Blood's Thicker Than Water (Platonic)
Made this cause I love assassins creed and I hate how they left the plot point about Desmond having a kid from a one night stand. Like sure there’s a comic for Elijah but let’s be real, who here has read that comic?
Sorry if any of them seem out of character, I haven’t played the games in a long while lol
Also thanks to my friend for streaming the games so I can get back into them lol
You never really met your dad but from what your mother described him as he was….a troubled soul
Now to be fair you’ve never exactly met Desmond Miles yourself but from the stories she told it’s obvious he had his fair share of demons
Some of which seemed to spill from the cracks of his soul from the short time she spent with him
A bartender is what he was, until he suddenly up and vanished from said bar in 2012 and died not too long after
It didn’t really make sense then even to your young mind
The gap between his sudden disappearance and death leaving too much unsaid for your mind not to be annoyed by
But as a child you eventually put the thought away
Eventually you forget
Instead going on to pursue your next whim as you focus on the present, or in your case Learning about the past in the present time
Unlike your fascination with your father that went away, your love of history never faded with time
It just seemed to grow the older you got
Your not sure why but something about history just clicked with you
It was somewhere within the range of middle school and reading national geographic that you had realized you liked it
That despite how some areas of it were bleak and disturbing it was interesting
And it got even more so interesting as you delved deeper into the depths of libraries
Nose buried in books lined with dust and old parchment
Yellowed pages and old ink that you carefully decode from centuries of lost meaning and metaphors lost to the modern age
You studied from the ancients all the way up to Victorian
Easing your way though literal centuries of historical records as you soaked up information like a sponge
And it’s there you vegans seeing an odd…repetition of events that seemed to occur
Odd assassinations plagued each era you looked into, all of which connected somehow by people in odd dress
In some journals that had luckily stood the tests of time you uncovered more eye witness accounts
A solider’s log back in the revolutionary war talking about an odd man meeting with his superiors in the dead of night
The diary of a log master who wrote of an odd frequent visitor that had an odd blade hidden beneath his sleeve
The drawing of a Victorian child being freed from a factory that had a hooded lady and man on the rooftop
I’m one you found a symbol, one created from the bottom perspective of an eagle skull, something also commonly associated with these hooded figures
What’s odd as well is that with these hooded assassins you also find traces of another group
One well know to historians such as yourself
Oddly enough the symbol of the Templar knights keep showing up even after their annulment
It’s odd, but what’s more odd enough is that both seemed to be tied to other historical artifacts
Ones well kept in archives and from the public eye
Ones you shouldn’t technically know about if not for you sneaking into sections your don’t have the status to enter
Their always gold with odd symbols. Somehow always pristine and polished despite the fact their dated to be from before ancient times
They for some reason seem to call to you specifically
Tempting you with forbidden knowledge you wish to taste like Eve
But for now you choose to wait until you can do proper analysis on them without the risk of punishment
So you lie and wait
Admittedly you didn’t think anyone expected for you to be this good at your job
In their defence you were a university student here on Co-op and not an actual full time historian
Hell you were in first year for gods sake
But somehow despite it all
Despite the fact you had actual historians and people in the history program years above you here you quickly began to become an outlier
A shinning beacon within the large archive, so much so that you began being allowed in the restricted sections you already snuck into
Mind you, now properly allowed there with some supervision of sorts gave you much more flexibility in research
You got to touch these artifacts
Hold them in gloved palms as silk covered finger glide across its edges and ridges
You study them extensively decrypting and decoding the ancient texts and hieroglyphs
Jotting down what you found in both a report and your own personal journal
Your not sure why you do so but you chock it up to making sure no one takes credit for your work
And this continues to the point your eventually allowed alone with them
It’s great
You dedicate yourself to this task as you learn more and more
Soaking up knowledge like a sponge as you find out more of what was previously lost
Find new angles and perspectives on events
For history isn’t just a set time and date, it’s interpretation based on what we know from sources
And even then sources can be biased
Sources can lie and silence another person’s view on the event
Your more than happy to try make your own interpretations
Admittedly when you were asked to study what looked to be a necklace from these unidentified ancient artifacts you were ecstatic
How could you not be?
Intricate gold woven in something akin to Grecian jewelry
Yet also had hints of something akin to Egyptian
It also…glows? Or at least you swear you’ve seen it glow gold and pulsate a few times but that could be the sleep deprivation speaking
Either way it’s an honour
One you don’t take lightly as you study it
Spending countless restless nights and days trying to crack its code
An unknown source has been funding the archive and your research quite a bit
Betting big money on it much to your surprise and suspension
You get that this is potentially something big but it feels out of left field
Especially since no one knows the name of the company
It’s just under an anonymous donation every month
It’s sketchy
But you aren’t one to argue about free money to further your and your colleagues pursuit of knowledge
Not when this beautiful place used to be underfunded
Not when most historical records were donated by people with a good conscious
Not when this place was almost shut down
With a sigh you continue on your work
Diligently tact checking and writing up a storm
Your writing looks like chicken scratch but that was a commonality between all history majors
Well, along with being giant nerds
And it’s there at that desk at 3 am in the morning, tired and only running on 3 hours of rest you find something peculiar on the necklace
A sharp jaded edge that you absentmindedly prick yourself on by accident
With a groan you wipe the blood away on your pants
Then going up to get a bandaid
You swore to god if you died of tetanus you’d be positively pissed
Unknown to you the necklace starts to glow
When you get home your more exhausted than usual
Your limbs feel like their kade of concrete and your head is stuffed with tissue
Eyelids trying to glue themselves shut
You practically kick off your shoes before tumbling to the couch
Not bothering in changing clothes or showering for the sweet relief of sleeps embrace
So you flop down face first into the old leather cushions of your couch
Only putting in the effort of fishing a hand to grab a throw pillow and blanket from nearby that you burrowed yourself into
