what if connor has burns on his hands from where he tried to rescue ziio from the fire when he was a kiddo and that's why he wears fingerless gloves. what if haytham saw them. what would his reaction be??
After Haytham and Connor got on the deck of the Aquila, Mr. Faulkner, who had been taking care of the ship, greeted both of them - the first on with curiousity, the second one with cordiality. “I’m glad you made it” he said, patting Connor’s shoulder and pointing his head at the burning warehouse that they were leaving behind. “It sure looked nasty” “It was” Connor nodded, glancing at Haytham, who walked away from them. “I can take the helm for now, if you want to rest, Captain” Faulkner offered. Connor nodded gratefully. However, when Mr. Faulkner left him, the Assassin didn’t go to his cabin, but instead headed towards the prow. He preferred to be on the deck, instead of below it and the clear, salty air helped him recover his strength more efficiently than the stuffy atmosphere of the cabin. Connor rested his palms on the ship’s side and took a deep breath. He realized that his hands were still shaking slightly. Connor clenched them into fists. The incident in the warehouse moved him more than he’d like anyone to know. Especially his father. Fire was his weakness, ever since he was a child. Findng himself in the middle of the burning building almost made Connor lose control of himself. The Assassin glanced at his hands, where the memories of the events that took place eighteen years ago were burned into his skin. He noticed that his fingerless gloves – the only part of his usual clothing that he hadn’t hidden under the disguise – were all blackened and, at some places, charred. There was more material burned, than intact. Connor took off his useless gloves and threw them overboard. He’ll need to find another pair. Maybe there was some spare in the cabin…
“Don’t you want to have those dressed?” Connor flinched, disgruntled that he allowed his father to sneak up on him. “It’s too late for dressing those burns now, father” he said coldly, crossing his arms on his chest and hiding the burned hands “Eighteen years too late” Haytham, who stood next to him, was silent for a moment. He wasn’t expecting this answer. The Templar thought those burns were new, acquired only some minutes ago. “I see” he finally said, his tone less curt than usual, yet still far from sympathetic. Connor stood motionless, with his eyes fixed somewhere on the sea. He still wasn’t sure whether he could believe his father. He wanted to believe him so badly. He wanted to believe that his own father was not a monster who sentenced the woman he claimed he’d cared for to such cruel death. “I was trying to save her, you know” Connor said, not really sure what for “But I wasn’t strong enough.” “You were a child” Haytham responded after a few seconds “There was nothing you could do” “No” Connor shook his head, feeling angry, but this time for a different reason “But maybe if you had been there it would have been different.” “Maybe it would” Haytham said quietly “I wish I had been there”
Connor finally looked at his father. The older man’s gaze was fixed on the horizon, but there was some absent look on his face, that made Connor guess that the man’s thoughts were actually very far from here. Who knows, the Assassin thought, maybe deep inside my father is human, after all.
Assassin Preference: Training and Recovery After Tough Practice
A/N- I hope this didn’t get too far from the original point! I found the whole mentor/apprentice dynamic interesting, so I may have deviated from the ‘recovery’ bit!
Altair is probably the least push-over-y of the whole group. He works you hard and pushes you past your limits, as he knows that it’s the only way to get stronger, whether it be physically or mentally. Despite this, he also knows that continuous over-exertion will only end up hurting the body. After a hard day of physical training, he will spend the next day training your mind, with light exercise before or after his lesson. He wants you to stay productive, but doesn’t want to injure your body. His usual training is intense physical exercise, then mental exercises the next day with light warm-ups or stretches, moderate physical exercise, and then a mix of both, moderately. He wants the body to recover, but not to become unused to his training.
Ezio is probably one of the mentors more likely to give his apprentice more slack the day after some tough practice. The trick with him is to try really hard, sweat a lot, and just put your full effort into practice. Ezio appreciates people who put a lot of priority on getting better, no matter what it is. In this case, it would be your assassin training. If you try hard(er than usual), and voice how you were sore, Ezio will give you a break day to recover. He wouldn’t mind having a day to relax either, seeing as he is more easygoing than Altair in that sense. No matter what age Ezio is, he will find a valid reason to take a day off every once in awhile.
