#assassin's creed angst

[sulfies]

“It will pass soon amò, always does…”

Poor Desmond getting extreme bleed or/and apple visions

[marf244]

Ash never got to give her brother his birthday card

[teatitty]

Of course Ezio is going to have wrist and hand and arm pains. He wasn't trained in the art of the assassins -- he isn't used to their weapons. He's brawled with his fists and wielded a rapier (as was common for nobles at the time) but the robes are heavy on shoulders used to thin cottons and the bracers awkward and clumsy on his wrists. The flick of the hidden blade is foreign, and he has no-one to teach him the proper use until he is taken in by Mario. The heavy swords and maces and spears require so much force, and Ezio has always been a quick, lithe sort of fighter, filled with trickery and mischief instead of bludgeoning trauma

He does not know the right exercises to soothe strained muscles. Does not know what cramping to expect, and he is not used to running and leaping and diving in cumbersome robes and a hood that obscures his vision

Of course he is in pain. Of course he aches and cramps and curls up in a ball where nobody can see him as he tries to will away the persistent hurt. His body wasn't trained for this. Wasn't made for this. But he is forced to adapt anyway, and change everything about himself from the inside out. Would you not suffer from that too

[maria-and-aguilars-codex-1492]

Call of Duty x Assassins Creed Crossover ideas:

Poly!141 x Reader Edition

Templar!Reader being the next in line for Grand Master until they catch the unwanted attention from Assassin!141. Devout in your faith for the cause and centuries of your family being Grand Masters for the order you never knew anything else. And it paints the portrait that you are a target they need to snuff out before you gain anymore influence and power.

Mentor!Price has been to many countries, encountering many Templars before, yet Reader is just so-so--different. Price likes to think that his judgement has never led him wrong before so when he calls off your hit Gaz, Johnny, and Ghost don't exactly agree. They have to see for themselves which leads to you encountering them throughout your day. Not knowing that they are assassins of course. You only have ever run into those pesky Frye twins since arriving in London. Although by the end of it Gaz and Johnny are convinced you'd make a better assassin than templar. They want to convince you much to Ghost disagreement. Because despite staying his blade he still contemplates assassinating you anyways (Creed be damned) up until he realizes that not even he wants you dead.

Unfortunately this all ends up with you experiencing some world-view-changing trauma that ends in you taking a leap of faith from a building with a hidden blade strapped to your arm.

Bonus:

In the modern day, you find yourself being abducted by Abstergo and taken to their Madrid facility. There you encounter the 141 who, just like you, are carbon copies it would seem of their ancestors. They remember you or your ancestor rather. They want to protect you. They want you to fight back even more. You want to just go back to being normal, a civilian. Rikkin seems to believe that you'd do well as a Templar. But the 141? They're going to ensure you never fall into Templar hands again (while never admitting that they feared you becoming a templar as history tends to repeat itself though not always in the same way)

[bloodhaven99]

On Fields of Sorrow…

[teecupangel]

This is based on @zero-saito’s reply for this post

@teecupangel what if the day Desmond was born was a date that the sky turned green like that?

The sky turned green the day her son was born.

It lasted until he stopped crying.

Or so they say…

She had been too tired to care about such things, holding her son as he cried his heart out.

Her heart ached when he cried for so long.

As if lamenting his birth…

They said it was an auspicious sign.

She saw it as an omen of what was to come.

She had him because it was part of the contract she had with William Miles.

William Miles believed she would fall in love with him.

She doubted it the moment he agreed to her father’s proposal to ‘sell’ her off.

A child born of the Ibn-La'Ahad and the Auditore bloodline…

That was what her son was to her father.

To her husband?

He was just as fucked up as her. Unlike him, she never pretended to be normal.

He probably loved her son in his own way but he also saw him as the successor to such mighty bloodlines.

And this green sky that greeted her son’s birth.

It was only auspicious to them.

To her…

To her son…

It was a curse.

He hated the color green. He preferred the whites and reds that his mother usually wore.

He liked dark skies, of rain and storm…

He hated the word ‘auspicious’.

He hated his birth date.

But most of all…

He hated the Farm where the green sky appeared.

So he ran away.

And she stayed behind.

Screamed his name while standing at the opposite side of where she saw him run.