A comfy cocoon/prison you couldn’t will yourself to leave even as you swore for a moment you heard something in the house
But your mind writes it off
Your too tired to question anything let alone get up
All you want is sleep
And that’s exactly what you get as your eyelids shut
You fall into the realm of dreams, odd ones playing out in your mind
Blurred images of odd men
A weird void-like realm
The cries of an eagle overhead
A single word appearing in your head
Kenway
And then your eyes snap awake when the sound of arguing fills your ears
Yelling of several male voices jumbling up your already fogged up sense as you practically fall off the couch in a mixture of fear and confusion
Curses escaping your mouth when suddenly the voices go silent and your left in a realm of fear
Hair standing on end as the creaking of the house makes you more alert
Despite the fact you’d never fought a day in your life you will up the courage to grab a baseball bat and cautious cross to where you heard the commotion
Careful steps on the non-creaky boards of the home that you’d luckily memorized
And there you find several men in old garb
Accents of Red tying them together like a string of fate
Or a trail of blood fainting their very existence
they turn to you with sharp eyes
It’s the one in modern clothes that surprises you the most
The face of your supposed dead father staring back at you
Ocher brown eyes that had long lost their life now rejuvenated as they seem to find familiarity in your own features
Some of which mirror his own along with some of the others in the room
The bridge of your nose
A all powerful spark in your eyes as they flick between everyone and escape routes
The way your lip slightly twitches when you try to keep a brave face
Your posture as you decided what to do
It’s all too familiar to him and them in a way that isn’t just coincidence
Especially not when all of them are Kenway
Not when he had been able to prove to them that fact through the experience of virtually living through their lives up until his death
“I’m not sure who the fuck all of you are but get out of my house.” Your fingers twitch and flex as your palms grow sweaty, the wood absorbing the pressure and moisture “especially my dead dad look-alike”
You all but confirm his suspicions
Their suspicions
And it looks Ike for you tonight will be much longer than you anticipated
Turns out that artifact you were studying wasn��t just as normal one
Neither were the other ones you looked at
The way they explained it as was their “artifacts from dead gods”, a fallen civilization that engineered humanity into being their slaves
It’s a lot to take in
Even more so when your suspicions of something bigger happening throughout global history with those odd deaths were real
Oh, and these were you dead ancestors and dad somehow back from the grave and now in your home
…..yeah safe to say that’s a lot to take in after an already very long and tiring shift
You sit there as they explain this, half asleep, and half exasperated
Cause how the hell are you supposed to believe all this bullshit that for some reason feels correct
Something in you tells you that their right yet your mind is fighting that logic
You’d always been a logical person, when it came to most situations you used your brain instead of your heart
And in those cases things ended up fine
But now your faced with this
A situation where your heart is screaming for you to listen as your brain tries to take this all in
Cause logic is completely out the window at the moment
For now you have to trust them even if your still afraid
I mean, how couldn’t you be?
But you get the sense that they understand
At least a little bit by how their also thrusted into a new environment without much say
Perhaps that (along with your own apprehension) is helping comfort them as well
So for now they’ll stay
Your just thanking (the dead) gods that grandma and grandpa’s old home is big enough for all of them
Altaïr Ibn-La’ Ahad
The oldest down the line of your dad’s side of your lineage finds himself often reading through your books in your study
It was a bit of a surprise one day entering it to find him sitting in a spare chair but you don’t mind the silent company
Especially as he seems to find interest in your studies
Occasionally he breaks the silence and asks you a question about the subject he’s reading about
He’s by far the oldest (even if he’s back in the body of his prime) of them therefore he’s the one who has the most figuratively to catch up on
So you indulge him
And also asks questions as well that he seems eager in answering
Knowledge connects you both, scholarly intellect being the bridge between the two of you despite centuries of time apart
Typically he asks about thinks such as modern life and what is know about his home, what happened to it? What it’s known of his era
You answer as best you can
Especially since that era of time isn’t exactly your forte
But he appreciates it anyways
Appreciates that you try, appreciates that you passionately care about history in the first place
Admittedly your mom was supportive but never understood your love of history
She’d listen to your rants and long conversations with a polite smile but you knew she never understood what you were talking about
But he does
He does and contributes whole heartedly in just as much passion
It’s nice
What’s also nice is that he’s studied the artifacts you now study as well
So now your both constantly coming up and developing ideas together
A constant back and forth
Hypotheses, discussion, and testing
Delving deeper into discovery like you’ve wanted
But with this he also helps you see where passion and obsession mix together
After the loss of his wife and son he delved into studying as a form of escape
It drove who was left away
Made the pit in his heart deeper
He doesn’t talk about it often but he seems to see how you may go down the same path
And he warns you of it
Unlike his younger self (that he now appears as) he’s wise if a little rough around the edges
He encourages knowledge but not to the point where it’s an all encompassing and toxic obsession
Within the household he seems to take a somewhat neutral but quiet role
He helps out and offers advice and guidance
Much like a teacher and grandfather of sorts
Speaking up when he has to and making sure the house doesn’t end up in disrepair
He seems to have a fascination with modern appliances, or at least holds a thankfulness for them
Like a few others he sticks to his robes most the time but you’ve seen him sport more modern clothes once awhile
Stuff still somewhat reminiscent of what he wore before but with a modern flare. Things with hoods and draping. Silks and wool. Something with an accent of red mixed in
Sometimes when you fall asleep in your studies you find a blanket draped over you and a cup of tea at your side
He won’t admit it’s him but he’s the only one who knows your tea preferences
He keeps his worry for you deep down but it’s somewhat relived when seeing that you take his warning of not taking the pursuit of knowledge too far
“It says here there was something called the “French revolution”. Would you care to explain what happened here to me?” He asks making you pause your work for a moment, when he sees your smile he knows your answer. Sure he read some of this book and got the gist of it, but something about seeing your eyes light up at his inquiry makes him feel at peace for a moment.
“Would I ever!”