Connor works hard. It’s just who he is, or perhaps who he has grown to be. He likes pushing himself, much like Altair, to get better, and that view would probably apply to anyone being mentored by him. He wants you to try your hardest, and will push you from time to time. But he will only push you as much as he thinks you can handle. You won’t be as utterly exhausted from training under Connor as you would be from Altair, but Connor’s training always involves a mix of physical and mental exercise, blended together in a perfect balance. He also makes you climb up trees and- at times- the Aquila when he takes you along with him on an oversea trip. Connor will push you, but he will be mindful and will ease up a little if you show him that you are overexerting yourself.
Haytham is somewhat more extreme than his father and son in that he actually tries to push you, and pushes you hard. No good Templar had easy training sessions! He knows how Assassins try to kill fellow Templars, and he will try his damndest to make sure you don’t wind up with a hidden blade in your back. His training sessions involve lots of multitasking. He’ll quiz you on history while you’re doing pushups, make you recite his teachings as you run, and make you explain why you want to be a Templar while you spar against him. He wants you to be able to do both equally good (Whether that’s even truly possible or not). If you do an exceptional job, he might let you go early, but he’ll never give days off. If you look really sore, he might spend a few hours indoors, focusing on history and other useful subjects.
Edward’s training isn’t tough in theory, but in practice, it’s a whole other story. I mean, come on, it’s Edward. He’d have you taking on dozens of Spanish guards with only him by your side. “Experience is the best teacher” and all that. He doesn’t mean to make you so sore from all that running and fighting, it just sort of… happens. If you seem sore or in pain, he’d let you chill on the Jackdaw with him and his crew, drinking rum and singing shanties for a few hours. Edward’s training is very little legitimate training and mainly you running, fighting, and climbing in real scenarios. It’s hard training, but you know that you’re going to be all the better off for it.
Aveline’s training usually involves subtlety and more mental exercise than physical. She often uses her skills to blend into the crowd rather than sneaking around, out of sight, but she gets into her fair share of trouble too. Her training would rarely be physically tiring, but you’d best be prepared to use your brain. On days where you are physically training (Perhaps one or two days a week are mostly dedicated to just physical training), be ready to be climbing up abandoned buildings, or running through the forests and sometimes the swamps. She wants to teach you how to adapt to your environment, whether it be through blending in a crowd, or free running through the wilds.
Arno is a bit of a meticulous mentor (Despite the fact that he isn’t usually like that in the field), strict and no-nonsense, but not without humor or a soft side. He wants you to do well, seeing as you’d most likely be his first apprentice, but doesn’t want to be too strict, as he remembers how he wanted to have enough freedom to be able to do other things besides the Brotherhood’s jobs. As such, he would have training every other day, but he would have tough practice. He’d make you run the rooftops of Paris (But he would often got sidetracked by thieves or extremists harassing passersby on the streets) to raise your endurance, sword fight with him in the training room of the Café Théâtre to better your speed in combat, and drill you with intellectual questions at seemingly random times, although not to the extent of Haytham. Whatever you choose to do on those days off are up to you.
Evie is a strict mentor, who sticks to her daily training regimen of 30 minutes of hard exercise, with fifteen minutes of light warm-up/cool-down before and after, and after a 30 minute break, two hours of intellectual study. Don’t train under Evie unless you are ready to be the recipient of her passion for learning and teaching. She’ll be a bit more stern with you, and, depending on what kind of apprentice you are, could treat you kind of how she treats Jacob (If you act like he does) or she might treat you more like an equal than an apprentice. It truly depends on how you act. As far as recovery from tough practice, she is fairly forgiving, and will allow you to only do just the intellectual training for the day. What, did you think a few sore muscles would stop her from lecturing you on the First Civilization?
Jacob treats his apprentices like his Rooks, and his training sessions are probably the most… abstract. Sometimes he forgets or ditches you, because he gets sidetracked by his… mischief. If you decide to tag along on his little outings, be ready to run. Or fight. Or both. Really, it’s a wild card when it comes to what Jacob gets himself into. We won’t mention the whole almost-causing-England’s-economy-to-crumble fiasco. If you need a day to recover, he’d be totally fine with it. Then he won’t feel bad if he accidentally blows up a train without you.
