#Edward Kenway imagine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kiatheinsomniac · 2 years

Note

ok hear me out, could you do a fic with god au edward where the reader is a pirate who gets injured during a sea battle and he finds them?

GODS AU

notes: it was so much fun to write a solo piece for Edward in this AU! I also want you all to know how much I hate maths but I did it just to figure out what God! Edward's height would be

pairing: God! Edward x Reader

word count: 2.3k

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Ápeira Aquae (infinite waters)

Realm of the Gods of the water. It is an endless ocean, dotted by lush islands, one of which is a forest unlike the others which contains a hidden gateway to another Godly realm. The Gods here have their own island(s) and ship(s).

Kingdom of Pirates

Edward: God of parties (also drinking and riches)

The waves continued to lap around the little piece of wreckage that you clung to. The sun beat down on you mercilessly and you were sick and tired of the salt water splashing in your eyes.

Your ship had been ambushed by the royal navy, your vessel sunk and, as far as you were aware, all your crew dead. You had been beyond lucky to escape with your life and you liked to think that some God was smiling down on you. Was there a pirate God? It must be one of those who lived in Ápeira Aquae, though you couldn’t quite recall a particular name. You had never been much of a religious person, more concerned about what was going to put food on the table or money in your pocket. You continued to slowly kick your legs in the water to help keep you afloat and dropped your head, the sun’s rays feeling so harsh.

And then they were gone.

You looked up to realise that you were in the shadow of the biggest ship you had ever seen. Surenly, it couldn’t have been a pirate ship and you wondered if it was the navy, coming back to finish the job, but a rope ladder was tossed down to you and, between dying out at sea like this and the navy, you’d take your chances after so many hours in the water already.

You clambered out of the water and flopped onto the deck, closing your eyes against the sun that suddenly seemed so much more pleasant than it had been before. It shone, yes, but it didn’t hurt your eyes, nor did it burn your skin.

You opened your eyes, expecting to have to squint them against the sun but the light was… pleasant, nothing like what you were familiar with. Sitting up, you were surrounded by pittering sounds as your clothes dripped onto the deck beneath you and you looked around to find no one. Where was the crew? Who had thrown the ladder down for you?

Getting up to your feet, you took out your flintlock and scowled at how utterly soaked it was. Useless. Instead, you drew your sword, the blade singing as you sliced it through the air, eyeing the door that led to where the Captain’s quarters should be located.

The door was huge, immensely so for a ship, and you leaned towards it only to hear quiet singing from the other side, a man’s voice, the words slightly slurred. Stepping back, you went to kick in the door but found both that you were weaker than you thought and it was heavier than you thought.

“Now!” A voice called from inside, “That’s no way to say thank you!” Your eyes widened and you took a few more steps back as footsteps approached the door. When it opened, you were sure you looked like a fish with how your jaw dropped. He was insanely tall! 7’2 or 213 cm. His shirt was hanging open, revealing an insanely defined chest, kissed by the sun into a rich tan and covered in tattoos. His hair was blonde and long, hanging around his face loosely. He had a bottle of rum in one hand and a sword and pistols at his hips.

“You threw the ladder down to me?” You raised a brow sceptically. Were you still in the ocean? Was this an elaborate hallucination?

“Yes! This is my ship!” He nodded his head exaggeratedly in his drunkenness, gesturing around the empty vessel.

“Where’s your crew?” He burst out laughing as though the answer to your question was the most obvious thing in the world and got even closer to you, completely unphased by your sword which he simply pushed to the side, leaning down a little to rest his hand on your shoulder.

“She doesn’t need one. She runs herself.” Yeah, this guy had way too much to drink.

“A ship that runs itself…” You looked around, sure that there must be a crew around here somewhere but the boat suddenly rocked as though a storm were brewing and the sunshine seemed dimmer, though no clouds dappled the sky.

“Do you doubt me, mortal?” His blue eyes narrowed as he leaned down to better match your height, looming over you. You had suspected being drunk before but now you were leaning more towards madness. Who’s damned ship had you got on?

“What are you, like, a God?” You sheathed your sword as he was so seemingly unbothered by it, folding your arms over your chest instead as you looked up at him.

“Aye, I am.” He replied and you deadpanned before covering your eyes with your hand, taking a deep breath. How the hell was this guy alive and running a ship without a crew? Why was he so tall? Where the hell were you? And what on Earth made him believe that he’s a God?

Then again, you know of Gods such as Altaïr and Maria who were said to be far taller than the average human… He couldn’t actually be…?

“Alright, let’s say you are a God.” You began, wondering if you would get anywhere by playing his game, “Of what?” A grin split his face and he gestured around his ship as though it were some grand forgotten tomb of renowned emperors.

“Of parties, drinking and riches.” You looked around the ship dramatically.

“Well, I see you have one of those three things down.”

“You do not believe me.”

“I have no reason to. I have never heard of a God of parties, drinking and riches.” You huffed.

“I am Edward Kenway.”

“Like Ratonhnhaké;ton Kenway?” Aside from not being a religious person, you had uttered a few desperate prayers to the God when you were out on a desperate hunt that was beginning to look fruitless.

“Aye, my grandson.” Your eyes widened for a moment. The thought alone was terrifying. The God of nature, hunting and vengeance could be as ruthless as he could be tender, as you have heard, so you could only imagine what his grandfather could be like–

No! This man standing before you was a drunkard, not a God.

“Sure~” You drawled out, “I think I’m going to need some proof.”

“You’re in the Ápeira Aquae, the realm of waters, is that not proof enough?” With those words something clicked. The way the sun was so much more pleasant, how the sea was calmer, how this colossal ship had appeared out of nowhere with not a single crewmember in sight. He flicked his wrist in your direction, his eyes going past you, and you found that the ship was docking itself on a lush island. You could just about make out pillars poking out through the tree canopy just off in the distance.

“You really are a God.” You breathed out as a plank laid itself out between the ship and dock. He let out a hearty laugh as he disembarked from the ship and held out a hand to you as you followed him.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” He grinned, “But we have something important to discuss. I may be a God but my power isn’t unlimited and omnipotent. We watch over things as we please, what we wish to observe and when and we do have to make an effort to travel somewhere.” The two of you began tracking through a sandy trail into the forest. The branches seemed to curve and twist into extravagant arches, jars full of glowing moths hanging from them and illuminating the way under the thick tree canopy with a soft, other-worldly glow.

He led you along that trail until you came across a large wooden mansion. Many of the trees surrounded it, seemingly forging the building. Some of the pillars were shadowed by trees growing out of the roof and you could just about make out where you saw windows carved into the large trunks, balconies like watchtowers. Lanterns hung from these branches and from around the wrap-around patio of the home and you marvelled at the grandeur of it. You had never seen anything so extravagant and it was as though it were forced by man and nature together.

He led you inside and you couldn’t help but spin slowly as you walked, taking everything in. Golden sunlight filtered in through skylights and more of those lanterns were hanging around, the colours pulsing softly and slowly changing. There were chests scattered around the place, overflowing with gold, pearls and jewels. Many maps were rolled up and scattered around and much of the furniture was decorated with a golden sheen.

Edward led you to an office of sorts where he gestured for you to sit in a plush seat of dark green leather while he went over to a liquor cabinet. He poured two glasses of whisky, one much more generously than the other and joined you in the opposite chair, pushing the lesser filled glass towards you. You thanked him quickly as you accepted it.

“So, what’s this problem you’re facing?” You asked as you took a sip, feeling the drink warm you and pleasantly burn your throat.

“People are forgetting about me which is a big problem for a God.” He began, tagging a large swig, “Our power comes from the praise and worship we receive. It’s why Gods like Altaïr and Maria remain as powerful as they are: people look up to the Sun or Moon and remember them, remember to worship them and they always maintain the power to keep them moving in the sky. You didn’t believe me when I told you that I’m a God and, usually, I’d make some big gesture to prove you wrong but I’m not as strong as I used to be, I only had the power to keep the ship going.” He explained.

“So where do I come into this?” You raised a brow, leaning back comfortably in the soft chair. He grinned.

“You’re going to be my preacher.” He replied, “You’re a pirate, a good one, I watched that last battle and you stood your ground until the very end. You had every odd stacked against you and it was miraculous that your crew even lasted as long as they did. I made sure that you got out alive, I had the current carry you away from those navy ships. I’ve always favoured pirates because you live life as I see fit and you partake in all that I embody. I’m going to make you the next Queen of the pirate world and all that I ask in exchange is that you get people to worship me again, build a few temples in my name, perhaps. All who worship me will prosper and so your nation will grow rich and powerful. What do you say?”

“I’d say you’re crazy if I weren’t sitting around having a drink with a God.” You laughed and he joined in, “But how do I know this is doable? Like you said, you’re weak at the moment. How can you support my rise to Queendom?”

“When you start worshipping me, I’ll gain more strength and power.” He stood up and went over to a bookshelf that was haphazardly stacked with books and maps with seemingly no rhyme or reason to how they were placed. He came back with a blue book that was covered in intricately detailed gold embellishments. The pages were held closed by metal brackets on the side of the book. “This contains everything that I will accept as an offering.” You frowned slightly as you turned the book in your hands.

“It doesn’t seem like you’re in a position to be fussy about what people give you.” You commented.

“That’s not how it works. If I don’t like an offering, I can’t take anything from it. It’s the same as if people pray to me just asking for things without giving any gratitude in return, I won’t lift a finger to grant what they want because I’m being offered no source of strength to do so. Do you understand?” You nodded your head but there were still many questions you had on the subject and how it all worked. You decided that there was probably always some incomprehensible element to Gods and you wouldn’t understand either way, most likely. “I also have something to help you when you return to your world.” He went over to the fireplace where a golden cutlass was displayed on the wall above the mantle and beneath a portrait of him at the wheel of his ship. He handed it to you and your eyes widened as you took it from him. It wasn’t actually made of gold, that much you could tell from the weight of it. “This was forged in the volcano of one of the islands here in Ápeira Aquae, infused with mana. It will enhance your senses, grant you more stamina and cause any sickness or injury you face to heal faster. Use it to build a Kingdom of pirates.” You let out a long whistle as you stood to your feet, slicing the blade through the air. It felt like an extension of your body, like a piece that had been missing for aeons and was only now being returned to its rightful place in the world.

“I will.” You spoke with conviction and he guided you back to your chair.

“Come, finish your drink and I’ll return you to your world.” You gladly did so, sheathing the sword at your hip in place of your last cutlass, far inferior to this godly weapon.

You were unsure of when you had fallen asleep, if you had even finished the drink, but you soon woke up, spluttering on a beach, fingers digging into the sand. The sun was harsh once more and you crawled your way across the beach and into the shade of the nearby treeline. What a weird dream. But what if it wasn’t?

You glanced down to your hip to find that you were, indeed, carrying the powerful weapon gifted to you by the God of parties, drinking and riches. You really had entered a realm of the Gods. You shakily got to your feet, supporting yourself on a tree trunk.

You had a kingdom to forge.

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🏷️@gojohater101 @writing-noah @havatnah

#edward kenway imagine #edward kenway #edward kenway x reader #edward #assassins creed fanfiction #assassins creed #assassins creed x reader #assassins creed fanfic #assassins creed 4 #assassins creed black flag #gods au #God! Edward Kenway

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thesharktanksdriver · 8 months

Text

Blood's Thicker Than Water (Platonic)

Made this cause I love assassins creed and I hate how they left the plot point about Desmond having a kid from a one night stand. Like sure there’s a comic for Elijah but let’s be real, who here has read that comic?