Ezio Auditore da Firenze
This man is quite literally all up in your (and everyone’s) business
Not in an annoy way per say but he’s definitely curious about the lives his descendants have led (both good and bad)
Ezio is very clearly a family man and it’s somewhat ironic to see since half of this household has some sort of familiar issue
Most of which is some sort of daddy issue stemming from either Haythem or Edward that trickled down the line to you
Something that Ezio is seemingly trying to wrap his head around
Out of the others he’s the one who opens up the most
Partially because you think he misses his immediate family and friends
It must be a lot to handle being away from home, now in a foreign land where everything has changed
Despite that though he keeps a brave face
Almost always flashing a smile as he drags you from your study to have some “bonding time”
You won’t admit it to his face but you don’t mind
Especially as he gives your poor hunched over back a break
And treats your pallet to some good old fashioned (literally) Italian food and not cup ramen once again
He tried it once and threw your supply out, saying he’d be supplementing you with food from now on
You can’t exactly say your disappointment or upset from the heaven that is fresh baked garlic bread and pasta
He cooks not only for you but for the others of the house as well, saying his sister taught him lest he piss off his future lady
Taking in their suggestions and cooking foods from their homes as a way of him offering comfort
Whilst he does these tasks he often hums in his mother tongue of Latin
You don’t have the heart to tell him it’s a dead language
Especially when he seems so happy that you can somewhat understand it
He’s happily rambling and teaching you words
Helping you sound out phrases and pronunciation correctly unlike your Latin professor
Some of his songs he lightly sings under his breath get stuck in your head since he has a good singing voice
But despite the facade you see the cracks
Sometimes you find him looking at modern objects mumbling about how Leonardo would have loved to see this or made something similar
Or how Claudia would’ve liked this book
How Petruccio would have loved this toy
It….leaves a bitter taste in your mouth
Once upon a time you felt this same type of longing for family
Once a time you thought of you dad before going to bed and staring at his old Polaroid with hope
One that would never come to fruition (until now)
It’s why you indulge him, to keep his mind off the deeper plunge of melancholy
Compared to the others he’s relatively open to modernizing
In fact he seems somewhat excited in these things
Raiding your wardrobe like a damn fashionista and critiquing what’s good quality
He also has a wide variety of looks, not sticking to something similar to his time of dress
Versatile and somehow up to date? Your not sure how but somehow he’s in fashion?
Like he must’ve found a copy of vogue or something cause there is no way he just guessed that this was the new trend
When you pressure him on it he replies that he’s simply that amazing
You call bullshit but have yet to find evidence
But in the meantime you ask get him to tell you about Da Vinci and you furiously jot down what he says
Sometimes when he looks at you he sees flashes of Claudia’s quick wit
It makes him long for home yet as he looks at his descendants and ancestor he also feels….something
A small pit of warmth developing as he gets to know the inhabitants of this house longer
Meet Altair besides through a weird vision
His home is in Florence yet that feeling of comfort from the Villa is bleeding into these old (yet new) walls
“So this painting is his most famous work?” He asks looking at your computer with a bit of confusion, his scared lips quirking at the digital image.
“Yeah. This is actually probably the most famous painting in the world”
“Really? Of all his works this one is considered the best? I’m not doubting his skill but of all his pieces?”
“Believe me, I get it. It’s only this famous cause it was stolen”
“Stolen?!? Tell me who did it! I swear-”
Edward Kenway
For someone who was a feared pirate on the seas he’s surprisingly much less violent than you’d think him to be
Sure, he’s scary as hell still but at least he’s not stabbing you in the back and making off with your grandmas pearls or something
Still your a bit unnerved by him considering you did a project on him back in middle school and he’s now in your home
Munching on some god damn biscuits as if this was a normal situation
His son Haytham avoids his as best he can but he seems to bond with his grandson quite easily
Or more easily than he does with Haythem
It takes some time but you eventually go to him when you find him awake at the dead hours of night
A whisky bottle in hands as he occasionally takes a swig in silence as he stares out the window
You don’t talk
You don’t need to when he drinks in silence for awhile staring at the moon before eventually talking about the guilt
In his pursuit of power and gold he let people die
Greed woven into his soul as he sacrificed good men for his cause
He changed and did good yet his past haunts him
Hands stained red
Guilt eating away
A son who doesn’t want anything to do with him
At some point when he stops his rambles you speak
Reminding him that while his actions weren’t good he changed
It doesn’t wash the blood away but it stoped more from staining his hands
Though Haythem avoids him Connor is more than eager to fill his place
It doesn’t fix his overlying problems but it does help
In the morning he ends up talking with you more after this as your initial fear melts away
You end up seeing Edward Kenway, not the fiercesome captain of the Jackdaw
You see a man burdened by past mistakes and still wishes to do better
You see a human being at its core
With history it’s easy to forget the people your looking at was once alive and a breathing being
One who was just as flawed as you and I
But seeing a infamous pirate captain cry about issues pertaining not just time him made you remember that
He isn’t opposed to modernizing but seems to keep a certain sea-like touch to his appearance
Clothes for labourers and something loose is what he normally sticks to
He’s lucky though since he doesn’t exactly have traditional robes and can incorporate what he appeared in with a modern flair
Occasionally when he gets drunk he slurs out old shanties and talks about his epic tales
You might or might not have freaked the fuck out learning that James kidd was actually a woman
Mind blown
Ezio and Altair had to drag you away from your computer from writing an entire essay
Sitting on your countertop he holds a glass of whiskey in hand, one held out for you as you sit down beside him. The moon casts its gentle rays and lights the marble slab you both sit on. “I prefer Rum but this’ll do” it’s said in a playful tone that makes you nod and take a sip.
“I can grab some captain Morgan later…speaking of which, did you know him?
“No, but I did find a few of his things laying about “
“Care to tell?”