Desmond doesn’t train you, he works out alongside you. I mean, he’s never been the mentor-y type. He’d rather the both of you go jogging or weight lifting. If you were sore afterwards, he’d have no qualms about staying home and chilling. It’s Desmond, after all. Days where he can relax are a rarity.
A/N: Yeah, Edward’s and Haytham’s are slightly NSFW. Just beware of the Kenways.
31. (Ah Tabai)
The sight was quite comical, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip to contain your laugh. The normally intellectual and too-wise-for-his-own-good Mayan man was staring down at your gun like it had just grown a head. Granted, it was the newest model available and even you hadn’t gotten the hang of it, but he looked entirely lost. His hands were all over the silver metal, pausing once it reached the trigger.
“Careful there.” You chuckled, attempting to convey some kind of warning in your statement but failing miserably. “I don’t really feel like dying today.”
He only glared up at you for a moment, a blazing fire beneath his eyes as he looked back down at the offending object. Truthfully, you’d never seen him carry a gun. It was strange and unnatural, the way he held it telling you that he wasn’t very familiar with the item, especially this model.
“Do you even know how that works?” You asked, a smirk tugging at your lips and arms crossed over your chest. Ah Tabai was always confident in his work, but not to the point of cockiness. He knew his abilities and his limits, but for the life of you, you’d never seen him look so unsure.
“Of course I know how this works!” He replied back, clearly offended at your insinuation.
“Whatever you say, O’ Great One.” You winked, snatching your gun back from him. Oddly enough, he looked almost flustered.
32. (Arno Dorian)
You’d been stuck with him all day and it was only getting worse. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Arno, in fact it was quite the opposite, but he just seemed so different towards you. You had seriously thought that there was something between the two of you at one point, but then it just stopped. It might’ve been the smarter move to ask him what was wrong, but you honestly thought it best to give him space. If he wanted to talk, he’d talk. Only he didn’t; he only got more and more silent, even going as far as avoiding you outright most days.
So as you sat here, squished shoulder to shoulder in a small closet, each second ticked by ever slowly, the silence absolutely maddening. Finally, fed up with his behavior recently and completely sick of the deafening quiet, you sighed.
“Let’s just take them.” You muttered impatiently, moving to go. Arno snaked a hand around your arm, pulling your body flush against him.
“You are not going out there.” He replied rather harshly, keeping you tight in his grasp. It was infuriating, frustrating, and, you shuddered, absolutely divine.
“Chances are, we will most definitely be able to escape.” You argued, nodding a head in the direction of the door.
“And what if you’re wrong?” He questioned. “What if you are killed because you left it to chance?” Your brows furrowed, curious eyes attempting to look into his in the darkness. Unfortunately, the shadows covered the both of you, masking each other from the other.
“What the hell are you going on about, Arno?”
“Despite what you may think, I’m actually quite fond of you and I’d prefer it if you didn’t die.” He hissed, both arms moving up further to encompass you wholly. Honestly, you weren’t entirely sure what was wrong with him, but you really couldn’t mind too much when his sweet scent was overflooding your senses and his warm arms were forcing your head to rest against his chest.
33. (Shaun Hastings)
“You are honestly the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.” You deadpanned, looking back to Desmond to make sure he was okay. He seemed pretty drained from his last session in the Animus and Shaun wasn’t making things any better by keeping up a constant stream of complaints and sarcastic remarks.
“We have things to do,” Shaun crossed his arms over his chest, staring at you like you were a small child that needed berating.
“Shut it, Shaun,” you huffed, sending a reassuring smile to Desmond. He smiled back to you, rolling his eyes at the British man.
“I’m just being realistic here.” He defended himself. You scowled, marching past Shaun and dragging him by the collar with you. He was spouting off insults every inch of the way, turning on you with a glare when you finally stopped outside of the loft.
“Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?” You ground out, hands on hips and eyes drilling holes into his head.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He sniffed, pushing his glasses further up on his nose.
“Shaun?” You asked, voice much softer.
