#assassin's creed rogue fluff

[sweetcocopowder]

Congrates on 100 follows. Would i be able to suggest a shaytham fic with a sappy but angsty vibe with the prompts,

"If I asked you to stay, would you?"

"You said you wouldn't fall in love with me" "I lied"

Thank you

Prompt 4 / Shaytham

Synopsis: Shay is reckless in battle and always ends up finding himself in trouble. And so Haytham has to be the one to save him.

Word Count: 2.4K

Warning: Violence. Blood.

Notes: I combined two asks together because you guys basically asked for the same thing. So here you guys are! Finally. Enjoy!!

Canon fire deafens Haytham’s ears as a chorus of booms sounds off on the starboard side. He holds onto his tricorn with one hand and a firm, white knuckled grip on the railing in front of him as the harsh salty wind whips into his face. The Morrigan creaks and groans as her captain turns her towards the enemy ship. Canon smoke is thick in the air and it’s hard to even see where the other ship is.

But Shay steers with confidence, shouting orders with his accent thickening. On deck, Gist relays them to whomever hasn’t heard them. Even slapping a few men on the back of the head that aren’t moving quick enough. In the heat of battle, everything can go wrong on the open ocean.

Sailing with Shay, it makes Haytham wonder if this is what it would have been like with his father.  

A round of enemy canon fire are thrown across the Morrigan’s deck. Within the smoke, Haytham can make out a couple of men being thrown off the side of the ship. Wood and splinters fly up and some even come Haytham’s way. That is the least of his worries as the entire ship shakes with such force that it sends Haytham halfway across the poop deck.

He regains his footing quickly even though his head spins. His hat is somewhere that isn’t his head, but that’s the least of his worries. Shay is nowhere to be seen on deck and the enemy ship looms over the Morrigan, a dark shadow in the smoke the curls into the grey sky. Hooks and anchors connect the two ships, pulling them together. Everything happen quickly that for a split second, he’s engrossed by the size of everything.

Haytham scowls to himself as he stands to his feet, his chest constricting at the thought that Shay isn’t in his line of sight. As if he’s some child that Haytham has to look after and he’s not a grown man himself. But it wouldn’t be akin to that. No. No, something much worse that is something closer to affection.

One of the crew members from the other ship climb up and over the railing. As quick as anything, Haytham has already crossed the deck to drive his sword into the stomach of the man. With a gasp and a silent cry, Haytham pushes him back over the side of the ship into the warm River Valley water.

The canon smoke begins to disperse and Haytham is able to see the pure chaos that has erupted on deck. Shay’s crew fight with tooth and sword, clashing and fending themselves against their attackers. He spots Gist in the mist of it all, his hat blown off somewhere. His wet hair flings into his face as he fights but he can’t let that get in his way when his life is on the lines.  

A scrawny man comes rushing up the stairs to Haytham, his teeth all black and missing. He strikes with a machete but misses enterally and swings again. This time Haytham meets his own sword with his blade and throws the scrawny man off balance. His sword to his neck is what sends the scrawny man tumbling back down the stairs.

He almost feels sorry for Shay’s deck. That blood is going to take some scrubbing to get out.

Gunshots pierce through the already tense air and Haytham’s head whips towards the commotion. Near the front of the Morrigan, Shay holds onto a man by the nape of his coat. The man tries to scramble away and kick and thrash, only for all of it to end with a hidden blade in his chest. Shay throws him aside without a second thought, advancing onto the next.

Shay takes down two more men, one with his hidden blade, the other with a bullet through the liver. All done in quick succession that Haytham can’t seem to draw his eyes away. He can pick up the assassin training still burnt into his muscles and bones. How he moves. How he’s light on his feet even for a six foot man.

But even trained assassins make mistakes sometimes. Shay turns too slowly towards his next target. The man’s knife stabs straight into his shoulder, snarling into the captain’s face. He pushes Shay back, twisting and driving the knife in deeper. Shay shouts loudly, trying to push the other off but to no avail. They tussle and try to overthrow the other until the hefty man decides enough is enough, and throws both of them over the side of the Morrigan.

Haytham moves quick, slashing and driving his sword into any man that isn’t of the Morrigan’s. He pushes a man aside, uncaring who they are as he finally reaches the side of the ship. He looks over, almost hauling himself over at how desperate he’s moving. His heart is in his in his throat and it hammers loudly within his ears. He finds himself not thinking straight as he looks down.

And holding on by one of the canon windows is Shay. He meets eyes with Haytham and can’t help but smile up to him. Haytham can only frown though, his heart still racing in his chest. What an idiot. An absolute fool! Haytham scowls to himself before pushing off the railing. He goes to speak to Shay, but instead pushes his way through the crowd once more to get to the lower decks. All to save this man from falling into the River Valley himself.

-

By the time Haytham is able to drag Shay back aboard and make sure he is uninjured, the fighting above has all but subsided. Gist’s voice can be heard barking and snapping orders around to the crew, telling them to tie up the ones they’ve captured and to throw the dead overboard. Not their dead though, the Morrigan’s dead will be given a proper funeral before being cast over to the sea.

The knife still sticks out of the Irishman’s shoulder as he sits within the confines of his quarters with the ship medic. He’s a large burly man that goes by the name, Cassidy. For a man his size, his fingers are nimble as they get to work. Haytham flinches inwardly as the knife is pulled from Shay’s shoulder.

The butcher has Shay sitting in front of his war map table. Everything that was displayed has been put aside to make room for the medical supplies. His coat and shirt are quickly torn down to his waist as soon as the knife is out. Shay’s face is screwed up in pain, but he holds his tongue. Only because Haytham stands on the other side of the table with his arms crossed over his chest. A deep-set frown on his feature that is akin to a disappointed parent.

Shay tries his best to avoid looking in the direction of the Grandmaster. But he can’t help himself. Even through his squinted and scowled ridden face, he peers in Haytham’s direction. Shay will have to admit to himself, he’s never seen the man so terrified in his life. That the expression that he saw plain as day on the Grandmaster’s face, an expression that has truly sent a pit of something heavy deep within his chest that flutters every so often.

When the first stitch goes through, a deep groan escapes Shay’s throat. He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that Cassidy works quickly so this is over and done with. When he opens his eyes again, a short glass of golden whiskey is being held out to him. He stares at it a moment, looking up at the owner of the hand even though he knows who stands before him.

How long was he holding himself still for? Long enough for Haytham to pour him a drink?

Haytham raises a brow, as if asking if he even wants it. Shay takes it with some urgency and downs it in one go. Haytham watches him grimaces at the burn of the whiskey with a satisfied look before moving away to pour a second glass. This one he takes himself. A need to try and calm his still bristling nerves that buzz under his skin. He pours a third, handing this one out to Shay again. And like before, the Irishman downs it in one go. Haytham moves off satisfied.

The whiskey seems to dull the pull and poke of the needle and stitches but a few groans still escape Shay’s mouth. Haytham can’t seem to drag his eyes away from the other man. Hair a mess, skin bruised and battered with the strong smell of sweat and blood in the air.

Cassidy bites the last stitch off and wipes his bloody mouth with the back of his hand. It isn’t sanitary in the slightest, but he guesses it will do with the rest of the golden whiskey being poured over the wound. Shay bites back a yowl deep within his throat, his eyes looking as if they’re about to pop out of their sockets. He sits back in the chair heavily, pushing Cassidy’s hand away with the whiskey. The butcher looks to him with a glare before drawing the last mouthful of whiskey left out of the bottle.

“I know you won’t listen to me you buffoon,” Cassidy starts as he stands. “but don’t put any strain on those stitches,” he scowls.

“Aye, aye,” Shay mocks.

Cassidy rolls his eyes as he packs up his things. He leaves the cabin with a short nod towards Haytham, bidding him fair well. Haytham looks back to Shay who shrugs on his shirt with a wince. There’s something on Shay’s mind. His gaze a far and anywhere but here.

“That was foolish of you,” Haytham comments.

The words don’t seem to register with Shay until a few passing moments later. His brown eyes land on Haytham with a raised brow and slight hum coming from his lips. He catches the Grandmaster’s gaze flickering down to his gut where his stomach is still exposed. It’s only for a moment, but he catches it all the same.

“Getting stabbed?” Shay asks.

“Letting your guard down,” Haytham corrects with a flick of his finger.

He moves around the table to Shay and leans down slightly so that he can undo the last button of his vest. He takes it off Shay without a word, patting it down before holding an arm out to him. Shay eyes him, as if something clicking behind those dark eyes. He takes the gesture, placing one arm through the hole as Haytham helps him dress again.

It silent for a moment as Shay does up the buttons to his vest. Haytham finds himself watching, making sure that the captain is decent again. Or maybe he wants to make sure that Shay is able to do it just fine. When Shay does up the last button, he finally moves off with a satisfied nod.

“You said you wouldn’t fall in love with me,” Shay says abruptly.

Haytham movements pause for a moment, his eyes distancing themselves for a second before refocusing back down on Shay. The Irishman looks up to him, a scarred brow raised. Haytham frowns softly on the verge of disgust. But it isn’t quite that.

They talked about this months ago. About how dangerous it would be for the both of them. About how that if they did find themselves falling, they’d stop. But here Haytham is, the Grandmaster of the Templars, falling in love for a former Assassin.

“I lied,” Haytham bites back. But there’s no real maliciousness in his words.

Shay can’t help but chuckle softly, shaking his head lightly as he looks away. His cheeks blush a soft red that has Haytham wanting to reach out and touch. To see just how hot his face becomes when he turns as bright as a tomato. But instead he stands up straight, placing a hand on the table.

“We talked about this Haytham. You’re the one that talked about it,” Shay speaks firmly now. “Insisted even.”

But Haytham changes the subject, turning his back, “I’ll inform Gist that he will be taking the helm until we arrive back in New York,” Haytham walks around to the other side of the table and picks up his tricorn that he found on the deck, “You are to stay in here until you’ve healed enough,” He orders as he places his hat upon his head.

Shay clears his throat loudly causing the other man to stop in his tracks. He turns slowly, dark blue eyes filled with curiosity.

“Gist already knows what he’s doing,” Shay says as he stands. “And this is all but a nick, sir.”

He adds a roll of his shoulder which is the worst decision he could have made. He hisses in pain as he pulls the stitches, coddling his arm close to his chest. Haytham raises his brows, looking Shay up and down.

“Maybe just one night then,” Shay chuckles as he leans against the table.

“Good,” is all Haytham says. He turns again but like the perviously, is interrupted before he can even get a hand on the doorknob.

“Sir.”

Haytham turns his full attention to Shay this time, the tone of such a simple word having beckoned him. Shay walks over to his liquor cabinet and grabs out a half empty bottle of a dark golden whiskey. The strong stuff. He turns back around his heels, holding the bottle in his good arm. He looks at Haytham for a moment before snapping back to reality.

He asks a question as he wonders back over to the table, “If I asked you to stay, Haytham, would you?”

Haytham watches Shay for few heart beats. Watching him pour whiskey into one glass before placing a second on the table. The bottle hovers over the second, Shay waiting for an answer. He doesn’t like to waste good liquor.

The Grandmaster sighs a little defeated. He takes off his tricorn and places it on the table once more. Whiskey is poured into the second glass.

“If only it keeps you from heading out and tearing out your stitches,” Haytham comments lowly.

Shay holds out the glass with a smile. “Oh, I think you’re one of, if not the best distractions around.”

Haytham takes the whiskey with a grumble of, “Now don’t go pushing your luck.”

To that, Shay’s grin only grows wider.

-

:)

[s0larine]

𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐄 [𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐂 𝐗 𝐅! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑]

summary ☩ The reader, an undercover Assassin, goes at a high-society masquerade ball to gather information about Templars and unexpectedly meet her former friend, Shay, now fully allied with the enemy. Neither can afford to reveal their true identities in such a public place, but they are drawn to each other through the anonymity of the masks.

[a/n] ☩ [y/f/n] means your fake name because baby we’re playing undercover tonight~ reminder that english is not my mother tongue. UNEDITED

word count ☩ 3,979

pairing ☩ shay cormac x f! reader

content warnings ☩ slight sexual tension, female reader, enemies to lovers, mentions of shay's deflection, fluff, assassin! reader, templar! shay, reader in a gown, shay being a man, shay having a long time crush on reader, mutual pining, ...

　　　New-York, June 1756

“Everything is in order. You can enter, Lady [y/f/n].”

The red coat handed you your invitation. As you entered the huge place, your eyes wandered around you, detailing every nook and cranny, taking in and memorising the layout of the area. The grand hall was indeed a spectacle of opulence. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above, casting a golden glow over the sea of masks that danced and mingled below. Laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the soft strains of violins filled the air, creating a scene that was far removed from the dangerous world you were familiar with.

Your mission tonight was simple: gather information, and your mentor was clear about your purpose here; not to engage at any costs. The Templars were holding this extravagant masquerade in the hopes of attracting allies from high society, and you had been sent by the Assassin Brotherhood with—of course, a fake name—to blend in, to listen, to learn. The gown you wore tonight was unlike anything you were used to—luxurious, intricate, and adorned with a mask that glittered in the candlelight. Your hair was gathered in a half bun and some golden hair clips adorned them. In order to pass for a member of high society, you even took the time to put on a jewellery set; a necklace, dangling earrings and a few bracelets and rings. But beneath the facade of wealth and elegance, your blade was hidden, strapped to your left thigh under your luxurious gown, ever ready. If I'd been born as a man, hiding it and having simple access to it would have been easier, but there's nothing more I can do in this puffy dress… you thought. 

As you walked amongst the other attendees, getting as close as possible to people whose clothes meant something to you, such as high-ranked Templars, you noticed a very particular group of men at the other side of the hall. Among them were Colonel George Monro and Sir William Johnson, both members of the Colonial Rite of the Templar Order. Your eyes fell on their silhouettes with their recognisable clothes from beneath your own mask but quickly continued their search. And who else…

What you hadn't expected was to find him here.

Shay Cormac stood with the group of men, dressed sharply in a black tailcoat with accents of silver and red. His mask, a sleek black piece that covered half his face, did little to hide the sharpness of his features or the air of authority he carried. His eyes, however, were unmistakable. The same stormy brown eyes that had haunted your thoughts since the day he defected from the Brotherhood.

You hadn't seen him in years, but the memories were fresh, the betrayal still raw.

But there was one detail that made your blood run cold: the young man's eyes were already riveted on you. When has he ever noticed you before? Your heartbeat quickened and you finally looked away, turning to a passing servant. You picked up a glass of champagne as he passed by you and began to sip the golden liquid, your eyes frantically searching for a place to rest in order to pass for an innocent. Maybe it was just a coincidence... No, no, he's far too clever to think that I'm just a random young woman...

You risked looking back up at the group of men he was with, but he had already disappeared. Your breathing quickened and you turned away from his previous location towards a random group of people, just to pass for a guest sympathising with others. Your heart raced as you opened your senses; you knew he was coming for you and you couldn’t do anything but pray he hadn’t recognised you yet. This was supposed to be just another mission, a simple infiltration, but now everything felt different. Could you approach him without giving yourself away?

A voice behind you jolted you from your thoughts, soon followed by a delicate 

"Would you care to dance?"

You freezed. A delicate palm soon rested on the small of your back and another one entered your field of vision from the right, at the level of your own right hand. Closing your eyes, you inhaled sharply before turning; you found Shay standing before you, his right hand still extended and a dangerous smile playing on his lips. Your heart skipped a beat once again at your inattentiveness. You needed to be more careful around him… The recognition in his eyes sent a chill down your spine. He definitely knew. He had seen through your disguise, just as you had seen through his.

But you couldn't afford to let him know the depth of your awareness, not here, not now.

"Of course," you replied, your voice steady despite the tension that coiled in your chest, giving away your champagne glass to a passing servant. You placed your right hand in his left, feeling the warmth of his grip, and he led you onto the dance floor.

The music swelled around you as Shay pulled you close, one hand resting firmly on your waist, the other holding your gloved hand in his. His touch was confident, and his movements were smooth as he guided you effortlessly through the steps of the waltz. The crowd around you faded into the background, your focus narrowing to the man before you.

"You've been watching me, [y/n]," Shay said softly, his lips barely moving as he leaned in. His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, a hidden challenge.

You met his gaze, your mask hiding the flash of defiance in your eyes. "I could say the same about you, Shay."

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Not long enough," you whispered with clenched teeth, your voice sharp despite the graceful steps of the dance.

Shay's grip on your waist tightened slightly, which made you tense, a silent acknowledgment of the tension between you. "You always did have a way with words. Tell me, are you here for pleasure, or are you working tonight?" You did not fail to notice his gaze sliding down your neck to the start of your cleavage, checking you out shamelessly. 

Your cheeks flushed, feeling like a lamb trapped in the fangs of a wolf. You felt the heat of his breath as he spoke, the proximity making it difficult to keep your composure. Every instinct told you to draw your blade, to end this now, but the crowd was thick, and the consequences of a public confrontation were too great.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" you replied, your lips curving into a smile that didn't reach your eyes.

