sun-snatcher

[sun-snatcher]

“What’s your favourite horror story?”

idk probably this entire damn scene

[sun-snatcher]

PSA

Just a heads up, there are bots going around on AO3 accusing people of using AI. Considering the timing, this is likely AI bros' retaliation for AO3 users calling them out for scraping their work. Examples of what you might be sent:

Screenshots from here.

If you get a comment like this, just report for spam and delete.

[sun-snatcher]

Top 10 reasons why I love ao3:

Readers can translate my fics in 4k HD real-time!

(Just don’t turn off work skins/creator style pls🤞🏼💀)

[sun-snatcher]

While reading up on the Kanien’kehá:ka for this AC3 wip I’m working on— I discovered that in their language the adjectives are suffixed to the tail-end of the verb/noun stem.

So Connor's mother's name Kaniehtí:io, "Beautiful Snow", can roughly be broken down into:

Ka (pronoun prefix) Óniehte "Snow" (noun) -i:io "beautiful" (adjective suffix, derived from Ioiánere, "Good")

Hence, Kaniehtí:io.

Now, I'm neither Mohawk nor a fluent speaker whatsoever, so take this with a pound of salt:

When Haytham struggled with pronouncing her name fully and was given the tail-end “Ziio” as an alternative/nickname, he was essentially running around calling her “Beautiful” the entire time.

[sun-snatcher]

Trying to code in AO3 is like gnawing my foot off a bear trap how are y’all doing whole discord-designs in here I can barely get my script to work let alone try to mimic the ANIMUS into my page 😭

[sun-snatcher]

hii this is the anon who asked for connor smut the other day lol i meant to say smut prompt list #3!! ty!!

🪶 — petal-bruised ; connor kenway

a/n. Alas! We finally get a small Connor smut piece. Thank you for clarifying the list & for requesting, dear anon!

CONNOR GETS A little rough, sometimes.

Miscalculates, if you will. Forgets his strength.

His grip can easily turn to bruising gropes and the push of his kisses can shift quickly to pinning you under his weight. It’s not a complaint, ofcourse; To know that you could have him struggle to pull back—? It’s admittedly addicting.

Connor is a man of lethal discipline; yet all it takes is a touch and a skittering plea from you against his ear and he’s gone.

(Hardly a surprise, though. He’s a man, for all his efforts to be as honourable as one can be, and men are often— for lack of better words— simple to excite.)

“G’morning,” you hum, in the haze of the morning after. He’s been ghosting his lips on your back: apologetic kisses at the curve of your spine, right between your shoulder blades, the thin slope of your nape. When you turn in his embrace to face him, bleary-eyed and impossibly soft, he’s quick to meet your mouth in a warm kiss that kindles that feverish thrum back in you—

And him, it seems. You can feel the length of him pressing against your thigh; hot and heavy. “Good morning to you, too,” you notice, brows raised.

“Sorry,” Connor says, half-sheepish and half-amused. He thumbs at your cheek gingerly before letting his fingers drift to the petal-shaped bruises across your skin, blooming colourfully over your throat, your clavicles, your breasts. He remembers the way your hands had snarled at his hair when he’d been marking you down, moaning his name like a prayer at the bites he couldn’t help but leave behind. “…And sorry for these, too.”

You nose a giggly kiss at his jaw. Let your hand wander down to sneakily grab the base of him. “I think you like it, though,” you whisper, relishing the way he goes breathless at your teasing squeeze, the way his dilated eyes flutter shut in anticipation. “It’s like a brand, isn’t it? That I’m yours, Connor?”

His cock twitches at the thought. Your slow, deliberate strokes have picked up, but still not enough to satisfy him. “I love you,” he begins, because he always has to argue, and pulls you into a needy kiss that’s heavy with sleep: a mess of teeth and tongue and nipping, “not own you.”

You wiggle your hips enough that the head of him sits at the already wet seam of your legs. Connor groans at the heat of it— you’re not as ready as he’d want you to be, but the precum leaking out of him is more than enough as you tease your core daringly at his weeping cock.