“I haven’t got you to myself in weeks.” He grumbled, a soft hand resting on your hip. “It’s more than a little frustrating.” A genuine smile bloomed on your face, your eyes softening.
“You could’ve just said that.” You rolled your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck. His other hand came up to press your lower back closer, eyes shining brilliantly under the bright lights.
“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?”
34. (Edward Kenway)
Okay, you could admit that it was funny in the beginning. You’d laughed along with everybody else when he stumbled onto the table or when he began yelling senselessly to the others in the tavern. But now that he’s barely on his feet, practically being dragged by you, you were definitely not laughing.
“You’ve had way too much alcohol.” You muttered, taking another large step as you attempted to pull the bulky man. It didn’t work out as you planned, your back smacking into his chest.
“There’s no such thing as too much alcohol.” He slurred, warm breath ghosting along the back of your neck. You shivered, much to your chagrin. The captain was attractive and he knew it. You always tried to act nonchalant about it, but it was getting harder and harder. Little moments like these were most definitely not helping your case any. “Ah, love, why must you wound me so?”
“What are you talking about?” You ground out, muscles groaning in protest as you took another step.
“I want you in my bed.” He said lowly, causing you to pause. “I want you beneath me as I fuck you senseless, my name on your lips.” Your eyes widened, a swallow working its way down your throat. Arousal pooled low in your stomach, his husky voice doing nothing to tamp it down. He laughed. “But you stubbornly refuse.” His shoulders attempted to shrug, sloppily accomplishing their task. Bloody rum, you cursed internally, glaring at Edward’s back as he walked away, his steps uncoordinated.
35. (Jacob Frye)
“Do I even want to know why there’s a dead body on my floor?” Jacob asked dryly, an arched eyebrow barely visible beneath the shadow of his top hat.
“Probably not,” you shrugged, taking another swig of your pint as you leaned back against the headboard of his bed, watching the man on the floor with a carefully placed mask. His blood was shining on the floor, the remnants on your blade still hot. It hadn’t been a particularly gruesome battle, but it wasn’t entirely enjoyable. Although, you mused, he definitely did deserve it. The man had been terrorizing London for far too long.
“What did he do?” Jacob asked, careful steps bringing him closer to you. He snatched the drink from your hands, sipping from it with a wink to you.
“Oh, you know, this and that.” You waved it off, glaring at your drink like it had betrayed you for allowing Jacob to drink from it.
“Real informative,” he drawled, setting the pint onto the nearby stand with a clank. “We’re going down to the pub while I have some Rooks clean this mess up.” His accent was thicker than normal, telling you that he’d definitely already been to the pub. Even if you couldn’t tell by his accent, the smell of alcohol was heavy in the air around him.
36. (Malik Al-Sayf)
In all honesty, you were exceedingly excellent at eliminating your targets. But you really hadn’t expected another mission so soon and you were definitely not in any condition to begin one again. So when you stumbled into the Assassin’s Bureau of Jerusalem, it wasn’t exactly surprising that you were bloodied and beaten. Malik cast a questioning eye in your direction, gesturing towards you with his good hand.
“Might I inquire what happened?” He asked, his tone laced with sarcasm.
“Very funny, Malik.” He had been well aware that you weren’t suited for this job but you were determined. It was very possible that your determination wasn’t the brightest idea at the moment, but you couldn’t care less. “Here.” You threw the feather at him, sighing when it floated gracefully down to the floor not two inches in front of you. You glared at the object, looking up to Malik and pleading silently for him to pick it up. He had an eyebrow raised at you, his gaze moving from the feather soaked in the blood of your target back to you.
“It’s not my job to retrieve it.” He stated. “And your mission isn’t complete until you hand me the feather.”
“I hate you.” You muttered, eyes still trained on the feather.
“That is a job for a-”
“If you finish that sentence I’m cutting out your tongue.” You threatened, a scowl forming on your lips.
“Novice.” He laughed, eyes shining mischievously.
“I hate you, Malik.” You groaned, dropping down onto your knees painfully.
“Sometimes I really question if you know what we’re doing.” His voice was the very definition of playfulness, the normal affection he’d always had towards you present.