Sorry if any of them seem out of character, I haven’t played the games in a long while lol

Also thanks to my friend for streaming the games so I can get back into them lol

You never really met your dad but from what your mother described him as he was….a troubled soul

Now to be fair you’ve never exactly met Desmond Miles yourself but from the stories she told it’s obvious he had his fair share of demons

Some of which seemed to spill from the cracks of his soul from the short time she spent with him

A bartender is what he was, until he suddenly up and vanished from said bar in 2012 and died not too long after

It didn’t really make sense then even to your young mind

The gap between his sudden disappearance and death leaving too much unsaid for your mind not to be annoyed by

But as a child you eventually put the thought away

Eventually you forget

Instead going on to pursue your next whim as you focus on the present, or in your case Learning about the past in the present time

Unlike your fascination with your father that went away, your love of history never faded with time

It just seemed to grow the older you got

Your not sure why but something about history just clicked with you

It was somewhere within the range of middle school and reading national geographic that you had realized you liked it

That despite how some areas of it were bleak and disturbing it was interesting

And it got even more so interesting as you delved deeper into the depths of libraries

Nose buried in books lined with dust and old parchment

Yellowed pages and old ink that you carefully decode from centuries of lost meaning and metaphors lost to the modern age

You studied from the ancients all the way up to Victorian

Easing your way though literal centuries of historical records as you soaked up information like a sponge

And it’s there you vegans seeing an odd…repetition of events that seemed to occur

Odd assassinations plagued each era you looked into, all of which connected somehow by people in odd dress

In some journals that had luckily stood the tests of time you uncovered more eye witness accounts

A solider’s log back in the revolutionary war talking about an odd man meeting with his superiors in the dead of night

The diary of a log master who wrote of an odd frequent visitor that had an odd blade hidden beneath his sleeve

The drawing of a Victorian child being freed from a factory that had a hooded lady and man on the rooftop

I’m one you found a symbol, one created from the bottom perspective of an eagle skull, something also commonly associated with these hooded figures

What’s odd as well is that with these hooded assassins you also find traces of another group

One well know to historians such as yourself

Oddly enough the symbol of the Templar knights keep showing up even after their annulment

It’s odd, but what’s more odd enough is that both seemed to be tied to other historical artifacts

Ones well kept in archives and from the public eye

Ones you shouldn’t technically know about if not for you sneaking into sections your don’t have the status to enter

Their always gold with odd symbols. Somehow always pristine and polished despite the fact their dated to be from before ancient times

They for some reason seem to call to you specifically

Tempting you with forbidden knowledge you wish to taste like Eve

But for now you choose to wait until you can do proper analysis on them without the risk of punishment

So you lie and wait

Admittedly you didn’t think anyone expected for you to be this good at your job

In their defence you were a university student here on Co-op and not an actual full time historian

Hell you were in first year for gods sake

But somehow despite it all

Despite the fact you had actual historians and people in the history program years above you here you quickly began to become an outlier

A shinning beacon within the large archive, so much so that you began being allowed in the restricted sections you already snuck into

Mind you, now properly allowed there with some supervision of sorts gave you much more flexibility in research

You got to touch these artifacts

Hold them in gloved palms as silk covered finger glide across its edges and ridges

You study them extensively decrypting and decoding the ancient texts and hieroglyphs

Jotting down what you found in both a report and your own personal journal

Your not sure why you do so but you chock it up to making sure no one takes credit for your work

And this continues to the point your eventually allowed alone with them

It’s great

You dedicate yourself to this task as you learn more and more

Soaking up knowledge like a sponge as you find out more of what was previously lost

Find new angles and perspectives on events

For history isn’t just a set time and date, it’s interpretation based on what we know from sources

And even then sources can be biased

Sources can lie and silence another person’s view on the event

Your more than happy to try make your own interpretations

Admittedly when you were asked to study what looked to be a necklace from these unidentified ancient artifacts you were ecstatic

How could you not be?

Intricate gold woven in something akin to Grecian jewelry

Yet also had hints of something akin to Egyptian

It also…glows? Or at least you swear you’ve seen it glow gold and pulsate a few times but that could be the sleep deprivation speaking

Either way it’s an honour

One you don’t take lightly as you study it

Spending countless restless nights and days trying to crack its code

An unknown source has been funding the archive and your research quite a bit

Betting big money on it much to your surprise and suspension

You get that this is potentially something big but it feels out of left field

Especially since no one knows the name of the company

It’s just under an anonymous donation every month

It’s sketchy

But you aren’t one to argue about free money to further your and your colleagues pursuit of knowledge

Not when this beautiful place used to be underfunded

Not when most historical records were donated by people with a good conscious

Not when this place was almost shut down

With a sigh you continue on your work

Diligently tact checking and writing up a storm

Your writing looks like chicken scratch but that was a commonality between all history majors

Well, along with being giant nerds

And it’s there at that desk at 3 am in the morning, tired and only running on 3 hours of rest you find something peculiar on the necklace

A sharp jaded edge that you absentmindedly prick yourself on by accident

With a groan you wipe the blood away on your pants

Then going up to get a bandaid

You swore to god if you died of tetanus you’d be positively pissed

Unknown to you the necklace starts to glow

When you get home your more exhausted than usual

Your limbs feel like their kade of concrete and your head is stuffed with tissue

Eyelids trying to glue themselves shut

You practically kick off your shoes before tumbling to the couch

Not bothering in changing clothes or showering for the sweet relief of sleeps embrace

So you flop down face first into the old leather cushions of your couch

Only putting in the effort of fishing a hand to grab a throw pillow and blanket from nearby that you burrowed yourself into

A comfy cocoon/prison you couldn’t will yourself to leave even as you swore for a moment you heard something in the house

But your mind writes it off

Your too tired to question anything let alone get up

All you want is sleep

And that’s exactly what you get as your eyelids shut

You fall into the realm of dreams, odd ones playing out in your mind

Blurred images of odd men

A weird void-like realm

The cries of an eagle overhead

A single word appearing in your head

Kenway

And then your eyes snap awake when the sound of arguing fills your ears

Yelling of several male voices jumbling up your already fogged up sense as you practically fall off the couch in a mixture of fear and confusion

Curses escaping your mouth when suddenly the voices go silent and your left in a realm of fear

Hair standing on end as the creaking of the house makes you more alert

Despite the fact you’d never fought a day in your life you will up the courage to grab a baseball bat and cautious cross to where you heard the commotion

Careful steps on the non-creaky boards of the home that you’d luckily memorized

And there you find several men in old garb

Accents of Red tying them together like a string of fate

Or a trail of blood fainting their very existence

they turn to you with sharp eyes

It’s the one in modern clothes that surprises you the most

The face of your supposed dead father staring back at you

Ocher brown eyes that had long lost their life now rejuvenated as they seem to find familiarity in your own features

Some of which mirror his own along with some of the others in the room

The bridge of your nose

A all powerful spark in your eyes as they flick between everyone and escape routes

The way your lip slightly twitches when you try to keep a brave face

Your posture as you decided what to do

It’s all too familiar to him and them in a way that isn’t just coincidence

Especially not when all of them are Kenway

Not when he had been able to prove to them that fact through the experience of virtually living through their lives up until his death

“I’m not sure who the fuck all of you are but get out of my house.” Your fingers twitch and flex as your palms grow sweaty, the wood absorbing the pressure and moisture “especially my dead dad look-alike”

You all but confirm his suspicions

Their suspicions

And it looks Ike for you tonight will be much longer than you anticipated

Turns out that artifact you were studying wasn’t just as normal one

Neither were the other ones you looked at

The way they explained it as was their “artifacts from dead gods”, a fallen civilization that engineered humanity into being their slaves

It’s a lot to take in

Even more so when your suspicions of something bigger happening throughout global history with those odd deaths were real

Oh, and these were you dead ancestors and dad somehow back from the grave and now in your home

…..yeah safe to say that’s a lot to take in after an already very long and tiring shift

You sit there as they explain this, half asleep, and half exasperated

Cause how the hell are you supposed to believe all this bullshit that for some reason feels correct

Something in you tells you that their right yet your mind is fighting that logic

You’d always been a logical person, when it came to most situations you used your brain instead of your heart

And in those cases things ended up fine

But now your faced with this

A situation where your heart is screaming for you to listen as your brain tries to take this all in

Cause logic is completely out the window at the moment

For now you have to trust them even if your still afraid

I mean, how couldn’t you be?

But you get the sense that they understand

At least a little bit by how their also thrusted into a new environment without much say

Perhaps that (along with your own apprehension) is helping comfort them as well

So for now they’ll stay

Your just thanking (the dead) gods that grandma and grandpa’s old home is big enough for all of them

Altaïr Ibn-La’ Ahad

The oldest down the line of your dad’s side of your lineage finds himself often reading through your books in your study

It was a bit of a surprise one day entering it to find him sitting in a spare chair but you don’t mind the silent company

Especially as he seems to find interest in your studies

Occasionally he breaks the silence and asks you a question about the subject he’s reading about

He’s by far the oldest (even if he’s back in the body of his prime) of them therefore he’s the one who has the most figuratively to catch up on

So you indulge him

And also asks questions as well that he seems eager in answering

Knowledge connects you both, scholarly intellect being the bridge between the two of you despite centuries of time apart

Typically he asks about thinks such as modern life and what is know about his home, what happened to it? What it’s known of his era

You answer as best you can

Especially since that era of time isn’t exactly your forte

But he appreciates it anyways

Appreciates that you try, appreciates that you passionately care about history in the first place

Admittedly your mom was supportive but never understood your love of history

She’d listen to your rants and long conversations with a polite smile but you knew she never understood what you were talking about

But he does

He does and contributes whole heartedly in just as much passion

It’s nice

What’s also nice is that he’s studied the artifacts you now study as well

So now your both constantly coming up and developing ideas together

A constant back and forth

Hypotheses, discussion, and testing

Delving deeper into discovery like you’ve wanted

But with this he also helps you see where passion and obsession mix together

After the loss of his wife and son he delved into studying as a form of escape

It drove who was left away

Made the pit in his heart deeper

He doesn’t talk about it often but he seems to see how you may go down the same path

And he warns you of it

Unlike his younger self (that he now appears as) he’s wise if a little rough around the edges

He encourages knowledge but not to the point where it’s an all encompassing and toxic obsession

Within the household he seems to take a somewhat neutral but quiet role

He helps out and offers advice and guidance

Much like a teacher and grandfather of sorts

Speaking up when he has to and making sure the house doesn’t end up in disrepair

He seems to have a fascination with modern appliances, or at least holds a thankfulness for them

Like a few others he sticks to his robes most the time but you’ve seen him sport more modern clothes once awhile

Stuff still somewhat reminiscent of what he wore before but with a modern flare. Things with hoods and draping. Silks and wool. Something with an accent of red mixed in

Sometimes when you fall asleep in your studies you find a blanket draped over you and a cup of tea at your side

He won’t admit it’s him but he’s the only one who knows your tea preferences

He keeps his worry for you deep down but it’s somewhat relived when seeing that you take his warning of not taking the pursuit of knowledge too far

“It says here there was something called the “French revolution”. Would you care to explain what happened here to me?” He asks making you pause your work for a moment, when he sees your smile he knows your answer. Sure he read some of this book and got the gist of it, but something about seeing your eyes light up at his inquiry makes him feel at peace for a moment.