He twirled you effortlessly, the skirts of your gown swirling around you as you spun, and when you came back to him, his hand was lower, lingering just above the hidden blade at your thigh. He didn't touch it, but the threat was clear. He knew exactly where it was. Your blood ran cold at the thought that he had found your dagger.

"Careful," he murmured, tilting his head, his voice a soft warning. "This is a delicate dance we're doing. One misstep and it could get… messy."

From being riveted on his chest, your eyes looked back up into his own, the familiar storm clouds swirling with something darker, something more dangerous. "You think I'm afraid of a little mess?"

Shay's lips quivered into a smirk, and for a moment, you saw a glimmer of the man you once knew, the Assassin and friend who had fought beside you. But that man was gone, replaced by the Templar before you.

"You should be," he whispered, pulling you closer as the music slowed.

The world around you seemed to fall away, the crowd, the mission, the masks—all of it dissolved as the tension between you reached a boiling point. The weight of your shared history hung in the air, unspoken but palpable. You had fought side by side once, and had trusted him with your life. And then he had betrayed everything.

But here, in this moment, with his hand on your waist and your bodies moving in sync, the lines between enemy and ally blurred. You hated him, you were sure of that, but the way your heart pounded in your chest told a different story. There was something more, something you had never fully understood.

"Tell me, Shay," you said, your voice barely more than a breath as the music began to wind down. "Why did you do it? Why did you turn your back on us?"

Shay's expression darkened, the playful smirk fading as his eyes grew hard. "You wouldn't understand, [y/n]."

"Try me," you insisted, your grip on his hand tightening.

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze searching yours. And then, just as the final note of the waltz echoed through the ballroom, he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Because sometimes, the Brotherhood is wrong."

With those words, the music ended, and Shay released you, stepping back with a final, piercing look. He bowed slightly, a mockery of the formal dance, and then turned, disappearing into the crowd.

You stood there in the middle of the dance floor, watching him go back to his Templar associates. You were unable to move, your heart racing, and your mind spinning. His words echoed in your ears, and for the first time, you weren't sure where your loyalties truly lay.

As the night wore on, you realised that this masquerade was more than just a mission—it was the beginning of a far more dangerous game. One that you and Shay Cormac were destined to play, whether you liked it or not.

The evening continued around you, but it felt as though you were standing still. The swirling skirts, the clinking of glasses, the murmurs of conversation—they all faded into background noise as your mind raced with Shay’s parting words.

“Because sometimes, the Brotherhood is wrong.”

Your hand unconsciously grazed the hidden blade at your thigh, the familiar weight suddenly feeling heavy. Shay had betrayed everything you once stood for. He had walked away, abandoned the Creed, and joined the very enemies you had sworn to fight. And yet… there was a flicker of doubt creeping into your thoughts, a doubt you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years.

The Brotherhood had given you purpose, structure, a cause greater than yourself. But now, for the first time, you wondered if Shay’s defection wasn’t just a selfish act of betrayal. His eyes when he spoke had held something you hadn’t expected: conviction.

You shook your head, banishing the thought. No. I won’t question the Brotherhood. Not now, not because of him.

But that resolve felt brittle.

You caught a glimpse of Shay again through the crowd. He had made his way toward the far end of the ballroom, mingling with Templar officials, exchanging pleasantries. But his eyes kept darting back to you, just as yours did to him.

What was his game?

Your mission was still clear. Gather information. You weren’t here for personal matters. You couldn’t afford to let Shay’s presence distract you. But despite your attempts to stay focused, your thoughts kept wandering back to that dance, to his touch, to the way his breath had brushed against your ear when he whispered those final words.

Suddenly, a hand landed lightly on your shoulder, jolting you from your reverie.

“Care to join me for a drink, my lady?” The voice belonged to a man in a silver mask, a high-ranking Templar based on the insignia on his sleeve. His eyes were sharp, watching you with interest. It was clear he had noticed your distraction.

Forcing a smile, you nodded, reminding yourself of your mission. “Of course.”

As you followed him to a quieter corner of the room where the drinks were principally gathered, you could feel Shay’s gaze burning into your back, but you didn’t look back. You couldn’t. The Templar was speaking now, sharing something about the recent victories they’d secured in the colonies, but you weren’t really listening despite the purpose of your mission tonight. Your mind was still with Shay, turning over everything he had said—and everything he hadn’t in a way. After a few minutes of absent-mindedly drinking champagne and listening to the man recount his false prowess, you finally excused yourself from the conversation, your head buzzing with alcohol and of course the weight of your conflicting emotions. You were a little hot and needed air, away from all those rich folks.

You headed for the balcony overlooking the formal gardens of the period building. Stepping out onto the balcony, you took a deep breath of the cool night air, leaning against the marble railing.

It wasn’t long before you heard the sound of footsteps behind you. Opening your senses once again, you closed your eyes and you instantly knew who it was.

“You always did like your quiet moments,” came a familiar voice.

You didn’t turn around immediately, your hands tightening on the railing as Shay approached. You could feel his eyes boring into your back, or even your bum, and the tension rolling off him.

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” you said, still facing the darkened city beyond. “You’ve made your point. Or was there something else you wanted to say?”

Shay didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he stepped beside you, his presence warm and solid in the cool night air. You could feel him watching you, studying you, but you refused to meet his gaze.

“Tell me,” he said finally, his voice low and measured, “do you truly believe in everything the Brotherhood teaches? Or do you just follow because that’s all you’ve ever known?”

The question hit harder than you expected. You had spent years training under the Creed, living by its rules, carrying out its missions without question. But standing here now, with Shay beside you, that certainty felt… shaky. He wasn’t just talking about betrayal; he was challenging everything you had built your life around.

“Why are you asking me this?” you shot back, turning towards him and leaning against the fence that was now behind you. The action made the dark-haired man's eyes slide towards your protruding chest, and they stopped there for a few seconds before returning to rest in your eyes. You frowned slightly, licking your lower lip, you decided to ignore his gaze and continued the conversation as if nothing had happened. “You’re the one who abandoned us. Who betrayed your brothers and sisters. You walked away, Shay. And now you want to question my loyalty?”

His jaw tightened, but his eyes never wavered. “I didn’t betray the Brotherhood. I saw the truth. The Assassins… they’re not as righteous as you think. They preach freedom, but they’re willing to sacrifice anyone who gets in their way.”

You inhaled sharply, your chest suddenly pressed against the corset of your dress. You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died on your lips. There was a certain fire in his eyes, a depth to his conviction that shook you. He wasn’t lying. He wasn’t manipulating you. He believed what he was saying.

“I followed the Creed because I believed in it, just like you do, [y/n],” seeing that you didn’t speak, Shay continued, his voice steady. “But I couldn’t ignore what I saw—the innocents we put at risk, the people we hurt for the sake of an ideal. The Brotherhood is supposed to protect people, not destroy them.”

You felt a pang of anger, but also of confusion. Shay wasn’t wrong about some of the darker sides of the Assassins’ work. You had seen it yourself—the collateral damage, the grey areas where right and wrong blurred.

But you had always trusted the Creed to guide you, to show you the path forward.

“And what about the Templars?” you countered. “They’re no saints either, Shay. You think they’re any better?”

“I don’t think they’re perfect,” Shay admitted. “But they offer something the Assassins never could—order, stability. A chance to build a world where people don’t have to live in fear of chaos.”

You clicked your tongue and turned away again, staring out at the city while shaking your head, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. Part of you wanted to reject everything he was saying, to cling to the teachings of the Brotherhood. But another part of you—a part that had been growing ever since Shay’s defection—couldn’t ignore the doubts.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” you asked quietly, your lips quivering with sadness.

Shay’s silence was heavy before he finally spoke. “Because you deserve to know the truth. And because I don’t want to lose you to the same blindness that I was caught in for so long.”

His words were raw, unguarded. For a moment, you weren’t an Assassin and he wasn’t a Templar. You were just two people standing on the edge of something far bigger than either of you.

Your heart ached with the weight of it all—your history with Shay, your loyalty to the Brotherhood, and the undeniable pull you felt toward him. The night had begun as a mission, but it had become something far more dangerous. The real question was: what would you do now?

Slowly, you turned to face him a second time since you stepped on the balcony, the air between you charged with everything unsaid.

“What happens now, Shay?” you breathed, the question hanging heavy in the air.

Shay’s eyes held yours, the storm of emotions mirrored in his gaze. He stepped closer, his voice low but resolute. “Now, we decide what side of history we’re on. Together.”

The weight of Shay’s words lingered in the cool night air, settling between the two of you like an invisible barrier. His eyes held yours, intense and searching yet soft, as if he was trying to read the turmoil inside you, to understand the emotions you weren’t sure you could admit to yourself.

“Together?” you echoed, your voice softer than you intended.

Shay stepped even closer, his tall frame casting a shadow in the moonlight, towering over your gentle but firm and well-trained one. The tension between you shifted, no longer just the push and pull of conflicting loyalties. There was something else—something that had always been there, beneath the surface, but never acknowledged.

The air around you seemed to thicken as he closed the distance. His gloved hand reached up slowly, hesitating for a moment, before gently lifting your mask. The gesture made you swallow your saliva in order to get rid of the lump that was starting to form in your throat. The intricate piece slid off, exposing your face to the night’s cool breeze. His gaze softened as he studied you, no longer the dangerous man who had left the Brotherhood, but someone familiar—someone who had once meant more to you than just a fellow Assassin.

“I never wanted to lose you,” Shay murmured, his voice lower now, more intimate as his eyes gazed at your opened lips. “Even after everything, I never stopped thinking about you.”

His confession sent a jolt through you, and you had to look away, your heart pounding in your chest. The years of anger and betrayal clashed with the warmth that was blooming inside you now, a warmth you hadn’t felt since before Shay had turned his back on everything you believed in.

“Shay, we’re on opposite sides now,” you whispered, though even as you said it, the words felt hollow.

He didn’t back away. Instead, his hand moved to your chin, gently guiding your face back to meet his eyes. “Does it matter? Here, right now, do sides really matter?”

Your breath caught in your throat. This was dangerous—not just because of who he was, but because of what you felt for him, what you had always felt. His hand moved from your chin to cup your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone so dangerous, so conflicted.

“I couldn’t let you go then, [y/n],” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I can’t now.”

The vulnerability in his words, in his gaze, disarmed you completely. All the questions, the doubt, the anger—it melted away in the warmth of his touch. For so long, you had convinced yourself that you hated him, that what he had done was unforgivable. But now, standing here, feeling the heat radiating from him, you realised the truth: you had never stopped caring for him.

Your breath hitched as he leaned in closer, his lips just inches from yours. You could feel the heat of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest. Your heart pounded in rhythm with his, the magnetic pull between you undeniable.

“I’ve never stopped thinking about you either,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a breath as your gentle eyes switched from one to another of his and sometimes stopped on his chapped lips for no more than half a second to switch back to his eyes.

That was all the invitation he needed.

Shay closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, as though he wanted to savour every second. His hand on your cheek slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. The warmth of him, the way his lips moved against yours, sent a shiver down your spine. The world around you disappeared—the masquerade, the mission, the war between Assassins and Templars. None of it mattered. Not now.

Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the solid strength beneath the fabric of his coat, and absent-mindedly stroked the Templar sigil on his torso. His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his body warm and solid against yours. The kiss deepened, the slow burn of passion igniting into something more urgent, more desperate. Years of unspoken tension, of denied feelings, seemed to pour into that kiss, both of you trying to make up for the time you had lost.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing hard, your foreheads resting together as you tried to catch your breath. His thumb gently stroked the side of your neck, a soft, intimate gesture that made your heart race even faster.

“I don’t care about the sides anymore,” Shay whispered against your lips, his breath warm. “I care about you.”

His words sent a wave of emotion crashing through you. You knew it wasn’t that simple—nothing ever was in your world—but for this moment, it felt like it could be. Like the war, the betrayal, everything else could fall away, leaving just the two of you.

“I don’t know if we can ever go back,” you whispered, your voice shaky with emotion. “After everything that’s happened…”

Shay’s hand tightened around your waist, pulling you even closer. “Maybe we don’t need to go back. Maybe we can start something new.”

You directed your gaze to meet his own eyes, seeing the same conflict mirrored in his eyes—the pull of duty against the pull of his heart. But there was something else too: hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, you could find a way forward together.

“I don’t know what happens next,” you admitted, chuckling softly, your fingers tracing the edge of his collar.

Shay leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Neither do I. But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself savour the moment, the feel of him against you, the warmth of his embrace. For now, that was enough.

And maybe, just maybe, it could be enough for whatever came next.

　　　PART 2 in writing...

© solarine. i do not allow my works to be copied, translated, modified, adapted or published on other platforms without my permission. thank you for your attention.

dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[intoxicated-chan]

Could I possibly ask for NSFW Shay x reader content? If you’re not in the mood for anything smutty then just general Drabble/hc content is more than fine too! Any Shay content is welcome 🖤

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

Summary ➳ When Shay remembers your dream to see the Northen lights, it takes the chance to take you there and love you under the stars.

(A/n) ➳ Your wish is my command! If you guys have any Shay requests, I’m open!! This was more fluff than smut, I honsetly got carried away with this.

Word Count ➳ 2.6k

Content warnings ➳ Female reader/Navigator reader, teasing, jealousy, mentions of killing, sexual content, public sex, unprotected sex, fingering, penetration, p-in-v, creampie...

Everyone knew that Shay and Chevalier never got along. At first, Shay could take it, the insults, and the fights, but it became worse when Chevalier overheard Shay’s desire to court you. It was during an argument when it was brought up, teasing Shay, laughing at him, and getting physical with him, laughing at his missed punches. As usual, Liam stepped in, silencing Chevalier, and snatching Shay away.  

Shay could still hear his laughter as Liam tried his best to comfort his best friend. But Chevalier became his nightmare when he arrived from a mission to find you and Chevalier sitting on the steps of the manor, a happy expression on your face as Chevalier spoke to you.  

He stepped in, questioning why Chevalier was still here when Achilles was looking for him. But Chevalier saw right through his act, knowing how it pissed Shay off to see you with him and so before he left, he gifted you a book, one that you have been looking for.  

Shay hated how your eyes gleamed as you took the book from his hands and continuously thanked him. It was a rare book in your eyes. You escaped from your home, just days away from marrying an older nobleman when you turned eighteen.  

Shay knew that you knew Chevalier was being kind to you. Another rarity around here and he tried not to take it to heart.  

“Is something the matter?” You asked Shay, obviously clueless and knocking Shay out of his mind. “Did the mission not go as planned?”  

“Everything is alright.” He replied, giving you his signature smile. “I’ll meet you on the Morrigan?” He placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it.  

“Oh yes! I have a charted map that I must give.” You nodded. “Chevalier said I was learning rather quickly.”  

“Did he now?”  

You nodded once again before scurrying off, waving him goodbye. He watched your figure head towards the Morrigan, making sure he saw you entering the cabin of the ship. 

And after giving his report to Achilles, you were not in the cabin anymore. You were relaxed, sitting on his ship as you read your book. You just looked so beautiful unbothered and hated to bother you, you were enjoying the moment.  

You swiped the strays of hair in your face away, trying to focus on your book. “Chevalier certainly knows what interests you.” He commented. “My men say you refuse to move, that you refused to sing with them. I thought you enjoyed Leave her, Johnny.”  

“Chevalier’s taste is quite different than mine, I’d give him quite a scare if he truly read the contents of this book.” You marked the page of your book before closing it carefully. “I did not sing but I loved their voices. We should have them perform.”  

“Might I see?” Shay reached for the book, but you pulled it out of his reach. “C’mon, you’ve got nothing to hide from me!”  

“No.” You immediately said but your smile did not falter. “I must show you the map, I’ve located numerous military camps with supplies. They will be useful to the Morrigan.”  

You both walked to the captain’s cabin, Shay opened the door to let you in first and then closed it behind him. He followed you to the table with the map laid out, a part of North America with marked points.  

“It’s quite chilly but Chevalier it would be worth it.” You commented, pointing at one at a time to explain. “When I was using the spyglass, I was able to get some of the contents of the supplies. Here, you get wood and metal. And here, cannons. There is a fort here so you must tread carefully-”  

Shay didn’t bother to listen, rather, he took in your features, how your finger tapped in a certain pattern when at a marked location, how you went into detail about certain patterns soldiers take, or how each of the supplies can help the ship or crew in many ways. 

Memories of a conversation he had with you weeks earlier came through his mind, your laughter, your casual mention of an ethereal light. It all started when you went to North Atlantic once, the temperatures were freezing, and you remained up on the Crow’s Nest. He went to get you himself and he saw you stare up at the sky, like you were waiting for something.  

You explained the stories of his and Chevalier’s crew speaking of green arches that curve across the sky, lights dancing in the sky. You wished to see them yourself instead of hearing them or paintings, you wanted to gaze your eyes upon them.  

You were exquisite, magnificent, alluring... He knew the perfect time to take you to see the northern lights, he wanted to be the first to take you, to see your eyes gleam once more.  