“I do too, Malik, I do too.” You whispered, eyes closing. You didn’t need to open them to know he had shuffled over and picked up the feather. And you definitely didn’t need to open them to know he had smiled softly at you when he did so.
37. (Jacob Frye)
The day had been filled with a never ending line of annoyances, ushering themselves in one by one. Simply put, it was exhausting. And out of all the infuriating things to happen that day, none was worse than your current predicament. You glared down at the offending material, the stuffy layers causing you to shuffle in place as you clenched your jaw, your grip on Jacob tightening to the point of pain.
“If you just relax, you might find that you even enjoy it.” He laughed between his smile, somehow still appearing grandiose. At least he didn’t have to wear a flipping dress, you fumed, pulling at the coarse material, the corset digging painfully into your abdomen.
“Have you ever been in a corset?” You hissed.
“I can’t say I have.” His smirk widened as the both of you bowed respectively to whatever pompous asshole approached you next.
“Well, let me tell you, it’s not fun.” Your words were dripping with venom, wishing for nothing more than to drop down in your comfy bed and forget about the world for a few hours.
“I don’t think they’re supposed to be fun, love.” He whispered, lips against your ear.
“Obviously not.” You scowled, a hand smoothing out the vibrant colors. You hated it, felt entirely helpless in it. It made you feel stripped of your armor, of everything that made you an Assassin. With these layers of clothing, you might as well be another clueless woman looking for a man to marry.
“Besides, you look quite good in them.” He winked, eyes purposely raking down your body in a show of theatrics. Oh, you were so ripping these clothes off. And, you smirked, you were so ripping Jacob’s clothes off too.
38. (Haytham Kenway)
You’d never seen him like this; eye blown wide, chest puffed out, lips parted, and teeth shining. The room had long since been abandoned, the two of you the only occupants save for a rickety old desk, barely in commision. It was frightening, the absolute feral look in his eye, but at the same time, it was intoxicating.
The smell of old spices and fresh mint swirled in the air around you as he took a confident step forward, the hat on his head moving slightly as he breathed you in. You were too enraptured to do anything but stare, arousal stabbing you like a dagger to your gut. He didn’t even have to touch you, sparks already flying at the electricity in his stare. But when he did touch you, you couldn’t help but moan, smooth skin moving along smooth skin. He wasn’t gentle as he shoved you back, parting your legs with a rough shove to your knees.
Both of his hands were hooked behind your legs, pulling you against the very evident bulge in his trousers.
“Haytham,” you breathed, a hand trailing down the hard planes of his chest. You could feel the heavy thrum of his heart beneath, the beat speeding up at your touch.
“You look absolutely delicious.” He growled, lips centimeters from yours. He was purposefully teasing you, moving away whenever you pushed forward to connect your mouths. It was torturous and sinful, your body burning with an animalistic need for him. “What do you want?” His breath caressed your ear as he spoke, hands jerking you even tighter against him. You couldn’t help but squirm, attempting to sate the need for friction.
“You,” you whispered roughly, “I want all of you.” He only smiled in return, teeth glinting dangerously.
39. (Ezio Auditore)
Messing with Ezio was way more fun than it should be. You were quite sure that you’d annoyed the Master Assassin to no end but you couldn’t help it. His expression when he got mad! He’d try to be all intimidating, but he never was in your eyes. Hell, he only made it worse when he tried to act all angry. But, you looked to him with wide eyes, each heavy breath causing your chest to brush against his, you may have taken it just a teensy bit too far.
“Ezio?” You cursed your tone, wishing that you sounded more confident and less nervous. He was looking to you like he was a minute away from devouring you or strangling you, and you honestly didn’t want to find out. It was supposed to be a harmless prank; flirt a little, wink a little, lure him into the bedroom, then bang, leave him there, running off to go finish your mission. Only, you shuddered, Ezio definitely didn’t look like he’d be letting you run off into the night like you planned. In fact, you weren’t entirely sure if you’d survive this night.
“You’re not leaving, bella.” His voice was pure sin, each syllable rolling immaculately off of his tongue like he held the world.
“I didn’t mean to-” Whatever you were planning on saying flew out the window, along with your resolve, when his hand began a slow descent, leaving desire in its wake.