“Aye, sure thing”
Haytham Kenway
As the only Templar in this house it’s safe to say he’s definitely the outlier of the bunch
A relative lone wolf from the group that all hold some sort of Ill feelings towards him
From his father its confusion and sadness
The others it’s a mix of that and anger
From Connor it’s just plain…well your not quite sure how to describe it
The two’s entire family situation is just plain messy and thick with tension that their blades could cut through
But here’s the thing, in this house your also an outlier
A neutral zone so to say
Hell, the entire house seemed to be a haven of sorts from their whole Templar vs Assassin conflict
To be honest you don’t really care about this secret war
Well that’s a lie you are interested in these war of secret societies but you don’t specifically care to get involved in their politics
Not when you have business in interfering in it unless a fight breaks out and your telling everyone to calm the fuck down
So safe to say your kinda the only one who talks to Haytham
He is…well sometimes he’s a bit of an ass (in the British type of way) but at the same time he’s good conversation
Specifically when it comes to that of morals and philosophical beliefs
He is a conflicted man
A flawed one
But he holds his beliefs and morals despite the fact he’s been hurt and betrayed by a man he viewed as a mentor
He doesn’t talk about it much but he’s still hurt
Still seething with venom that burns his soul and flesh
Makes him want to lash out despite his upperclassman appearance and attitude
That despite it all he loves his son, so much so he willingly walked into what would be his death knowingly
That despite what happened he loves his dad yet can’t face him yet on account of what he became
What ideals and morals he still believes in even now
It’s perhaps he’s venting this to you rather than a journal because he knows you won’t judge him unfairly on the basis of what side your own
Your judging him as a flawed man and as an equally flawed person
It’s with him as well you open up about your own frustrations
How you still don’t know how to feel about this all
The fact that a lot of what you once knew was flipped on it’s head
Along with the fact your not even sure how to address your dad
It’s an entire mess but perhaps your both messed up together and that also draws you both to talking
To discuss your feelings of insucurity and confliction
To feel comfort that your not alone in not having your emotional shit in order
On some especially…emotional nights you both both have a cup of tea
He seems to enjoy that each time you use a different type, much of which used to be hard to obtain due to shipping and it’s prices
He hasn’t really yet grasped modern technology but your slowly helping him with it
It’s kinda like trying to teach a grandpa to figure out a phone, but now it’s him with the concept of a microwave
Like some of the others he’s yet to really also change his clothes to something modern
There has been a few times though he sported sweaters and vests
Your now working on helping his wardrobe since he prefers a sophisticated look
Occasionally he looks at the photos that line your walls, looking as you evolve through the ages
It’s…odd
With Connor he never had the chance to watch him grow
Never a snapshot to immortalize what he was like a child but now ones of you litter the walls like paintings
He feels melancholy
Yet at the same time he’s happy to get another chance maybe
One that is seemingly being helped by your gentle hand unknowingly
“I never thought about it until now but the stars are different” he says taking a sip of his matcha tea, he lets it pool on his tongue and experience the flavour. Not his favourite but not the worst
“That’s cause of light pollution here…though the stars do move so it it’s possible they’ve shifted position in the sky”
“Do they teach you about the stars in your schooling?”
“Yeah I took some. Not sure why, it just kinda spoke to me. Maybe it’s the Kenway blood”
Ratonhnhaké:ton/Connor Kenway
Of the group Connor is the most quiet and surprisingly the one whom you connect with the best for some reason
Perhaps it’s cause your both socially awkward in ways that let you relate
Or the fact you’ve both been ostracized by society for various reasons
His company is that of a quiet one but one you accept it with ease as you both sit and enjoy each others company
A quiet kinship made of unspoken but understood words from one another
The reminder that someone else is there and your not truly alone
He is perhaps the one you feel you can understand the most
And it’s the same likewise for him
Your both people deeply hurt and still bleeding internally
People raised by only their mother in a cruel and harsh world
People who were let down one way or another by their father
People who are still mad and angry but use that to further their determination
It’s odd but you feel truly understood
Like your soul was peeled back to reveal at your core your still a lone spirit lost in the world
One clinging to what they know as their only lifeline in this confusing and jumbled mess of a situation
The hulking 6 foot 2 man shows you trails near your home
Taking to the forest paths you’ve know your entire life and helping you discover even more about them
And while he does this he teaches you more about the world as you both walk the old beaten path
He tells you how to identify what type of tree is which, which stones are likely geodes and what tracks belong to who
It’s honestly petty interesting especially since he adds snippets of stories from his heritage
In return you talk about what you know as well
Snippets of your own knowledge that he seems to store into his mind just as you do with his stories
An equal exchange of sorts
On these walks you begin to notice he takes you out on these when your at your most stressed
The times in which your mind is overworking and consuming itself with anxiety
The times in which you need to breath
Connor doesn’t seem like one to vocally express his care but he does so through action
Small inconspicuous actions that mean a lot more than what meets the eye
It’s seems that his towards you is helping you when you need it most
Taking you away to just take a moment for yourself
To just breath in the fresh air and let the sunset coloured leaves of autumn crunch under your boots
Letting the cold breeze take away your worries
It’s perhaps better than any type of verbal support
Yet another unspoken action of care and compassion through knowing and watching
Of watching and knowing when you need a break
When you realize this and give him a small tired smile as a thanks he seems to know
Only giving a small nod with a minuscule smile of his own
It only grows bigger when you begin to ask him if his traditions, of the stories and practices of his people that he’s more than willing to tell when he knows you ask out of genuine curiosity and respect
Connor is somewhat 50/50 in modernizing
He adapts quite well but still needs help with certain things as he navigates the situation
But like usual he is anything but resourceful as he watches what you do and figures it out
He helps the others quite a bit with what he’s picked up and somewhat takes pride in the fact he can help them
Whilst he’s privy to wearing his robes he isn’t against more modern clothes
The only problem though is sometimes finding stuff that fits him considering he’s not only a giant but also fairly muscular
But your both eventually able to find some stuff for him to wear that he likes
He really appreciates though that you try to buy clothes and jewelry from nearby indigenous peoples
It might not be his but he appreciates the sentiment and familiarity that the beaded jewelry give him
“I’ve lived here my whole life and walked down these paths a thousand times yet it seems more like your the local here” you say with amusement as you follow Conner through an area you’d be never been before.
He smiles, it’s small but there as he adds “just a matter of perspective. You see the paths your used to and I see ones you hadn’t noticed”
Desmond Miles
Yeah so this is entirely awkward for you
Like how the fuck do you emotionally deal with this and the fact your very dead dad who didn’t know you existed till now is now very alive
And living in your house with his very dead ancestors that are also now alive
Case and point you don’t, specifically you ignore the problem and act like everything is fine
You lock yourself away and try to avoid him like the plague
Somehow Scurry past him and into the kitchen to grab something before returning to your abode to eat
But then things got complicated
Things change
You began talking to the others
Slowly coming out the darkness of your study and joining the dinner table
But you still try to avoid him
It feels like the sight of him burns your mind, all those nights as a kid coming back to you
The hope and then disappoint in learning he died and that he likely never wanted you
Your mother never said this but the other kids did. They always teased and picked at the fact you were a mistake
It’s why you push so hard now to be the best, To prove them wrong (to prove to yourself that your worth existing)
The fact is that now he’s here and you don’t know how to deal with that
How would you even start?
