absolute. Confident and self-assured. But in this moment, he finds himself doubting so much that it overwhelms everything else. Darren, with a soft smile on his face, wavers. Jacob, watching him with heartbeat in his throat, nudges his lover’s chin up with a finger. Jacob knows it’s not genuine - that smile - and Darren is, for once, an open book.

This is the first quiet moment they’ve been able to share since Jacob’s recovery. Darren wonders how long the cane must remain more of a support than a weapon. There’s worry and exhaustion in his eyes. Jacob can see it; he doesn’t try to hide it. But more aggressively, guilt and regret shroud the light that was supposed to be there. It’s dense like the fog outside.

“You couldn’t have known how bad it would get, Darren.” The floorboards creak under the shift of Jacob’s weight onto the gold eagle head of his crutch. “And even if you had, I couldn’t ask you to drop all that you were working for across an entire ocean to come back here.”

Darren’s exhale is unsteady. “But I would have. Without question.”

He reaches up to stroke a cheek, to touch the eyepatch. Jacob is worn, aching bone-deep, but the familiar features are still there. He’s warm.

“If you had asked me, I would have come.” Darren withdraws his hand. “I should have, even without your permission. But I believed you could handle yourself. As you always do.”

Jacob doesn’t say anything. Instead, a single deep cough escapes. Darren assists him to the armchair by the crackling fireplace.

“I regret it,” Darren admits through a flat expression. Jacob sees the strain.

“Pardon?” He asks anyway.

“Not listening to my instincts in your time of peril; being here when you needed allies.”

The long pause is interrupted by the kettle whistling over the fire. Darren swivels the hook away.

“But the biggest one is knowing I could have done more, but didn’t.”

Darren sits on his heels at the foot of the armchair. The flickering light shadows the scar on his neck. He feels Jacob’s eyes on it. Hypnotized by his own thoughts, he doesn’t hear his name.

“I wish I could have done more,” he repeats. “More for you from where I was. More for you here even. Now.”

The warmth that curls under his chin interrupts the crashing of waves in his head. Jacob’s expression is melancholic, but not for any other reason than the torment of seeing someone he knows to be so stalwart resign to doubt. Darren’s hands tremble in his uncertainty, even as clenched fists on his knees. Jacob’s thumb brushes his jawline. A tender gesture accompanied by the shake of his head.

“You’re here now,” Jacob says as his careful hand cradles one side of Darren’s face. “That’s enough for me.”

When Jacob leans forward, the leather of the chair croaks. Darren never considered just how much his skin missed his paramour’s touch. His gentle kisses. The thrashing in his head eases for the thrashing of his heart.

“You are enough, Darren. A thousand times enough.”