“Would I ever!”

Ezio Auditore da Firenze

This man is quite literally all up in your (and everyone’s) business

Not in an annoy way per say but he’s definitely curious about the lives his descendants have led (both good and bad)

Ezio is very clearly a family man and it’s somewhat ironic to see since half of this household has some sort of familiar issue

Most of which is some sort of daddy issue stemming from either Haythem or Edward that trickled down the line to you

Something that Ezio is seemingly trying to wrap his head around

Out of the others he’s the one who opens up the most

Partially because you think he misses his immediate family and friends

It must be a lot to handle being away from home, now in a foreign land where everything has changed

Despite that though he keeps a brave face

Almost always flashing a smile as he drags you from your study to have some “bonding time”

You won’t admit it to his face but you don’t mind

Especially as he gives your poor hunched over back a break

And treats your pallet to some good old fashioned (literally) Italian food and not cup ramen once again

He tried it once and threw your supply out, saying he’d be supplementing you with food from now on

You can’t exactly say your disappointment or upset from the heaven that is fresh baked garlic bread and pasta

He cooks not only for you but for the others of the house as well, saying his sister taught him lest he piss off his future lady

Taking in their suggestions and cooking foods from their homes as a way of him offering comfort

Whilst he does these tasks he often hums in his mother tongue of Latin

You don’t have the heart to tell him it’s a dead language

Especially when he seems so happy that you can somewhat understand it

He’s happily rambling and teaching you words

Helping you sound out phrases and pronunciation correctly unlike your Latin professor

Some of his songs he lightly sings under his breath get stuck in your head since he has a good singing voice

But despite the facade you see the cracks

Sometimes you find him looking at modern objects mumbling about how Leonardo would have loved to see this or made something similar

Or how Claudia would’ve liked this book

How Petruccio would have loved this toy

It….leaves a bitter taste in your mouth

Once upon a time you felt this same type of longing for family

Once a time you thought of you dad before going to bed and staring at his old Polaroid with hope

One that would never come to fruition (until now)

It’s why you indulge him, to keep his mind off the deeper plunge of melancholy

Compared to the others he’s relatively open to modernizing

In fact he seems somewhat excited in these things

Raiding your wardrobe like a damn fashionista and critiquing what’s good quality

He also has a wide variety of looks, not sticking to something similar to his time of dress

Versatile and somehow up to date? Your not sure how but somehow he’s in fashion?

Like he must’ve found a copy of vogue or something cause there is no way he just guessed that this was the new trend

When you pressure him on it he replies that he’s simply that amazing

You call bullshit but have yet to find evidence

But in the meantime you ask get him to tell you about Da Vinci and you furiously jot down what he says

Sometimes when he looks at you he sees flashes of Claudia’s quick wit

It makes him long for home yet as he looks at his descendants and ancestor he also feels….something

A small pit of warmth developing as he gets to know the inhabitants of this house longer

Meet Altair besides through a weird vision

His home is in Florence yet that feeling of comfort from the Villa is bleeding into these old (yet new) walls

“So this painting is his most famous work?” He asks looking at your computer with a bit of confusion, his scared lips quirking at the digital image.

“Yeah. This is actually probably the most famous painting in the world”

“Really? Of all his works this one is considered the best? I’m not doubting his skill but of all his pieces?”

“Believe me, I get it. It’s only this famous cause it was stolen”

“Stolen?!? Tell me who did it! I swear-”

Edward Kenway

For someone who was a feared pirate on the seas he’s surprisingly much less violent than you’d think him to be

Sure, he’s scary as hell still but at least he’s not stabbing you in the back and making off with your grandmas pearls or something

Still your a bit unnerved by him considering you did a project on him back in middle school and he’s now in your home

Munching on some god damn biscuits as if this was a normal situation

His son Haytham avoids his as best he can but he seems to bond with his grandson quite easily

Or more easily than he does with Haythem

It takes some time but you eventually go to him when you find him awake at the dead hours of night

A whisky bottle in hands as he occasionally takes a swig in silence as he stares out the window

You don’t talk

You don’t need to when he drinks in silence for awhile staring at the moon before eventually talking about the guilt

In his pursuit of power and gold he let people die

Greed woven into his soul as he sacrificed good men for his cause

He changed and did good yet his past haunts him

Hands stained red

Guilt eating away

A son who doesn’t want anything to do with him

At some point when he stops his rambles you speak

Reminding him that while his actions weren’t good he changed

It doesn’t wash the blood away but it stoped more from staining his hands

Though Haythem avoids him Connor is more than eager to fill his place

It doesn’t fix his overlying problems but it does help

In the morning he ends up talking with you more after this as your initial fear melts away

You end up seeing Edward Kenway, not the fiercesome captain of the Jackdaw

You see a man burdened by past mistakes and still wishes to do better

You see a human being at its core

With history it’s easy to forget the people your looking at was once alive and a breathing being

One who was just as flawed as you and I

But seeing a infamous pirate captain cry about issues pertaining not just time him made you remember that

He isn’t opposed to modernizing but seems to keep a certain sea-like touch to his appearance

Clothes for labourers and something loose is what he normally sticks to

He’s lucky though since he doesn’t exactly have traditional robes and can incorporate what he appeared in with a modern flair

Occasionally when he gets drunk he slurs out old shanties and talks about his epic tales

You might or might not have freaked the fuck out learning that James kidd was actually a woman

Mind blown

Ezio and Altair had to drag you away from your computer from writing an entire essay

Sitting on your countertop he holds a glass of whiskey in hand, one held out for you as you sit down beside him. The moon casts its gentle rays and lights the marble slab you both sit on. “I prefer Rum but this’ll do” it’s said in a playful tone that makes you nod and take a sip.

“I can grab some captain Morgan later…speaking of which, did you know him?

“No, but I did find a few of his things laying about “

“Care to tell?”

“Aye, sure thing”

Haytham Kenway

As the only Templar in this house it’s safe to say he’s definitely the outlier of the bunch

A relative lone wolf from the group that all hold some sort of Ill feelings towards him

From his father its confusion and sadness

The others it’s a mix of that and anger

From Connor it’s just plain…well your not quite sure how to describe it

The two’s entire family situation is just plain messy and thick with tension that their blades could cut through

But here’s the thing, in this house your also an outlier

A neutral zone so to say

Hell, the entire house seemed to be a haven of sorts from their whole Templar vs Assassin conflict

To be honest you don’t really care about this secret war

Well that’s a lie you are interested in these war of secret societies but you don’t specifically care to get involved in their politics

Not when you have business in interfering in it unless a fight breaks out and your telling everyone to calm the fuck down

So safe to say your kinda the only one who talks to Haytham

He is…well sometimes he’s a bit of an ass (in the British type of way) but at the same time he’s good conversation

Specifically when it comes to that of morals and philosophical beliefs

He is a conflicted man

A flawed one

But he holds his beliefs and morals despite the fact he’s been hurt and betrayed by a man he viewed as a mentor

He doesn’t talk about it much but he’s still hurt

Still seething with venom that burns his soul and flesh

Makes him want to lash out despite his upperclassman appearance and attitude

That despite it all he loves his son, so much so he willingly walked into what would be his death knowingly

That despite what happened he loves his dad yet can’t face him yet on account of what he became

What ideals and morals he still believes in even now

It’s perhaps he’s venting this to you rather than a journal because he knows you won’t judge him unfairly on the basis of what side your own

Your judging him as a flawed man and as an equally flawed person

It’s with him as well you open up about your own frustrations

How you still don’t know how to feel about this all

The fact that a lot of what you once knew was flipped on it’s head

Along with the fact your not even sure how to address your dad

It’s an entire mess but perhaps your both messed up together and that also draws you both to talking

To discuss your feelings of insucurity and confliction

To feel comfort that your not alone in not having your emotional shit in order

On some especially…emotional nights you both both have a cup of tea

He seems to enjoy that each time you use a different type, much of which used to be hard to obtain due to shipping and it’s prices

He hasn’t really yet grasped modern technology but your slowly helping him with it

It’s kinda like trying to teach a grandpa to figure out a phone, but now it’s him with the concept of a microwave

Like some of the others he’s yet to really also change his clothes to something modern

There has been a few times though he sported sweaters and vests

Your now working on helping his wardrobe since he prefers a sophisticated look

Occasionally he looks at the photos that line your walls, looking as you evolve through the ages

It’s…odd

With Connor he never had the chance to watch him grow

Never a snapshot to immortalize what he was like a child but now ones of you litter the walls like paintings

He feels melancholy

Yet at the same time he’s happy to get another chance maybe

One that is seemingly being helped by your gentle hand unknowingly

“I never thought about it until now but the stars are different” he says taking a sip of his matcha tea, he lets it pool on his tongue and experience the flavour. Not his favourite but not the worst

“That’s cause of light pollution here…though the stars do move so it it’s possible they’ve shifted position in the sky”

“Do they teach you about the stars in your schooling?”

“Yeah I took some. Not sure why, it just kinda spoke to me. Maybe it’s the Kenway blood”

Ratonhnhaké:ton/Connor Kenway

Of the group Connor is the most quiet and surprisingly the one whom you connect with the best for some reason

Perhaps it’s cause your both socially awkward in ways that let you relate

Or the fact you’ve both been ostracized by society for various reasons

His company is that of a quiet one but one you accept it with ease as you both sit and enjoy each others company

A quiet kinship made of unspoken but understood words from one another

The reminder that someone else is there and your not truly alone

He is perhaps the one you feel you can understand the most

And it’s the same likewise for him

Your both people deeply hurt and still bleeding internally

People raised by only their mother in a cruel and harsh world

People who were let down one way or another by their father

People who are still mad and angry but use that to further their determination

It’s odd but you feel truly understood

Like your soul was peeled back to reveal at your core your still a lone spirit lost in the world

One clinging to what they know as their only lifeline in this confusing and jumbled mess of a situation

The hulking 6 foot 2 man shows you trails near your home

Taking to the forest paths you’ve know your entire life and helping you discover even more about them

And while he does this he teaches you more about the world as you both walk the old beaten path

He tells you how to identify what type of tree is which, which stones are likely geodes and what tracks belong to who

It’s honestly petty interesting especially since he adds snippets of stories from his heritage

In return you talk about what you know as well

Snippets of your own knowledge that he seems to store into his mind just as you do with his stories

An equal exchange of sorts

On these walks you begin to notice he takes you out on these when your at your most stressed

The times in which your mind is overworking and consuming itself with anxiety

The times in which you need to breath

Connor doesn’t seem like one to vocally express his care but he does so through action

Small inconspicuous actions that mean a lot more than what meets the eye

It’s seems that his towards you is helping you when you need it most

Taking you away to just take a moment for yourself

To just breath in the fresh air and let the sunset coloured leaves of autumn crunch under your boots

Letting the cold breeze take away your worries

It’s perhaps better than any type of verbal support

Yet another unspoken action of care and compassion through knowing and watching

Of watching and knowing when you need a break

When you realize this and give him a small tired smile as a thanks he seems to know

Only giving a small nod with a minuscule smile of his own

It only grows bigger when you begin to ask him if his traditions, of the stories and practices of his people that he’s more than willing to tell when he knows you ask out of genuine curiosity and respect

Connor is somewhat 50/50 in modernizing

He adapts quite well but still needs help with certain things as he navigates the situation

But like usual he is anything but resourceful as he watches what you do and figures it out

He helps the others quite a bit with what he’s picked up and somewhat takes pride in the fact he can help them

Whilst he’s privy to wearing his robes he isn’t against more modern clothes

The only problem though is sometimes finding stuff that fits him considering he’s not only a giant but also fairly muscular

But your both eventually able to find some stuff for him to wear that he likes

He really appreciates though that you try to buy clothes and jewelry from nearby indigenous peoples

It might not be his but he appreciates the sentiment and familiarity that the beaded jewelry give him

“I’ve lived here my whole life and walked down these paths a thousand times yet it seems more like your the local here” you say with amusement as you follow Conner through an area you’d be never been before.