What do you even say to him?
You quiet down when he enters a room because you don’t know what to do
Whatever your about to say dying in your throat like a caged bird and all that came come out are garbled noises as you evade him
Eyes casting down to your hands like a child averting their gaze from their parent when in trouble (he is your dad so it’s the same thing right?)
Leaving the room he’s in as quickly as you can once a take is done
The others notice quick, I mean how can’t they? A damn butter knife can cut through the tension
The whole thing with Haytham and Connor is less tense than this
But what can you even do?
How in thick do you talk to him and how can he even talk to you?
Your 18 and in university, he’s 25 and was a bartender in New York before apparently sacrificing himself for the world
He’s closer in age to being a big brother rather than your dad.
But even besides that he’s been long dead and gone since 2012
It’s been years since that point and more importantly he’s someone important and your not
He’s an assassin born to a bloodline of other assassins
Someone who was raised in this tradition with greatness not only in his origin but also in his death
And your you
A child born from a one night stand who’s only achievement is being good at knowing about old people
It hurts but it’s true
If he’s a star then your a candle compared to his light
A mere blip or spark to the greater picture
There had been times he looked like he wanted to say something but you scurry away before he can say anything
Sometimes you catch the looks and small gestures Ezio tries to make as if to encourage him to go up to you
How Connor sometimes brings up to you how he wishes for reconciliation with his dad and that perhaps it’s possible with your own
Altair not beating around the bush and plainly telling both him and you to talk
But it all feels for naught and dies when those feelings and thoughts return
But eventually he corners you
Well not really corners you per say but he catches you as you leave your study after a talk with Altair
“Listen I don’t have any grudge against you. For one you died, I’d be a dick if I blamed you for that or your decision to save the world and whatever. Second you didn’t know about me in the first place” you say briefly looking up at him before averting your gaze, he looks like he wants to say something but he can’t get a word out before you continue “but you don’t have to act like my dad or anything. You never asked for me, it was a mistake, I was a mistake and I’m fine with it.” (Your lying to yourself)
You leave before he can get a word out, and he’s left alone in the hallway. When he returns to Ezio he just sits down in silence. It’s enough for everyone to know I didn’t go the way he wanted.
Admittedly when you begin to notice odd figures at the achieves you write it off
I mean it could literally be anyone plus the supervisors aren’t making a fuss about them here
If anything their welcoming them and looking at them with hopeful eyes
Small glances full of opportunities in them
It’s odd but maybe their just some non-profit here to support the archive
Or even private benefactors of sorts
But then they turn their attention to you
Plastic smiles on their faces, artificial pleasantries as their main spokeswoman sits in front of you in a slick suit
Her stilettos tapping against the ground as your eyes trail to her bodyguards of sorts
They stand not too close nearby
Watching
Waiting
And then she begins talking
And slowly you grow more and more uncomfortable
Hands playing with one another, fingers twitching in your palm as crescent are indebted in your skin
They apparently are interested in your findings
In your research
But more specifically you
They’ve researched you…a lot
Down from where your mother was born to her great great something grandfather
And your father
…but that’s not public knowledge
It wasn’t even on your birth certificate
This….this isn’t
She smiles though now the darkness melts away into something more knowing
Dangerous and sadistic of sorts
And it’s there on her little pin showing her name you recognize the logo
Within your house you’d vaguely heard whispers of the others talking in hushed tones
You didn’t mind
The less you know the better in that sense
Out of sight and out of mind
But sometimes you’d hear the mumbles of a name that you didn’t put together until now
One spat with venom just as they did with the word of the Templar
Abstergo
You barely have time to react before your black bagged and sufficiently knocked out
Mind drifting to that of panic
What would happen to you?
What will happen when the others find out?
But then those thoughts fade away into the dark void of sleep
When you wake up things are odd
Everything is a sterile white and too bright for your foggy sleep tinged eyes
The room is blurred as is your senses as you weightlessly drift
Everything feels odd
And then it happens sharp and pure pain that leaves you writhing and screaming into the void
And that’s when you notice that white light had left and your in a void of sorts
Empty glitching effects all around you as your left to look around in confusion until you see something
A memory? Specifically one of your memories
Your staring at a simulation of sorts of your past self
A 8 year old in their bed with chubby cheeks pulled up into a melancholy smile
You recognize this moment, your small hands holding a picture that had long been put away into a scrapbook and forgotten
Your left wordless and confused
And then that bitch’s voice appears again and she explains
This entire thing is a simulation of your memories
And essentially their gonna go through your head picking through them to not only learn what they want but then use you as their lab rat cause of your bloodline.
Cause apparently memories of your ancestors could be accessed that way and it was generally easier to have a descendant rather than finding objects and artifacts
And it’s there in that simulation it feels like your mind is being ripped apart
Memories ripped from your mind to play out in front of you as she makes comments and documents them before their forced back in and another is ripped out
Like book having pages torn out and then crudely stitched back in
It hurts so damn much
Over and over
Your just left in screaming again on the ground of this simulated world as she makes idol comments
Left begging for it to stop
For someone to help
For the love of god someone help you make it stop
Of course this would happen to you
You’ve always had shit luck despite your whole family motto being “make your own luck”
What utter bullshit
You can’t make good luck from bad
Can’t just change things when the scales are already tipped one way
But then like a miracle from above she goes quiet and suddenly the memory is gone
And your left in the void still reeling from it all
Still on the glitching ground before once more white encompasses your view
Blinding and bright as your still recovering
And then an unfamiliar voice tunes in
“Your safe” it’s heavily accented, in an Irish twang that’s soft as he says these words to you. A reminder that your ok now, it’s over. “Can you walk?”
You try to look at him with squinting eyes yet they still can’t adjust, your limbs feel heavy like solid rock. Unmoving even as you try. With some difficulty you shake your head
“Aight, I’ll have you carry you then. Are you alright with that?”
“Just get me out of here…please. I just want to go home, I miss my family” it sounds pathetic but as tears begin to fall the stranger doesn’t seem to think Ill of you.