“Maybe I want you to. Maybe I want you to make me entirely yours,” you urge, voice laden with something alluringly coy. “Maybe I want to be reminded.”

“You,” he says, shuddering, but the thought derails quickly.

Connor is rolling over to prop himself above you now, mouth suckling another love-bite below your jaw as his cock slowly sinks into your aching cunt. He has another hand palming up, up, up; past your navel, across your breasts, before resting at the base of your throat with the slightest pressure of a squeeze.

But then you’re whining at the fit— hands automatically flying to grip his caging arms and broad back, the delicious flex of them that’ll surely be left with angry scratches and indents when he finally fucks you into completion once more— and you hear him rasp out, “You are going to be the death of me.”

[sun-snatcher]

i can read the voynich manusript but im not telling anyone what it says because its honestly problematic as fuck

[sun-snatcher]

hii this is the anon who asked for connor smut the other day lol i meant to say smut prompt list #3!! ty!!

🪶 — petal-bruised ; connor kenway

a/n. Alas! We finally get a small Connor smut piece. Thank you for clarifying the list & for requesting, dear anon!

CONNOR GETS A little rough, sometimes.

Miscalculates, if you will. Forgets his strength.

His grip can easily turn to bruising gropes and the push of his kisses can shift quickly to pinning you under his weight. It’s not a complaint, ofcourse; To know that you could have him struggle to pull back—? It’s admittedly addicting.

Connor is a man of lethal discipline; yet all it takes is a touch and a skittering plea from you against his ear and he’s gone.

(Hardly a surprise, though. He’s a man, for all his efforts to be as honourable as one can be, and men are often— for lack of better words— simple to excite.)

“G’morning,” you hum, in the haze of the morning after. He’s been ghosting his lips on your back: apologetic kisses at the curve of your spine, right between your shoulder blades, the thin slope of your nape. When you turn in his embrace to face him, bleary-eyed and impossibly soft, he’s quick to meet your mouth in a warm kiss that kindles that feverish thrum back in you—

And him, it seems. You can feel the length of him pressing against your thigh; hot and heavy. “Good morning to you, too,” you notice, brows raised.

“Sorry,” Connor says, half-sheepish and half-amused. He thumbs at your cheek gingerly before letting his fingers drift to the petal-shaped bruises across your skin, blooming colourfully over your throat, your clavicles, your breasts. He remembers the way your hands had snarled at his hair when he’d been marking you down, moaning his name like a prayer at the bites he couldn’t help but leave behind. “…And sorry for these, too.”

You nose a giggly kiss at his jaw. Let your hand wander down to sneakily grab the base of him. “I think you like it, though,” you whisper, relishing the way he goes breathless at your teasing squeeze, the way his dilated eyes flutter shut in anticipation. “It’s like a brand, isn’t it? That I’m yours, Connor?”

His cock twitches at the thought. Your slow, deliberate strokes have picked up, but still not enough to satisfy him. “I love you,” he begins, because he always has to argue, and pulls you into a needy kiss that’s heavy with sleep: a mess of teeth and tongue and nipping, “not own you.”

You wiggle your hips enough that the head of him sits at the already wet seam of your legs. Connor groans at the heat of it— you’re not as ready as he’d want you to be, but the precum leaking out of him is more than enough as you tease your core daringly at his weeping cock.

“Maybe I want you to. Maybe I want you to make me entirely yours,” you urge, voice laden with something alluringly coy. “Maybe I want to be reminded.”

“You,” he says, shuddering, but the thought derails quickly.

Connor is rolling over to prop himself above you now, mouth suckling another love-bite below your jaw as his cock slowly sinks into your aching cunt. He has another hand palming up, up, up; past your navel, across your breasts, before resting at the base of your throat with the slightest pressure of a squeeze.

But then you’re whining at the fit— hands automatically flying to grip his caging arms and broad back, the delicious flex of them that’ll surely be left with angry scratches and indents when he finally fucks you into completion once more— and you hear him rasp out, “You are going to be the death of me.”