Swore she saw him run deep into the green forest, not towards the cliff that led to the blue waters that will carry him farther away from them faster than his legs could.

He ran away.

And she stayed.

Because she was not the mother he should have had.

But she was the distraction he needed that day.

.

When the entire sky was covered in the curtains of colors everyone found beautiful that early morning when the Solar Flare was supposed to hit the earth…

She saw the green curtains.

And did not think of it as auspicious at all.

She felt her phone vibrate but she didn’t need anyone to call her to know.

The world was saved.

But her son was cursed by this green sky once more.

She wondered if he knew why she wasn’t with him during his last moments.

Did he hate her?

That was fine.

She deserved it.

She was not a good mother.

But…

She was raised to be the perfect distraction by her own father.

So she took out her phone.

It was a message from William Miles.

[He’s dead.]

What an auspicious day for them all then.

They sacrificed her son for the world.

And she…

She never said goodbye.

No.

She doesn’t deserve a goodbye.

She closed the notification and pressed the volume up button on the side of her phone.

And watched as Abstergo’s Philadelphia branch explode.

It was unnecessary.

She had done her part pretending to be her son by appearing in CCTV the day prior but this…

This is her being petty.

What a bad mother she was.

William Miles was probably crying when he sent that message to her.

He probably managed to say something to her son before his death that would help him grieve.

But she had nothing.

She deserved nothing.

No tears fell from her eyes.

But her mouth moved.

And laughter burst forth.

Madness?

Hysteria?

She didn’t know anymore.

He hated the color green.

But he liked white.

Like the flash that appeared before an explosion.

He liked red.

Like the blood of the Templars that was caught up by the blast.

He liked dark skies.

Like the smoke that kissed the sky of the fire that was created afterwards.

She was a bad mother to her son.

But she was a good Assassin.

And perhaps…

That was all she needed to be to honor his memories.

[isa-belle1367]

Desmond angst post bc I love making yall cry over desmond😈

Do you guys think the reason desmond was so quick to give up his life for the world was because he felt guilty for Lucy, Clay, Cross, Ezio, etc and so he felt that this was his way making amends for what he has done.

Do you guys think desmond knew from the beginning that he was going to die, but he just accepted it because in his mind he deserved it for failing everyone. His parents, Lucy, his friends, etc.

Do you guys think he hid his bleeding effect episodes because he didn't want to be a burden.

Do you think William could see when desmond was struggling but didn't know how to reach out so he lived for the rest of his life blaming himself for desmonds death.

Do you think every time desmond killed someone, he was eaten alive with guilt, and his mind would scream at him, telling him he's a murderer.

Do you think when desmond got out of his coma and was told he needed to go back in the animus, he had a panic attack.

Do you think Clay's voice haunts desmond every night as a painful reminder of what he failed to do.

Do you think desmond developed ptsd and can no longer hear loud noises with tensing up.

Do you think desmond started forgetting his own life, and by the end, he could barely remember his own name or where he used to work.

Do you think desmond stopped reacting to someone calling his name because he was no longer used to that name, so it took him a moment to realize someone was talking to him.

Do you think from his time in his coma for weeks after he felt phantom aches in his bones.

Do you think desmond started picking up an Italian accent, and every time someone pointed it out, he would have to force his voice back to normal.

Do you think he was hearing the voices of his ancestors when he died.

Do you think he started getting migranes and nose bleeds from the animus to the point where he would almost pass out.

I just want you to remember that in his final days, he was probably in so much pain that death was mercy.😊

[gococogo]

A New Day for a New Year | Shaytham New Years Special

Synopsis: Having been invited to party for New Years, Haytham drags Shay along. He wishes he was at home instead of here where there's no prying eyes. Watching him. Judging him. Not being able to hold onto the only person he adores at this party.

But little does Haytham know, everyone watches the fireworks. Watches their colours against the dark night. Everyone but Shay, who is only looking at him.

Word Count: 2.3K

Pairing: Shay Cormac/Haytham Kenway

Genre: Fluff/Angst/Assassin's Creed Rogue

Notes: I wish you all a happy new year! 2024 is here! Scary haha

The last time Shay Cormac was at Two Bends, he had assassinated Lawrence Washington.

Haytham would have known that already as far as Shay’s knowledge of him goes. Information around the Templars seems to travel quite quickly. He’s just glad that he doesn’t speak about it to Shay. The guilt of killing a sick and dying man still weighs him down some nights. Despite what Liam had said all that time ago, it hadn’t of help.