“Are you listening to me, Shay?” 

Shay cleared his throat. “O-Of course!” He answered awkwardly. He tried to play it off, but you did not see him staring again. To see you so focused and helping him, made him all giddy, you are available for him. “You were talking about... Um, that camp.” He gestured vaguely towards the map. 

“Really?” You lifted an eyebrow, sneering but in a joking manner that Shay understood. You then pointed at one mark. “What does this camp hold?” You questioned.  

He leaned over the table, taking a moment to think. “Ammo! There's ammo.”  

You shook your head as you tapped the spot your finger still rested on. “That is not a military camp, Shay. It is a hunting location. I marked it for personal use. Might find some deer or rabbit there.”  

He was caught off guard, his cheeks had a tinge of red on them. “Right, of course. I knew that.” He rumbled, trying to recover.  

But your demeanor shifted from playful to worried. You have never seen Shay so distracted before. “There must be something on your mind. I have never seen you so distant.” Your tone became soft, folding your arms.  

He let his eyes wander, taking everything in the cabin except you. “It’s nothing too worrying.” He assured you but when he looked at you, his resolve softened. “I was thinking what you said once, about the lights, the ones you did not know the name of.”  

“The dancing lights in the sky?” Your expression slowly brightened when you realized. “Yes, yes. They say it is like the heavens themselves are celebrating or the spirits were dancing.” You awed with wonder.  

“I was thinking... Perhaps we could set a course north. Father than we had planned before. I would like to take you to see the northern lights or as Hope calls them aurora... Borealis?” Struggling to pronounce the name, he cursed at himself for screwing it up.  

The surprise and delight he saw on your face was worth more than all the treasures they had plundered. You stepped around the table and came closer to him. “Really? You would do that for me?”  

Shay nodded, placing both his hands on your shoulders. “Yes, I believe it’s time we chased something beautiful, not just profitable or killable.” 

“I’d like that very much, Shay.” His hands moved to cup your face, your eyes locking with his. “Thank you.”  

Nothing is said between you both, your faces just inches apart. The candlelight flickered, adding a touch to the moment. Shay started to lean in first, and you followed his lead. Your lips were about to touch until the doors to the captain’s cabin burst open.  

Liam barged in, he looked urgent but froze in place when he saw how close you two were. “Shay, (Y/n), sorry but-” Liam started, his eyes darting between you two. A smirk was briefly on his lips but stopped when Shay glared at him. He composed himself. “Achilles gave us orders. We need to set sail immediately.”  

The two of you pulled apart from each other, embarrassed, but you tried masking your disappointment, covering it up with a poor attempt at professionalism.  

Shay patted himself down, turning to face Liam. “And?” He motioned Liam to continue.  

“We’re goin’ North Atlantic.” Liam handed Shay a scroll. “The French are moving deeper, Achilles believes they have a lead on another Assassin branch, he wants us to intervene.”  

You fumbled with your hands, clasped together. “I shall start preparing the crew, check supplies, and repair the Morrigan if necessary.”  

As you moved past Liam to exit the cabin, Liam leaned closer to Shay, his voice low but teasing. “Trying to one-up the Chevalier, eh?” He chuckled, but then his tone became serious. “Make sure your head stays in the game Shay.”  

“Always, Liam.”  

With that, Liam left the cabin, the doors closing with a soft thud. Shay stood there, hands on his hips as he let out a frustrated groan. He was so close! He took a deep breath as he had weeks or months to try again.  

Besides, if Hope was correct, it would soon be the perfect moment to see one.  

The Morrigan was anchored in the icy waters of the North Atlantic.  

Liam left the crew’s sleeping quarters after checking for injuries or casualties. He dismissed those standing on the deck of the ship to get some sleep, he and the captain, along with their navigator were going to keep watch for this night. He needed everyone rested and ready.  

He stood at the wheel, arms crossed, and reamined still.  

Up on the crow’s nest, the air was crisp, and the stars shined in the sky. Shay climbed the rigging to the nest, where he found you leaning again the wooden frame, gaze fixed on the sky. You twiddled with your fingers. He was able to sense the nervousness raiding off your body.  

The deep breaths you took, letting out small clouds of your breath each time you exhaled, and shifting side to side. You wore thick clothing to shield you from the weather and the gloves he gave you when you forgotten yours somehow... He took them. 

“Beautiful night.” Shay commented, his voice low as not to startle you. He leaned against the wooden railing next to you.  

A smile tugged your lips, though your eyes didn’t exactly show it. “It is.” You agreed, then sighing, lowering your head. “The lights... Will they be as the crew described them to be? The heavens celebrating, the spirits dancing. What if they don’t appear? what if they’re not everything I had hoped for?”  

Shay looked out across the sky, which was turning darker by the minute, and then back at you. “They will be.” He said, confident. “They’ll surpass every tale, every painting you have ever seen.”  

“I hope you’re right, Shay.” You laid your head on your arms, tired.  

It was a comfortable silence, waiting in the cold as the last light of the day vanished. Shay could sense the disappointment coming off you, he was ready to tell you to rest until he saw a faint flow.  

It grew brighter, greens with blues, it stretched across the sky like ribbons of lights. It was like its own river.  

He nudged her, pointing upward. “Look.” He whispered.  

Your confusion turning awe as you saw the gentle wisps growing. The ocean reflected the colors of green and blue, maybe even purple. It was more of what they said, heavens celebrating and the spirits dancing...  

“The aurora borealis.” You gasped. Your eyes wide in amazement. You could not describe the beauty of the lights, it would not compare to seeing it yourself. “I...” And you didn’t know what to say. All you could focus on was the colors dancing.  

Shay watched your face, it was illuminated by the ethereal grow. It him smile to see your eyes glimmer like before, the slight parting of your lips, your face so focused. His hand reached up to gently turn your face towards him.  

“Shay-” 

“Even more beautiful.” He couldn’t resist any longer. He leaned in, pressing his lips onto yours in a kiss, the only warmth in the chilly night.  

You responded eagerly, your arms wrapping around him as you returned the kiss. “Please Shay.” You groaned in his mouth. “Please.”  

You pushed him against the wooden mast, he kept his hands on your hips as he sat down with you right on his lap. Shay pulled out his knife, cutting a hole in your pants. He tossed the knife aside.  

Your breath hitched at the air hitting your cunt. Shay stuck two fingers in his mouth then slowly pushed them inside you. He thrusted it in and out of you, he worked his fingers deep inside you, he used his thumb to work on your clit, easing the pain, and making you clench around his fingers.  

Shay then stopped and slipped his finger out of you, making you gasp, in shock at the sudden loss. You clicked your tongue, slipping your hands down his chest and to his breeches.  

“Impatient, are we?” He smirked, watching you pulling his cock out.  

You angled your hips, gripping his shoulders as you rubbed the slit of your cunt against the hard cock.  

Shay gave you one last kiss, nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck, his facial hair tickling you. “Careful.” Shay warned you. “Don’t go hurting yourself.”  

You trembled as you sank onto his cock, hissing in between your teeth. You choked on your moans as you took his full length then circled your hips.  

You began to bounce up and down his cock, he let out a louder moan. You cried out, throwing your head back. “Oh god, Shay!” You sobbed.  

Shay managed to push you to change positions, laying you on your back where your legs kept him close and inside of you. Your nails bug into the back of his assassin’s coat and Shay planted kisses on your exposed neck.  

He started at a slow pace, making sure you could feel him. Your eyes flickered open, looking up at the northern lights still there.  

“More Shay, please.” Feeling your high approaching.  

He picked up his pace, lifting his head up, and squeezing his eyes shut as he clenched his jaw. But he too, opened his eyes. He can see the northern lights reflecting in your eyes. You looked out of this world.  

That's when you looked him in the eyes, he froze for a moment. Your hand reached to the back of his head, pulling him down to kiss him.  

He continued, feeling his orgasms building along with yours. And after a couple of more thrusts, you both let out loud moans, he cursed as he felt you clamp down around him as he comes inside of you. 

Shay had no qualms about the cold, he took off his assassin’s coat to wrap it around you. He then tucks himself back into his pants and you sit up, feeling the stickiness in between your legs.  

You both sat against the mast. A smile on your face as you laid your head on his shoulder, panting. “Better than the tales and paintings.”  

Though the northern lights were gone, he could still envision them. “I’ll always take to see them.”  

“That would be impossible Shay. But I would love to see them now and again.”  

Shay snorted, standing up and grabbing your hands. You wobbled, falling into his chest. “I’ll go as far as I can to take you to see them.” He placed a kiss on top of your head. “And I’ll take you under them each time.”  

“Since when did you become so romantic?”  

“Since I read your book.”  

“Shay!” You smacked his chest while he laughed.  

© Intoxicated-Chan 2024, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission. 

[fanfenomenon]

i think shaytham should get married

do you guys remember that one scene in ac3 where haytham puts the templar ring on lee’s finger when he was welcomed into the order? yeah?

now can we talk about how the devs ROBBED us of potential shaytham scenes where haytham does the same thing but with shay…

IM SO EMOTIONAL ABOUT THIS BECAUSE WHAT IF instead of haytham welcoming shay into the order in front of the other members, they’d do the ceremony in private instead?

iirc, when haytham was first seen in ac rogue, it was already during shay’s ceremony. i always thought it would’ve been better if their first encounter was during a mission, not the other way around like with the actual game where it was after the ceremony haytham started going on missions with shay.

and during those missions, they would’ve gotten to know more about each other, and it would be during these missions their relationship develops.

the more time they spend with each other, the more they had grown fond of the other’s company. haytham would always be willing to listen to shay’s stories, especially during his time with the assassins. shay thinks that by sharing these stories, he’s helping haytham gain more information about his former alliances. yes, but not really, since haytham just likes to listen to shay talk. hes down bad like that and shay is kind of oblivious to it lol

during fights, shay would admire the elegance and technique in haytham’s attacks. how gracefully he wields his sword and stealthily moves across enemy territories. haytham would catch shay staring sometimes, which makes the latter flustered when the former comments on it.

they’d subtly flirt with one another later on, with haytham mostly doing the flirting lmao.

“quit staring. do i really look that good to you?”

“no one expects you to be the perfect grandmaster all the time.”

“you think im perfect?”

shay used to hesitate when it comes to replying to haytham’s flirtatious comments and innuendos, and it took time for him to later become more comfortable with the other man. sometimes he’d catch haytham staring at his figure when he takes off or changes his tunic,

“like what you see?”

and boy was it a sight for shay to see haytham all flustered.

once the missions are finished, haytham realizes it’s time for shay to join their order. he has proven himself worthy of upholding its ideals, but haytham would be lying if he said that was the only reason he wanted shay to join the templars.

he wanted to be with him. always�� and forever, if fate allows.

one day, shay visits haytham in his personal estate. at first he would only go there to report on various situations regarding the assassins and templars. but he later would visit more often for no particular reason. shay just likes haytham’s company, but he would never admit that to himself and especially to his boss. haytham didn’t mind his visiting though, in fact he enjoyed the other man’s company as well, not that he’d admit to it too.

haytham greets him, and he thought it the perfect time to perform the ceremony. it was the dead of the night though, and he wasn’t able to inform the other members of shay’s initiation beforehand.

it didn’t matter though. as long as shay was here beside him, everything will be alright.

haytham gently takes shay’s hand, which slightly startled the younger man. the way haytham took the latter’s hand was so gentle, and so unlike him.

“do you swear to uphold the principles of our order, and all that for which we stand?”

only now did shay realize what was happening.

“…i do.”

“and never to share our secrets nor divulge the true nature of our work?”

“i do.”

“and to do so now, until death. whatever the cost?”

“i do.”

haytham softly squeezes shay’s hand, his lips slightly quivering, as if there was more he wanted to say.

“…and…”

shay furrows his brows, he could hear the older man’s slight tremble in his words. worrying, he clasps his other hand onto haytham’s.

“do you swear… to… to pledge your loyalty to your grandmaster, and… to love and cherish him the way he does for you…”

shay stands still, shocked at the words that came out from haytham’s mouth. was this a confession? he doesn’t remember the last sentence being part of the initiation. haytham was looking down at this point, clearly embarrassed at what he had just said a few seconds ago. shay tries to calm himself, but he couldn’t find his words. instead, he brings haytham’s hand to his lips, kisses it and finally replies,

“i do…”

haytham quickly looks up at shay, whose expression was not of shock anymore, but of fondness. he takes a templar ring out of his coat and slides the ring into shay’s finger,

“…then, we welcome you into our fold, brother. you are now a templar, harbinger of a new world.”

shay looks down at his finger, the gleam of the silver ring shining in the dim room. he looks at haytham again, and he couldn’t stop himself from cupping his cheek. haytham didn’t reject it though, he leaned into shay’s touch, bringing his own hand to hold the other’s.

“…and i suppose now the grandmaster will not be dejected to the idea of my being his lover?”

haytham chuckles and leans in to kiss shay’s cheek.

“i suppose not.”

[teecupangel]

Back to the animal Desmond trope, I can just see a cat Desmond casually walking into various era's, fucking up the Templar's plans by just doing normal cat things, like casually pushing a glass of water onto a letter that never gets sent that would set off murder plans, and then just staring at the nearest Assassin ancestor looking to be carried off somewhere sunny to sleep. He's done his work, human, now worship him as the great cat gods of egypt said he'd be and fetch him a fish lol

For this one, I'm just imagining a white cat with POE gold eyes like this (but lighter golden eyes)

And he’s a cat that appears and disappears whenever he pleases. Everyone thinks he’s some kind of stray and he refuses to eat any of that ‘cat food’ crap.

He will steal your food if you dare give him what counts as ‘cat food’.

Altaïr first sees him after his demotion and the only reason why he even noticed him was because his fur was too white. It was eye-catching and Altaïr didn’t need anyone turning his way because a damn cat was meowing at him and trying to climb his leg. He picked the cat up, earning a purring meow then gives him to the first beggar who tries to ask for alms, surprising both the cat and the beggar and giving Altaïr enough time to run away from both of them, ignoring the indignant howling the cat was now doing. The next time Altaïr sees the cat, it was after the assassination of his target and the cat suddenly swooped down from the roof, slamming its claws to a guard’s face that was about to hit Altaïr from the back while Altaïr was busy taking down three more guards. The guard threw the cat off him but Altaïr was faster, grabbing the cat in midair and taking him with him as he made his escape. The Rafiq had looked at the cat that Altaïr was holding in one hand and just told him that they didn’t have any food to spare for the cat. After that, the cat just pops up every now and then, helping Altaïr by being a distraction or actually trying to air assassinate guards with his claws. He accepts scritches only from Altaïr but any Assassin can pat his head and back. Once Altaïr was the mentor, he cuts part of his red sash and ties it around the cat’s neck, announcing him as part of the Brotherhood. (Altaïr is pretty sure Malik gives him half of his food every time the cat sits next to his plate and stares at him quietly)

Ezio first finds the white cat with the vibrant red ribbon in Villa Auditore. To be more specific, the cat had been sleeping on top of chest armor that was on the pedestal by Altaïr’s statue. The cat yawned and jumped off the pedestal, wiggling out of the bars, and sat in front of Ezio, meowing at him. Ezio scritches his neck which made the cat purr before rolling to his back and batting Ezio’s fingers lightly. After that, the cat seemed to stay in Villa Auditore most of the time but Ezio does see him walking around town as well. Everyone in town loves him and gives him food or just pets him. Only Ezio is allowed to scritch his neck. The cat also seems to have the habit of being in certain areas in town that would yield the most profit if Ezio was to rebuild/renovate them. Then he started appearing in certain sections that would bring more money to the town if he had the architect focus on them as their next project (like the abandoned mine). Claudia believes he’s a cat that brings good fortune. Ezio is simply just happy that petting the cat seemed to be helping their mother in some way. (Then the cat appears in Roma to help Ezio with finances and then in Constantinople to give Ezio tips on where to invest and Ezio, at this point, is pretty sure the cat doesn’t bring good fortune but is actually some kind of god of money and finances. Hey, if Minerva isn’t really a goddess, maybe the god of money and finances is a goddamn immortal cat)

Edward grabbed the first cat he sees when they finally landed somewhere safe after escaping the Spaniards because every ship needs to have a ship’s cat. Not just because they kept rodents at bay but because it’s superstition and sailors/pirates are a superstitious lot so Edward’s not gonna take any chances. Turns out the cat he dragged into the ship didn’t like being grabbed without even a ‘hello, beautiful’ and refused to kill rats. Instead, the cat, for some unknown reason, got all the rodents to be at his beg and call. In one loud yowl, rodents from all over the ship will skitter to his location………… which always turns out to be the captain’s quarters just as Edward was about to go to sleep.