He smiles, it’s small but there as he adds “just a matter of perspective. You see the paths your used to and I see ones you hadn’t noticed”

Desmond Miles

Yeah so this is entirely awkward for you

Like how the fuck do you emotionally deal with this and the fact your very dead dad who didn’t know you existed till now is now very alive

And living in your house with his very dead ancestors that are also now alive

Case and point you don’t, specifically you ignore the problem and act like everything is fine

You lock yourself away and try to avoid him like the plague

Somehow Scurry past him and into the kitchen to grab something before returning to your abode to eat

But then things got complicated

Things change

You began talking to the others

Slowly coming out the darkness of your study and joining the dinner table

But you still try to avoid him

It feels like the sight of him burns your mind, all those nights as a kid coming back to you

The hope and then disappoint in learning he died and that he likely never wanted you

Your mother never said this but the other kids did. They always teased and picked at the fact you were a mistake

It’s why you push so hard now to be the best, To prove them wrong (to prove to yourself that your worth existing)

The fact is that now he’s here and you don’t know how to deal with that

How would you even start?

What do you even say to him?

You quiet down when he enters a room because you don’t know what to do

Whatever your about to say dying in your throat like a caged bird and all that came come out are garbled noises as you evade him

Eyes casting down to your hands like a child averting their gaze from their parent when in trouble (he is your dad so it’s the same thing right?)

Leaving the room he’s in as quickly as you can once a take is done

The others notice quick, I mean how can’t they? A damn butter knife can cut through the tension

The whole thing with Haytham and Connor is less tense than this

But what can you even do?

How in thick do you talk to him and how can he even talk to you?

Your 18 and in university, he’s 25 and was a bartender in New York before apparently sacrificing himself for the world

He’s closer in age to being a big brother rather than your dad.

But even besides that he’s been long dead and gone since 2012

It’s been years since that point and more importantly he’s someone important and your not

He’s an assassin born to a bloodline of other assassins

Someone who was raised in this tradition with greatness not only in his origin but also in his death

And your you

A child born from a one night stand who’s only achievement is being good at knowing about old people

It hurts but it’s true

If he’s a star then your a candle compared to his light

A mere blip or spark to the greater picture

There had been times he looked like he wanted to say something but you scurry away before he can say anything

Sometimes you catch the looks and small gestures Ezio tries to make as if to encourage him to go up to you

How Connor sometimes brings up to you how he wishes for reconciliation with his dad and that perhaps it’s possible with your own

Altair not beating around the bush and plainly telling both him and you to talk

But it all feels for naught and dies when those feelings and thoughts return

But eventually he corners you

Well not really corners you per say but he catches you as you leave your study after a talk with Altair

“Listen I don’t have any grudge against you. For one you died, I’d be a dick if I blamed you for that or your decision to save the world and whatever. Second you didn’t know about me in the first place” you say briefly looking up at him before averting your gaze, he looks like he wants to say something but he can’t get a word out before you continue “but you don’t have to act like my dad or anything. You never asked for me, it was a mistake, I was a mistake and I’m fine with it.” (Your lying to yourself)

You leave before he can get a word out, and he’s left alone in the hallway. When he returns to Ezio he just sits down in silence. It’s enough for everyone to know I didn’t go the way he wanted.

Admittedly when you begin to notice odd figures at the achieves you write it off

I mean it could literally be anyone plus the supervisors aren’t making a fuss about them here

If anything their welcoming them and looking at them with hopeful eyes

Small glances full of opportunities in them

It’s odd but maybe their just some non-profit here to support the archive

Or even private benefactors of sorts

But then they turn their attention to you

Plastic smiles on their faces, artificial pleasantries as their main spokeswoman sits in front of you in a slick suit

Her stilettos tapping against the ground as your eyes trail to her bodyguards of sorts

They stand not too close nearby

Watching

Waiting

And then she begins talking

And slowly you grow more and more uncomfortable

Hands playing with one another, fingers twitching in your palm as crescent are indebted in your skin

They apparently are interested in your findings

In your research

But more specifically you

They’ve researched you…a lot

Down from where your mother was born to her great great something grandfather

And your father

…but that’s not public knowledge

It wasn’t even on your birth certificate

This….this isn’t

She smiles though now the darkness melts away into something more knowing

Dangerous and sadistic of sorts

And it’s there on her little pin showing her name you recognize the logo

Within your house you’d vaguely heard whispers of the others talking in hushed tones

You didn’t mind

The less you know the better in that sense

Out of sight and out of mind

But sometimes you’d hear the mumbles of a name that you didn’t put together until now

One spat with venom just as they did with the word of the Templar

Abstergo

You barely have time to react before your black bagged and sufficiently knocked out

Mind drifting to that of panic

What would happen to you?

What will happen when the others find out?

But then those thoughts fade away into the dark void of sleep

When you wake up things are odd

Everything is a sterile white and too bright for your foggy sleep tinged eyes

The room is blurred as is your senses as you weightlessly drift

Everything feels odd

And then it happens sharp and pure pain that leaves you writhing and screaming into the void

And that’s when you notice that white light had left and your in a void of sorts

Empty glitching effects all around you as your left to look around in confusion until you see something

A memory? Specifically one of your memories

Your staring at a simulation of sorts of your past self

A 8 year old in their bed with chubby cheeks pulled up into a melancholy smile

You recognize this moment, your small hands holding a picture that had long been put away into a scrapbook and forgotten

Your left wordless and confused

And then that bitch’s voice appears again and she explains

This entire thing is a simulation of your memories

And essentially their gonna go through your head picking through them to not only learn what they want but then use you as their lab rat cause of your bloodline.

Cause apparently memories of your ancestors could be accessed that way and it was generally easier to have a descendant rather than finding objects and artifacts

And it’s there in that simulation it feels like your mind is being ripped apart

Memories ripped from your mind to play out in front of you as she makes comments and documents them before their forced back in and another is ripped out

Like book having pages torn out and then crudely stitched back in

It hurts so damn much

Over and over

Your just left in screaming again on the ground of this simulated world as she makes idol comments

Left begging for it to stop

For someone to help

For the love of god someone help you make it stop

Of course this would happen to you

You’ve always had shit luck despite your whole family motto being “make your own luck”

What utter bullshit

You can’t make good luck from bad

Can’t just change things when the scales are already tipped one way

But then like a miracle from above she goes quiet and suddenly the memory is gone

And your left in the void still reeling from it all

Still on the glitching ground before once more white encompasses your view

Blinding and bright as your still recovering

And then an unfamiliar voice tunes in

“Your safe” it’s heavily accented, in an Irish twang that’s soft as he says these words to you. A reminder that your ok now, it’s over. “Can you walk?”

You try to look at him with squinting eyes yet they still can’t adjust, your limbs feel heavy like solid rock. Unmoving even as you try. With some difficulty you shake your head

“Aight, I’ll have you carry you then. Are you alright with that?”

“Just get me out of here…please. I just want to go home, I miss my family” it sounds pathetic but as tears begin to fall the stranger doesn’t seem to think Ill of you.

“Don’t worry, I get what that’s like.” The tone is sympathetic and like before is soft “you’ll be home I no time, I promise”

You think for a moment before responding “I trust you”. For a second you feel him go still at that before he picks you up.

For awhile there’s buzzing alarms and panic as your saviour gets you out whoever’s you were taken too

There’s not a moment of silence as he sharply runs and dodges past what you think to be gunshots

Occasionally he grumbles something but for the most part he seems calm

Composed despite the chaos of it all

So much so that it makes you wonder if this is an average Tuesday for him

There’s so much shout and yelling for your already pounding head

But sometimes the yells are silenced as the sound of a blade cuts it short

Footsteps far behind eventually stopping

Sirens getting more and more distant and allowing you and the man to breath

It’s there in the pocket of silence you learn his name

Shay

It sounds familiar, like really familiar yet you can’t put your finger on it

Either way your grateful because how can you not be?

Your away from that place

Away from the torture of having your mind picked apart like a lab experiment

Having the privacy of your memories looked at and prodded

But now your somewhat okay

Your eyes feel weird, your vision feels weird like it keeps switching between something

Your at least somewhat able to walk though it’s unbalanced

but Shay doesn’t seem to mind

He offers an arm that you cling to for support

A kind smile on his face as he makes sure you didn’t injure yourself further

And then you notice his clothes are….old

Like Haytham and Connor level old

And…shit

It’s halfway home through the trails you recognize due to Connor that your vision changes

The world feels bigger as if your third eyes opened or something

Shays figure and presence is highlighted in a clover green

And perched nearby is another green figure, one waiting for a good moment

Shay follows your sight before promptly having to duck out the way from a knife that flies at his head

He pushes you back behind him, you stumble back vision switch between monochrome and normal as someone else grabs you

Instinctively you almost yell before realizing who was now helping keep you steady

And the other person now attacking Shay

“Connor! He’s good! He saved me!”

“He’s a Templar!”

“So is Haytham and you haven’t killed him…again have you!”

At that Shay pauses, turning to look at you with confusion as Connor stops his attempt as slitting his throat

Ezio on the other hand helps you up but keeps a firm protective grip

Watching Shays movements like Connor in apprehension before the two settle down and stare at you for more detail

Both waiting on your word

“He saved me and today has been a long ass day-“

“You’ve been gone for 4 days”

You pause momentarily at that before adding “long 4 ass days of having my mind literally ripped apart. Can we please head back to the house and settle this there? Thank you”.