Twin Bends hasn’t changed a bit. Still the same old housing, same old dock and same old mansion and garden sitting up on the hill overlooking the bend. People bustle and laugh in the streets and on the dock, all here for the New Years party Haytham has dragged Shay along to. He was hesitant to come at first, but Haytham was persistent. He didn’t say it out loud, but it seemed like the Grandmaster didn’t want to attend alone.

The ship that brought them here wasn’t the Morrigan but instead a private vessel that the host of party had sent out. Mr Shaw -Shay has found out- is a supporter of the Templar cause. He isn’t apart of the Order, he only maintains a friendly relationship with Haytham so that he can stay above the rest. Stay in power and in kindness to that, Haytham receives information and money.

He’s the one hosting this New Years party and the same one that has invited Haytham along. In celebration for this upcoming year for the Order. But that celebration is only for Haytham and Mr. Shaw to know about. All Shay knows is that Mr. Shaw is an acquaintance. A very rich one.  

Haytham leads Shay into the manor’s garden, the Irishman keeping quiet and to himself. The Grandmaster doesn’t bother asking why the normally mouthy man is holding his tongue, he knows the memories these gardens must hold. He can only imagine though, the report on Lawrence’s death had told him everything he needed to know.

And something like that night, the garden is lit with soft orange lamps and flowers bloom on the bushes that line that fences. Everyone is dressed formally, even Haytham and Shay have changed from their usual attire to a couple of suits. Haytham still wears his cloak over his shoulders while Shay has just adopted for a simple black suit with red accents. His hair is done up nicely with a little red bow tie keeping it up. It’s cute but that is something Haytham would never say out loud.

A butler walks past with a tray full of voul-au-vents and with a delicate hand, Haytham picks off two. He holds one of to Shay, but the man’s attention is somewhere else entirely. The man doesn’t normally phase out like this but when he does, he gets caught in his own head very easily.

It takes Haytham twice calling his name to get the man’s attention, “Shay.”

“Hmm?” Shay hums as he looks to Haytham then down at the voul-au-vent being presented to him.

He takes the small pastry from Haytham with a small thanks. It’s gone within a single bite. His nose screws up the slightest but keeping to his good manners at the party, he swallows the voul-au-vent without a word. Haytham takes a bite of his own and silently agrees with Shay, the small pastries aren’t the best.

Haytham peers around the garden with a furrowed brow. Leviticus Shaw is nowhere to be seen. There are some men and women that Haytham recognises but other than that, everyone else are strangers.

“Do you think it’s best to socialize?” Shay asks suddenly.

He keeps his attention on Haytham instead of his surroundings. It seems to help him keep him from diving too deep into old, repressed memories.

Haytham hums to himself as he takes another look around before coming back to Shay with a short, “I think it would be. We should go for a wonder and find the host of this event.”

Shay nods, “Sounds like a plan.”

Despite them looking for Mr. Shaw, neither of them move quickly. They plod through the garden with conversation on their lips. Shay asks of Mr. Shaw, more curious than anything and Haytham is more willing to tell. At one point in their talk, Haytham snatches two glasses of champagne from a passing butler and hands one to Shay without a pause. At least the alcohol is better than the food Mr. Shaw is providing.  

-

“Mr. Kenway!”

Both men turn quick at the sudden shout. Shay looks Mr. Shaw up and down with a hostile sternness in his shoulders. The man is tall and stocky, his suit fitting him snuggly. Shay can almost smell the wealth coming from him and it makes him turn his head away slightly. But he keeps formal for Haytham’s sake.

The Grandmaster and Mr. Shaw shake hands firmly as they greet each other. Haytham looks small compared to Mr. Shaw, the other man as thick as a tree stump. Shay keeps quiet as the two catch up on their lives, then the stocky man’s bright blue eyes lock onto Shay. Like a blood hound looking at a hare.

“So, who is this handsome man you’ve yet to introduce me to, Haytham?” Leviticus asks with a devilish grin.

With a gesture of a hand, Haytham announces the Irishman formally, “This is Captain Cormac, one of my finest to the Order.”

Shay’s chest swells at the small praise from Haytham. He never would have received such words in the Creed.