“Trust me, we won’t be leaving this room for a very long time.” The lust clouding his beautiful orbs scared you, his touch moving ever lower.
“Why,” you cleared your throat, hoping to bring it back to its normal level. “Why’s that?” You feigned innocence, the smirk on his face being absolutely illegal.
“You know why,” he spoke against your send, each word being felt more than heard. Oh, you were in so much trouble. But with his skilled touch, you couldn’t be too upset about it.
Annoyance was evident on his gruff features as you poked him once again, hoping to get his attention. He steadfastly ignored you, eyes watching Edward across the pub. You poked once again, harder this time, smiling when he looked towards you. His lips were straight across the dark skin of his face, the candlelight reflecting brilliantly off each one of his features.
“I’d ask you not to do that, but we both know you’d just do it even more.” He stated dryly, eyes beating down on you.
“Nice to know you listen.” You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest. “I have been speaking to you this whole time.”
“I know,” he replied, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. You gasped in a mocking manner, a hand on your chest.
“What’s this, Adéwalé is actually smiling for me?” Your tone was dripping with sarcasm, a wry smile on your face.
“You’re not as funny as you think.” He huffed, mirroring your stance.
“I think you’ll find that I’m very funny.” You sent a pointed look in Edward’s direction, the blonde captain nearly tripping over his feet. “If you spent a little time worrying about blondie over there, you might notice.”
“He is the captain.” Adéwalé said, his tone sounding almost final.
“And you’re the quartermaster, good for the both of you.” Both hands flew up, gesturing wildly. “But I’d like to speak to you, Adé, and you make that exceedingly hard when you don’t take your attention off of Mr. Captain.”
“Why?” He asked simply, surprising you somewhat. A smile bloomed on your face, this one much softer than before.
“Because I enjoy talking to you.” He seemed at a loss for words, watching you with guarded eyes. “Problem?”
“No.” He shook his head, a small smile returning. You always did love it when he smiled.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything but the story itself. Please do not copy or credit this as your own. Photo above is not mine.
Pairing: Haytham Kenway x reader
Requested by @sailingalongchampagneshores : OKAY TUMBLR SUCKS. My request: you’re Haytham’s lover and you’re at his funeral. Feel free to add your flare to it. Just hearing Charles’ words kills me. I’ve had to watch Haytham die countless times and I cry every time. UGH.
A/N: Ahem, I have only one thing to say. I am not sorry.
You look up to see gray clouds slowly rolling across the sky as a soft tug at your skirt alerts you back to the ground.
“Are we there yet, Mama?” Your daughter asks as she pulls at the black sleeves of her dress.
“We’re almost there, sweetheart.” You tell her as the church finally comes into view.
“Is Papa there?” She inquires and you want to wail in anguish right there, spectators or no.
“Yes, he is, sweetheart. Yes, he will be.” You reply softly as you lead both you and your daughter into the church. As the priest began speaking, you glance down at her and examine her features. Y/D/N had her father’s hair, nose, and cheekbones, but everything else resembled you. However, you could’ve sworn that there was a small hint of Haytham Kenway behind those E/C irises.
“Did Papa go somewhere?” Your daughter whispers faintly amongst your thoughts and you pull yourself out long enough to hear rain being to fall outside the church.
“Yes. He’s somewhere safe and he’s happy.” You answer and she settles back into the wood and starts to play with a loose thread on her dress.
You manage to pry your eyes to the coffin behind the priest and try not to tear up in front of the small crowd gathered inside the church. You remember when you first met Haytham after he had returned from London from whatever horrors he had endured on his mission, the night he took you to the opera as a sign of courtship. Memories of informing him of your pregnancy with your daughter and him holding her a few hours after you had given birth, her wails echoing inside the room as the sun rose higher into the sky. However, you could never recall a time when he told you what business he truly had with an organization under a red cross.
Somehow you find a way to separate your thoughts from reality once again for the third time today as a gentle tap on your shoulder draws you back and the mellow footsteps surround you. You turn around slightly and you see Charles Lee, Haytham’s right-hand, stand behind you with a concerned look on his face.
“Y/N?” Charles asks and your daughter takes a hold of your hand.