The moment you get back your almost immediately tackled to the ground by a familiar white and red hoodie wearing absent (dead) father

It’s….odd but nice

Desmond (still feels too awkward to call him dad) is holding you like a lifeline and you notice bags beneath his eyes

He looks like hell

But none of the others are any better either

They all like positively exhausted yet light up when seeing your safe

Your home

It reminds you of your mom when you returned home from school

The long work day evident on her brow but her smile lighting up the room at the sight of your face

It’s no different compared to then except for the fact they all (except Haytham) then protectively pull you away from the nearby Shay who’s being glowered at by Connor

Safe to say it’s a little awkward until you somehow pull free of Desmond’s death grip hobble your ass between the two lone Templars and Assassins

A long discussion having to take place between them all as you not only explain what happened but also it seems you all forget one crucial thing

It seems you forgot about your mom’s side of the family

Whoop de Doo you have more things to process and so does everyone else here

Specifically Connor and Haytham Because before apparently knew (or know of) Shay

Great, another complex relationship in this household like there needed to be more of that

But with this entire situation it also highlights something bigger

Your not safe

None of you are safe

Perhaps you never truly were

And that in turns leaves you with the difficult decision of what to do next

Because In this difficult game of politics between two ever warring groups your a neutral force

You wanted to stay that way but unfortunately fate had other plans

as your drug into this game your left with limited options of sides for not only yourself but for the others who seem keen on following you

Even the two (former?) templars seem to follow your decision

So When Des…er your dad suggests finding his old friends it seems like the best option

It’s either that or be kidnapped and prodded again and who knows what abstergo will do to everyone else (even one’s that once upon a time we’re on their side)

Besides, he says you’ll get along well with someone named Shaun so It can’t be too bad

So he sends out a message and you leave the home you find yourself look at with melancholy

It stopped being a home when mom died but now it seemed like it was just that again

Only time can tell what will bring upon you next

But….you think you’ll be ready for whatever is thrown at you when you have this odd group of family at your side

The expression of blood is thicker than water never really held much weight since you only ever had your mom until she was gone

But maybe you understand it a bit better now

#platonic #assassins creed x reader #assassins creed imagine #desmond miles x reader #ezio auditore x reader #ezio x reader #altair x reader #connor kenway x reader #haytham kenway x reader #shay cormac x reader #edward kenway x reader

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teecupangel · 1 year

Note

A Desmond who feel for older than he is due to the knowledge that his ancestors memories gave him. Time travels back to any period and just decides to become a fisherman. He accidently becomes know as that old man with wisdom that fishes all the time even tho he isn't actual that old. Some people assume he just has very good features that make him seem younger than he is. Just a thought I had at 12 am again :0

I don’t know if you mean that I get to choose where he timetravels to or if you mean that he can freely time travel but think of the hilary of:

Desmond: the time-hopping fisherman

Everyone who sees him just thinks he’s some chill old(ish) man who likes to fish in the weirdest places.

Have a small fic for your 12 am musing XD

===============================================

Altaïr always sees him in Acre docks fishing and he doesn’t even know if people are allowed to fish there. The guards ignore him even though he heard whispers from the people near the docks that they all believe he’s… well… not all there in the head. Altaïr never approached him at all but, when he needed to hide after assassinating Sibrand, the fisherman simply smiled at him and patted the space next to him which, coincidentally, had an unused fishing rod. The guards didn’t even bother to look in their direction, too used to ignoring the fisherman. They didn’t say anything to one another and Altaïr simply said ‘my thanks’ before leaving once the coast was clear. But then he saw him in Cyprus, fishing as usual and that caught Altaïr’s interest. Because he kept on fishing even when Altaïr used the Apple to command everyone to return to their homes.

There was a fisherman who always fished on Tiber Island. Ezio had observed him for a few days just to be sure he wasn’t a Borgia spy or anything of the kind but all the fisherman did was fish for the entire day and then go to a small home on Tiber Island once the sky became too dark to continue to fish. Ezio wasn’t even sure if he caught any fish but he was just a harmless fisherman so Ezio didn’t bother him. Then a few of his recruits suddenly started getting better at observing and they all say that they got ‘tips’ from the lonely fisherman of Tiber Island. That caught Ezio's interest but he was too busy trying to dismantle the Borgia's influence in Rome to do anything about it by then. When Ezio finally talked to him after returning from Spain, finally ending his feud with the Borgia with Cesare’s ‘accident’, the fisherman turned to smile at him and patted the space next to him. Ezio sat and took the extra fishing rod that the fisherman gave him as he asked for the fisherman’s name. The fisherman was quiet for a moment before he finally answered, “Nowadays, I have so many names I don’t remember all of them anymore. But I guess… to you? I will always be Desmond.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton assumed he was part of the homestead. Just one of the many people trying to build a new life here on the homestead. Ratonhnhaké:ton introduced himself because it was the polite thing to do and because he was curious about all the people who made their life here in Achilles’ homestead. He was not one of the many people Ratonhnhaké:ton invited. He had been here even before Ratonhnhaké:ton and had even given Ratonhnhaké:ton fish to eat while he had been hunting during the time he stayed in Achilles’ stables. Now, it became a habit to fish with the lone fisherman at least once every time he was on the homestead. Fishing became a way for Ratonhnhaké:ton to simply breathe and rest for a bit. To remember the beauty of the world. So when Achilles told him that the homestead never had a fisherman, Ratonhnhaké:ton had wondered if he had been talking to a spirit this entire time. Yet, the fisherman was flesh and bones when he held his wrist. His skin was warm and he looked at Ratonhnhaké:ton with curious light brown eyes that seemed to glow in the sunlight. Ratonhnhaké:ton finally asked what he was doing here in the homestead and the fisherman simply replied with a smile, “Just fishing.”

Edward Kenway had seen the weirdest shite but this… this was strange. “What are you doing here, old man?!” “Fishing!” Yes, Edward could see that. That wasn’t the point. The point was… “You’re fishing in an abandoned ship covered in fog!” The laughter he heard was light and absent of any panic. That day, Edward Kenway wondered if they had accidentally boarded a ghost ship and they were now cursed as they found no gold in the ship but the fisherman stayed in Jackdaw and continued to fish even when Jackdaw gets boarded. Everyone just agrees that he was some kind of sea curse and that trying to throw him overboard would bring them bad luck.

Shay saw him every time he was in the homestead. A lone fisherman that always seemed to be fishing no matter the time or the weather. Liam ignored him so Shay ignored him as well. Until he returned from Lisbon, shaking and angry. The red haze in his mind had been so thick he barely heard someone call to him. Yet, he stopped and turned to where the voice had come from. It was the fisherman. He patted the space next to him and Shay wasn’t sure what made him walk toward him. The softness of his voice? The kindness in his smile? The understanding in his eyes? Shay didn’t know at all. His hands trembled as he took the extra fishing rod the fisherman handed to him. And Shay just… fished. In the warm silence between them, he could feel everything he tried to hold in finally let go. Tears fell from his eyes as his shoulders begin to tremble. He felt the fisherman’s hand rub his back as, for the first time since his father died, Shay cried once more.

Every time Arno leave the Parisian Brotherhood’s headquarters from the sewers, he would see him. A fisherman just… fishing away in the Seine river. Arno wasn’t sure if he was even part of the Brotherhood. None of the other Assassins that Arno worked with ever talked to him and he never saw the fisherman enter the sewer or even Café Théâtre. Arno just ignored him. Until Élise left him, too focused on avenging her father to even take the time to listen to Arno. And the Brotherhood… well… Arno had been debating if he should even report to the Brotherhood anymore. He just felt… so lost. Maybe that had been the reason why he finally approached the fisherman and asked him what he was fishing for. The fisherman simply patted the space next to him and handed Arno an extra fishing rod when the young Assassin sat. Instead of drinking the day away, Arno fished with a man he didn’t even know the name of, listening to the fisherman as he talked about a man he used to know who was faced with an impossible choice.

It was Jacob who approached him. The fisherman of Thames, they call him. All the gangs ignored him. Just another one of the poor men of London. But Jacob had been curious. He wanted the Rooks to be more than just any gang. He wanted them to be like the Ezio Auditore’s Brotherhood that his father used to tell him and Evie when they were children. But less restricted by the tenets. A… friendly neighborhood gang just like how his father described them when they were still young and didn’t know better. No matter what the books and journals Evie read say about the real Italian Brotherhood, Jacob didn’t care about that. His Rooks was based on what they heard when they were kids, not the brutal reality they live in. So, Jacob tried to talk to the fisherman to see what his deal was. If he was trying to fish to survive, he’d offer him a place with the Rooks. Maybe even get him something to eat that didn’t smell like Thames for once. Jacob and the fisherman sat for hours, fishing together. When Jacob returned to the train, Evie saw the expression on his face and asked what had happened with concern in her tone. Both Evie and Henry only grew more confused when Jacob replied with wide eyes, “I think I just talked to God, Evie.”

It was shameful for Bayek to admit it but it took a while before he noticed him. At first, it had been because he had been too focused on avenging Khemu. Then it was because he was busy trying to help Aya. But now… Well, he was still busy but it was hard not to notice the fisherman humming the same tune that has been stuck in his head ever since he left Siwa. He didn’t even realize that he had heard it from the fisherman until now. So when he asked what the fisherman was doing and all he got was that the fisherman was fishing, Bayek couldn’t help the exasperation in his voice as he said, “You’re fishing… in an oasis… in the middle of the desert.” The fisherman simply shrugged and replied that he wanted to try it out. Bayek couldn’t help but wonder if he was actually talking to a hallucination and there was really no fisherman and no oasis at all.

“I’m sorry, I know this is a very important conversation and all of that but who is that?” “That… is the fisherman.” “The fisherman?” “Yes.” “That’s all you’re going to give me?” “Yes.” “And you’re not going to explain why he’s fishing straight into that strange water-like gate that you just told me leads to Atlantis?” “……… Yes.” “… I need a drink.” “So do I.”

Eivor frowned as she entered an empty bureau, no Hytham at sight at all. She walked out of his small bureau and looked around. It was easy enough to find Hytham with his Hidden One robes. What she did not expect was finding him by the docks, fishing with a person she had never seen before. Perhaps someone who came to Ravensthorpe while she was away? She walked towards them and Hytham immediately turned to smile at her, asking her to sit and fish with them. She had wanted to say no, to tell him that she was looking for him to give him more medallions. Instead, she sat on Hytham’s other side and took the fishing rod that Hytham gave her. They spent the entire afternoon fishing and, by the end of it, Eivor wondered if perhaps one of the old gods have come to fish in Ravensthorpe.

(If it looks strange that this is not in chronological order but instead ordered by release, that’s because Desmond is time-hopping in that exact order)

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toaster-toads · 7 months

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Assassin’s Creed characters And what they would be for Halloween

(in my opinion…)

~🎃~👻~🐈‍⬛~🧡~🎃~👻~🐈‍⬛~🧡~🎃~👻~🐈‍⬛~🧡~🎃

DESMOND: To be honest, I see Desmond as a fan of the iconic slasher movies so I see him dressing up as Michael Myers all the way, because it's iconic, comfy, and he gets to carry a bloody knife. The closest thing to an Assassin he can get. 👍✨

SHAUN: Shaun is definitely going as a lazy sheet ghost and you can't convince me otherwise... 🤷🏻‍♀️ (he be under that sheet judging…)

REBBECA: She is totally going as an 80’s punk rocker, maybe even dressed up like a member of KISS. 🤘✨

ALTAÏR: He would probably dress up as Ghostface because Desmond made him do it. 👌

MALIK: He is 100% going as a Ghostbuster, why? Because he’s not afraid of no ghost… 😎👻

EZIO: Definitely a vampire, no need to explain.🧛🦇💋🌹

CONNOR: Honestly, I see Connor gladly being a werewolf because…i mean… The man built like one tbh… 🐺🌕

EDWARD: Jack Sparrow, duh… 🏴‍☠️⚓🍾☠️✨

ARNO: Daryl from The Walking Dead, Why? Because he has the hair for it, that's why. (Not just saying that because Daryl in France now…) 👏✨🧟