“It’s nice to meet you, Shaw,” Shay says with a short nod of his head.

Mr. Shaw’s eyes slightly widen. “What accent is that? Can’t quite place it.”

“My parents were Irish,” Shay explains.

“Both immigrants?”

At this, Shay is a little hesitant before answering a short, “Yes.”

Within the second, Mr. Shaw’s demeaner changes towards Shay. It’s a subtle change, but Shay picks up on it straight away. It’s the slight curl in Shaw’s lip and the tilt of the chin upwards that tells him all he needs to know.

Shay wishes to leave. But he doesn’t wish to make a scene in front of everyone. Not while Haytham is right next to him. That’s the last thing the Grandmaster of the Templar Order needs. One of his subjects spewing a bunch of shit in front of someone he respects. Last thing Shay wants is to be muzzled like a dog.

Mr. Shaw turns his attention back to Haytham, his features instantly brightening again. He clasps his hands together in front of him as he asks, “How are you enjoying the night so far?”

“It’s good to be here, Leviticus,” Haytham answers back.

“Good. We have fireworks planned when the new year turns over. Will you still be around by then?” Shaw pushes.

“Of course.”

“Wonderful!” Shaw grins. “I’ll come find you later, I have other guests to find and greet,” Shaw explains, his eyes flittering to Shay for a split second.

“That’s alright. I’ll meet with you before I take my leave,” Haytham instructs.

“Good! I’ll see you then!” And with that and a small nod, Mr. Shaw is wondering off into another part of the garden.

In the distant, in the gazebo, a band picks up a soft tune that fills the night. A complete opposite of the blazing annoyance Shay has buzzing around inside his chest right now.

“Can I speak informally, sir?” Shay asks with a low voice so no one can hear but the man beside him.

Haytham looks to him with a single raised brow. “Not here,” he murmurs.

Shay exhales through his nose and calls a butler over instead. Within three seconds, Shay downs one glass of champagne before grabbing two more and passing one over to Haytham. Shay downs the second champagne without a second thought and gives the butler the empty glass. With a wordless look, the butler offers a third glass. This, Shay eyes before accepting and shooing the butler away.

Out of curiosity, Haytham says, “You may speak informally.”

Brown eyes blink at him. “He’s a prick,” is all Shay says.

Haytham bites his tongue to hold back a smile. “I’m sorry?”

“Is he British?” Shay asks. “Couldn’t tell because he doesn’t have an accent like yours.”

“Like mine?”

“Is he?” Shay pushes.

“Yes.”

“Explains a lot.”

At this, Haytham scoffs lightly at the sudden attitude Shay has developed. Shay sips at his champagne as he looks about the party, trying not to down this one glass. But he fails, his glass tipping up, up and up until it’s all gone. He places the empty glass on a passing butler, scaring the man a bit.

Haytham should be a little hurt being a British man himself. But in all honesty, he finds this amusing. He’s well aware of the conflict between Irish and British and he has never fancied himself to be a part of that. Too much effort to hate someone over their birthplace and birthright. Effort he could put towards the Order. But Shaw, Shaw seems to have some effort to use it.

“Don’t let Leviticus get under your skin, Shay. He’s a rich man that only wishes to be known and liked by everyone,” Haytham says as he gives a small pat to Shay’s shoulder.

This, the simple touch seems to calm Shay down a tad. Enough for his gaze to return to Haytham and enough for his shoulders to slouch a bit. At this moment, Haytham wishes that he could bring Shay closer to him. To hold the back of his head as Shay’s face rests in the nook of his neck. But there are eyes about. And so instead of this, Haytham gestures with his head to continue their walk in the garden.

“Let’s walk it off, Shay,” Haytham softly says.

The Irishman straightens himself up and follows Haytham with a newfound will of bliss. As they walk, Haytham slowly sips on his own drink. The two of them keep to themselves, not too particular in conversating with anyone else but themselves. The only company Haytham wants tonight is Shay. That is enough.

Tonight, almost never happened. Shay had business in Albany that he was set to sail out for. He had celebrated Christmas loudly with Gist and his mindset had quickly come back to the Order. So, skipping New Years was something he could put up with. But with Haytham’s stern invitation -the only reason he was stern is because he didn’t want Charles Lee joining him- Shay had come along.