“Yes, Charles?” You inquire as you try to shake off your grief for a moment.
“Do you need accompanying back to your home? I wouldn’t mind sparing a bit of my time to help out.” He offers and you smile but shake your head gently.
“No, it’s okay Charles. Thank you for your generous offer though.” You answer. “Come on, Y/D/N. Let’s go.”
“Yes, Mama.” Y/D/N replies and you escort the two of you out of the church as the rain begins to fully pour.
You dust your hands off after lighting a fire in the fireplace of your parlor.
“Is the hot chocolate ready yet, Mama?” Y/D/N inquires as she plays around with a doll that you remember Haytham gifting her on her fifth birthday.
“Not yet, darling. Anna will let me know when it’s done, alright?” You tell her as a rap on your front door takes your attention away from your daughter. “Stay here, okay?”
“Okay, Mama.” Y/D/N replies and resumes playing with her doll as you answer the front door. In front of you stood a tall Mohawk man with a bow and quiver on his back and an insignia on his belt that resembled an A, slightly damp with rain.
“Y/N L/N?” He asks.
“Yes, that’s me. Who are you?” You answer hesitantly.
“My name is Connor. I believe we have much to talk about. It concerns Haytham Kenway.” The man, Connor, responds.
“What was your business with Haytham?” You question as you clench a tight hand within your skirts.
“I’m his son.” He informs and you feel your heart drop into your stomach. But somewhere within you, you believe him. He had the same cheekbones as Haytham, the same nose and jaw as well. You glance over your shoulder at your daughter and you see the similarities there as well. This man, Connor, was truly Haytham’s son.
“Come on in then. We do have much to talk about.” You say and step to the side before closing the door on a cold rainy night.
1. Your school schedule is going to become your life. 2. Your first class will probably be your least favorite, and your last class will probably be your favorite. (This is your school’s way of saying they care.) 3. There’s going to be the group of Plastics. Don’t be a Cady. 4. You aren’t the only one with the crush on that hot teacher. 5. Losing your locker combination is like losing the key to the city. 6. There’s always going to be that one teacher who requires a binder instead of a notebook/folder (or vice versa.) Bring an extra one of them, just in case. 7. There’s always going to be that one kid who had the most epic summer, while everyone else had a dull summer. 8. Unless you’re going into freshman year, there probably won’t be any cute transfer students. (Sorry but it’s true.) 9. DON’T PISS OFF YOUR HOMEROOM TEACHER OR YOUR FOREIGN LANGUAGE TEACHER, BECAUSE THEY WILL MAKE SCHOOL HELL FOR YOU. 10. Pick the seat closest to the teacher, and sit away from your friends. 11. If you’re a new student, sit next to a random person and try to befriend them. 12. You aren’t the only person with your interests. 13. If you take gym, and you start getting foot odor, put tea bags in your shoes. It’ll refresh them. 14. Take pictures of your locker combination, locker number, school schedule, and classroom numbers. Leave it as your lock screen until you have it memorized. 15. If you don’t charge your phone at night, and if you don’t bring headphones, you’ll die. 16. Your history teacher or your language arts teacher will be your cool teacher. 17. Mean Girls is the best movie to watch before school. 18. Join a club about something that interests you. 19. Your school counselor will be your best friend. 20. If you feel like you’re peer pressured, tell someone. 21. There is no such thing as an “easy test.” 22. You don’t need all of your supplies with you on the first day. Just bring a pencil and a folder for your syllabus’. 23. Date your notes and assignments!! 24. If a teacher offers you extra credit, take it. 25. Take a cold shower in the morning. If helps wake you up. 26. Listening to Disney music will help. (It just does.) 27. You should have a separate playlist for school, or at least separate playlists for each subject!! For example, classical music for math, Disney music for history, pop for English, and rock music for science. 28. No matter what grade you’re in, you’re gonna watch Bill Nye the Science Guy in your science course. This is your science teacher’s way of saying they love you. 29. There’s always gonna be that one teacher who is up to date with every meme. 30. Cinnamon flavored gum helps in the early morning. 31. It’s okay to take a break from the internet and your friends to study. You’re not going to be a loser. 32. That party doesn’t matter more than that test. 33. Have cute school supplies. It’ll get you motivated to do homework and study. 34. Color code your notes! 