Ratonhnhaké:ton was sure the white cat that appears and disappears all the time was some kind of spirit. That was the only reason he could think of to why he would always hear the same meow in the direction he needed to look at to have enough time to hide or to find whatever his target was. The white cat was also the best hunting partner Ratonhnhaké:ton ever had. What he lacked in strength, he made up with speed and the ability to jump from branches to branches faster than any animal Ratonhnhaké:ton had ever seen………… He also has the habit of suddenly swooping down from the rooftops and slamming into Haytham’s head, clawing his hat and, more than once, actually managing to take the hat off Haytham and running away with it, dragging it to the mud and getting Haytham to run after him where the poor hat ended up in horseshit. Strangely enough, Haytham never got angry at the white cat and when Ratonhnhaké:ton asked why, Haytham simply said…

“You do not anger the Rat Caller.”

[bookworm-with-coffee]

Just a Kiss This Christmas. . . 🎄☃️

(Christmas Eve with Your Faves - Assassin's Creed III, Rogue and Syndicate Edition)

Plot; Little Christmas themed comfort imagines

Pairings;

Haytham Kenway x Reader (Romantic)

Connor Kenway (Ratonhnhaké:ton) x Reader (Romantic)

Shay Cormac x Reader (Romantic)

Liam O'Brien x Reader (Romantic)

Jacob Frye x Reader (Romantic)

Evie Frye x Reader (Romantic)

Lydia Frye x Reader (Romantic)

Warnings; mature themes, tooth-rotting fluff, a pinch of angst here and there, implied smut, mentions of alcohol/alcohol consumption, mentions of war/warzones and violence

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Haytham Kenway

Outside the fogged windows, gentle snowfall was on display. Winds rustled the trees and laughter echoed in the streets.

Houses lined the roads, warmed with crackling fires and the mirth of togetherness and peace. Taverns bustled with those celebrating the coming of what was considered the best holiday of the year, cheerful music floating in the chill of the winter air.

The perfect Christmas Eve.

Your heart was soaring, not sparing a care to the coldness of the floorboards and tiling beneath your feet; finding yourself warmed by the fires of the oven.

The smell of spices floated through the halls of your home, your freshly baked gingerbread now cooling on a rack. It was an effort not to pull the scalding biscuits from the metal, to devour them immediately; but your focus on your brewing hot chocolate stole any chance of impulse.

Your lips curled up at the lightly thickened milk, stirring at your homemade concoction. Now having the desired consistency, you poured the rich beverage into two mugs, sparing a look over your shoulder.

A sigh passed through your nostrils, spying the time displayed on the wall clock. Thirty minutes past the ninth hour. With a soft loneliness tugging at your heart, you pondered how much longer it would be until Haytham retreated from his office.

Templar affairs had kept him occupied for many days and hours throughout the holiday season, as to be expected when being the Grandmaster of the Colonial. But, you knew that Christmas was one of the few occasions Haytham liked, also aware of how easily time got away from him when occupied with work. He had already missed the Templar Christmas Eve party over in the local tavern, but he would not miss an evening with you. Christmas Eve, especially.

Templar business be damned. It was up to you to save him from his undoubtedly large workload.

The hot chocolate would undoubtedly be a convincing point. Aside from yourself, of course.

Already in your nightdress, you discarded your apron and threw on your winter robes for your journey upstairs, baring an almost giddy smile whilst you climbed them.

You spied the dim lights from under the wooden door, moving to open it without knocking. "Grandmaster", you announced yourself, his head raising from the piles of parchment littered on his desk. His piercing blues were on you in an instant, already tracing over your approaching form with a cocked brow.

"You have not called me by that title since the days before our courtship", Haytham remarked with some amusement, the corners of his lips faintly curling upward. "And even then, you had little regard for it".

"What makes you think that has changed?", you quipped with a laugh. "I had to get your attention somehow. My baking clearly wasn't enough".

His smile grew at your ploy of feigning hurt, your eyes drifting to the words upon the papers. Correspondences from all corners of the world, all of them bearing the seal of the Templars. Did no one in the Order celebrate Christmas??

"My deepest apologies", Haytham crooned with the licks of playful sarcasm dancing in his velvet voice. "However will I make up for such an indiscretion?".

With mischief twinkling in your keen eyes, you grinned, lifting the hem of your nightdress to allow yourself to be seated upon and stradling his larger thighs.

Haytham's quill and papers were long forgotten as his warm hands moved to hold your waist, fingers tracing imaginary patterns into the thin materials separating you both and heating the skin beneath.

Admiration glittered in the depths of his gaze as it trailed over the cascading waves of your hair and the supple skin left exposed by your strappy nightdress and robes, those eyes no longer harsh or commanding. No longer the eyes of the Grandmaster everyone else knew.

There was a softness and vulnerability to Haytham's hues now, clearly displaying his contentment in being trapped within your embrace. A deep sigh expelled from him, relishing in the way your delicate fingers spindled into his silken locks and drew lines over his chest. "Can you think of nothing?", your words were a murmur over his skin, setting it alight with goosebumps.

With his tired eyes now closed, your lips pressed featherlight kisses to his heavy eyelids, his arms pulling you flush against his chest. Descending the curviture of his face, your lips finally met with his own in soft and lazy caresses.

Haytham's hands moved to cradle your face, his tongue drawing along the seam of your lips before they parted eagerly. Your hips shifted against his own in your attempt to get closer, a soft grunt heaving from the Grandmaster's throat and sparking his next course of action.

A small yelp passed through your interlocked lips when the Master Templar heaved you from his lap and onto his desk, the piling letters now sweeping to the floor to accommodate your presence.

Your body arched into his frame, his lips tearing from your own to start leaving a searing trail along your jaw.

"I can think of something ", he mused, pressing his hips into your own.

"Haytham!", you giggled, his skillful touches never failing to leave you weak and at his mercy. "What about the hot chocolate??".

Haytham's low chuckle was a breath against the skin of your neck. "I think you'll find that I have other priorities", his voice remained a sultry whisper, slowly working affectionate pecks towards your naval. "Starting with you ".

♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡

Connor Kenway / Ratonhnhaké:ton

"Connor, my friend!", Norris greeted the young Assassin, tipsy with the few drinks he'd had. But, he was a merry man, deep in the high spirits of the holiday season. It was Christmas Eve, after all.

"Norris", he nodded in acknowledgement, sparing the hints of a smile for his friend, the latter having spied the direction in which the younger man's almond hues had fixated.

With a cheerful smile that reached his eyes, the miner brushed his elbow against Connor's, "Your eyes bore into a beautiful woman, and yet you waste the night lingering here in the shadows instead of talking to her".

Connor's cheeks grew hot at the accusation, his lashes fluttering and ripping his gaze from where you stood amongst the crowds of the party. "I don't know what you are implying".

Norris' gaze turned knowingly to the younger man, his brows raised, "You do not? Then perhaps, you will not mind it if I tell her—".

"Norris", Connor warned, an underlying threat sitting in his brown hues. The older man sighed, his smile refusing to dissipate even in the wake of his counterpart's intimidation.

"Why not talk to her?? Mingle with the party!", he insisted, waving his arms to gesture to the warm atmosphere of the gathering.

"I am not one for celebrations", the young Assassin replied with a tug to his shoulders. "I would much rather watch others making merry".

"And miss all the fun? An opportunity to speak to (Y/n)??", Norris gaped. "Inacceptable!".

"What would you have me do?", Connor asked with a sense of hopelessness. "I have nothing to offer her but an absent partner and a broken heart! I have not the time to court a woman as wonderful as her". He spared a glance to where you stood once more with Miriam, his heart squeezing at the beauty of your laugh. The placement of your dimples and the way the light of your happiness always met with the warmth of your eyes, his own returning to Norris. "Even if I wanted to, with every fibre of my heart".

The Frenchman nodded, understanding the feathersoft yearning that twinkled in Connor's deep gaze. Alike to the one he used to have for Miriam before their marriage.

"Connor", he sighed. "I am certain a woman like (Y/n) would have considered all of these things beforehand! She is headstrong". His smile grew when adding, "The way I hear it from Miriam, (Y/n) hardly ceases singing praise about you".

Connor's heart stilled, his brows drawing together amidst his surprise. "She speaks about me??".

" 'Gushing', is probably a proper word for it, my friend. Women do that when they are en transe by a man, no??".

"I believe so??", Connor's reply came out more like a question than a statement.

"Then why wait in the shadows any longer?", Norris pressed. "Eventually, another man will seize the opportunity to sweep (Y/n) off her feet!". The young Assassin felt a short sting of envy in his chest, his eyes drifting downward. "Do not let yourself feel the regret by not acting now. She is the woman of your dreams, Connor. You deserve that much".

Norris gently clapped Connor's larger shoulder whilst the latter mulled over his friend's wise words, not realising the truth of them until now.

If he were to wait any longer, another man would surely take the opportunity to win your heart. Any sane man would. You were truly a beautiful individual.

You have a selfless heart and a ready mind, encompassing all in your warmth and compassion, inclusive of Connor himself.

Every soft touch of your hands brushing his or holding his arm, every embrace shared after returning from his months away had ensnared his heart, melting away the hardened exterior he often wore. You'd broken through it all with patience, listening to his inner expressions without judgement.

He knew then, that he needed to give your relationship a chance. Even if the price was hurt.

"Connor", your melodic voice snapped him from his daze, a friendly smile shining from your expression despite your concern. "What are you doing back here all by yourself??".

In alarm, Connor's eyes frantically searched for Norris, finding the space beside him now vacant. The older man was finally spotted beside his wife, raising both thumbs in encouragement at the Assassin.

"I just wished to be alone", he offered a quick excuse.

"Alone?", your brows creased. "On Christmas Eve??".

"I am not one for parties", Connor elaborated, his lips subconsciously quirking upwards to match your lighthearted expression.

"I understand", you conceded with a short laugh. "Neither am I, if I'm honest. I'm glad to be away from the bustle".

Leaning against the wall beside him, your bright hues spared him a fond glance whilst you added, "That's why I came to see you". Connor's brows rose,

"Really??". You nodded.

"I hope you don't mind, but I find your company soothing, Connor".

"The feeling is mutual", he assured. "Your words and presence are both a comfort to me, and welcome at any time".

For a moment, you seemed in thought, your eyes finally flickering back to his own. "I want to thank you", you confessed, irking a confused tilt of his head.

"What for??".

"For saving me", you whispered. "For offering me a better life here, away from oppression and struggle. Those things are now a fading memory. Thanks to you".

Connor's heart warmed within his chest, humbled entirely by your words. His lips parted to utter an insistence that his efforts were minimal and knowing this, your hand raised to halt the words about to tumble out.

A nervous, breathy laugh escaped him, unable to mask his endearment for you as his darker orbs travelled the delicate features of your face. Your hand had moved to rest on the clasp of his hands, the warmth of his fingers slowly intwining with yours.

"I am grateful for you", Connor murmured, feeling a surge of courage to reveal what lay in his heart. "You are a remarkable woman, (Y/n). And I consider myself very blessed to have you in my life".

His admittance left you at a loss of words, furthered by the gentle caress of the hand that came to cradle your cheek. Connor's thumb traced over your cheekbone, stilling the breaths in your throat before he continued, "I would be honoured if you would share it with me".

With his nose now brushing your own, your lashes fluttered at the welcome proximity, breathing, "Yes", as you saw fit to close the rest of the gap, your other hand reaching to grip at his hair when the heat of his lips finally reached yours.

They were supple, moving in calming touches with your own, like a summer's breeze. Refreshing and soft.

Connor's breaths exhaled against your skin and heaved in your sweet scent, his chocolate hues fluttering open when your lips had pulled from his own. You grasped the hand interlaced with yours, eyes halflidded given the closeness you still shared.

"Do you think Achilles will notice your absence?", you gnawed on your bottom lip hopefully.

"To hell with him", Connor grunted, his lips sealing with yours again before he lead you discretely from the party room and up the stairs to resume your celebrations elsewhere..

Translations (French to English);

Inacceptable = unacceptable

En transe = Entranced

♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡

Shay Cormac

Winter was always a dreaded time within the colonies, with only the exception of Christmas for most people. It was a time of year that you often found yourself yearning for the warmth of a home and family.

With the stars glimmering above, you'd wished upon them all for what seemed like the thousandth time by your eighth year in life.

Upon the softness of the grass, you lay with company, the autumn coolness high in the air. It wouldn't be long until the snowfall now.

Your fingers sat snugly interlocked in the grasp of your best friend, tilting your head to glance at his philosophical expression, ever a dreamer like yourself. Two children, lying beneath the shimmering lights of the stars.

"How's your face feeling?", you asked with some amusement, Shay's face brightening at the sound of your voice.

"Better now", he answered, using his spare hand to brush over the small blue spot marking his cheek. "It was you, I was worried about".

"Shay", you sighed. "You didn't have to—".

"I did", he cut in firmly, his brows creasing in seriousness. "That boy had no business trying to take your hard-earned food. I showed him the meaning of 'respect'. About time someone did".

The brunette beside you squeezed your fingers, offering a playful wink to pair with the reassuring smile he offered, the gaps on display in his teeth irking you to giggle. "Thank you", you grinned, turning your gaze back towards the skies above.

A comfortable silence ensued between you both before you piped up once more. "Shay?".

"Yeah?", his head panned towards you.

"Do you think that maybe one Christmas, we'll have a family? Be surrounded by loved ones?? Have food to eat and the warmth of a fire?".

Shay's hazel hues seemed contemplative before he answered, "Absolutely". Your brows rose, keen to listen as he continued, "We'll have families one day and big houses and even comfortable beds! You'll see, (Y/n)! When we grow up, everything will finally be alright for us. I just know it!".

That night, you both wished upon every star for Shay's prediction to come to fruition. And with twenty years' passing, Christmas Eve had finally come again.

Snowflakes floated through the air, children playing in the streets. Windows were frosted and the familiar smells of freshly baked goods were carried through the bustling streets.

Merriment and mirth were upon everyone's lips, well-wishes being spread like wildfires. The city of New York was far from perfect, yet it was prosperous, even moreso with the coming of this beloved holiday.

The Morrigan had docked for the first time in months only a few nights ago, Templar business soaring in the season. It was a relief to finally be back on dry land, especially for yourself and Shay; the latter delayed by affairs of the Order.

Never more eager to leave them behind, Shay's steps were brisk in the inches of snow left on the ground. "Are you quite sure you won't be joining us tonight, Captain?", the audacious Mr Gist had asked, excitement lacing through his tone. "I hear that Thomas Hickey is going to try and scull five pints of rum this year, as opposed to his record of three". The blonde laughed at the quizzical expression offered by his counterpart. "It should prove to be quite a show, indeed".

Shay's lips quirked up at his quartermaster's humour, ever grateful for Gist's good spirits, before he replied, "I'm celebrating Christmas Eve elsewhere tonight. A promise to a friend".

Gist spared a hearty chuckle, nodding in his clear understanding. "Very good, Captain". There was a knowing glint in his eyes when he added, "I will pass on your regards to the others, so long as you will pass mine on to (Y/n)".

There was no hiding anything from the perceptive quartermaster, Shay noted before grinning at his friend when the offer to shake hands was presented. "Thank you, Master Gist. You are relieved until the New Year", the brunette accepted.

"It has been an honour serving with you this year, Shay", Gist assured him humbly, releasing the friendly hold.

"And you", Shay's head inclined, finally farewelling the blonde before his journey lead him through a familiar set of gates not far from the port.

The chill of the winter air whipped at him incessantly until he reached the doors of his destination. Somewhere he hadn't been in the longest time. Home.

He needed only to knock on the hardwood doors before they swung open, bringing with it, the cozy and fruity smells of mulled wine and hot foods.

"Shay!", your arms were quick to pull the Irishman inside, from the cold and into your warm embrace. He stumbled for a moment, being much taller than yourself, yet never more relieved to be anywhere else but your kind arms.

Your lips hit his cheek in a quick peck, closing the front doors behind him and sealing out the cold. Shay's cheek tingled with the heat your touch left, his lips curled into a grin of delight at seeing your own.

"I was getting worried that I'd have to drag you from the Morrigan myself", you huffed with amusement.

"And you would've", Shay conceded.

"Bloody right, I would've". Your comment earned a soft giggle from the brunette, your eyes turning again to meet his as you shuffled around. "Merry Christmas, Shay".

"Merry Christmas, (Y/n)", he returned, noticing then that the halls of your shared home were decorated. Holly and vines of green bush were hung in abundance, even a tree in the corner, where most of the month everything had been bare.

A sense of wonder had filled Shay's hazel hues as they travelled the dimly lit halls. This would be not only his first Christmas back on dry land, but yours as well. For many years, you both missed Christmas. The Assassins often had you both scouring the Earth for artifacts; and the last few years, the Templars had you both embarking on diplomatic business.

As you both were rarely on dry land, Shay provided you with a home for you both to share, so that you would not waste what money you earned paying off a house that you would barely use. It was the least he could do for the best friend who had stuck through it all with him. And continued to do so.

Although now, in your adulthood, it felt like so much more than just a simple close friendship.

"Like it?", your voice brought the Irishman from his enthralled daze, his own voice sounding far away when he commented,

"It's lovely. Truly". He nodded, offering a pleased smile to you at last. "I can't believe you decorated! And is that—", the brunette sniffed the air. "— mulled wine?".