[sun-snatcher]

Is the ac netflix true???

It's hard to say! Netflix announced the AC series back in early 2020's iirc, and nothing ever came of it (it was either covid or the strike i believe), and the idea kinda never came to be or fell out after that. But who knows if they might come back to try and revive the series in the coming years?

[sun-snatcher]

I wonder if I manifested this back— I always talked about how an AC series with each season or two taking place in a different era and following a different protagonist would do absolute wonders

Guys did anyone else hear about Netflix creating a new Assassin Creed tv series?😭🥲 Imagine if we all got our favourites brought back for a television series 😭❤️ I just hope they do it justice. 🥲❤️

I’d love to see Desmond Miles.

I’m so far behind on this news 😭❤️

[sun-snatcher]

[SLAMS FIST] HOW MUCH DO I PAY FOR ANGSTY ARNO SMUT WITH NO. 22  💳💳💳💥💳💥💳💥💥

( all credits to the amazing @arsuf for this phenomenal gifset! )

⚜︎ — heartbeat-home ; arno dorian

a/n. ‘22. for sex after a near death experience’. Dear anon, these short blurbs come free of charge 😌🤞🏼Thank you for requesting!

HE'D NEARLY BITTEN your head off for going against his orders.

And you would’ve snapped back, ofcourse, in your own flurry of French curses, but something had shone bright and glassy in his eyes when he all but yanked you into a suffocating embrace, rasping something along the frantic lines of Don’t ever—! Don’t do that ever again— I can’t, I won’t— survive losing you—

He’d buried a piece of his heart, after all, with Élise. He may as well be a dead man walking if he ended up having to bury you too— 

“I’m here,” you whisper, pulling him out of his dark reverie, “Touch me, Arno. Please.”

He does. It’s red wine you taste when he kisses you wholly again; stonefruit-sweet, deep and urgent, tongue laving over yours before he pulls away to breathe in the intoxicating scent of your sex in the air. A string of saliva connects your lips with his. His pupils are blown wide as yours, lilac gaze thick with yen as he gropes at your shaking thighs.

Then he’s leaning close again, your lashes fluttering as he licks up the rampant pulse of your neck, and groans out your name. It’s a broken, reverent sound— so good. You feel so good, amour— laden with yearning; carnal desperation.

I’m here. You pair it with a feather-soft touch and a saccharine purr, guiding his calloused hands up your naked stomach and to the space upon your breasts where your heart is thundering with life; with desire. I’m alive.

“Arno,” you keen, starting to tremble, starting to succumb to the blistering burn of pleasure kindling in your core. Goosebumps line your sweat-soaked skin as you begin to paw blindly at his shoulders for— “—more, please, Arno.”

“Yes,” he encourages, nosing you into a kiss and swallowing your moan when he releases a handful of your breast in favour of ghosting his fingers against your clit. “Close, hm?”

He can feel the hearty thrum of you everywhere. Beneath his hot palm under the rise-and-fall of your ribcage, against the thin of your throat where he’s bruising you with his open-mouth kisses, and in the heartbeat-pulse between the slick apex of your thighs where you’ve taken him to the hilt, the hard length of his cock throbbing in anticipation with every slow carve and grind of your hips.

It feels like he’s enveloping a live heart. A circadian rhythm of home, cradled possessively in his arms as he begins to teeter closer and closer to the edge—

Arno finishes with a deep groan, right after you. It’s a lightning shock of pure bliss; dizzying as he presses himself impossibly close, some semblance of a tether in the way he listens to the stutter of your heart and feels the vibration of your tinny, choked out gasps against his flushed cheeks.

“I’m here, Arno,” you soothe a minute after, sated and warmed by the fullness you feel, of him softening inside you. He intertwines his fingers with yours, leaves the other one free to let you card lovingly through his hair. “I’m alive.”

“You’re here,” he agrees, breathless. Arno wills away the sting behind his eyes he doesn’t yet want to confront, and focuses on the heartbeat pattern of you— home— instead. 

