a cobblestone life

赵赵 Zhao Zhao (b. 1982), Cobblestone, 2007 [Chambers Fine Art, Beijing] | now at MoMA PS1: Zero Tolerance – On view October 26, 2014–April 13, 2015"Informed by Joseph Beuys’s “life is art” principle and influenced by his longtime mentor Ai Weiwei, Zhao seeks to create works using materials that surround him. -Cobblestone- documents a performance in which Zhao used a strong adhesive to glue a rock to the surface of Tiananmen Square in Beijing. The action, imbued with symbolic and visual energy, demonstrates the power of even the smallest irregularity to disrupt the cold, endless grid of the paving stones.“ [photomomaps1

coolchao135  asked:

AAA A SSundee fan follows this blog! See, Cobbleston = life is a reference to a primarily Minecraft Youtuber known as SSundee, who recently hit 8 million subscribers and he has long hair that everyone likes to make fun of... I like minecraf.

(( Ohhh, I see-

Thanks for clearing that up, I was pretty confused over that ask– @@“ ))

Broken

Haytham Kenway x Reader

Warning: I’m an asshole and you should never read anything I write.

Words: 1497

A/N: I’ve got so many Haytham feels rn. This didn’t help. leleecool look at what you made me do. (Haytham is looking hella fine in that gif)



The sweet scent of aged spices rolled over your form, a warm arm thrown over your bare stomach. The morning rays of sun were creeping in through the blinds, making the man lying next to you look absolutely divine. His expression was peaceful, his usually well kept dark hair mussed in all different directions, no doubt an after effect of last nights rather, if you do say so yourself, pleasurable activities. A breath blew past his parted lips, his hand pulling your nude body ever closer to his heat. 

It wasn’t often that you woke up before he did, but you loved every minute of it when you did. He never looked this relaxed while awake, even in the throes of pleasure he held a sort of tenseness, his mind obviously troubled. But moments like this, when his thoughts had settled and he escaped the harsh reality of their lives, he could finally relax. And boy was it marvelous.

“Enjoying the view?” He quipped, a smirk playing at his lips. He still had yet to open his eyes, keeping your body tight against his.

“Mmm, always.” You whispered, dropping a small kiss to his toned chest.

“I have to leave at midday.” Haytham admitted, his eyes finally opening. If you had been allowed, you would stare into his beautiful gaze all day. It was more than just the brilliant gray staring back at you, more than just the soft twinkle in the light, it was the intensity. His eyes could make you burn like fire or freeze like ice. They could make you queen of everything or tear you down to nothing. 

Sure, Haytham was an extremely attractive man, but the way he made you feel, that was what was truly special about him. That’s what had intrigued you to begin with. Well, that and his little Templar operation. You had been sent to put a stop to it and him, but instead, he stole a piece of you, you could never get back. Instead he stole your heart. And, you smiled up at him softly, it seems you may have stolen his too.

“Must you?” Your voice was sweet, already knowing that he couldn’t stay. He never could. It was glaringly obvious to the both of you that this would never work out. In the end, one of you would be gone and the other wouldn’t. It was an unspoken issue in your relationship, not because you didn’t think it would happen, but simply because you wished to not remind the other. 

One look into his stormy eyes and you knew you’d never be able to live without him. He was your light in the darkness, there to guide you through the difficult paths. And the thought that one day he could be gone, you shivered.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He breathed, a finger ghosting up your bare back. You shivered again, albeit for much more pleasurable reasons.

“I don’t wish for you to go.” You changed the subject, knowing that you were only delaying the inevitable.

“I shall return soon.” He promised, his warm breath caressing your lips as he moved ever closer. “And when I do,” his mouth was hovering over yours, “I’ll not leave you until you’re fully satisfied.” He closed the gap, tongue demanding entrance before you had even began moving against his lips. You couldn’t deny his request, letting his mouth roam over yours like a king. You moaned loudly, his hands wrapping around your body so he could pull you even closer. And you were nothing if not his loyal queen.


“Yes?” Haytham called to the curt knock on his door, startling him out of his thoughts. Shay came into view, a sad sort of smile playing on his lips. “I expect you ran into no troubles?”

“Actually,” Shay began, “I ran into a number of them.” A brow raised in surprise, Haytham not expecting Shay to have run into any sort of danger. It was only an intelligence mission, and it wasn’t anything overly important.

“I’m listening.” Haytham drawled, dropping the quill that he’d been writing with lightly on the desk.

“I encountered a lone assassin in the streets. She put up one hell of a fight but I expect you won’t be seeing her again.”

“And?” He prompted, noticing the clear confusion in Shay’s expression.

“She kept repeating your name,” Shay trailed off, not entirely sure what that meant. Haytham, however, was going mad. Not on the outside, of course, but on the inside. From an outwards perspective, he looked nearly the same as he always did, a carefully stoic posture so as not to give away his inner turmoil. On the inside, it was another story entirely. He could feel the panic rise with each beat of his heart, fear’s unforgiving grasp tightening its hold on him.

“Where?” He inquired, his voice betraying his emotions.