Being so deep in the garden, -only a few people pass here and there- the first pop of a firework has both of them looking up to the night sky quick as anything. Red shimmers across the sky, then another pop and a bright blue joins. Haytham watches with a softness for a moment. For he finds his gaze turning to Shay.

Big brown eyes are lit up with the colours of the sky. A small smile is spread across his handsome features, something that is infectious. Feeling the gaze, Shay turns to meet Haytham, his smile widening.

For the second time tonight, Haytham wishes he could embrace Shay. Wishes he could hold him in his arms like so many other couples tonight. He wishes he wasn’t someone so high and respected so that he could reach out to Shay in a loving way. But instead, all Haytham gives is the slightest of smiles, a twitch of a lip, before he turns his attention back to the fireworks.

An ache comes to his heart. A jealousy that he cannot outwardly love like everyone else in this garden tonight. That everything he and Shay share can only be shown behind closed doors and shuttered windows. He isn’t watching the fireworks, his mind thinking of other things.

A faint touch comes to his lower back under his cape that brings Haytham out of thought very quickly. Shay pulls him closer and Haytham reacts with a hand pushing on the other man’s chest. His heart beats in his own chest like the popping of the fireworks overhead, but he can feel that Shay’s is steady as anything. A hand covers his on Shay’s chest and squeezes softly. Shay’s face is so close, he can smell the champagne on his breath.

“Everyone is watching the fireworks,” Shay whispers out with a sheepish grin.

Haytham looks around and the few people that are in this part of the garden, their eyes are up to the sky. No one is looking at them. No one cares for their surroundings. Yet still, a twisted paranoia gnaws at Haytham. What if someone is watching.

All worry is swept away as a small kiss is placed to his temple. He blinks at the touch, his eyes still on everyone. But no one shouts. No one gasps in horror at the act. No one utters a word but at the awe of the colours blooming in the sky.

With a little relief inside of his cold heart, Haytham looks to Shay who hasn’t taken his eyes off of him this entire time. He squeezes Haytham’s hand again, a wordless assurance.

Under the fireworks, for the new year that comes, the two share a kiss in the blooming garden. Haytham doesn’t care that all he can taste is champagne. He doesn’t care that Shay’s lips are a little dry from talking in the cold night all evening. He kisses him softly with a hand on the back of his neck before anyone can spot them. They hold onto each other while the short moment lasts. While no one is watching. No one will know. No one will see. Only they will know of this moment that they both will keep to their hearts for the year to come. For the next day will hold something special. And the coming year will be held with all kinds of surprises.

What a happy new years indeed.

[kayn-abyl]

The three main characters of my ff as chibi sketch

[demigoddessqueens]

“maybe, in another life” kisses

(I love angst what can I say?)

Thank you for the ask Em!! And you’re so right! so of course I had to pick one

➡️ HERE ON MASTERLIST 9

↪️ Writing prompt HERE

You had some gut feeling about this mission but you couldn’t find the words for it

Both Yusuf and you had been a part of the Brotherhood, given that you two had met within ranks in the first place

But this one time you wanted to be selfish, even if the oh great Ezio needed Yusuf by his side.

“I will be safe, my love, you have nothing to worry about, sevigilim”

Still, you were not yet reassured.

You pour everything into your kiss, gripping onto his robes, clinging to those dark locks that frame his face along with your hands. Yusuf can sense your desperation and gives in as well, soothing any fears you have about his departure

“I will come back to you.”

That memory replays constantly in your mind as you look to the empty space on the side of your bed

[sulfies]

aw look a bird made a nest on the roof!

[artschoolglasses]

Kassandra portion of the Assassin’s Creed Nexus game: Takes place during the time of the Thirty Tyrants, in 404 BCE.

Alkibiades: Assassinated in 404 BCE

Me: 😶😶😶

[jewels-writes]

Sacrificed Love (Arno Dorian x Reader)

Prompt: Self Sacrifice Pairing: Arno Dorian x Reader Warnings: Blood, near-death, hurt/comfort. self sacrifice, angst

As you stealthily made your way through the dimly lit alleyways, the tension in the air was palpable. Every step was calculated, every breath taken with caution. The echoes of your footsteps reverberated against the worn cobblestone streets as you neared the Templar hideout.