“Don’t worry, I get what that’s like.” The tone is sympathetic and like before is soft “you’ll be home I no time, I promise”
You think for a moment before responding “I trust you”. For a second you feel him go still at that before he picks you up.
For awhile there’s buzzing alarms and panic as your saviour gets you out whoever’s you were taken too
There’s not a moment of silence as he sharply runs and dodges past what you think to be gunshots
Occasionally he grumbles something but for the most part he seems calm
Composed despite the chaos of it all
So much so that it makes you wonder if this is an average Tuesday for him
There’s so much shout and yelling for your already pounding head
But sometimes the yells are silenced as the sound of a blade cuts it short
Footsteps far behind eventually stopping
Sirens getting more and more distant and allowing you and the man to breath
It’s there in the pocket of silence you learn his name
Shay
It sounds familiar, like really familiar yet you can’t put your finger on it
Either way your grateful because how can you not be?
Your away from that place
Away from the torture of having your mind picked apart like a lab experiment
Having the privacy of your memories looked at and prodded
But now your somewhat okay
Your eyes feel weird, your vision feels weird like it keeps switching between something
Your at least somewhat able to walk though it’s unbalanced
but Shay doesn’t seem to mind
He offers an arm that you cling to for support
A kind smile on his face as he makes sure you didn’t injure yourself further
And then you notice his clothes are….old
Like Haytham and Connor level old
And…shit
It’s halfway home through the trails you recognize due to Connor that your vision changes
The world feels bigger as if your third eyes opened or something
Shays figure and presence is highlighted in a clover green
And perched nearby is another green figure, one waiting for a good moment
Shay follows your sight before promptly having to duck out the way from a knife that flies at his head
He pushes you back behind him, you stumble back vision switch between monochrome and normal as someone else grabs you
Instinctively you almost yell before realizing who was now helping keep you steady
And the other person now attacking Shay
“Connor! He’s good! He saved me!”
“He’s a Templar!”
“So is Haytham and you haven’t killed him…again have you!”
At that Shay pauses, turning to look at you with confusion as Connor stops his attempt as slitting his throat
Ezio on the other hand helps you up but keeps a firm protective grip
Watching Shays movements like Connor in apprehension before the two settle down and stare at you for more detail
Both waiting on your word
“He saved me and today has been a long ass day-“
“You’ve been gone for 4 days”
You pause momentarily at that before adding “long 4 ass days of having my mind literally ripped apart. Can we please head back to the house and settle this there? Thank you”.
The moment you get back your almost immediately tackled to the ground by a familiar white and red hoodie wearing absent (dead) father
It’s….odd but nice
Desmond (still feels too awkward to call him dad) is holding you like a lifeline and you notice bags beneath his eyes
He looks like hell
But none of the others are any better either
They all like positively exhausted yet light up when seeing your safe
Your home
It reminds you of your mom when you returned home from school
The long work day evident on her brow but her smile lighting up the room at the sight of your face
It’s no different compared to then except for the fact they all (except Haytham) then protectively pull you away from the nearby Shay who’s being glowered at by Connor
Safe to say it’s a little awkward until you somehow pull free of Desmond’s death grip hobble your ass between the two lone Templars and Assassins
A long discussion having to take place between them all as you not only explain what happened but also it seems you all forget one crucial thing
It seems you forgot about your mom’s side of the family
Whoop de Doo you have more things to process and so does everyone else here
Specifically Connor and Haytham Because before apparently knew (or know of) Shay
Great, another complex relationship in this household like there needed to be more of that
But with this entire situation it also highlights something bigger
Your not safe
None of you are safe
Perhaps you never truly were
And that in turns leaves you with the difficult decision of what to do next
Because In this difficult game of politics between two ever warring groups your a neutral force
You wanted to stay that way but unfortunately fate had other plans
as your drug into this game your left with limited options of sides for not only yourself but for the others who seem keen on following you
Even the two (former?) templars seem to follow your decision
So When Des…er your dad suggests finding his old friends it seems like the best option
It’s either that or be kidnapped and prodded again and who knows what abstergo will do to everyone else (even one’s that once upon a time we’re on their side)
Besides, he says you’ll get along well with someone named Shaun so It can’t be too bad
So he sends out a message and you leave the home you find yourself look at with melancholy
It stopped being a home when mom died but now it seemed like it was just that again
Only time can tell what will bring upon you next
But….you think you’ll be ready for whatever is thrown at you when you have this odd group of family at your side
The expression of blood is thicker than water never really held much weight since you only ever had your mom until she was gone
But maybe you understand it a bit better now
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A small moment of angst before I go to sleep: Desmond feeling caged in a'la "Break". Except instead of being snarky he leans more and more into the Bleeding Effect for any kind of support and affection. And maybe thanks to the whole place and the Appla at hand the interactions echo to his ancestor? Like, Desmond sitting on his bedroll and cuddling up to what appears an Ezio on a couch, except Ezio feels that all the years back. For Desmond, it's a bleed. But for them? It's real
Well... this thing got out of hand... (It was meant to be short but, I guess, it's short... considering it's me writing it XD)
========================================
He doesn’t notice it at first. The Grand Temple was a place of contradiction. Smooth dark walls merge with the natural roughness of rocks. Some rooms are as cold as the most bitter winter night. Others as hot as a ruthless cloud-ness summer day.
And Desmond was usually an observant person. Both because of his upbringing and childhood training for the first sixteen years of his life and the constant paranoia and fear that gripped his very being after he left the Farm.
But the Animus…
It messes with one’s mind. Not only when one was accessing the memories it played but even after it had been turned off.
Desmond had experienced it before. The Bleeding Effect. It started out slow. In Abstergo, he would see shadows in the corner of his eyes and hear whispers too soft for him to understand.
He thought it was simply his mind playing tricks on him. His stress making him see or hear things not there.
Then Lucy explained what the Bleeding Effect was. Rome happened.
Monteriggioni happened.
The Synch Nexus happened.
And now, his Bleeding Effect had changed. He could hear them clearly. They would comment on whatever random topic anyone was talking about. They would warn him when he got too close to a ledge or when he was stepping on unstable ground whenever he looked around.
They called his attention when his mind got away with him.