JACOB: Beetlejuice, because we all know he could pull it off… 🤷🏻‍♀️✨

EVIE: Wednesday Adams, tbh she’d be iconic ✨👌🖤🕷️🕸️

BAYEK: Mummy, I mean c’mon… Why would he pass that opportunity up? Plus he be mighty fine looking in it too… ✨👌✨🧻👀

~~~~~~~~ 🎉EXTRA BONUS!🎉~~~~~~~~

HAYTHAM: Would be a cop, why? Because… He said so… 👮🚨

SHAY: Headless Horseman, because he be stylin’ like that~ ✨🐎🎃👍

~🎃~👻~🐈‍⬛~🧡~🎃~👻~🐈‍⬛~🧡~🎃~👻~🐈‍⬛~🧡~🎃

If you want anyone added comment below~! ✨✌️

Also! If you have other ideas, place them below too. 👌✨🧡

🧡🐈‍⬛👻🎃

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larosaescarlata · 2 years

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Adéwalé: “I served your father, Haytham. He would be ashamed to see what you have become” Haytham: “Really? I wasn’t aware my father had a sense of shame” Adéwalé: “Do not speak ill of your father, boy! If you become half the man he was, it will be a blessing”

#this scene tHIS SCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENE #I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTSS...#imagine edward's spirit in this scene #his son vs his best friend #man #also the way adé defended edward #sobbing #i just had finished ac4 when i played rogue so this scene hit me even harder i legit teared up omg #also haytham why the random ed slander bro #by this point you already knew birch had killed your dad and got your revenge #bruh sdkfsdfd also shay witnessing the tea LMAOO #assassins creed #ac rogue #haytham kenway #adéwalé

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demigoddessqueens · 10 months

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belated birthdays

A/n - I had forgotten for these three 😅 but better late than never

Altair

Not so much a huge birthday guy, never really gave much thought to it, but that doesn’t mean he completely disregards it. If you were to do something nice for him, or got a sentimental gift that means something to you two,

Edward

This man is a bit of a sucker for a spectacle, wanting to go out to a tavern/bar for a loud gaudy celebration, and you on his arm

Desmond

It feels like it would be either a hit or miss with Dez 💕

Either he doesn’t low key celebrate his bday, or it’s a small get together with you, him, Shaun, Rebecca and Lucy

#assassin’s creed x reader #altaïr ibn la’ahad #altair ibn la ahad x reader #altair ibn la’ahad #edward kenway imagine #edward kenway x reader #edward kenway #desmond miles #desmond miles x reader #my writing #headcanons #ac1 #ac black flag #assassin’s creed black flag

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freshstartfromscratch · 2 years

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A.S.S.A.S.S.I.N.S aka Roommates AU - Edward

Sup everyone! Since I'd rather write anything but my thesis, I'm adding Edward headcanons to my roommate's AU rant.

Edward aka the experienced one

So surprise! Edward is old. He's like 65.

Father of Jeniffer and Haytham Kenway but unlike them, he doesn't live in the UK. He has a small apartment on the same floor as the Bois.

It should go without saying but he's also Ratonhnhaké:ton's grandfather.

Edward is a retired assassin but surprisingly the assassin's lifestyle wasn't the most exciting part of his life. Back in the 1960s and 1970s, this dude was a roadie of all big shoot British rock bands. He used to tour with the Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, and Queen. This guy worked with all of them.

Young Edward lived a life of sex, drugs, and rock'n'roll. He was throwing TVs outside of the window, sleeping with groupies, and sniffing more coke than anyone can imagine. Yep. He was at the Woodstock festival too.

Besides famous musicians, what made young Edward's youth unforgettable were the other roadies. Unfortunately, most of them are gone now. After all these years he still remembers fondly all his mischievous friends (Tatch, Mary, Anne, Adelawe, Jack, Charles) and how they toured every venue in America.

He had both Jeniffer and Haytham very early and to be fair he wasn't ready to be a father. He tried but he didn't have the best relationship with his kids, especially his son. Haytham hated that his dad was away constantly and for what? parties and music?

That's why Haytham ended up as the complete opposite of his father. Edward feels guilty about it but also knows that he was a kid himself when his son was born.

When he got older and stopped touring with bands, he tried to be the father to his kids. Unfortunately, money got tight and their relationship was already stained. After getting hit with the news that many of his friends died tragically (accidents, overdoses, murders) Edward got depressed and even more distant from his children.

Yes. He's an alcoholic. He thought it'd be better for his children if he removed himself from their lives so he started working on ships. It kept him busy, sober, and away from his problems. He could go back to traveling around the world, almost like in his youth.

He sailed mostly in the West Indies for numerous British contractors, not all of them legal. That's how assassins found him. Mary to be more precise.

Initially, Edward rejected her help but she didn't give up. Unfortunately, it took her death for Edward to finally man up and do something with his life. Brotherhood help him quit his vices and gave him the purpose he was missing. He had fun all his life but felt empty, now things were about to change.

He was one of the most significant assassins of the 1980s and 1990s. Even though he was around 40 at that time. He strengthened the British Brotherhood and helped many assassins from the eastern block during the transformation period.

Edward moved to the US a few years after his grandson was born. Haytham moved back to England (because he had better job opportunities there), his relationship with Kaniehtí:io was pretty much non-existing at that time and the couple was in separation. Edward wanted to be there for his grandson and daughter-in-law so he moved to America to help. Connor was around 3-4 years old then.

Edward and Bayek used to work together and Bayek has a lot of respect for the older Assassin. Even though they are completely different. While in the US he also worked from time to time with the American branch of the Levantine Brotherhood, and he recalls two remarkable, young assassins from the 1980s - Umar Ibn-La'Ahad and Faheem Al-Sayf.

Edward also remembers all roommates that ever rented Bayek's apartment since the mid-1990s. Some of those Assassins are dead, some reached the range of Masters, and some even retired. Edward remembers them all when they were just young men still in training. He also remembers many of their private life dramas - school, work, relationships, and ofc parties.

Because of his presence in Connor's life, he has a way better relationship with his grandpa than with his dad. Kaniehtí:io also likes Edward, he helped her when money was tight, and he watched over Ratonhnhaké:ton when Ziio was working. Edward is also responsible for Connor's music taste because you bet he played classic rock music to his grandson. Overall he might have not been much of a father to Haytham but he was to Connor.

He helped him with school and taught him how to fight and stand up for what is right. It's because of Edward that Connor is an assassin.

Connor still visits his grandfather very often and asks him for advice. They hang out and have this wholesome bonding time over memories.

Nowadays Connor helps his grandpa, Edward is one tough motherfucker but even he isn't invincible.

After Connor moved in with the Bois, Edward became sort of a group grandpa. He saw a lot of shit, went through tough times, and can provide the young Assassins with advice and experience.

He might not run on the rooftops anymore but he still can use the hidden blade and many templars might be surprised by this old dog.

#assassin's creed #so many assassins #gaming #edward kenway #connor kenway #connor kenway imagine #edward kenway imagine #assassin's creed imagine #assassin's creed headcanons #roommates au

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kiatheinsomniac · 2 years

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Heyo! I've been playing AC4 lately so I'm here to request a one shot with Edward.

I had the idea of Reader stealing a gunship and getting away from wherever they used to live (maybe because they're fugitive, or because they want a change in life, or something else you find fitting) and after a nasty run-in with another ship, Edward rescues them on the Jackdaw and they join the crew

notes: not my best but I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless!

pairing: Edward Kenway x Reader

word count: 1.3k

☾ ⋆ﾟ MASTERLIST / RULES / TAGLIST FORM

Adrift

It hadn’t been easy back home. You were the second eldest daughter in a family of seven children in a house where money was tight. There had been two bedrooms and a kitchen to make up the entire house – you shared a room with four other siblings where there was very little room to even walk between all your single beds. Your parents room was even smaller and consisted of just the one bed that they shared. Your older sister had been married last year and moved out with her husband, your even older brother serving in the British Navy. The kitchen was made of one counter, a cooker, a table that was always overcrowded and a curtain in the corner where a metal tub served as a bath.

Growing up in such poverty had been hell. Your little family didn’t make nearly enough money to ever last with your little farm of sheep that were far too few in number to be of any real profit. You dreamed of going away like your brother did, not like your sister. Her husband was only slightly better off than your own family: he had his own place but it was small and would be equally overrun and struggling by the time they had children. You didn’t want a big family. As much as you loved your parents and siblings, it felt like hell in his place with them all and the only time you ever felt privacy was down by the beach where, even then, anyone could be nearby.

It was a particularly difficult winter. Some of the sheep had been stolen, your family was starving and two of your younger siblings were sick. It would be a miracle if all of you made it to the spring without at least one loss.

Your sister’s coughing had kept you up in the night when you heard your parents talking and you pressed your ear to the wall to try and hear better.

“--I don’t want to do it but we don’t have a choice. She’s the only one old enough, there aren’t any suitors and there ain’t nothing she can do with no education.” Surely that was you, you were the only one of your siblings who had just reached adulthood.

“It’s a horrid place, Matthew.” Your mother was choking back tears and your brows furrowed, where were they sending you?

“I know but we need to eat. I don’t want to see her in a whore house either but-” You pulled your ear away from the wall, panicking. You weren’t going to end up there, like that, to be of use to any man who had enough coin to have you turned into an object for however long he could pay for. You reached under the bed where you pulled out your pair of battered boots and the box where you kept your regular petticoat and Sunday best. You hurriedly dressed, trying not to let the bed frame squeak too much and shoved your feet into your battered boots. You removed your flattened pillow from its faded case and crammed your other petticoat inside along with your comb. All you had to your name.

You took off running out the door and into the night, hearing your father shouting behind you from the door of the house but you didn’t look back. You wouldn’t look back.

In a panic, you ran down to the harbour where you found a small fishing boat. You had a friend, Maeve, whose father was a fisherman and had taken you out in his boat once two summers ago. He was a kind-eyed man and very patient and had told the two of you all about how to man the boat and prepare a lure with bait for fishing.

Now all you had to do was remember how to operate the boat as you jumped into the vessel of some poor soul who would come down to the docks in the morning and find their boat missing. You had no idea where you were going, what you were thinking, but you just had to run, had to get somewhere else.

And that’s exactly what you did.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A few years later, you found yourself leading a small gunship in the Caribbean. You had disguised yourself as a boy after some thieving when your stolen little fishing boat landed in the port of the nearest city and had disguised yourself as a young man, enlisting yourself as a privateer.

However, you, and the rest of the crew you were a part of, found yourselves being made redundant out in the Caribbean, being forced to return home with a fraction of your pay. You would not be forced to go back to your little family home. You had been sending them money this whole time, telling them you were an apprentice to a blacksmith, but you knew that, upon your return, it would run out eventually and your parents may well return to their idea of sending you to a brothel. You wouldn’t have it.

You had passionately voiced your anger, cried out about the injustice to your fellow crewmates and had ended up sparking a mutiny. You didn’t shy away from the fighting when it happened and your cause won, the remaining crewmates voting you as captain of what was no longer a privateer ship but a pirate ship.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You had been a fierce Captain, much to many people’s surprise considering the fact you were but a ‘young man’. You had held your ground for the next few years, able to send your family even more money than before, claiming you were running your own forge and business now. But all good things must come to an end. After a particularly large victory, a bounty was put on you and your ship was sunk in battle, most of your crew dying.