Sensing danger lurking around every corner, you and Arno exchanged knowing glances, a silent reassurance passing between you. The anticipation mounted as you approached the building, the sound of muffled voices and clanking weapons growing louder with each passing moment.

Drawing closer to the entrance, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. You reached out, grasping Arno's hand tightly. It was a gesture of unity, a reminder that you were in this together.

With a nod, you shared a wordless agreement and burst through the doors, ready to face the enemy head-on. Chaos erupted as the battle ensued, the clash of steel against steel filling the air. The room was a blur of flashing blades, desperate maneuvers, and the acrobatic prowess that defined both of you.

You fought with unwavering determination, skillfully dispatching the Templar soldiers that stood in your way. Arno's movements were a fluid dance of deadly precision, while you unleashed your own formidable arsenal of combat techniques.

But even as you fought valiantly, the odds began to tip against you. Reinforcements poured in, their numbers overwhelming. It was clear that the Templars had been prepared for your intrusion, and the situation grew dire.

Despite the mounting danger, you and Arno fought side by side, a seamless synergy between you. Your unspoken bond fueled your strength and resilience. The battle raged on, each passing moment intensifying the stakes.

But as the skirmish reached its climax, a series of unfortunate events unfolded. A well-aimed blow caught you off guard, knocking you off balance. The world spun around you as you staggered, your vision momentarily blurred.

In that split second of vulnerability, the Templars seized the opportunity. They closed in on you, weapons raised, a menacing glint in their eyes. You were outnumbered, and it seemed that escape was impossible.

Arno, his face etched with concern and determination, lunged forward, his blades slicing through the air with lethal precision. He fought ferociously, his movements fueled by a deep-seated protectiveness for you. But even his remarkable skills couldn't fend off the onslaught.

Cornered and defenseless, you could feel the weight of the impending danger pressing down upon you. Arno's voice rang out, a mixture of desperation and determination. "Stay behind me!" he shouted, his eyes locked with yours.

The seconds ticked by in agonizing slow motion as Arno valiantly fought to shield you. The clash of steel against steel reverberated through the chamber, the chaos of battle engulfing you both.

As the enemy realized they were outnumbered, they took advantage of the chaos and confusion to slip away from Arno's grasp. They darted towards a nearby alleyway, deftly evading Arno's attempts to catch them. You heard the enemy call for reinforcements and your stomach dropped as you looked over to Arno.

His voice pierced through the chaos, urgency etched in every word. "Quickly, behind the wall!" he exclaimed, his eyes darting around the room for an escape route.

With a surge of adrenaline, you sprinted towards the nearest wall, Arno close behind. You pressed your back against the cold stone, your breaths coming in short, rapid bursts. Arno positioned himself beside you, his presence a comforting shield.

The enemy's call for reinforcements worked and you suddenly heard the approaching footfalls of the enemy coming closer. The sound grew louder and closer, sending shivers down your spine. The enemy was closing in, their intent clear.

Arno's grip tightened on his hidden blades, his fingers flexing with anticipation. His eyes met yours, conveying a silent reassurance amidst the mounting danger. The two of you were in this together, come what may.

The footsteps drew nearer, and the tension in the air grew unbearable. Arno's jaw clenched, his gaze fixated on the approaching threat. His mind raced, formulating a plan to ensure your survival.

You grasped his hand tightly, and your voice trembled as you spoke. "Arno," you say, the words caught in your throat. "I have an idea."

Arno's gaze met yours, his expression was grave. "What is it?" he asks, his voice laced with worry.

"I can create a distraction," you explain, determination coloring your tone. "It might buy us enough time to escape."

"No," Arno insists, shaking his head. "We'll find another way. We'll fight our way out of this together."

But you knew time was running out. "We don't have time," you pressed, urgency in your voice. "Listen to me. I can do this. I'll create a diversion and draw their fire away from you. Use that opportunity to get away, Arno."

His eyes widened in disbelief, and his grip on your hand tightened. "No, I won't leave you," he protested. "I can't lose you."

You meet his gaze with a resolute stare. "It's the only way," you say firmly. "Promise me you'll get out of here alive."

A flicker of pain crossed Arno's features, but after a moment, he nodded. "I promise," he whispered.

With that promise echoing in your ears, you turned and sprinted into the open, your heart pounding in your chest. The sound of gunfire filled the air as you zigzagged, doing your best to avoid the bullets that rained down upon you.