"And dinner", you laughed, his face blanching.

"You cooked as well??", Shay gaped. "How— you didn't have to— why??". His head tilted, genuinely in shock at the kindness of your actions.

"Well, you can hardly expect me to sit on my arse and twiddle my thumbs for the whole three days I was off from work!". You grasped his gloved hands, removing the covers to hold the heated skin beneath instead. "So, I occupied myself!".

Leading him into the kitchen, Shay was further surprised at the sight of some carved turkey on two plates, still steaming from the oven. You'd even baked some seasoned potatoes, glistening with butter and herbs— and was that cranberry sauce on the side??

You turned to the Irishman's stunned expression at last, the latter's eyes seeming to bulge from his skull out of shock whilst he insisted, "(Y/n), you didn't have to do this!".

Squeezing his hand to offer him reassurance, you laughed again. "I know!". Your thumb ran strokes over his knuckles, your gaze timidly shifting around in your excitement. "It's just— we've never had a proper Christmas, always being away and all, so I wanted to do this for you as much as myself. I wanted to give us a real Christmas!", you confessed. "Just like the ones we always spoke about as children".

"It's more than I could've imagined or deserved", Shay breathed out, his lashes fluttering whilst he grounded himself. At last, his hazel gaze met yours, glimmering with the hints of something unreadable to your own. "Thank you, (Y/n), for everything. I know my decisions have cost us everything from stability to the things we wanted as children, like marriage—", his eyes flickered downwards. "— or a family, but—".

"Shay", you cut in gently with a note of disapproval, gathering his gaze once more. "You are my family".

A smile returned to your face, the Irishman's eyes tracking your every movement. Your fingertips reached upwards, folding a stray few strands of his hair behind his ear.

"Remaining by your side was my decision. Leaving you was not and is not an option for me". Your thumb ran across the sharpness of his cheekbone, feeling the growing warmth of his skin beneath your touch. "Those dreams we had as children— the Assassins, the Templars— none of that could ever matter to me as much as you do".

Leaning onto the tips of your toes, your lips pressed a featherlight kiss against his forehead, murmuring against his skin, "You're all the family I need, Shay. As long as I have you, nothing else matters. I love you".

With such a raw confession hanging in the air, Shay didn't let your close proximity break. His arms curled around your waist, holding you upon your tiptoes with his lips close enough to brush with your own.

Shay awaited any attempt for you to pull away, finding no discomfort sitting in your orbs when at last his lips graced yours. Every part of you gave in to the careful strokes of his flesh with yours, feeling their cold and tasting the salt from the sea breeze that still lingered with him.

The Irishman finally recognised the ever blooming strength of the feeling that had always been there in his heart. It was as if an epiphany had struck him in the electric feeling of your kiss, your words having sparked the realisation of why your close friendship had felt like more.

It always had been.

"I love you too", his thickened brogue fanned over your lips after the kiss had broken. Shay's forehead sat against yours, cherishing the closeness and mingling of your breaths.

"We do have to eat first", a breathy chuckle fell from you, mirrored by Shay's laugh whilst your fingertips tracing the sharpness of his jawline.

"Must we?", his pout was playful, fondness once again dancing in his hazel hues.

"Afraid so".

"It shouldn't matter, as long as I have you". Shay's shoulders tugged, his statement endearing until he added, "Because if I eat all my dinner, I get dessert ". Sparing you a flirtatious wink in his passing into the kitchen, your mouth hung open incredulously.

This would be a long night, indeed...

♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡

Liam O'Brien

Life on the open seas. The salty air and biting breeze of the Atlantic a bitter reminder to you that you were far from the comforts found in being on land. Being home.

Assassin work never ceased, even with the Christmas season soon coming to a close the day after next. Christmas Eve had come again and you were surrounded by an endless amount of ocean that stretched to every direction of the horizons with only silence for company.

The hour was late, the crew of the Morrigan having set anchor hours ago to retire to their quarters and the seas were calm, the ship hardly rocking with the sway of the waters.

You should have been sleeping too. Being the crew's navigator, rest was an essential part of your job. To stay focused, to have a ready mind should your Assassin bretheren call up on your skillset.

It was for naught.

You missed the mirthfulness of being on dry land, being at the Homestead with your brothers and sisters. You missed the people rejoicing for the year's end, giving gifts and thanks for each other. You even missed the decorating of those silly pine trees and the smell of your baked goods. You missed Christmas. And you missed spending it with Liam, the quartermaster of the ship having always been a big part of your celebrations since before your time as an Assassin.

Every Christmas Eve, the bald Irishman made it a habit to ditch his duty of babysitting Shay for one night and spend the evening with you however which way you both saw fit.

Last year, Liam had taken you for ice-skating on the lake by the Homestead, as the weather finally permitted it. It also had something to do with the fact that you spent every day of that dreaded month whinging in his ear about how you'd love to learn how to ice-skate, begging asking him to teach you. How then, with you as persistent and stubborn as Shay, was he able to refuse??

The year before, Liam had barely made it to port in time, surprising you with his appearance at your front door in the evening. You'd felt so disheartened at the prospect of him being away from home, away from you that Christmas, that you'd nearly broken his back from the force of your embrace when you pulled his larger form through the door.

He never came empty handed, although you always insisted upon it.

"You're giving me the best meal I've had in months, Love", he'd say with a laugh. "Least I can do is give y' something for the trouble".

Liam would gift you trinkets he'd find at sea or on missions and although your respective careers as Assassins allowed little time for feelings or emotions, something about Liam makes every trouble feel small and any place feel like home.

You were relieved to be travelling with him and Shay this year, the bald Irishman having sung praise about your navigational expertise— one that could rival Chevalier's. And despite being no closer to the mission's end, you missed the intimacy of your traditions with your dearest friend who was undoubtedly sleeping soundly.

Or so you'd thought.

"What's this then?", Liam's voice startled you from your daze. "Sorry", he apologised with a soft laugh, moving to lean on the ship's railing alongside you.

"Can't sleep?", your question made him grin.

"Shouldn't I be the one to ask you that?". His amused expression quickly morphed into one of concern. "What's got y' so troubled?".

"It's Christmas Eve", your reply confused him, before you elaborated. "And look where we are. No land for miles, just water".

"I never knew being at sea would bother you so much", his brows drew together. "It can be hard, being so isolated. I can always ask Shay to—".

"It's not that, Liam".

"Then what?", his question was paired with a light tilting of his head, green hues fixed on you with that same gentle and attentive nature.

"There's no traditions or fun this year. No break from our work— we just don't stop. Every year, we always found something new to do, but it never mattered to me what we did. We always had each other, Liam. And maybe, just maybe, I—".

"Miss it?", he finished, coaxing something of a sheepish nod from you.

Darting up from the clasp of your hands, your gaze met Liam's, something fond and understanding in the way his lips curled into that crooked and beloved smile.

Hues of blue, purple and green suddenly illuminated his face in a heavenly symphony of colours and lights, stealing the breath from your lungs as your gazes travelled upward in realisation.

For the first time in your months on the sea, the Aurora Borealis made herself known to the only two beings awake on the ocean, dancing in many waves across the glittering skies.

"Come now", Liam said gathering your immediate attention when extending a palm to you. "I think we've found our fun for this year".

The warmth of his hand quickly enveloped yours, beckoning you near with the lightest of tugs. Your mingling breaths misted in the cold, your being craving the heat that endlessly radiated from the male before you.

Just like your dance on the ice the previous year, Liam lead you carefully by the small of your back into a soft waltz, the world around you slowly spinning in colours and ribbons of light from the heavens, with him at its heart.

The Irishman shared in your gleeful laughter as you both spun and gradually forgot the rhythm of the dance, all the while clinging to each other's hands.

Your bodies became tangled and giggling messes as you both struggled to hold the other upright in an embrace that finalised your dance with Liam. His head panned to yours resting softly on his shoulder, breathless and grinning ear to ear. Flushed from the cold and looking at him like he'd placed the stars themselves into the heavens.

"I think I've found our tradition for every year", you whispered.

His brows rose playfully, "Have you?".

Craving his warmth, you wasted no more time in hesitation, seizing the blistering heat of his mouth with yours.

Liam eagerly accepted the contact with a pleased hum, smiling through the shared movements of your lips as the years of tension fell away into something far more beautiful.

"I quite like that idea", his quiet laugh fell upon your skin. "We should definitely do the dancing again—".

Slapping his shoulder, you both shared in another kiss before making a move for the quartmaster's cabin, from which you would probably fail to emerge from any time prior to noon on Christmas Day.

♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡

Jacob Frye

Snow cut through the calm yet biting breeze, a chill deep in the foggy streets of London. Your throat burned dry with every inhale, relieved to be out in the open air at last, away from the suffocating heat of the bustling tavern.

What else could you expect from a gathering hosted by London's best bookie?

Robert Topping had thrown together quite the riot for the good peoples of the city, the Rooks taking it upon themselves to make merry with them, ensuring that every man, woman and child that showed up left in good spirits and with plenty of food in their bellies.

Another few people passed you by on their way out from the pub, whispers of 'Merry Christmas' on their lips, reflective of their gratitude towards you and the many others that had contributed to the party and the hard-won peace that now flourished in London.

Since Starrick's defeat mere months ago, the people no longer came to suffer the oppression of the gangs that had once run the streets. All the same, you also found yourself missing the adrenaline of it all. The thrill of freeing the people under the Templars' noses, loosening their iron hold over the citizens— working with Jacob and Evie to undo each scheme that was set against them.

However, there was nothing you missed more than being paired with Jacob on any mission the Frye's needed you for. The younger Frye had a knack for making you laugh, his easygoing nature making him easy to fall into step with.

His witty sarcasm, his playful digs and constant verbal nudges to get on your nerves had all become much-loved aspects of your assignments with him. Now, you knew not what you'd do without them, just as Jacob remained unsure of how often he'd have your company in future.

It frightened him— the thought of hardly seeing you, after you'd achieved so much together.

As such, it was hard for the younger Frye to remain oblivious to your early departure from the festivities, spying your thoughtful expression as you'd moved out into the snow.

"Leaving so soon?", Jacob called unto your back, caught for breath when you turned to face him. Pure exhilaration.

"I am, actually", you spoke with a teasing edge. "What brings you here? Looking for a way out of Bobby Topping's drinking competition? He was keen hoping you'd be his top contender".

"He knows I don't have to compete to be his top contender", the brunette countered quickly. "And I have no plans on earning him a quid more than he already has this evening".

"That's a first". He huffed a laugh at your quip, before his features softened. Recounting the many nights you'd spent patching him up after Fight Club. Blooded and bruised. Kind hands cradling him.

"It's hardly safe at this hour", Jacob began, sparing a glance at his fobwatch. "And as much as I'd love to leave you to the street felons, I think a walk might do us good".

"Am I sensing an offer to walk me home, Mr Frye?", your brow cocked, masking the mixture of horror and excitement that suddenly arose within you.

"It's that or Evie's wrath. As much as I lack fear of the latter, I'm not in the mood to be verbally castrated when I return to the train tonight". The brunette swiveled on his feet, graciously offering you his elbow to hold. "It is Christmas Eve, after all and one must learn to forgive another's snide remarks".

The wink that followed had you giggling, "I accept".

The walk that followed was magical.

Holding to the hard muscle sheathed by his leather jacket, you basked in the warmth that seemed to pour endlessly from Jacob. A beacon of heat in the crisp winter cold as you crossed onto London bridge– now entirely devoid of any life. Naught but the quiet flow of the icy waters and the waft of the breeze could be heard, no voices.

"It's so peaceful", your comment irked a fond smile from the young Frye as his stride seemed to slow.

"Too peaceful, one might say", his contented sigh misted in the breeze, footsteps halting halfway across the brige.

Jacob seemed taken by something, his hues of hazel panning up into the sky— to the lonely lights twinkling above. Their sparkle cascaded down, into the fresh snowflakes that now rained softly from the heavens. Like stars falling to Earth, the frost glittering in the moonlight.

"Snow!", your mouth fell open in awe, squeezing his arm in your shock. "It's so beautiful".

The flakes danced around you both in the wind, clinging to your hair and settling onto your clothes, doing nothing to deter Jacob's playful spirit.

Your racing heart leapt as his larger hand slowly brushed along your forearm, fingers carefully moving to tangle with your own amidst the snowfall.

"Dance with me", he whispered in a tone so gentle, you'd thought him a completely different person for a moment. The mischievous twinkle in the heart of his gaze made you realise that it was quite the contrary.

Seizing the moment with the man you adored, your steps across the bridge turned into the graceful, yet clumsy movements of a ballroom dance. Your shared laughter echoed along the piers below, seeming like starstruck soulmates to any sailors observing from below.

Without missing a beat, Jacob twirled you into his embrace with the gentleness and playfulness of a lover in a private waltz that was completely your own.

The journey across the bridge was over too soon, leaving your cheeks red and sore from smiling so much. All the while, Jacob's hand never retreated from yours.

Sensing a change in the wind, the young Assassin's head snapped towards you with amusement and exhaustion marring his expression. "As much as I'd love to continue our antics with the stunning views atop Big Ben, I think it would be a good idea to get indoors".

Little did you know, he'd never been more right.

Chests heaving and hearts hammering, you embraced the shelter you'd both managed to reach. Your beloved home, safe from the storm that had suddenly swept north.

"That was fun", Jacob's comment irked a shake of your head.

"Funnily enough", you countered, managing a laugh amidst your gasps for air. "Outrunning a blizzard wasn't how I planned to spend my Christmas Eve".

All of the other homes on the street were now near invisible to you both, shaky hands reaching for the front door. "You'd be mad to go back to the train in this weather", you turned to the timid and shaking brunette, quickly beckoning him inside with you. "Stay the night".

"It's a pity that our run didn't keep us warm for long", Jacob huffed once inside your humble abode, relieved to see that you were already starting a fire in the hearth.

"We were lucky to get here when we did, though", you remarked through chattering teeth. "Make yourself at home, Jacob".

Nodding, the young Frye unclasped his hidden blade, shook off his dampening overcoat and removed his top hat out of respect whilst you hurried out of the room.

Hazel flecked hues danced the room, ogling at the cozy Christmas greenery that lined the walls, at the beautifully decorated pine tree that brought him fondly back to the days of his childhood in Crawley. Of standing on an old oak chair in the living room of his grandmother's house, eagerly hanging the baubles whilst the smells of spiced biscuits and fresh tree needles filled the room.

So consumed in the memories that made his eyes glassy, Jacob didn't see your approach, nearly jumping whilst you wrapped a thick blanket around his broad shoulders. There was instant warmth and relief in the way your palms ran along his toned arms, attempting to provide heat through friction.

"Thank you". There it was again, just like before. That softness drifting through his voice, so unlike the boisterous and authoritative tone he usually took with the Rooks and other associates of his.

Offering him a smile that brought a completely different warmth to his form, Jacob allowed himself to be pulled in tow, to be seated with you by the crackling embers of the dim fire.

Given the evening behind you, the younger Frye felt comfortable and confident enough to be seated flush with you on the hard cold of the floorboards, inching one half of the blanket around your shoulders for you to share in his ever present body heat again.

Restraining the shudders that threatened to wash over you, your head panned away from his, not daring another glance at the way the fire illuminated his delicate and sharp features.

"Do you want some tea?". You began to hover your numbing hands above the burning flames, his words of reply being neither desperate or commanding, accompanied with what appeared to be a content curl of his lips, boyish and sweet.

"Don't leave".

Jacob's larger palms reached out, encasing the chill of your fingers within them. Drawing your hands away from the fire, his own gently offered yours a massage, encouraging the blood to race back into them.

Steady fingers worked into your palms and wrists, rubbing together at a soft and tantalising pace, the hazel hues of his gaze darting up to meet yours. You felt pinned in place by them whilst he blew a stream of hot air onto your skin.

Nerves prickled in your flesh, entirely fixated by the proximity of your best friend. Your colleague. So intimately coursing his thumbs over your hands whilst he spoke,

"I know this evening hasn't been what you expected— Or what I expected". His lashes fluttered. "But, there's no one else's Christmas Eve I'd rather be imposing on right now, more than yours".

An amused grin splayed along your features, shyly adding a confession of your own, "I don't think there's anyone else I'd rather have imposing on my Christmas Eve right now. Or from now on".

The new and bewitching colours of Jacob's firelit gaze once again ensnared you, holding your own eyes through the length of his lashes. His mouth feathered a touch over the pads of your fingers, brushing another on your knuckles before he finally settled for closing what space remained between you.

Whatever kind grip that he'd had on your hands disappeared, allowing you the opportunity of sweeping them along the ridge of his cheekbone and into his hair whilst his lips grazed over the seam of yours.

A gasp ghosted over Jacob's sensitive flesh, encouraging him to take your mouth again in a kiss far more eager than the last.

The crease of his brows met firm with yours, claiming any of your coherent thought in the new and fervent dance of his lips. Caught entirely in those movements, you both easily forgot the cold around you, the blanket falling to the floor as you climbed into his lap. Into his arms.