“In the streets of New York but I don’t see how that’s im-,” Before Shay even had a chance to finish, Haytham was out the door, walking at a leisure pace despite the urge to sprint, to assure himself that you were fine. As soon as he made it out into the crisp night air, he didn’t hold back, running through the cobblestone streets like his life depended on it. And, he mused, it very well might.


The night was heavy on your back, hot blood staining your hands. You weren’t going to make it. Still, you continued to push, pleading for him. You hadn’t thought any of this through, hadn’t been able to. All you knew was that you needed to see him one more time, needed to look into his beautiful eyes, needed to tell him how you felt. 

You stumbled, a knee dropping roughly against the ground as harsh coughs wracked your body, warm liquid dripping down your chin. Had you been more aware, you might have noticed the shift in atmosphere as Haytham ran towards you, the crunch of twigs beneath his feet, or the shout that left his lips. But you weren’t aware, the darkness creeping heavily in on you. Each second was like torture, the ever darkening death looming over you. 

You could almost laugh at the irony of it all, dying alone by the hand of your lover’s friend. Was that what it was; love? You questioned, your body collapsing onto the ground painfully as your blood stained the Earth crimson. Yes, you smiled, a final breath passing through your lips, freeing you from the bounds of pain. It was love.


Haytham reached out, his knees scraping achingly against rocks as he slid for you, needing to see your beautiful gaze. Instead he was met with shallow, lifeless eyes, your blood hot against his skin, almost mocking him. Your lips were smiling up at him, your skin almost warm enough to fool him into thinking you were alive. A pained howl was ripped from his throat, his arms pulling your limp form into his chest, pleas whispering from his lips. 

You couldn’t be gone, he had just seen you hours ago. He could still hear the sound of your laughter, still smell your unique scent on his skin, still feel your heated touches, still see your beautiful smile in his mind’s eye, still taste your lips against his. There was a pain in his chest, tearing him asunder from the inside. He had caused this. 

He pulled back, darkened gray eyes gazing at the shell of the person you once were. His heart was aching, reaching for yours for love. Only, this time, he felt nothing but the bitter cold, biting at his emotions harshly. He had let you die.

“(Y/N),” he breathed, his voice shaky. “Don’t leave me alone. I can’t,” he broke, his normally charismatic words failing him. He could feel it in his chest, the missing piece, the piece that you had taken from the moment he first laid eyes upon you, and the remnant that remained with your bloodied body in the eternity of death. He’d never get it back, never feel whole again. 

He was broken and there was nothing that could fix him. His tears fell hotly onto your cooling skin, a hand running through your hair as he rested his head on your chest. He had lost too much in this world, and now, he was damaged beyond repair. 

So years later, when he had his son beneath him, hidden blade ready to release into his neck, he couldn’t do it. Your eyes flashed in his mind, your warm smile looking to him like it was only yesterday. He couldn’t lose another person. He loosened his grip, allowing Connor to slide his blade into his neck. It didn’t hurt like he thought, in fact, he couldn’t help but feel content. After all these years of wishing, praying, pleading, crying, and begging for you, he was finally going to be reunited with you; his heart, his soul, his love.

Heroes never die!

It was a lie.

It… was all a lie.

He watched them, one by one, fade away, their souls fading from existence.

He watched them, one by one, be consumed by war and strife.

He watched them, one by one, be taken by age.

Heroes never die!

What a load of shit.

The overgrowth had taken over the cobblestones, life present, but not the life he wanted. Flowers sprung up, breathing life into the corroded base, years of disuse overcoming the electronics and steel, overcoming stone and earth.

The roaring from the ocean echoed off of the wall of stone outside, the salt from the sea thick in the air.

Walking through the hall was agony.

Heroes never die!

How he wished it was true…

Farther within there was more life, but still… Not the life he wished for. The sound of running water, a splash, croaking. The life he had left behind, and he wouldn’t let them die, let them suffer.

Heroes never die!

The pain of it shook him on days, some worse then others.

He was tired. He was weary. But still he breathed. Still he put one foot in front of another.

He was nothing but smoke now, smoke and ash. Not… human. And yet… He did not leave.

He wouldn’t leave. He couldn’t leave. He refused to leave.

Heroes never die!

Hand across stone, brushing away the moss that had taken root, the words worn down by time, by that same hand brushing across it. Taloned gauntlet scraping at stone to keep the words forever there, no words said… They weren’t needed.

The exhale of air, a tendril of smoke floating towards the ceiling, only to fall as ash upon the grass beneath him. Nothing new…

A drip, the echo around the room as a wet spot appeared upon the top of the gravestone.

Bare hand coming up to touch around his neck, chain jingling within the calm, a ring being slid onto a finger and then off again, allowing it to flop against chest, black band stark against the grey shirt that clung to muscles.

The light filtering through the cracks within the ceiling caught off of emerald stones and diamonds entwined upon the band itself, a frog in mid leap.

How long had it been?

Fifteen years? Twenty?

Seventy?

Two hundred?

Another drip. Another wet spot upon the top of the gravestone. Another. And another.

He bellowed out a sob as he brushed the gravestone lovingly. He hadn’t left. He’d never leave.

Lucio Correia Dos Santos

Loved by many, cherished by one.

Knuckles against stone, the blood healing within moments upon skin, the stain upon the stone being wiped quickly.

Heroes always die…

Death never does.