Reaching the center of the courtyard, you shouted, drawing their attention. They opened fire, and you felt the sting of bullets piercing your flesh. The pain was excruciating, but you pushed through it, sprinting towards them.

In the distance, you caught sight of Arno and the others fleeing to safety. Relief flooded your being. You succeeded; you saved them.

But then darkness enveloped you.

The smoke from the battle still hung in the air as Arno frantically searched the battlefield. His heart pounded in his chest, fear gripping his every thought. The deafening sounds of swords clashing and cries of pain echoed in his ears, but he couldn't focus on anything else but finding you.

His mind replayed the moment when he last saw you, the moment you bravely threw yourself into danger to protect him. It felt like an eternity had passed since then, and the weight of worry threatened to suffocate him.

Arno's steps were urgent as he moved among fallen soldiers and broken weapons, his eyes scanning the chaos for any sign of you. His breath caught in his throat as he glimpsed a motionless figure lying on the ground.

With a surge of hope and dread, he rushed to your side, falling to his knees beside you. His trembling hands reached out to touch your face, his heart aching at the sight of blood staining your clothes.

"Please, don't let it be too late," he whispered, his voice choked with anguish.

Gently, he cradled your head, feeling the shallow rise and fall of your chest. Relief washed over him as he realized you were still breathing, albeit weakly. Tears welled in his eyes, a mixture of grief and gratitude.

Arno's hands moved with care, checking for any life-threatening injuries. He vowed to do everything in his power to save you, to mend the wounds you had suffered in his stead. His touch was tender, his movements deliberate as he assessed the extent of your injuries.

As he worked, his mind was flooded with a flurry of emotions. Guilt gnawed at him, the weight of the sacrifices you had made for him crashing down upon his shoulders. The fear of losing you threatened to consume him, a haunting reminder of how fragile life could be.

Minutes turned into eternity as Arno worked tirelessly, using his knowledge of first aid to stabilize your condition. With each bandage he applied and each gentle touch, his determination to see you through this ordeal grew stronger.

Finally, as the chaos of battle subsided, Arno held you in his arms, his gaze fixed on your peaceful face. The weight of the world lifted from his shoulders, replaced by a sense of relief that you were still here, fighting to hold on.

"I'm here, mon amour," he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of love and gratitude. "Stay with me."

Arno pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, vowing to protect you with every ounce of his being. He would never take your presence for granted again, cherishing each breath you took, each beat of your heart.

And as the sun set on the battlefield, casting its warm glow upon the wounded, Arno held you close, his arms a shield against the horrors of the world. In that moment, he knew that together, you would face whatever challenges lay ahead, hand in hand, and heart to heart.

When you finally awaken, you find yourself lying on a soft bed, your gaze meeting Arno's worried eyes. His hand clasps yours gently, and he urges you to remain still.

"Rest," he whispers, his voice filled with a mix of relief and concern. "You're safe now."

Confusion clouds your mind as you inquire, "What happened?"

Arno's voice is filled with emotion as he explains, "You were shot. But we managed to get you out of there. You're going to be alright."

A weak smile tugs at your lips, tears glistening in your eyes. "I did it, didn't I?"

Arno nods, a soft smile gracing his face. "You did. You saved us all."

Contentment washes over you as you surrender to sleep once more. In that moment, you know you made the right choice. No matter the risk, you would always go to any lengths to protect Arno, and you're grateful that you succeeded in keeping him safe.

[thou-babbling-brook]

Altaïr learns to cope with killing in the most unhealthy ways imaginable

[fanworldbuildingfun]

Tonight I have two moods:

·         Desmond angst with Bleeding Effect

·         And Desmond being reborn as Al Mualim’s surprise kid

(note of warning: these are NOT in the same universe) (Unless?)

1.       Desmond angst with Bleeding Effect

So. This one leans heavily into feeling of entrapment that never went away after Abstergo. Desmond DID technically go from being used as Animus subject to being used as Animus subject. Admittedly, he did swap the relatively comfy accommodations for relatively better company (listen. Listen I may not dig the ascetic glass-n-white style Abstergo rocks, but I can appreciate that the room looked like a good hotel room). But that negate the fact that he, technically, had no real choice in either scenario

And here, instead of learning to trust Lucy/Shawn/Rebecca, Desmond instead clings to the memories of his ancestors. After all, they have neither any way nor any reason to use him, right?