“Desmond.”
It was… comforting.
The first time it happened, it was Ezio’s voice, using the same tone as when he spoke to Desmond back in the library underneath Masyaf.
The second time it happened, it was Altaïr’s voice and Desmond almost missed a jump. Hearing the man sigh made him shout “It’s your fault, asshole!” as he turned around.
But no one was there.
He had even started to hear Ratonhnhaké:ton. Soft whispers in his native tongue. He didn’t call him by his name but he could hear him say “Careful” or “Look up” whenever Desmond was by himself, checking what was still accessible in the ruins.
He told Rebecca about it, of course. She seemed curious but there was a hint of worry in her eyes. They both knew what this meant.
The Bleeding Effect was worsening.
========================================
The first time it happened. Of course, it would be Altaïr first which was poetic or symbolic, Desmond didn’t really care. After all, Altaïr was his first. It would make sense that anything that would worsen his current situation could be traced back to Altaïr.
The first ancestor he accessed in the Animus after getting kidnapped.
The first vivid Bleeding Effect episode he ever experienced.
So when he woke up, gasping Clay’s name as his dreams replayed his final day with the light-haired man, he was too rattled. Hands still shaking and heart still beating too fast.
He saw golden light coming from an empty room a few feet from where he decided to sleep for the night and walked toward it.
The moment he reached the doorway, he froze.
The entire room rocked slightly and Desmond had to place his hand on one of the crates nearby to keep his balance, unused to the swaying of…
A ship.
Desmond knew the memory immediately.
He saw him asleep, sitting uncomfortably on his chair with what will later be known as his Codex open before him. The golden light Desmond had seen coming from a small lamp on the same table as the Codex, glowing brighter than it should. Desmond walked towards him and quietly closed the Codex before grabbing a nearby blanket and placing it over Altaïr’s shoulders.
Altaïr grunted softly but did not wake and Desmond…
Desmond felt lost.
Unsure why he was bleeding this memory.
Unsure of what else to do.
The entire room swayed harder than before and Desmond yelped as he lost his balance. He fell by Altaïr’s legs, hitting the side of his face on his lap. The Syrian let out a low growl and Desmond froze, waiting to see if he would wake.
He did not.
Desmond knew he should get up. Kneeling by Altaïr’s side, head and arms resting on his lap as the other man slept, was…
Weird.
Absolutely weird.
But…
At the same time…
He was warm.
And he was Altaïr.
He was safe.
Desmond pressed his cheek against the man’s lap and closed his eyes.
The swaying of the ship should have made him nauseous.
But together with Altaïr’s warmth…
It was peaceful.
He woke to the sound of his phone’s alarm, back aching in protest at the uncomfortable position he had slept on. On his knees, resting his arms and head on some kind of smooth black object that may have been a chair before.
Maybe.
Desmond sighed as he stood and stretched.
He cannot deny it. As strange as that episode had been.
… It was probably the best sleep he had in a while.
========================================
Altaïr felt him when he entered his room. His footsteps had been soft, and would have probably been unnoticeable even to an Assassin who had been on the field for years. But Altaïr heard them.
To be more exact.
He felt him.
Something about the person who entered his room simply made Altaïr feel…
Alert.
Like his entire being was focused solely on his uninvited guest.
He stayed relaxed and kept his eyes closed, using his senses to tell him what the intruder was doing. He stood next to Altaïr and closed the journal Altaïr had been writing on. Then he…
Placed the itchy blanket on Altaïr’s shoulders?
Altaïr was unsure why he had done such a thing.
That was when the ship swayed hard, most probably against some kind of large wave or such, and the man let out a loud yelp that would have woken Altaïr had he truly been sleeping anyway.
He let out a small grunt as he felt the man fall on his lap.
They both froze.
Altaïr pretended to relax once more and waited.
His wary gave way to confusion when he felt the man relax as he stayed kneeling by Altaïr’s side. Felt the man rub his cheek slightly against his lap with a soft sigh. Altaïr waited for a few minutes before realizing that the man was truly asleep.
On his lap.
… In what world did this strange intruder believe that would be alright?
Did he not think that Altaïr would wake earlier than him?
Or did that not matter?
Was he here because he wished to-
Altaïr opened his eyes and his breath hitched.
The man was no longer next to him.
He was alone.
Had not been for the closed journal…
The blanket on his shoulders…
The warmth he could still feel on his lap…
He would have thought he dreamt it all.
But no.
It wasn’t a dream.
He stared at the blanket as he repeated.
There was no way it had been a dream.
========================================
The Bleeding Effect only got worse.
Or perhaps Desmond could say it had gotten better.
He could feel them now.
Could feel their warmth.
They felt real.
And, in this new prison called the Grand Temple, they provided an escape that Desmond couldn’t help but gravitate towards.
He never told Rebecca and Shaun.
And there was no way in hell he was going to tell Bill about it.
This was his little secret.
A little piece of paradise that his mind has conjured to give him peace even for just a few moments.
How nice it would be if time was to simply stop.
For the sun to stop ticking just for a few moments.
And let Desmond rest…
A single night in Manhattan made him miss his life before all of these.
Before Abstergo.
Before the Animus.
Before being heralded as the chosen one to save the world by a woman who said she wasn’t a god using the same lips that dictated Desmond’s fate.
When he was just a simple bartender in New York.
It was a lonely life, sure.
But it was peaceful.
A bit boring, maybe.
But, after months of being strapped into the Animus, reliving the lives and the tragedies of his ancestors…
A part of Desmond missed it.
He didn’t want to go back. He can’t. Not after knowing everything Ezio had sacrificed. Not after knowing how Altaïr’s life ended.
Not while he wanted to make sure, to see with his own eyes, that Ratonhnhaké:ton would be alright.
But that night, while he slept in the back of the van as Shaun drove them back to the Grand Temple, he couldn’t help but miss his small studio in New York.
He couldn’t help but miss the boring nights in Bad Weather.
That was when he felt it.
Warmth.
Right next to him.
He sought it out, turning until his forehead hit someone’s back.
He opened his eyes and…
He saw Ezio’s back, the slight tremblings of his shoulders…
He saw the crest of House Auditore adorning the cape he held in his hands.