You had survived and managed to get one of the lifeboats afloat from where you found it capsized, escaping when you realised you were the only survivor. It was in this way that you were found adrift by the Captain of the Jackdaw, his men hoisting you onto the deck of the ship.

“So, do you have any special skills?” He asked you when you had been brought to sit down in his cabin.

“You want me to join your crew.” You stated, having gathered as much from the nature of his question.

“Helping hands are always welcome so long as they can carry their own weight.” The blonde man shrugged, “So, what can you do?”

“Well, I was the captain of my ship for the last six years. I was a privateer before that and started a mutiny to take the boat for pirating when we were all written off by His Majesty.” His brows raised at this.

“You seem young. Six years ago you would have been even younger, and even younger while you were a privateer before that.” He noted and your jaw clenched. You didn’t want a ship full of men to know that you were a woman, “But I understand, life like this is easier for you, safer, I’m sorry to say. I’ve met someone like you before, James Kidd his name was, most days, that is.” You caught onto the fact that he clearly knew what you were and you nodded your head slowly in gratitude for not outwardly revealing you or making any violent move towards you. Silence hung in the air, “You need the work, don’t you?” He offered.

“Yeah, but I don’t want anything funny going on, you hear me? I might not be what I seem but I can assure you I’ll start killing if I suspect anything.” You threatened.

“Alright then, I’ll give you some work on my ship and then when we dock in Nassau, I’ll introduce you to James and Anne. I know you’ll find them good company and they’ll be able to find some better work for you, maybe even your own ship. Do we have a deal?” He held out his calloused hand and you looked at it for a moment before taking it in yours, shaking firmly.

“Deal.”

☾ ⋆ﾟ Buy me a coffee?

🏷️@gojohater101 @writing-noah @havatnah

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cats-and-fiction · 1 year

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How does each Assassin handle a nightmare?

Sorry for answering years later but I'm alive again and here. I did bit my teeth out with this request for ever and since I have gotten it I never felt like knowing how to answer it well enough but now I feel like I have a answer that's good enough. I did leave out the newer ones, the ones I don't know what to write about or the ones I'm not familiar with.

Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad

In his younger years he had a lot of nightmares often connected to his assassinations but with growing older he grew accustomed to it. His nightmares lessened and if he has one he tries to do something else to not think about it. He doesn't confront it, think about it or anything else. Often goes for a night time run or decides that it's now time to wake up and begin the day before the sun even rises. He wouldn't be able to get any sleep anyway.

Desmond Miles

Similar to Altaïr Desmond doesn't want to go to sleep after experiencing a nightmare. Rather just goes onto the phone and plays one of the crappy little games installed on it like snake. If he is with Reader and they would wake up too and ask what happened he would talk about his nightmare.

Ezio Auditore da Firenze

After a nightmare Ezio lay in bed for some hours trying to comprehend it I believe. Though if he was with Reader and they wake up he has some other ideas what to do with the rest of the night if you catch my drift. Especially in his younger years he would get a lot of nightmares often in connection with his family he would be pretty shaken up. Maybe he even cried a few tears here and there. Not maybe, he did. Though he wouldn't let anybody know that he had a bad sleep in the next morning. He is too proud. Though he would confine into Reader if they asked and if he trusts them at the time.

Edward Kenway

I don't think nightmares affect him. Maybe the pretty personal ones might shake him up but Edward seems like a man that stands up, gets dressed and just goes to the next bar and pour down some drinks to get rid of the memories of having them. Often the reason why he says he doesn't have one since h doesn't remember them.

Evie Frye

Evie is very shocked after them and has some tears to shed. If she is with reader she will cuddle up to them and after a nightmare it's a time she shows how vulnerable she is. She talks about them if Reader asks and will try to go back to sleep. She doesn't see much sense in trying to do anything else, especially if the night is still young. She wouldn't give the nightmares a win by not going to sleep after them.

Jacob Frye

Jacob is similar to his sister though he distracts himself before going back to sleep. Often he went to his sister when he was young and slept in her bed. Now with getting older he sees it as a little fight. Why admit defeat against the nightmare by not going back to sleep? Though he does a little distraction before either by taking a little walk or if he is with Reader and they are awake he initiates something spicy and ignoring their questions why he woke up so suddenly. If Reader is sound asleep he cuddles up to them.

#assasins creed #altair imagines #desmond miles #ezio auditore #edward kenway #evie frye #jacob frye #ac headcanons #reader #assassins creed reader #assassins creed headcanons #requests open #writing blog

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asscrackcreed · 2 years

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Since Arno hyperfixation over musicals, im thinking Edward would either be pirates of the caribbean or our flag means death, both pirate movie/show expect one is more gayer than the other.

HE ALSO WOULD WATCH BLACK SAILS !!

his pirate interest would be a historical thing too i see him researching everything man he'd see pirate stereotypes and CRY

#dont say 'arr' in front of my edward #he'll fight you #anonymous #ask #edward kenway #arno dorian #edward kenway imagine

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iramerle · 2 years

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This photo just reminded me of them :

#I can imagine other assassins too but I wanted to draw connor ♡#fanart #myart #connor kenway #Ratohnhake:ton #edward kenway #ghost of your grandfather bothers you in parties because you don’t party hard enough #assassins creed #assassin’s creed:black flag #assassin’s creed 3

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yasashii-leaf · 5 months

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I went out to see the Nutcracker AFTER replaying A Deadly Performance which was probably a horrible idea because that sequence was sad as hell and now I have the image of Haytham in a tutu ingrained in my head

Anyhow imagine Edward Kenway as Drosselmeyer while Y/N is impulse control

I’m sorry i didn’t understand what you meant by "while y/n is impulse control"

#my art #y/n #reader #jennifer scott #haytham kenway #edward kenway

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teecupangel · 11 months

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Same person who asked Angel! Altaïr

What if Ezio and Connor turned into biblically accurate angels? (And maybe Haytham or Edward for fun-)

Hi, nonny! Thank you for making Altaïr suffer as a biblically accurate angel yesterday (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

Now... Let's screw up Desmond's other ancestors' lives XD

Well, Ezio would definitely have a hard time doing anything else because he’s just become a biblical-accurate angel in one of the most religious parts of the world during his time. Like, if this was set during AC2, Ezio would probably run to Monteriggioni to escape all the worshipping and falling into the ground to pray and stuff, unintentionally turning Monteriggioni into a religious location.

A… holy land.

If this is the middle of AC2, Rodrigo Borgia wouldn’t be pope yet so his power will be limited and it’s really, really going to be easy for all of this to go out of hand and, honestly, Mario Auditore doesn’t strike me as the religious type but he’d definitely try to spin this entire thing to their advantage while worrying on how to get his nephew back to human form in closed doors.

Oh god.

If they hear about Ezio’s mother and sister…

Maria Auditore might be considered a holy woman!

CLAUDIA MIGHT BE CALLED A SAINTESS!

Oh shhiiittt. Claudia might actually milk this entire thing and do a Jeanne d’Arc in this setup.

And Ezio would be stuck in Monteriggioni because he can’t be an Assassin now, EVERYONE is looking at him.

And now… Claudia Auditore takes centerstage. This time, it’s Ezio’s turn to take care of the books. XD

Ratonhnhaké:ton:

Honestly, Ratonhnhaké:ton wouldn’t think of himself as an angel. He would believe that he had been touched by the spirits or something similar so he may protect his village. Redcoats would definitely see him and think that the end times have come. They have been judged and proclaimed as sinners. This would actually be the most dangerous setup because Ratonhnhaké:ton doesn’t necessarily have a good support system in place. Achilles is an old jaded man who can’t easily come to his aid. All of his white allies have their own desires and they wouldn’t mind using Ratonhnhaké:ton to achieve their goals. Then… the siege of Yorktown becomes the battleground of two heavenly beings as Haytham stands in front of Charles Lee… and turns into an angel as well.

Edward:

You know what would be funny… if Edward turned into an angel during the webtoon part. Like, just think of Noa’s “what? WHAT??? WHAT?????” reaction to watching as Edward suddenly becomes an angel and he gets desynced there and then because “holy shit, what???” and everyone in the room are just like “???????”.

In the Gray:

“Reader… Reader… you have to stop this.”

“I can’t… I’m connecting to Desmond Miles’ ancestors and this automatically happens. I cannot stop the connection.”

“Reader, if you keep doing this…………… You might have to pretend to be ‘God’.”

“………… what kind of logic did you have to jump thru to get to that idea???”

“Is that sarcasm I sense in your voice? Is this making you human again???”

“Focus, Layla!”

#ac characters as biblically accurate angels #oh god #there’s a plot brewing in the gray #oh no #oh dear #now i’m just imagining the reader possessing a burning bush #and going #‘altaïr #we need to talk’#and altaïr just going ‘nope not hearing a burning bush definitely not hearing a burning bush’#ask and answer #assassin's creed #ezio auditore #ratonhnhaké:ton #connor kenway #haytham kenway #edward kenway #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed

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geeks-universe · 1 year

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Kiss of Death pt. 4

Anthony Bridgerton x Assassin!Reader

Society has certain expectations of you. If only they knew of your nighttime activities…

That, as it were, was not possible.

Viscount Bridgerton was only afforded a couple of extra hours of sleep following your late night encounter. He still rose relatively early, only to find out from his mother that you had left nearly half an hour ago with an apology and a promise to meet them at the ball that evening.

You were in a rush for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately, sleep rarely found itself in the silent hours of the night, and when it did, it was fitful. You couldn’t rest, not until you completed your mission. So, you were run ragged by the time the evening approached.

Business was not as usual, and you didn’t know when the London brotherhood had descended into such chaos, but you imagined the famous Edward Kenway might’ve had something to do with it.

His house had been a makeshift headquarters for the time being, and you’d been hard at work establishing both targets and allies.

Being a prominent member of society, however, came with certain expectations. Even a princess couldn’t publicly denounce societal norms, at least not so boldly, but especially not while trying to maintain anonymity.

The Templars had been amassing power in London for some time, and with the brotherhood as desecrated there as it was, you needed to remain unknown.

Which is exactly why you found yourself cursing God above as you tried to re-stitch the gash in your side. The injury was from the night before, but Graham, the resident medic, had stitched it together. In your hurry to return to the Bridgerton home for the ball, you’d ripped them back open.

Now, you were certainly no medical expert, but you’d had to resort to crude stitches a number of times before to prevent yourself from bleeding out. A part of you was thankful for the modest rhetoric of present society, if only because it shielded the many scars a lifetime of fighting had earned you.

Silvery lines mapped your skin, different shapes and sizes, coalescing to a single story of the life you lead. It was a hard life, almost always dangerous, and mentally demanding, but in a world that tried to tie your life value to your marriage prospects, you were damn proud of it.

A knock interrupted your musings, and you cursed loudly as you whipped around to face the intruder, a knife in your hand before you could logically reason that an attacker would decidedly not knock.

Benedict Bridgerton, the middle son, held both hands up in surrender, his eyes blown wide as he took in the scene before him. At first, common etiquette took over, and he apologized for interrupting, and turned away to protect your decency.

Then, he seemed to process what he actually saw.

“I’ll get the doctor,” he proclaimed, already a step out the door.

You didn’t let him get any further.

Mindful of your wound, and the single stitch that still needed to be fully patched up, you vaulted over the bed.

“No doctor,” you stopped him, pulling him back into the room with a force he didn’t know you were capable of, and then leaning against the door.