35. In every friend group, there is a Drake and a Josh. Be the Josh. 36. If you’re at a party where you don’t know anyone, and there’s alcohol, the best thing to do is leave. 37. If you want to make sure you get to your first class on time, leave the house 10 minutes earlier than usual. 38. Flashcards will help. 39. Dress cute on the first and second day. Those are the days that matter the most. 40. Marathon school related movies with your friends before school, like Mean Girls, Heathers, and Clueless! 41. When you get your syllabus, wipe your tears with it. 42. If you’re ever feeling unmotivated, listen to the song “Dancing Through Life” from Wicked. It’s incredibly upbeat and catchy. (I’m not just saying this as a Wicked fan. I’m saying this as a person.) 43. After the first month of school, it’s probably safe to throw your syllabus away unless it’s required that you keep it. 44. If you’re ever in a partner project or group project, and it seems like you’re the only one doing the work, when you present it, ask someone else to talk. So then when they’re explaining it totally wrong and you have to jump in and say it for them, the teacher will know that you were the only one doing the work and they’ll give you credit. 45. Style your locker the way that you want to. It’s your personal space for the school year. 46. When you’re doing a study session for a test, chew mint gum. It’ll help you remember. And if you don’t like mint gum, you can just chew one flavor of gum and chew the same flavor during the test. It’ll help you remember. 47. When your teacher says you’re watching a video, be prepared for the dreaded worksheet about questions that you can’t even answer. 48. Sparknotes will save your life about a million times. 49. If your school has gross lunch, just eat an incredibly large breakfast to get you through the day. If not, bring snacks in your backpack, go to a vending machine in the school, or just being your lunch. 50. Personal hygiene is incredibly important. Don’t be the one kid with the terrible B.O. that no one wants to sit next to. BONUS:
51. You are beautiful, and you should always be true to yourself. Do not try and change yourself for anyone. You don’t deserve anyone who wants you to change who you are. I love you!
Warning: I’m an asshole and you should never read anything I write.
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.
You don't even now how much I'm thankful for this blog and you. And now to my question because I was having trouble finding an answer: What spirit animals do you think the assassins+ Shay and Haytham have ? I would be very nice if you would answer my question and I thank you again for simply existing ❤️ Much love, From an artist that loves the assassins too much. Ps: I'm asking you BC I want to draw a spirit animal AU. Thank you again for taking the time ❤️ -J.M (2/2)
Spirit animals? Goodness, I used to have a RP with a friend
of mine based on the Assassins and them having spirit animals. They transformed
into them from time to time, and it was pretty neat. ;) Of course, I’d rather
research the animals in question than just randomly depart with an answer for
this ask, as I do want to give the right answer for them. X3
Mawwr, thank you so much for the comment, honey. It means a
lot to me~! ;W; Truly! Thank you all for your lovely support! I do hope you
draw those lovely thoughts~!
Ezio The whale:
Keeper of history
family and community
Connor Would be the wolf:
intelligence, deep connection with instincts
threatened, lack of trust in someone or in yourself
Haytham The owl:
to see what others do not see
The presence of
the owl announces change
Capacity to see
beyond deceit and masks
meaning of the owl spirit animal is the announcer of death, most likely
symbolic like a life transition, change
Shay The tiger:
meaning of the tiger spirit animal is willpower, personal strength and courage;
Shadow or part of
you that you would normally try to hide or reject.
anger directed at you or felt towards someone;
in life, actions or feelings;
Edward The Fox:
Physical or mental
responsiveness, increased awareness
through deception; call to be discerning
Ability to find
your way around, to be swift in tricky situations
nocturnal activities and dream work
Arno The Panther:
Death and rebirth
Ability to know
Jacob Could be the wolf as well but also the horse:
A driving force,
what you thrive for or carries you in life
meaning for the horse spirit animal is the balance between instinctive and
tamed part of your personality.
especially – but not limited to – masculine energy
Connor reads his father’s journal to the part where his parents officially met. He smiles at his father’s failed attempts to pronounce his mother’s name. Haytham has always been terrible with the Native language.