Jacob caressed a finger along your frantic pulse point, continuing to tease the dip of your collarbone whilst he settled his hand above your heart.

"I think—", he murmured, hinting a kiss in his descent against the delicate flesh of your jaw. "We can beat this chill another way".

The vibration of your laugh only did much to tempt him, quickly taking it upon yourself to fuel that cheeky grin of his.

"Whatever you say, Mr Frye".

♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡

Evie Frye

Baubles and greenery. Holly and cinnamon sticks. Pine trees and the smells of roasted chestnuts being carried down the streets. Everybody knew what time of year had come.

A sweet sense of relief had set in with the peoples of London, just in time for the biggest and happiest season. Having only been a shell of it's former self mere months ago, the city was now alive and bustling with trade and well wishes. Content with the knowledge that someone was looking out for them. Offering them a hard-earned peace.

The Rooks, the beloved gang serving the Fryes and protecting the streets— were now making merry with those they serve. Throwing a riot of a party that Evie Frye was certain she was missing.

She paid no mind to the cheering and clapping on the streets this evening, content to let it pass her by, despite Jacob's encouragements. There was far more work to be done, far more to be studied on the Pieces of Eden. Templar schemes didn't disappear at Christmas, and Evie made it her inclination that Assassin plans never halted either. Too much was at stake. Or so she'd earlier insisted to Henry, who also— thought it best to have the night off.

For but a moment, her tired crystal eyes lifted from the piles of parchment on her desk, harping a thought of her very active mind on you.

Of the way you'd busied yourself around the train earlier that morning, piles of decorations fumbling and falling from your arms. The excitement that had flared through the depths of your gaze or the shape of your dimples when you grinned like a giddy schoolchild and the way her heart had soared with your laughter.

A smile ghosted over Evie's lips, unrestrained with the fond reminder of how your carefree soul never failed to lift her spirits.

In previous months, it had done much to loosen her hardened and strict exterior. And earned her a mouthful of teasing from her brother, who had wholeheartedly supported her curiosities of their best friend and colleague. Despite any and all disapproval she'd face from anyone else.

There was a tug of guilt in her chest, drawing her icy hues to the glow of the streets outside. You'd be celebrating, perhaps disheartened that your friend couldn't even make the effort to show. After everything you'd done to prepare. After everything you'd accomplished together this year.

"There you are", Evie suddenly straightened, instantly snapped from her daze by the intrusion of your voice. As if her thoughts alone had summoned you to the train.

"(Y/n)", the brunette turned to you, choked up with the image settled before her.

Despite your hands being clasped behind your back, your posture was that of complete relaxation, donning a dress so wickedly beautiful, it seemed as if the angels above had forged you.

There was an obvious flush to your cheeks from the cold and any alcohol you'd recently consumed with the festivities, but it left any of her previously coherent thoughts scarce.

"Jacob told me I'd find you here", you remarked with a cheeky quirk to your lip.

Of course he did, Evie nearly responded out of natural irritation, marking your approach. Noting the concern etched to your features, the waves of your hair drifting back and carrying the smells of spiced firesmoke.

"Why are you here so late? You're missing all of the festivities".

A long and frustrated sigh drifted through her nostrils. "It's the Templars", she tugged stressfully on a loose strand of her fringe. "They don't rest! They—".

"Enough", one of your palms moved to carefully blanket Evie's, instantly rendering her into a silence. "Forget it. Forget it all tonight. It's Christmas Eve".

The softest swipe of your thumb over her knuckles placated any argument, Evie pinning you with a pensive and tired glare before her shoulders slumped in resignation at your unwavering resolve. You were anything if not more stubborn than her twin.

Without much difficulty, the older Frye allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. Sitting for the many hours passed had done little to aid her posture, leaving her muscles unnaturally exhausted of their energy and bones riddled with stiffness.

"Office work does not become you, Miss Frye", your giggle was soon mirrored by hers.

"I'm glad you think so. My bones seem to agree with you".

"Lucky for you, it's hardly the weather to be chasing down Templars. However,—", her brows rose in intrigue when you trailed off, finally bringing your other hand forth from behind your back. "— you may find the weather more fitting for this".

In one of your hands was a steaming mug of mulled wine that you'd managed to smuggle from the celebration, its fragrant spices drawing the elder Frye back to her childhood days in Crawley. Building snowmen with Jacob and cutting down pine trees in the woods.

In your other palm, there was a small and well-decorated box that you'd pulled from your pocket, patterned simply with a red ribbon binding the label which read clearly,

'To Evie.

With love, from (Y/n)'.

Offering both to her, you had the honour of watching her familiar icy blues change in their observation of you. Twisting with a fondness and mixture of shock that you'd never previously witnessed from her.

"Merry Christmas, Evie".

Moisture prickled in the brunette's eyes, quickly dismissed in the flutter of her lashes. "I can't believe you—".

About to placate her, you hardly expected Evie to cross whatever space there was between you, drawing your frame against hers in a kind embrace that nullified the winter's harsh and lingering chill.

"Evie, your mulled wine—", you tried to object whilst you steadied yourself with her, soon realising that you were perfectly safe and balanced. That her beverage wouldn't spill and burn you both.

The moments drifted in the comfort of her arms, seeming to end too soon when she at last pulled from you with misty hues.

"You didn't honestly think that I would forget you?".

Evie choked a laugh in the dismissal of her tears, "By my not attending the festivities, I thought that I'd given you the uninentional presumption that I'd forgotten you".

"No", your smile remained kind, admired keenly by Evie's sharper gaze. "You gave me the presumption that I'd have to drag you from your papers kicking and screaming. Didn't I succeed?".

"You've gotten further than Jacob ever has", she conceded, feeling the lightness of the gift being tucked beneath her fingers.

"Open it", your encouragement made her blink.

"But, it's Christmas Eve?".

"This one is special". You squeezed her hand in assurance. "Trust me".

It was with a slow apprehension and deep care that Evie untied the ribbon, lifting the shallow lid to the box in her palm. You delighted in the wonder that arose within the crystalline glare of her gaze as her fingers lifted the delicate trinket from the box.

The silver chain caught the light around you, twinkling softly like the stars under her scrutiny. Charms jangled, tied and melded into the precious metal with a precision that left her speechless.

"Did you—".

"I did", you nodded. "I learned from Henry. It's a lucky charm bracelet. I made its design so that it could also adorn your hidden blade, if you wish".

"I do, please!", Evie's insistance was paired with the instant offer of her forearm, on which you then fastened the glittering jewels to her bracer.

"I chose this colour", you murmured, tracing a finger along one of the stones. Pale blue and cut to be shaped like a heart. "Reminded me of your eyes".

Your gaze darted up, instantly catching hers. Like the striking chill of winter, or the bubbling streams anew in spring.

"Why did you shape it that way?", her ask was barely audible, as if speaking any louder would shatter any hope of a genuine answer from you.

"I carved it that way to represent my heart. My goodwill to you, Evie. To give you luck when you need it. Maybe, in the hopes that you might be reminded of me from time to time, if you ever go back to Crawley".

Your stomach twisted with the prospect of a possible rejection whilst the brunette huffed a breathy laugh. "How foolish you are, to believe that I'd ever be capable of forgetting you".

You swallowed nervously, feeling your throat becoming taut with the slow smile that crept onto her freckled cheeks. A realisation passed between you both in that moment. That this wasn't some fiction or delusion, or simple and fleeting curiosity. This was real. Fortified further by the gentle tug of her arm, slowly allowing the hand lingering upon it to fall into hers.

"You are far too entangled in my heart for me to ever let you go", she whispered, fingers weaving to intertwine with yours. "How could I ever leave?".

With the lightest pull from Evie, your feet stumbled forwards on autopilot, chest coming to meet flush with hers.

The cold that encompassed your lips dissipated with the soft breaths that cascaded over them, soon swallowed entirely by warmth as her mouth claimed yours. Gently, ardently, riddled with hesitation.

Your hands reliquished their grip at last on the mug, shattering when it hit the floor nearby, paying no mind to it whilst Evie craned you backwards, leading you to the couch just behind.

Falling upon the plush surface, you understood now why Jacob found it so comfortable. Evie blinked when her lips pulled from yours,

"Hang on, I forgot to get you a present—".

"I don't know", you mused, dancing a finger along the collar of her shirt. "I have a feeling that I'll like unwrapping this one much better".

♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡

Lydia Frye

"Miss Frye".

"Mr Churchill", Lydia acknowledged with a curt nod, fiddling with the bracer of her hidden blade.

"I trust, the mission went well??".

"Exceptionally", she nodded, watching the warmth of relief meeting the Prime Minister's eyes. "The spies at the north gate have been eliminated. Rooks now stand vigil. If we are to endure an attack, we will surely see it coming".

"It seems London is once again indebted to you, Miss Frye", Winston mused. "Is there not anything we can offer you in return?? Consider your previous request in the works. I have my best people ensuring that London will one day bear true equality to the women of our beloved nation".

Lydia was pensive, gnawing the inside of her mouth. Unable to ignore the pressure of the worries eating at her every thought.

Hesitantly, she pulled a letter from her green overcoat, offering it forth to a bewildered Winston Churchill. His steady hands took the parchment, sparing it a look only to whom it was from. "(Y/n) Frye?", his gaze darted up to Lydia's.

"She's an Assassin working to aid the front", the brunette elaborated. "She has written me one letter a week without fail since her deployment. It has been two and a half weeks, and I have no word. Not even from my best men".

"You worry for her wellbeing?", Churchill questioned with a concern similar to Lydia's. "There is a war on. Perhaps, the couriers—".

"I recieve these letters by different means, Mr Churchill. I am scared for her life. No one loves Christmas more than she. And with that on approach— I've heard nothing. Not even a whisper".

"I see", his lips pursed in thought, nodding in his understanding.

"Mr Churchill, if there's one thing I wish, it's for her to be found and brought home safely".

"I will begin an investigation at once", he assured her, smiling at the numbers written under your signature. "Smart girl. She has signed off with her last longitude and latitude coordinates for us, which gives us a good place to start covering ground".

"Thank you, Sir", Lydia released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

"I only ask for patience and understanding at this time, Miss Frye", Churchill offered a compassionate smile. "Be aware that it is hardly unusual for people to go missing in warzones and this investigation may take some time. I will page you with any findings I come across. We will get your sister home, if we can. That is a promise".

"She's not my sister, Mr Churchill", the brunette nodded in her parting, lifting her hands to raise her cowl. Winston only had to dart his keen gaze to one of them, instantly realising the truth upon seeing the silver band sitting on her left ring finger.

You weren't Lydia Frye's sister— you were her wife.

Weeks had passed with no word from yourself or in regards to the investigation. Lydia grew more anxious with each day that silence claimed.

"Wipe that worried off your face, Lydia Frye", she snapped from her daze with her grandfather's voice pulling her to reality. "Your fretting is making me fret".

The brunette giggled at the lighthearted expression on his weathered features, "Apologies, Grandfather. I had no idea such things were contagious".

"I have spent days worrying over others. It does not do well to dwell on these things, Sweetheart. My heart tells me that they'll find (Y/n) and bring her home", Jacob sighed. "Evie and I trained you both. I know your capabilities more than most, as well as hers. (Y/n) is strong and forthright. If I know her as well as I think, she is fighting to get home to you".

"I feel helpless, Grandfather", Lydia's smile saddened. "All I can do is wait and it kills me to not be able to—".

"Walk in there, guns blazing to get her out?", Jacob drawled with his peppered brows raised knowingly. Lydia's mouth parted to speak, opening and closing as if in shock that her grandfather knew her better than she knew herself. "You see?", he laughed. "That's the Frye blood in you. The urge to jump into danger, without thought if it means saving someone else".

"You think that I should resist it?", she cocked a brow expectantly.

"No", Jacob's head shook with that signature Frye grin. "I ask you to use it wisely. Pair it with an unholy amount of patience, if you must. But, if it's one thing I know, it's that you and (Y/n) are blessed to have each other".

Lydia's smile flourished again, if only for one thoughtful moment, "Christmas will not be the same without her".

"I don't doubt that either".

Lydia returned to the big city, to her home in London in time for Christmas Eve after making merry with her grandfather over many days in the countryside. Always, his visits were uplifting, reminding her of her rebellious youth beside you.

Easily, she was able to recall your shared studies together, seated on the grassy plains just outside her grandfather's property. Braiding your hair and weaving friendship bracelets from daisies and forget-me-nots.

Your first kiss in the cool spring breeze, swearing yourself to her side. If Lydia chose the destiny of an Assassin, you decided the same fate for yourself.

You'd spent every Christmas together since you were both five years old. Now, you had quite literally disappeared from the face of the Earth, leaving Lydia beside herself in preparation for a night she'd decided to spend patrolling the streets during whatever festivities that were being held.

Refastening her bracer, the brunette finally relented to the idea of taking this walk in the open air, if only to forget the absence of your warmth in your now cold house.

Opening the front door, Lydia froze, sure that she was hallucinating. There, you stood on the frosty street, hand raised to knock on the door of your own home.

Your hair was messily braided, strands matted together in a mixture of ash, gunpowder and mud. Dark circles sat under your usually bright hues, clothes battered and one arm carefully cradled in a sling.

"(Y/n)?", Lydia blinked, her words no more audible than a breath.

To your sore and heavy eyes, your wife was a gift. Mouth parted, the glittering hazel in her hues growing wide in her shock and porcelain skin marred with the obvious lines of worry that only did more to pronounce her beauty.

Having only emerged recently from the horrors of the warzones, from the violence and unlimited dangers you were forced to face on the daily— including your injuries, you trembled. You could hardly believe you were home, alive, never to go back.

Your chest tightened suddenly, face crumpling with the tears you'd long been holding in since you left for the battlefields. "Lydia", you choked out, stumbling the remaining few steps between you on weak legs.

Her arms engulfed you eagerly within seconds, suffocatingly tight. "You're alive!", you heard the wonder and relief in her sobs as she clung to you. "I've missed you, I— I was so worried that you—".

"I know. I know—", you stammered, gasping for breath through your tears. "We were ambushed by Templars some weeks ago. I couldn't save everyone— I couldn't—".

"Shh, now", Lydia hushed you, pulling back to cradle your face in her palms. So warm and full of life. Just as you'd remembered in your dreams. "What matters is, you're home safe".

Her smile, just as wicked as her grandfather's, ensnared you all over again. You waited no longer, taking her lips in a fervent and long-awaited kiss beneath the dangling mistletoe.

"You must have missed me just as much", Lydia offered a lighthearted joke, gasping through the next contact of your lips.

Your mouth curled against hers, murmuring, "Winston Churchill sends his regards".

"Bless his heart", Lydia sighed, eyes growing misty once more. "He really did it. He got you home on Christmas Eve".

"So did you", you breathed out, watching it crystallise in the breeze around you. "No one would have found me— thought to look for me, if it weren't for you. You never gave up on me, Lydia".

"I never will", her forehead met yours, gaze as adoring as the day you'd stood in your own private altar in the countryside. "Not ever".

Her lips warmed the tip of your nose, irking you to giggle. "Going somewhere this evening?", you bit your own lip to restrain your teasing smile.

"No", Lydia's head shook with her own devious smile. "At home with the wife tonight. We have a lot of catching up to do this Christmas".

The End. . .

__________________________________________

Hello, all!! 🥰

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to every single one of you!! 🎄☃️🎉🥳💖🫂

I hope you've all had the most spectacular holiday season, however you celebrate it! I wish good health and good fortune for your Christmas and the year ahead, but also to thank anyone and everyone who has supported my works this year. I'm grateful to you, including all of the friends I have made in this fandom and beyond! Thank you all!! You're magnificent ❤❤

As always, please tell me how I went with writing these with any feedback you have. I hope you all enjoyed!! If you wish to be a part of my taglists for this fandom or any of the ones I write for - check out my Masterlist and let me know!!

~ Elena ♡

-

TAGLIST; @deadlymistletoe

[yvesolace]

welcome to the madhouse

hi i'm tay, i use she/her prns i'm 21 and a lesbian! this is my first time properly and officially writing smut or just fanfiction in general. i tried when i was younger but i never went through with it but i actually have proper ideas now.

topics i will write: smut, fluff, fem!reader, somnophilia, age gap (only if reader is 20+), bondage, choking, spitting, manhandling, stepcest, blood kink/blood drinking if it's about vampires, mommy kink, daddy kink what i will not write: incest, underage, rape/non con, male!reader, gn!reader, pedophila, lolicon, zoophilia, any of that real!mom shit, scat, vomit, mmlg, ddlg note: if you’re wondering if a topic/character you want to request is something i’d write or not ask in your request!! if it isn’t i will say so

resident evil lady dimitrescu, dimitrescu sisters, mother miranda, donna beneviento, angie beneviento (resident lover), ada wong, jill valentine, claire redfield, ashley graham, leon kennedy

cyberpunk 2077  fem v, judy alvarez, panam palmer, rogue amendiares, alt cunningham, song ‘songbird’ somi, rosalind myers, evelyn parker, hanako arasaka, misty olszewski, meredith stout, aurore cassel, lizzy wizzy

starfield sarah morgan, andreja, mei divine

red dead redemption  sadie adler, molly o'shea, mary-beth glaskill, karen jones, susan grimshaw, abigail roberts, mary linton

assassin's creed evie frye, élise de la serre, claudia auditore da firenze, kassandra, rebecca crane, lucy stillman, aya (amunet), ciara ingen medba, randvi

misc lara croft (tomb raider), valeria (cod mw2), jane harrow (cod bo6), helen park (cod cw), emily davis (until dawn), sam giddings (until dawn), jessica riley (until dawn), emma mountebank (the quarry)

requests open when requesting please be specific!