[sun-snatcher]

[SLAMS FIST] HOW MUCH DO I PAY FOR ANGSTY ARNO SMUT WITH NO. 22  💳💳💳💥💳💥💳💥💥

( all credits to the amazing @arsuf for this phenomenal gifset! )

⚜︎ — heartbeat-home ; arno dorian

a/n. ‘22. for sex after a near death experience’. Dear anon, these short blurbs come free of charge 😌🤞🏼Thank you for requesting!

HE'D NEARLY BITTEN your head off for going against his orders.

And you would’ve snapped back, ofcourse, in your own flurry of French curses, but something had shone bright and glassy in his eyes when he all but yanked you into a suffocating embrace, rasping something along the frantic lines of Don’t ever—! Don’t do that ever again— I can’t, I won’t— survive losing you—

He’d buried a piece of his heart, after all, with Élise. He may as well be a dead man walking if he ended up having to bury you too— 

“I’m here,” you whisper, pulling him out of his dark reverie, “Touch me, Arno. Please.”

He does. It’s red wine you taste when he kisses you wholly again; stonefruit-sweet, deep and urgent, tongue laving over yours before he pulls away to breathe in the intoxicating scent of your sex in the air. A string of saliva connects your lips with his. His pupils are blown wide as yours, lilac gaze thick with yen as he gropes at your shaking thighs.

Then he’s leaning close again, your lashes fluttering as he licks up the rampant pulse of your neck, and groans out your name. It’s a broken, reverent sound— so good. You feel so good, amour— laden with yearning; carnal desperation.

I’m here. You pair it with a feather-soft touch and a saccharine purr, guiding his calloused hands up your naked stomach and to the space upon your breasts where your heart is thundering with life; with desire. I’m alive.

“Arno,” you keen, starting to tremble, starting to succumb to the blistering burn of pleasure kindling in your core. Goosebumps line your sweat-soaked skin as you begin to paw blindly at his shoulders for— “—more, please, Arno.”

“Yes,” he encourages, nosing you into a kiss and swallowing your moan when he releases a handful of your breast in favour of ghosting his fingers against your clit. “Close, hm?”

He can feel the hearty thrum of you everywhere. Beneath his hot palm under the rise-and-fall of your ribcage, against the thin of your throat where he’s bruising you with his open-mouth kisses, and in the heartbeat-pulse between the slick apex of your thighs where you’ve taken him to the hilt, the hard length of his cock throbbing in anticipation with every slow carve and grind of your hips.

It feels like he’s enveloping a live heart. A circadian rhythm of home, cradled possessively in his arms as he begins to teeter closer and closer to the edge—

Arno finishes with a deep groan, right after you. It’s a lightning shock of pure bliss; dizzying as he presses himself impossibly close, some semblance of a tether in the way he listens to the stutter of your heart and feels the vibration of your tinny, choked out gasps against his flushed cheeks.

“I’m here, Arno,” you soothe a minute after, sated and warmed by the fullness you feel, of him softening inside you. He intertwines his fingers with yours, leaves the other one free to let you card lovingly through his hair. “I’m alive.”

“You’re here,” he agrees, breathless. Arno wills away the sting behind his eyes he doesn’t yet want to confront, and focuses on the heartbeat pattern of you— home— instead. 

[sun-snatcher]

I'm sorry but you will never make me believe that Shay and Ratonhnhaké:ton would ever have any relationship other than violence.

By the time Shay kills Charles Dorian, he is a true Templar. He believes in dominating the world and that humanity isn't capable of choosing for itself. This isn't opposing the Assassins due to Portugal anymore, he's a believer.

Ratonhnhaké:ton, on the other hand, ends III as a real Assassin. People can mistake his motivations as solely about revenge, but he is quite clear that he opposed the Templars because they want to conquer. He says outright "the strings should be severed. All should be free," and he means it.

Shay and Ratonhnhaké:ton aren't going to get along or negotiate because templar and assassin ideologies cannot coexist. Authoriatianism and freedom aren't compatible ideologies.