He’s amicable with the team. Jokes sometimes, has lighthearted impersonal talks – basically, treats them as colleagues at most. But whatever vulnerability there is, is shown to the people he sees during Bleeds

So leaning against where he sees a ghostly Ezio sitting on his bed, or laying on the floor where he can see barely-there shades of throw pillows and rugs that normally sit in Altaïr’s office? It’s comforting. And so is the skritch of quill on parchment as Altaïr writes… Something

To Desmond, it’s not real

But for his ancestors, from the moment they held the Apple in their hands? The shadowy form of Desmond is very much real. Ezio can feel the press of Desmond’s body against his side. Altair can see how the pillows dip under Desmond’s weight

And Desmond probably wouldn’t have said half the things he did if he realized that the ghostly Connor who was making his own arrows across from him was listening. That they all listened. And could do precisely nothing

2.       Desmond as Al Mualim’s surprise kid

This is a complete and utter crack taken seriously(-ish). No one can prove Al Mualim never had any lovers, in or out of the garden. And he is not THAT old, by our standards (the man is killed at 56. Only 56!)

But he never did plan to sire a child. There was no time nor desire had for one

Except, no one thought to tell whatever Isu-bull went on with the Temple that

So in 1174, he gets “blessed” with a child from his preferred Flower who had never, to point, had a pregnancy. Ever *thoughtfully sprinkles in some more Isu bullshit because the lady genuinely never had it be an issue*

One may think Al Mualim would be the kind of man who would be a distant parent, or just forbid anyone from speaking of him having a child. But nope. Instead, Al Mualim goes completely Rodrigo Borgia over his newborn daughter

[teecupangel]

Ok hear me out: Desmond as one of Ezio’s bastard children. He gets captured or something by whoever and gets forced to use the apple (since Ezio could open the vault because dna or some shit I wasn’t paying attention and by extension Desmond would also be able to)- which leads to the Apple basically sending Desmond into 2012 where he grows up for a while?

So forget Desmond going to the past- let’s send him into the future and warp his entire perspective of time so he just comes back and has NO idea what year it is and doesn’t believe anybody when they tell him when it actually is

I mean, if you really wish to hammer in the angst, you can make Desmond’s time in the future at the start being hopeful, with people helping him because he looked lost. Getting him on his feet and helping him move forward in this strange new world. Desmond was pushed into the future young enough that he has no problem acclimating with everything that was happening with the stubbornness and curiosity of a child but old enough to remember the Borgias and how Cesare taunted him about his father who didn’t even know he existed and would never think to look for him.

Let’s say Desmond is around… 10 or 11 years old when he’s transported in the future. That would make him be born in 1490, during the time a 31st year old Ezio was looking for any clues that would lead him to the Apple. It is during this time that he shared a night with a woman who looked a lot like Cristina.

Too much like Cristina, some may say, to be a coincidence.

Ezio would say that he had too much to drink back then and he had, as shameful at it was, not remembering the night correctly.

We’ll keep it a mystery if her similarity to Cristina was simply a coincidence or if this was the Calculations at play… with something more. (To muddle the waters, you can have other people say that she didn’t look like Cristina at all, if anything, she looked like Sofia… maaaayybbe)

Anyway, the main point is that Desmond returns to the past (or his actual present) on 1503 when Ezio took the Apple from the Borgias.

And this is where the timey-wimey aspect of this entire thing changes…

So we can have:

Desmond’s time is accelerated and he’s been in the future for the past 10+ years. He was living and found small pockets of happiness in the future that he considered returning to the past as… a punishment.

Desmond’s time in the future advances the same time as the past so, to him, 3ish years have passed as well. This would make Desmond around 13~14 years old roughly.

Regardless, Ezio knows Desmond is his son because Leonardo remembers seeing him and hearing Cesare talk about him (this is also the main reason why Ezio was looking for Desmond the entire time he was in Rome as well).

And here’s the kicker:

Desmond isn’t the name given to him by his mother. Desmond Miles is the name he took when he was taken to the future.

And now we have the subplot of Ezio wondering if his son is meant to be the Desmond that Minerva spoke of in the vault. And if he is… did that mean Ezio had to help Desmond return to the future so he can save the world?