[kousanosgf]

i'm taking requests ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

ּ ֶָ֢. arcane — sevika; cyberpunk 2077 — hanako arasaka, rogue amendiares; the witcher — yennefer, ciri; assassin's creed: odyssey — kassandra

ּ ֶָ֢. yes — f!reader, wlw, sfw, nsfw, fluff, angst

ּ ֶָ֢. no — non/dub-con, pregnancy, g!p, mommy/daddy kink

[gaycragula]

Request Info

Fandoms I am currently in/will write for

Overwatch Will write for everyone, see the only stipulations below Tracer/Pharah- Platonic unless reader is gender neutral Winston/Hammond/Orisa- Platonic only

Mortal Kombat I've only played MK1 and MK11 so it's limited to those two games

Assassin's Creed AC 3 AC Black Flag AC Rogue AC Unity AC Syndicate AC Origins AC Odyssey

Fandoms I am not in but will still write for if requested

Call of Duty Modern Warfare

Horror Icons/movies Ask!

Feel free to ask if I'll write for a game/show/movie/etc!!

I will write

FtM!Reader M!Reader GN!Reader Char x Reader x Char Char x Reader Polyamorous relationship Fluff Smut Angst i don't think im very good at it though Ask about any kinks if you're curious!

I will NOT write

F!Reader SA/Non-con Scat Pregnancy Yandere Over the top feet stuff Char x Char

I will reject the request if I am not comfortable writing it ^^

Account Navigation

[krankittoeleven]

Fanfic Tag Game

Thank you thank you for the tag @brasideios! I think some things have changed since last time I did this and there's some new peeps around so here we go!

1. How many fics do you have on AO3? 18

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 226,152

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently JJK, Trigun, Assassin's Creed and Final Fantasy 12 (LMAO) are fandoms I have fics in progress for that will likely see the light of day. That's generally what I consider a fandom I "write for".

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

1. But Like a Refugee (Trigun 98, Vashwood, E) 2. Because the Night (Trigun Stampede, Kniveswood, E) 3. we were hungry before (JJK, Nanago, E) 4. Sweets for the Sweet (Trigun 98, Vashwood, T) 5. a prelude to infinity (JJK, Nanago, M, WIP)

Jeez, Trigun and JJK really just told all my other fandoms to move over lol

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yep 99% of the time. If I miss something it's not intentional.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't really think I have one posted at the moment. I usually resolve my angst or give a fic at least a hopeful ending. Some things coming down the pipeline might fit in future iterations of this post, though. lol

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Sweets for the Sweet, probably. It's pure, unadulterated Vashwood fluff.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not specifically on AO3, but I've gotten anon hate here (that seems fic related) and I just snort, delete and move on.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, these days I tend to write fairly explicit but still vanilla sex. Haven't felt like writing anything particularly wild lately, but not against it.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I wrote a GO/Cosmic Horror fic ages ago that is lost to time and space (fried hard drive and purges). Other than that I have started a ton of crossovers but never finished any. I am however nearing the completion of a Trigun/JJK crossover (Midvalley the Hornfreak/Nanami Kento for the 2 people in the world this might interest LOL) It was supposed to be crack for cracks sake but it became crack treated seriously. LMAO

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No I don't think so.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Not yet, but maybe soon?! Got asked for permission in regards to we were hungry before, so we'll see if that happens! :D

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

No but wouldn't be adverse to it. I've done writer/Artist collabs before, though.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

I refuse to pick only one, deal with it. :D Kenren/Tenpou (Saiyuki Gaiden), Ineffable Husbands (GO), Vashwood (Trigun), Kakairu (Naruto), Shaytham (AC Rogue), Ubba/Vili (AC Valhalla), Nanago (JJK), Balthier/Basch (FF12), Ignoct (FF15). Throughout every fandom I will apparently fall face first into the ground for any variation of the stoic introvert/excitable extrovert pair.

15. What’s a fic you’d like to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I will not doom any of my WIPS to that fate. I remain optimistic that I'll finished them all.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Writing dialogue, banter & humor.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I know I have plenty of technical weaknesses with writing, but my true weaknesses are just not executing the idea I started with and terrible follow through/commitment to finishing.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

Whatever someone wants to do with their fic is fine by me. I do what I need to do to get certain points across.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Saiyuki

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

We were hungry before (JJK, Nanago, E) and Water of Life (AC Valhalla, Ubba/Vili, E, WIP) because I've put my blood sweat and tears into both of them (lots of tears, for real). Also, they both take me home (JJK, GetoNanaGo, M) because, for once, a fic turned out EXACTLY like I wanted it to.

I will tag @madnessmadness, @beelzebby666, @lifewtr, @akashadarkblade, @troublemakingrebel, @vault-heck. I think most of my other writing mutuals have been tagged. If I missed you feel free to join in, I've truly lost track of who does and doesn't write these days.

[sweetcocopowder]

A Fool's Life | Shaytham

Synopsis: Desmond has to dive back into Haytham to find out where a power source is for the temple. But the last thing he expects is something akin to when the Templar first met Ziio. But these emotions run something deeper, crueler.

Word Count: 3.8K

Pairing: Shay Cormac / Haytham Kenway

Warnings: Internalized homophobia

“We need you to dive back into Haytham.”

A few simple words that Desmond wished he would never have to hear. Desmond stares at his father with a scowl upon his lips waiting for the punch line. He glances to Shaun and Rebecca. Yet, they stay quiet and that is just saying a thousand words as is. It’s not some joke.

“Why?” Desmond asks as he looks to his father once more.

“Because Haytham came in contact with a power source for this Temple,” William explains monotonously. “We need to know where he put it.”

He tries to not put any hint of emotion in his words. Desmond knows what he’s doing. But it only makes him feel that itch of anger inside and he tries not to let it show.

“Can’t you just track this one like the others?” Desmond asks with bitterness in his tone.

So much for keeping it hidden. It can’t help it when it comes around his father. Almost everything he says makes Desmond want to retaliate in a frustrated manner.

This has William scowling. “It will only be for a moment, son,” he firmly says.

It’s not like Desmond has a choice at this point of time. His father will just tell him to do it until he does. They probably won’t continue on with Connor until he goes back into Haytham’s mind. Desmond throws up his hands and lays back down into the Animus with a grunt.

“Fine, but let’s get his over and done with.”

-

It’s the first day of Fall in Boston and the cool breeze is an ease on Haytham’s skin. But with Desmond being in Haytham’s mind again, it’s almost criminal. He can feel the anticipation on his mind, the quickening of his heart as he spots red sails coming onto port. There’s a man on that ship that Haytham knows, and it has the man itching. Which is something Desmond has only felt when Haytham was around Ziio.

Haytham may be blind to his emotions, someone that sees too much but doesn’t focus on himself, but Desmond knows this feeling. This breathlessness at the mere thought of someone.

The worn ship docks, her crew shouting out at each other, pulling ropes and bringing in sails. The Morrigan her name is and she’s seen her years for sure. Her once yellow paint is chipped and faded from years at sea. She’s an older ship, not up to date like the ones now. And she has people looking upon her that stand on the dock. Haytham only sees beauty, a fine ship that has lasted so long. But one could say that she’s only as strong as her captain. Working hand in hand.

The captain, Haytham sees him straight away and Desmond takes him in. He’s a tall, broad shouldered man with salt and pepper hair. It’s tied back into a short ponytail, one thing that hasn’t changed with him. But he now sports a brown leather coat with blue clothing. It makes him look older and wiser. Nothing like the young man Haytham knew almost twenty years ago.

All these emotions that Desmond feels nearly overwhelms him. The animus glitches for only a moment but Desmond retains himself. Haytham may present himself as a stern, serious man but by god can this man feel. And is he ignorant to his own emotions.

The man, Shay Cormac, smiles as he spots Haytham standing on the dock. Haytham had received a letter from Shay a week ago, telling him of his arrival soon in Boston. Said note is currently tucked away in Haytham’s breast pocket, just in case he got the dates wrong. Something that Shay will never know about.

A plank is drawn between the Morrigan and the dock and Haytham stands at the end of it as he watches Shay walk down. Desmond has never seen Haytham look upon a man like this as of right now. Haytham looks upon a much older version of the image he has in his head of Shay, but he still finds himself marvelling at the captain.

The two of them clasp hands in a firm handshake that feels like neither of them want to let go. But Haytham contains himself.

“It’s been a long time, Shay,” Haytham is first to speak.

Shay’s smile is something the Grandmaster has missed. It’s the exact same, just with added lines and wrinkles.

“Oh, it has been,” Shay speaks as if all those years away are now playing on his mind.

Where he’s been, who he’s met and the time he’s spent away. All something Haytham wants to know of.

“And you’ve retrieved it?”

With a soft nod, “Yes,” is what Shay replies with.

Haytham gestures out a hand. “I’ll lead you to the Green Dragon, it’s not far.” He begins. “I’d love to hear of your ventures away.”

Course you would, Desmond snaps out.

The simulation suddenly glitches and everything begins melting away into a blue, glitchy effect. Desmond groans in pain as he begins desynchronizing from the animus. This hasn’t happened since he first began with Altair. He’s aware he dislikes Haytham but not enough to desynchronize to this extent.

“Desmond. You need to follow Haytham,” Shaun’s voice comes through the animus.

It’s very hard to when it’s Haytham, Desmond snaps back.

“Just calm down. It’ll only be for a short while,” Shaun inquires again, trying to get Desmond to sync back up.

Desmond can suddenly feel his beating heart, thumping in his chest like a jack rabbit. He slows his breathing and calms his mind. The animus begins to flow again, the simulation changing from the docks to a tavern area. They’re at the Green Dragon.

It’s just Haytham and Shay sitting at the table that the Templars like to use for their get togethers. The very same that Desmond found out who Haytham truly aligned himself with.

Shay takes a long, slow drink of his ale. Haytham hasn’t touched his, still full in its cup. He watches Shay’s Adam’s apple bob up and down with each gulp before pulling his gaze away. Shay exhales loudly as he sets the cup on the table.

“I will have to say,” Shay admits. “I have missed American ale.”

Haytham looks to the other again to only find him staring at him already. He knows he shouldn’t be so sheepish around Shay. Even though they haven’t seen one another in nearly two decades, it shouldn’t be this awkward on Haytham’s end. Nowhere as near.

“Did you find you didn’t partake in the delicacies overseas?” Haytham asks.

“I don’t think that’s it, sir. I think it’s just something about this that speaks home,” the Irishman smirks.

That gets a short chuckle out of Haytham. Something that makes Shay’s brows lift ever so slightly. A warmth spreads to Haytham’s chest that has Desmond second guessing everything. He hasn’t felt this since Ziio. A longing, a want. But this runs deeper. Much crueller in its wake that Haytham wants gone. But he can’t help himself looking at Shay with a eyes that speak a thousand words.

The two mingle and talk about their lives some more. Something that Desmond finds himself getting lost in. Shay is so open with Haytham that it’s almost scary. But Haytham finds it so comforting and like Desmond, he almost gets lost in the Irishman’s tales and his way of words. He’s been everywhere and anywhere in these sixteen years away. He’ll be speaking on one thing and it’ll remind him of another story that has him talking for another thirty minutes.

But Haytham doesn’t stop him. Not once. Not even when he grabs another round of ale for them, he keeps listening. And this is so rare of Haytham. The warmth in his chest is something the British man rarely allows himself to indulge in.

-

As the night grows old, the two men move from the tavern to Haytham’s home. And as far as Desmond is concerned, not even Charles Lee comes around to Haytham’s in worry of disrupting the man’s privacy. In which Haytham is very grateful for. Yet with Shay, he’s more than welcome to bring him around.

The entire walk, Shay doesn’t stop talking. It isn’t an annoying chatter. It’s something so welcoming to Haytham’s ears since he has not heard that Irish accent in nearly two decades.

Shay finishes a story as they enter Haytham’s house and he doesn’t pick up another once, being self-aware to know when to stop. The host guides Shay to the living room which is something that Haytham has tried to replicate of his old home. The one where everything was right and just in the world before everything terrible and malicious that could happen in the world, happened. It isn’t the best, but the lounges are from Britian, the floral patterning hand woven instead of machine made. Bookshelves line the walls that are made from a walnut stained oak, made here in America. Each book that lines the shelves is something that Haytham holds dear to his heart, but he would never say such a thing out loud. The coffee table is also oak but stained with something darker that Haytham can’t remember at this given moment.

Not when Shay, - before he gets himself comfortable and rids himself of his coat- places the precursor box on the coffee table next to the empty fruit bowl.

The small wooden box seems to hum, and it has an energy to it. Something that Haytham doesn’t know if he’s imagining or if he can feel it. Could also be the blood rushing past his ears as his heart skips a beat or two within his chest.

Desmond has never seen anything like it, but Shay seems very familiar with it. He sits down in the lounge across from Haytham with his coat in his lap and looks to his Grandmaster with a raised, scarred brow.

Haytham, unlike Shay, doesn’t seem to be pleased with it. From where he stands, somehow on the other side of the room, he walks over and picks it up with a gingerly touch. The box is still and firm in his hand, but warm. He has to hold the shiver that threatens to run down his spine and over his arms.

“You actually found it,” Haytham finds himself muttering before he can stop himself.

Shay is a little taken a back but, he gives a heavy nod. “It took me longer than it should have, sir, but I found it,” he answers firmly, that casualness that he once possessed him gone and replaced by a formality found in soldiers.

Haytham sets it down before he drops the damn box. Such a small thing that has kept Shay away from the Order. Haytham could count how many times he could have used such a man like Shay for jobs here in America. He wishes he never sent him away after such a stupid little box. But both would argue on how important such a thing is. To keep out of Assassin hand.

Without even thinking, something that Shay catches, Haytham rubs the hand that touched the box on his coat.

“Thank you, Shay. This means a lot for the Order,” Haytham says, raising his chin a bit higher.

But Desmond hears the unsaid words. This means so much to me.

A softness comes to Shay’s hardened features that has Haytham turning his gaze away. He wonders over to one of the bookshelves and takes out one of his old journals from five years back now. Dust has settled upon it and the pages have begun to fox. He flips through to the middle and takes out a piece of loose paper. He slams the book shut before sliding it back into its place smoothly.

“I have something for you,” he says as his eyes quickly flick over the document.

Haytham turns back to Shay, who has been watching him the entire time with dark eyes. Instead of pausing or acknowledging the way Shay tracks his every movement, Haytham holds out of the piece of paper to him.

“This is your next task for me,” Haytham instructs.

Shay looks to him before down at the piece of paper as he takes it. Something shifts within his eyes, as if a flicker of hope was just snapped out like a candle snuffer. Haytham moves around the coffee table to the lounge that sits across of the Shay and sits down with his hat being placed next to him. He, in return, watches Shay’s dark brown eyes dart back and forth on the paper. Said paper is a rough sketch of an artifact that is rumoured to be a power source for a precursor sight. There’s little information and it’s outdated since said information is five years old now.

Haytham knows this could take another decade to find. And he’s very self-aware on what he’s doing. As much as Haytham enjoys Shay’s company and wishes him to stick around. As much as Haytham wishes to listen to Shay speak about his journeys across seas and in Europe. As much as Haytham would love to just be in the company of Shay, the Irishman is loyal to the course -loyal to Haytham- and is the only man the Grandmaster can trust to retrieve said items.

There were at times that Haytham thought Shay had given up, but a letter from the man would come not even a month later. It would only speak of how he is still on the trail of the box and that his loyalty to the Order has not wavered. How he misses New York and how he has missed many other things. How he’s missed the blue flowers that grow in Fort Arsenal and how they only bloomed in spring. He had said they remind Shay of someone, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He’d write in the next letter if he remembered but the next letter it seemed like he had forgotten entirely. Oh well…

Haytham had kept every single one of those letters, but Shay doesn’t need to know that. And never will.

The look that Haytham receives from Shay is one of hurt and sorrow. A long exhale escapes through Shay’s nose that has his shoulders sagging slightly. He seems to melt back into the lounge.

“This could take me another lifetime to find with this outdated information,” Shay comments what Haytham already knows.

Desmond can hear the plea.

 “I know,” Haytham nods. “But there is no other man that I would trust to find these artifacts.”

Shay’s jaw clenches. “Is there no one else to find this, sir? Someone that is familiar with these rumours and whomever has given you this information.”