[sun-snatcher]

[sun-snatcher]

off the smit prompts list (if you're still taking requests and if you write for him lol :p ) 17 and/or 20 with ratonhnhaké:ton PLEASE I BEG

Apologies, i have 2 smut prompts list atm! Could you specify from which one you want a blurb of? 🤞🏼

[sun-snatcher]

smut prompt list no. 3

1) mirror sex

2) sex in front of a big window where anyone could glance up and spot them

3) fully clothed x stark naked

4) slow sex while one or both are injured (bonus points if it’s after a battle or after they’ve patched up each other’s wounds)

5) body worshipping 

6) marathon session (they just fucking keep going, babyyyy)

7) finding a somewhat private area at a fancy party to fuck (coat closet, empty office, secluded corner on the big balcony, hedge maze if we wanna get dramatic, etc) 

8) oops, we were just hiding in this closet, but then the close proximity get us too turned on not to fuck

9) revenge sex

10) finding their partner’s sex toy/toys and making them play with it in front of them

11) quickie where you don’t take any clothes off, just tug and pull and expose the essentials 

12) fucking, but one is still trying to keep all of their attention on the game they are playing

13) getting a little too handsy on the dancefloor

14) library sex for those dark academia vibes

15) jealous sex in the alleyway behind the bar

16) accidental i love you’s during sex 

17) seeing the love marks they left on their partner later and getting turned on all over again remember how it got there in the first place

18) a/b/o

19) getting turned on by their partner’s new uniform for work and then roleplaying a bit

20) sleepy domestic sex

[sun-snatcher]

nsfw prompts that don’t sound like a bad porno

i’m always tired of seeing the cringiest sentence starters for smut so i’m back at it again kids. feel free to adjust sentences or specify who does the action. 

ACTIONS: 1. for one muse to give the other oral 2. to skinny dip with my muse 3. to shower with my muse 4. to take a hot bath with my muse 5. for sex in public 6. for sex in the car 7. to catch my muse naked 8. to undress my muse 9. for sparring to turn into sex 10. for an argument to turn into sex 11. for make up sex 12. for friends with benefits sex 13. to tie up my muse 14. to blindfold my muse 16. to make one muse watch the other masturbate 17. for a threesome (specify muses) 18. for one muse to wake the other by fingering them/giving a handjob 19. for one muse to deny the other orgasm 20. for angry sex  21. for break up sex 22. for sex after a near death experience  23. for after battle sex 24. for sex to get revenge on an ex 25. for one muse to give the other a lap dance or strip tease  26. to make my muse whimper 27. for one muse to take the other from behind 28. for sex against the wall 29. for sex on a table/counter/desk 30. for sex in a pool/hot tub 31. for one muse to choke the other 32. for rough sex  33. for our muses to try a new position 34. for our muses to try a new kink together 35. for one muse to use a toy on the other 36. for one muse to sit on the other’s face

WORDS:  “touch me.” “kiss me here.” “you have to be quiet if you want to cum.” “say my name.”  “oh fuck-” “i need you so bad.” “i’m so wet right now.”  “i want you to touch yourself for me.”  “let me hear you, baby.”  “come for me.” “i want to hear you cum.” “harder.” “i need to feel you.” “i want you.” “you’re so hot.” “can i come yet?” “please, baby—” “i’m so close.” “i told you to be quiet.” “i told you to stay still.” “are you gonna be good for me?” “i promise i’ll be good.” “i’m not done with you yet.” “i’ve been waiting all day…” “you’re all i want.” “just kiss me, i can’t take this anymore.” “just shut up and fuck me.”  “i’m gonna fuck you until you beg me to stop.”  “say please.” “i could’t stop thinking about you all day.” “your fingers feel so good.” “your mouth feels so good.” “i want your fingers inside me.” “i want it to hurt.” “more—” “i want you to forget everything and everyone else but me.” “make me forget.” “i just want to feel something.”  “make me.” “be quiet.”  “they’re gonna catch us—” “yes— right there.” “that feels so good.” “does that feel good?”