He opened his mouth, eyes blown wide in surprise, then closed it once more.

“Pardon my indecency,” you spoke eloquently, gesturing to the bloody mess on your torso. You weren’t fully bare, but you were certainly missing a few layers.

“I really think you need a doctor,” Benedict argued, no longer shielding his eyes. “How did-“

“I will explain,” you promised, forcing his gaze to yours. “Everything. But I need to get to the ball.”

“Maybe that’s not-“

“Benedict,” you interrupted sternly, presenting the needle and thread you were using in one hand. “I promise that I’m fine, but if I don’t make it to the ball soon, I will have bigger worries.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, that he needed to advocate for your health. Instead, he sighed, then nodded.

“What do you need?”

“An escort, for one,” you grinned, pointing to the intricate dress you’d laid out earlier. “And discretion. I’ll tell you everything, but you have to promise you won’t breathe a word to another soul.”

Benedict mulled over the proposition, as he leaned against the bedpost and watched with a morbid fascination as you threaded the last stitch in.

“As long as there’s no danger to my family, I can keep a secret.”

You flashed him a smile, then fixed your slip to the proper position.

“First order of business, I need help with this corset.”

He raised a brow, sure you were joking. When it became evident that you were absolutely serious, his smile faded.

“What would the lords and ladies of the ton think of this?” Benedict teased, helping you dress in the lavish gown you had chosen for the ball.

“I’m sure,” you grunted as the pressure of the corset pushed against the wound, “They’d disapprove of a great many of my hobbies.”

“Having men dress you is a hobby, then?”

There was an easy air between the two of you, like you were fast friends. It reminded you of the stark difference between him and his older brother. Where you could joke along with Benedict easily, every interaction with Anthony was charged, electric even.

“Quite the opposite,” you hummed, and Benedict laughed loudly.

Fast friends, indeed.

You were sure if it were any other Bridgerton, there would be more questions and demands. You were also sure they’d be a little more sober.

But, as it were, Benedict was exactly who you needed at the present. He offered help with no judgment and little questions.

There would be a time and a place where you owed him both, but for now your objective was set, and Benedict certainly didn’t get in your way.

The carriage ride to the ball was tense, at best, and suspicious, at worst. Your fingers flexed against the deep red fabric of your gown, and even through the many, many layers of finery, you felt the pressure upon your leg.

Still, Benedict remained silent, his mouth pulled in a tight line. It was difficult for him to do so, but he held his tongue. For an inexplicable reason, he believed you would tell him the truth, and that was enough to earn his silence.

“Will you be my first dance, Benedict?”

Your voice was gentle against the harsh squeaking of the old carriage. One corner of his lips pulled up in a crooked smile, the street lamps twinkling in his eyes.

“I would be delighted.”

You breathed a laugh, enjoying the last few moments of peace before braving the storm. Despite what your refined birth might suggest, you would never be accustomed to the duties you had as Princess. In a ballroom, you played the part you had to perfectly, but it would only ever be an act. You never felt more like yourself as you did when you had your gear on, hurdling towards the earth in a leap of faith, trusting your judgment and quick wit to grant you a safe landing.

The beating of your heart, the widening of your eyes, the perfect control over your muscles; it made you feel alive.

All too soon, the great pillars of the Craven estate towered outside, signaling your arrival at the ball. The carriage slowed to a stop, the halting of the jostling a minute reprieve from the ache on your abdomen.

Just smile.

Your lips tugged up- not with unbridled joy, but rather polite disinterest- as you took a steadying breath. Benedict got out first, scanning over your features quickly before he extended a hand, helping you out.

You didn’t wince, didn’t even move a muscle, as the new stitches pulled uncomfortably, a dull ache settling against your ribs.

“That’s incredible,” Benedict commented under his breath, leading you past the stragglers outside.

You were late to the ball, but fashionably so. Some of the more aggressive mamas were fixing their daughter’s hair or gowns before they entered. They all dropped to a curtsy as you walked by, murmuring about your dress.

“What is?” You inquired, not even sparing him a glance.

Your shoulders were straight, your head held high. Years of instincts made sure you took particular note of your surroundings, and escape routes if need be, but to everyone else you looked calm- content even- as you glided towards the doors, the intricate train of your dress nearly dragging on the ground. The bodice of the dress looked to be made of red rose petals, their overlapping covering from your wrist to your waist, then cascading down over the layers of red silk. The gown left your shoulders exposed, and just enough cleavage to be deemed tasteful. The placement was careful enough to avoid any noticeable scars, while still being tantalizing to the eligible men.

If only they knew.

“It is truly impossible to tell the position you were in just moments ago.”

The curve of your lips pulled up a little more.

“Everyone has their secrets, Benedict,” you replied quietly, muttering a thanks as the door was opened for you and him. “Some are just better at hiding it.”

As you and the middle Bridgerton boy descended the stairs into the sparkling marble ballroom, the music paused, and they all turned to stare at you.

The queen wasn’t present, luckily. Your father had sent a letter in advance to her, so that it wouldn’t be seen as disrespectful when you didn’t visit her first. You would have to make a royal visit sooner rather than later, but, ironically enough, you tried to avoid royalty. In your experience, too many had been direct supporters of the Templar cause.

You identified as many people as you could- and those you couldn’t, you assessed what sort of threat they might pose. Even as the music resumed and the hushed whisper that’d fallen over the ball had all but dissipated, you found the noise faded to the background.

Somewhere in the chaos of your thoughts and the murkiness of your fear Benedict slipped a dance card around your wrist.

The eyes of paintings seemed to watch you and the expansive ceilings closed in, suffocating you in a way you’d been before.

28.

28 possible escape routes.

The thought was enough to calm the fear swelling in your heart. Once, you would’ve been just as comfortable in the crowd. Once, you were fearless.

Then, your mother…

The dark eyes of Viscount Bridgerton dragged you out of your mind before you could be swept up in the current of memories as he approached you. He bowed deeply, but his gaze didn’t stray.

Hot desire burned there, his eyes slow to draw your figure. He tried to conceal it, like he, too, was startled by the air that crackled with intensity between you.

“I was starting to think you’d decided to forgo tonight’s ball as well.”

There was such a simple curiosity in his words that you couldn’t contain the gentle laughter that bubbled to your lips.

“I suppose I have been rather absent.” You admitted, casting a glance to your escort. “Alas, your brother promised me a dance, so I simply had to attend.”

The frown on Anthony’s mouth could be categorized as suspicious, but Benedict shot him a wink and swept you away, mindful of your hidden injuries.

“I dare say,” Benedict leaned in conspiratorially, one hand placed in yours while the other rested on the small of your back. “You’ve caught Anthony’s interest.”

“His interest?” You echoed, a brow arched. “Or his ire?”

Where Benedict’s moves were graceful and practiced, yours were fluid- the dance of someone who was familiar with precise movements. You were sure you made quite the spectacle, even more so to the eyes of men who wished to marry the rich and beautiful.

“Perhaps,” Benedict laughed, spinning you with ease, “they are not so different.”

Even with the series of spins you performed, you managed to catch Anthony’s stare with each turn of your body. It would’ve been impossible not to, considering his attention had yet to leave you.

“I do believe we’ve managed to anger your brother without a word,” you slyly mentioned, bowing to Benedict as the crescendo drew to an end.

He returned the gesture, flicking a quick look to where you’d stitched your wound together earlier.

“The poets might call that jealousy,” he said, nodding in his brother’s direction, as if to dismiss the conversation.

You hesitated briefly, swallowing against the guilt and anxiety in your throat, before offering a friendly squeeze of your hand.

Tomorrow.

You would tell Benedict the entirety of the truth tomorrow.

Tonight, however, you had a role to play.

You squared your shoulders, raising your head high as you began walking confidently, steadily, in the direction of Anthony Bridgerton. The steel of the twin daggers you concealed against your thighs burned, a gentle reminder of the life you lead.

Anthony was dangerous.

His eyes made you weak in the knees, a bit too much like the lady you were expected to be. He was an attractive man, sinfully so, and you found yourself inexplicably drawn to him.

Perhaps it was the way he challenged you. Or, perhaps, your mind was simply clouded by a haze of lust.

Whatever the case may be, you would not fall so easily to his charms.

“Princess,” Anthony greeted, very obviously shooting his brother a look first.

“Viscount Bridgerton,” you answered, a teasing smile on your lips.

His eyes narrowed a fraction, tension in his brow as he tried to decipher what you could possibly be feeling at the moment. He wouldn’t be able to tell, though. Years and years of training, of learning to wear the mask that most suited you, made you impossible to read.

“You owe me a dance.”

You blinked.

You hadn’t expected him to be so bold. Then again, Anthony, it seemed, had a habit of catching you off guard.

“I don’t recall ever owing you anything,” you shot back evenly, unable to stop yourself from playing into his game.

“You stay in my family home,” he reminded you, mirth shining in those soulful eyes of his.

“Are you suggesting I find other arrangements?” You couldn’t keep a straight face, cursing yourself as a sultry smile spread on your lips.

“No,” he noted the flock of men waiting for your conversation to end so that they might engage with you. “But I am keeping your suitors at bay. Surely, that warrants a dance.”

Your eyes didn’t need to leave his to notice the men congregating a polite distance away, patiently awaiting a chance to speak with you, or perhaps dance. Either way, you didn’t want to. In this case, you didn’t have much of a choice, appearances and all that.

“My knight in shining armor,” you deadpanned, biting your lip to keep from laughing.

“A dance then?”

There was a hopefulness there, and a part of yourself you thought you’d long since abandoned twinged desperately.

“Patience, my dear Anthony, is a virtue,” you ran your tongue along your teeth, watching his gaze flick down, tracing the movement with his eyes.

“Perhaps we should tell that to them.”

His smile widened mischievously, and before you could question why, he waved over the nearest suitor. The tall blonde-haired gentleman looked startled, before he rushed over to introduce himself and place his name on your dance card.

You glared at Anthony over the man’s shoulder, physically restraining yourself from doing something childish like sticking your tongue out at him when he had the audacity to shrug.

The rest of the ball continued in a similar manner. Anthony watched on as suitor after suitor approached, all far too eager for your attention. He ignored the twinge of jealousy, telling himself over and over that he didn’t want you in any manner, and therefore he had no reason to feel envious of all the men holding you throughout the night.

It didn’t help, of course, but he’d gotten decent at burying his feelings deep beneath his own stubborn ideas.

“You didn’t ask her to dance,” Daphne noted beside him, leaving her own entourage of suitors.

He knew that look she was giving him. It was the same look his mother gave him before she meddled in his business. It seemed Daphne had inherited a carbon copy of that expression.

“I would think, dear sister, you have your own dances to worry about.”

Daphne smiled thoughtfully.

“It’s okay to like her,” she replied kindly.

The soft tone, and unexpected observation, caused Anthony to stare at his sister for a moment. A moment too long, considering she left him in his confusion, offering no further explanation.

The rest of the night he was left in silence, a lonely shadow watching over the bright ambience. He felt starkly out of place, and was reminded once again that he felt constrained, rather than freed, by the responsibilities on his shoulders.

He released a quiet breath, lingering near his mother as the night drew to a conclusion. You were lost somewhere in the fray, and, much to his displeasure, he couldn’t seem to find you.

When he began to usher his family home, he noted with some amount of curiosity that you had already left, disappeared with only a quick explanation to Daphne.

He felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

Surely, you hadn’t snuck away with a suitor, right? The thought was unpleasant, so much so that the sour look on his face kept his family from engaging with him on the carriage ride home.

He had hoped that perhaps you would stop by late into the night, as you had previously, but Anthony slept through the night with no interruptions.

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