Another plea that goes unheard. Haytham is set in his ways, and he will not listen to reason.

“I can give you the contacts on who gave me that information. But I have been holding onto it in hopes you would return back with the box. This, I need for my further research into the precursor site I have been after,” Haytham tells Shay firmly but, softly.

A defeated look comes over Shay. He looks over the single piece of paper again with a deeper set frown. He lets out a sigh.

“I’ll do it, sir” Shay agrees. Only because it’s you asking.

And with that, Shay says his farewells and is off before Haytham can blink. A deep ache settles in his cold heart that has him inhaling deeply to try and rid himself of it. It only worsens and he curses to himself for having such feelings towards such a man he has only known for such a little time.

Was it amongst the letters from Shay he realized the origin of the warm feeling whenever he was around said man? Or was it when that Morrigan had disappeared over the horizon when Shay first set out for the precursor box that the first real ache came to his heart. Or maybe when he first saw the broken man at the other end of the table to pledge himself to the cause. He saw a man willing to lay down his life for something greater and for a better future.

Maybe that’s why Haytham has always had an eye watching the Irishman when his back is turned. Or reading the letters he had sent over and over again when he feels the need. It’s such childish behaviour. He can admit that to himself.

But even so, he still finds himself staring and watching the back of Shay disappear around the corner of the room with a longing. He could speak. Say something. Say such few words that he knows would change everything. His tongue feels so heavy. Even when he hears the front door click open and shut, his tongue doesn’t even know how to form words.

Even if Shay had stopped and turned, what would have Haytham had said? For once, he’s speechless with himself. He doesn’t know how long he sits on the lounge for, staring at the empty space that once had Shay. He knows this is foolish of himself, but whom is to judge him? Such a sad man in a foolish world.

-

The animus skips time for Desmond, and he quickly realizes that it had only taken Shay Cormac two years to find the artifact. He was good. Too good for what he does. Took him much less time to find this artifact than the box.

This time, there was no grand entrance at the dock. No long-lost lover type movie thing coming back.

Three sharp knocks come to Haytham’s door, and he looks up from his newspaper. He wasn’t planning anyone coming over at this time of day and he had planned to stay inside for the rest. He wills himself to stand off his lounge and wonders over to the front door in nothing but his white, laced collared shirt. He’s rid himself of his heavy coat and cloak, not needing it in his private home.

He opens the door, expecting someone like Charles Lee or one of his own hired men to come and spill some nonsense to him. He’s all ready to wave them away to tell them to not bother him until later. But Desmond can feel all irritation melt away as Shay Cormac stands at the front door with his back turned.

As soon as the door has opened, Shay turns to greet Haytham with a wide smile. Something that instantly reddens Haytham’s ears.

“Back already, Shay?” Haytham asks with the slightest of cockiness in his tone.

This has Shay scoffing a light chuckle. He unclicks something on his belt, something wrapped up in cloth and hands it out to Haytham. The Grandmaster takes it with a nod and unwraps a bit of it to unveil what’s inside.

“Despite with what little you gave me,” Shay says. “It didn’t take me long to track it down since this thing was actively being hidden away from me.”

Haytham peers down at the unknown artifact. It’s a steely grey with lines that run over that, glowing a bright blue like glow worms. The shape is odd and cube like.

Desmond recognises instantly as the power source for their current precursor sight. So, it was Shay that brought it into Templar hands. Now they just need to pinpoint what modern Templar base has it and they’ll be able to find it.

“I’m going to pull you out now,” Rebecca’s voice sounds over the scene laying out before Desmond.

No! Wait a moment. Desmond quickly shouts out. I want to see where this goes.

“Uuhhh. Okay?”

Haytham folds the cloth back over the power source and looks to Shay again.

“Would you like to come in?” He asks Shay, side stepping a tad with an outstretched hand.

Shay’s brown eyes look into the doorway with a longing, but he shakes his head with a, “I’m sorry,” on his lips.

“I do apologize for this quick meeting, Haytham.” Shay speaks with regret heavy on his tongue. “But I must be heading back to New York to find out what has truly become of my estate.”

Haytham can’t help the silent, “Oh,” the comes from him as he stands fully in the doorway again. He wished to speak more with Shay about all of this. To just, sit with Shay would be a pleasure.

“Is such a matter so urgent?” Haytham asks, his tone stern and rough to hide the neediness behind its meaning.

Shay bows his head, “I’m afraid so.”

“I see.”

“Are there any other artifacts you would like me to look into before I leave?” Shay asks, his voice becoming soft.

Haytham looks to the wrapped artifact in his hand. He doesn’t have any other leads he would like chased up his sleeve. But he wishes he did. He wishes he could make Shay stay a little bit longer.

“No,” Haytham all but mumbles out.

He meets Shay’s soft gaze, one that Desmond recognises as disappointment. Why fall for someone like Haytham? Desmond is real curious on what goes inside Shay’s head. He wishes to know more about him despite being a Templar. In wanting to know more, to see if Shay’s look of disappointment comes with an ache in his heart similar to Haytham’s. Both must be feeling such similar things, yet neither of them wanting to say such out loud.

Shay nods with a sniff. “I’ll be off then, sir. I’ll still be at the ready if you need be,” he says before he turns to leave.

Haytham isn’t sure what he’s doing, but he reaches out and grabs onto Shay’s wrist. He’s curious in his own mind on why he’s done such a thing. But he meets Shay’s eyes once more and sees hope. Shay doesn’t say a word, waiting for Haytham to say something. His crow’s feet furrow together as Shay’s eyes narrow onto him.

Haytham wishes. But not now. He recoils his hand away and places it behind his back. He juts out his chin and straightens his back. The Grandmaster of the American Colonial Rite stands before Shay Cormac, and that is the last person the captain wanted to see.

“I will still want those reports of your contribution to the Templar course, Shay,” Haytham says instead of all the things on his mind.

Shay’s shoulder slouch and he smiles with hurt on his features. He looks Haytham up and down before giving a slow nod.

Haytham you stupid old man.

“Of course, sir.” Shay says. “I expected nothing more.”

Haytham gives a nod back with a frown upon his features.

“Goodbye, Haytham.”

And with that, Shay leaves. He all but disappears into the crowd on the Boston street, his assassin upbringing never truly leaving his blood. Haytham lets out a shaky breath and returns to his home, the door once again clicking softly behind him with Shay on the other side.

Did they ever see each other again?

There’s silence in Rebecca’s end before a sorrow filled, “No.”

[whatstrangeloops]

The Hades II prediction post

Wow! Hades II! That was a swerve from a studio that’s pointedly never done a sequel to any of their other games. In a way, surprising with their first sequel is entirely in character for Supergiant, who if you’ve seen interviews with the team, have always approached development from an innovation-first perspective. After Bastion, Transistor was developed around incorporating narrative elements into the mechanics more strongly, then Pyre was about writing for a large cast, and Hades, finally, was about synthesizing all their previous work into the rogue-like formula, distilling the gameplay and storytelling elements they’d kept consistently and those that they’d innovated upon previously into one release.

So what will Hades II be about, what will be it’s driving innovation? First though, let me write about the fluff. I think Hades II will have dual-wielding. The trailer really seems to emphasize both Melinoe and Hecate dual-wielding weapons. And close watchers will have noticed that Melinoe uses mismatched weapons, a sickle and a dagger. Could this mean we might get to choose a dual wielding loadout? I think it could be likely, such a system existed in Bastion and I expect that Transistor’s “weapons equipped in different primary or utility slots create build wide modifiers” system could be on the table as well.

I am also entirely certain that we will see more areas. Hades five (5) zones (I count The House of Hades as a zone) were fully fleshed but not very numerous especially comparing to SGs previous releases. I will go ahead an claim that Hades II will have closer to 8 or maybe 10 zones though I’m not sure if these will be linearly arranged, arranged on branching paths, or if instead they will crib some notes from the Spelunky games and implement secret side zones only accessible by player investment. The prospect excites me though. There are two new zones featured in the trailer, a sort of haunted forest, probably the first zone and a blink and you’d miss it shot of a mechanical “submarine” type area with fish and aquatic based enemies. Interesting. Passingly, I know that in the Greek mythos Poseidon and Hades were actually once possibly the same god only later split into different domains. To be clear I’m speaking about the historical evolution of the Greek mythology and not an explicit narrative element in any story. This detail could have interesting thematic or story implications but I’ll get to that in a bit. Anyway, it would also be cool if they remade some of the areas from the first game but you had to go through them the other way. People go crazy for that kind of thing.

What about Magick? That’s intriguing. At first, I thought that maybe this was going to replace the cast but rewatching the trailer I see that the cast is seemingly still it’s own thing. The UI in the trailer is clearly not fully fleshed out so I think it’s wise not to draw speculation from every single thing present in the trailer. It seems Magick is similar to the abilities that the exiles had in Pyre though. More movement based abilities would be an appropriate addition of complexity for a sequel...

And actually that brings me to what I teased at the start of this post. What is the principle driving Hades II’s development? I think that the innovation the Supergiant wants to explore, the new challenge they’re trying to face with this game is “How do you make a sequel?”. You might think, duh, it’s Hades 2 but you have to remember that this is Supergiant’s 5th game but only their first sequel and how do you do a sequel? I think the modern game enjoyer takes sequels for granted. We just sort of expect eventually any popular game will have a follow up but at the same time a game franchise that just pumps out sequels is seen as being commercialized or creatively bankrupt. Think about like the Madden or FIFA or Call of Duty or Assassins' Creed games. Gamers talk a lot about what sequels or entries are good or bad relative to other members of that game’s lineage. Do you just give the fans what they think they want, more of the game they already liked? Do you simplify or do you expand? How do you bring back old favorite characters whose stories you supposedly wrapped up in the last game and/or how do introduce new characters to exist alongside those old ones? These may seem like silly, basic questions but they are also fundamental to the creative structure of any sequel.

Based on this prediction I am going to speculate on the choice of Chronos as the new villain. I think it fits in my framework. We are all expecting, on some level, that Hades II will take us back to what it was like to first be playing Hades (the first) so the antagonist being Father Time himself usurping and re-establishing an older order is something that I don’t think will be left unaddressed. After the trailer posts were immediately speculating that at the end of a rogue-like cycle Chronos will simply send you back in time to the beginning again. And that Hades and Poseidon connection I mentioned before? What if Hades and Poseidon hadn’t been split historically? What if Chronos can see a different timeline? Multiverse stories have just been in the water lately and time travel and multiverses have been arm-in-arm since, ohhh that Flash comic from the Silver Age? I’m think I’m saying that at least we’ll be seeing some of the older and stranger elements of the Greek mythology being mined in this sequel. Hopefully maybe.

I could write a more, about Hecate I think, but I don’t feel like drinking anymore tonight so I think I’ll leave it at this.

[intoxicated-chan]

CW ➳ Female Reader/No use of (Y/n), light sexual content, groping, fluff fluff, Shay being a loveable idiot who can’t keep his hands to himself…

Shay cannot keep his hands to himself. After hearing his comment about bosoms and buttocks, you cannot deny that he’s the kind of guy to like both. It’s like Shay refuses to keep his hands to himself, always touching you one way or another. But he will restrain himself to not embarrass you or listen to your boundaries if you have any.

But when it comes to grabbing your bottom or chest, Shay does that behind closed doors. Specifically in colder climates, when the two of you are alone and near a fire, he’d shove his hands under your shirt to grasp your chest, ignoring your whines. He’d complain himself, rubbing his hands together wasn’t enough, and neither holding them near the fire.

Shay does have his hands on you, on your shoulder, grazing your hand with his, linking pinkies, or if he can’t be around you at the moment, he always has you within his sighs, if not then he’ll search for you.

During his assassin-turned-Templar era, he withdrew most of his touching, mainly because he was focused on other things. But whenever he was alone with you, either in the captain’s cabin or his estate, his hands were on you. Sharing kisses either on the deck of his ship or the Captain’s cabin, Shay makes sure no one is around to sneak his head to your bottom squeeze it, and hear that familiar sound coming from you. He’d chuckle at the glance you give him, but he knows you love him too much as he loves you with every fiber of his being.

Author’s Note under the cut…

© Intoxicated-Chan 2024, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission.

I cannot describe how much Shay has me in a chokehold right now, I’m on sequence 2 I believe and I am loving on Shay’s Templar era. Please fed me your Shay ideas 🙏 I’m begging you all 😩.

[turtlesaph]

Writing Prompts/Requests/RP

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!

Hello! Welcome to my listy! My rules are relatively simple. I don't do smut, kinks, incest, degrading matters, super sexual or sexualized content, multiverses or crossovers. I try to stick to the universe of the character personally. I will do platonic or romantic connections. I work a fulltime job so please be patient if I don't immediately respond.

I'm a story driven person so I love adventure, angst, fantasy, comedy, trauma/drama and some fluff. I do requests and/or RP (RP sticks to Discord). So feel free to ask me anything or request anything! Please share your thoughts, feelings, conspiracies, theories, head-canons and anything else related to the characters I write for!

CANON CHARACTERS I WRITE FOR::

Albert Wesker (Resident Evil)

Claire Redfield (Resident Evil)

Sesshomaru (Inuyasha/Yashahime)

Naraku (Inuyasha)

Toga (Inuyasha)

Kirinmaru (Inuyasha/Yashahime)

Slade (Teen Titans)

Jace Beleren (Magic The Gathering)

Darth Vader/Anakin (Star Wars)

Alex Mercer (Prototype)

Haytham Kenway (Assassin's Creed lll/Rogue)

Ganondorf (Legend of Zelda)

Rauru (Legend of Zelda)

Volga (Legend of Zelda)

Twinrova: Koume & Kotake (Legend of Zelda)

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel)

Lilith (Hazbin Hotel)

Vecna/001-One/Henry Creel (Stranger Things)

Niklaus Mikaelson (Vampire Diaries/The Originals)

Caroline Forbes (Vampire Diaries)

AVAILABLE ORIGINAL CHARACTERS I WRITE FOR::

Haleru (King Rauru's brother) [Legend of Zelda]

Alanis (Overlord Sinner fox) [Hazbin Hotel]

Laviel (Slade's Apprentice/antagonist) [Teen Titans]

Locus (Teen Titan/hero) [Teen Titans]

These lists will not include everyone I write for, just the ones off the top of my head.

MY DISCORD IS:: aschrach

(Posted with half of the tags, will do another with the rest)

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

Hello! I’m popping in your ask box to say I just discovered your Federico x Lucia ships (I know it might have been a while and I’m probably late to the ball but anyway) and I wanted to say they are so wholesome and adorable and their love is so pure and bright-, to cut it short I love them very much ! And since Lucia loves books so much do you think Federico would offer her a library just like when the beast kinda does/shows Belle in the original animated “Beauty and the Beast” movie? Or maybe even dance in one ? (you can totally choose to ignore if you don’t feel like it pls don’t pressure yourself I was just curious)

But seriously , you’re amazing and hope you’ve had a good day (if not, wishing you for the next one to be better) and hope you continue to to share with us everything abt your ships and cool oc. xx

NONNIEEEEEEEEEE!!! WELCOME TO THE PARTY!

please, grab a seat, take a party hat, a huge piece of cake (or whatever you fancy) and get ready TO PARTYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!

Lololol, all joke aside, welcome in this silly space of mine, and thank you very much for sending me this ask!

First of all, do not fret about being late to the Ball

Because as you will see, my brain is always focused at some capacity on Assassin's Creed (sometimes 50%, sometimes 90%, depending on the days and the amount of caffeine I have available.☕☕☕by the way, have a cup yourself. Also, I sort of rotate between ACU, ACS and AC2, with a touch of AC-Rogue here and there).

Allow me to thank you VERY MUCH for your kind words toward Lucia and Federico! I wrote their story a long while ago, and while I got swept away by ACS and ACU, my Lucia and Federico still very much occupy a big part of my brain.

TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION (please, always feel free to send any question you have, I am always happy to answer).

This HC is ABSOLUTELY PRECIOUS, omg I can so imagine Federico gifting Lucia a library like the one the Beast gift to Belle, and because of the way theri relationship is, Federico would MOST DEFINITELY invite his Madonna Lucia to dance an impromptu dance among all those books that she adores so much (because you can bet that Federico would fill that library with ALL the books from Dante and Petrarca -Lucia's favourite), keeping her ever so close because after she escaped from Venice (dear Gods, I need to upload part 2 of Rondó Veneziano), he is all that she has left.

It would be such a cute, magical moment, gods now I need to draw this <3

THE FLUFF IS OFF THE CHART. ALL THE FLUFF.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS FLUFF FOR LUCIA AND FEDERICO!

I honestly needed it.

And thank you SO MUCH for your kind words and well wishes for a nice day! I wish the same to you! hope the day you will have will be a blessed one, filled with happiness, safety and inspiration! <3

AND YES, OF COURSE!! I WILL KEEP ON BRINGING ALL MY DARLINGS OCS AND THEIR STORIES WITH THEIR BELOVEDS.

YOU CAN REST ASSURED OF THAT.