And he remembered this memory.
He remembered the words he wished he could say back then.
So he pressed his cheek against Ezio’s back and wrapped his arms around Ezio’s waist.
“It’s okay, Ezio.”
“It’s alright to cry.”
He tightened his hold on Ezio as he heard the soft muffled cries coming from the grieving man.
There were no words Desmond could offer him.
All he could offer was his warmth, the same way their warmth had comforted him.
And Desmond hoped it would be enough.
“Hey.” Rebecca gently tapped his arm and he opened his eyes with a groan. She grinned as she teased, “I don’t think you should be using that as a pillow.”
Desmond blinked, not understanding what Rebecca meant by that until…
He realized that he was hugging the box where they stored the power source they just got.
========================================
Ezio wished that it was more than just a cape.
That his reward for finding all of those feathers was… more.
It was foolish to believe that those feathers would cure his mother of her grief.
Of his own grief.
But he had to be strong.
He was the only man left in their family.
It was up to him to show the strength of House Auditore.
It was up to him to protect his mother and sister.
It was up to him to-
Ezio gripped the cape embroidered with their family crest tightly, unable to stop his shoulders from shaking.
Even if it was in the silence of his room, he couldn’t…
He shouldn’t…
He needed to be strong.
He needed to be an Auditore.
A fighter.
A-
“It’s okay, Ezio.”
Ezio froze as he felt a warmth behind him.
He was back.
The one Ezio could never see.
The one whose warmth always brought peace to Ezio…
The one who will always leave whenever Ezio turned to face him.
His words were strange and hard to understand but…
The softness of the tone…
The gentle way he wrapped his arms around Ezio and pressed his cheek against his back…
“It’s alright to cry.”
Ezio let out a muffled sob as tears finally fell from his eyes. His shoulders began to shake as he tried to silence his sobs.
He feared this moment of weakness would make him go away.
But he didn’t.
He only tightened his hold on Ezio and shared his warmth.
As Ezio openly cried for the first time since the death of his father and brothers.
========================================
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Shaun snarked as they continued to hike their way to what was supposed to be Davenport manor.
“Don’t look at me. I’m looking at a map that’s not been updated in ages.” Rebecca groaned as she looked at the map in her hands with eyes promising a slow torturous death, “‘Cause someone said we can’t use GPS.”
“It’s too risky,” Bill grunted.
“Oh? Is that also why we parked our car a couple of kilometers away instead of driving?” Shaun sarcastically asked, making Bill glare at him.
“We received word from Gavin that Abstergo has been lurking around these parts. We can’t risk them identifying the van and realizing we went to the homestead.” Bill explained with an annoyed sigh.
Desmond simply kept quiet.
He enjoyed the impromptu hike.
After being in the Grand Temple for so long, only allowed to leave when they needed him to get a power source…
This was nice.
And the forest they were in looked familiar.
He was sure he saw this forest in Ratonhnhaké:ton’s memories.
Back then…
Desmond’s breath hitched.
This wasn’t the forest near Davenport Manor.
This was the forest near Ratonhnhaké:ton’s village.
That didn’t make any sense.
That forest should be near the Grand Temple, in Turin, New York.
They were in Rockport, Massachusetts…
He was having an episode again.
And he couldn’t hear or see any of his teammates.
“Shaun, Rebecca…” Desmond called out, trying not to panic.
Even if he was having an episode, they should still see him.
They should still be able to-
There was a sound.
Desmond turned to the sound and his eyes widened.
There was someone lying on the ground.
His legs moved on their own, running towards the fallen…
It was a boy…
No.
It was…
“Ratonhnhaké:ton!” Desmond shouted as he knelt next to the unconscious boy.
“Ohshitshitshit.” Desmond panicked, seeing the cut on the boy’s head as blood fell from it furiously.
This memory…
It was the day…
The day Charles Lee and Ratonhnhaké:ton met.
Was Ratonhnhaké:ton hurt that day?
Desmond didn’t remember.
Because Ratonhnhaké:ton’s memories stopped when he lost consciousness…
Desmond looked around but all he could see were the fallen leaves around them.
Even if he was to use the leaves to stop the bleeding, Ratonhnhaké:ton might get an infection instead.
He opened his shoulder bag and grabbed the first thing he saw, forgetting he actually had a small first aid kit inside the bag because of how panicked he was (even though he should know that Ratonhnhaké:ton was going to be fine anyway). Instead, he managed to grab a clean white handkerchief that had been in the shoulder bag when Lucy gave it to him.
He didn’t even know whose handkerchief it was but it was clean.
Ratonhnhaké:ton moaned and Desmond whispered gently, “I know it hurts. Sorry.”
He held Ratonhnhaké:ton in his arms as he pressed the handkerchief against the cut on Ratonhnhaké:ton’s forehead.
“It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. Ever-” The words wouldn’t leave his lips.
He couldn’t say it.
Not when he knew what would greet Ratonhnhaké:ton when he returned to his village.
Instead, he tightened his hold on Ratonhnhaké:ton and whispered, “You’re not alone, okay?”
“You’re not alone.” Desmond whispered, “I’m here, Ratonhnhaké:ton.”
He felt Ratonhnhaké:ton move and…
“Desmond!”
Desmond turned around and his breath hitched once more as the forest around him had changed.
He was back.
He turned to look back and…
He was holding the Apple.
“Desmond?!”
“Yeah!” Desmond shouted back and quickly placed the Apple back into his hoodie. He jogged to where his teammates were calling him and found them soon enough, looking worried and…
“Where the hell were you?!” Bill demanded.
Desmond simply shrugged as he replied, “Had to take a leak.”
Rebecca let out a snort while Shaun rolled his eyes.
Desmond ignored the way Bill’s eyes silently told him that he knew Desmond was lying and said, “I think I remember where we are now.”
He pointed behind Bill, “That’s where the church used to be.”
“Oh, great. I guess we’re on the right track then.” Rebecca said with a grateful sigh.
“Let’s get going before we get mauled by cougars.”
“I don’t think they have cougars here.”
“There were in Ratonhnhaké:ton’s memories.”
“I think that was just the Animus taking ‘creative liberties’.”
“Oh, you insulting Baby huh?”
“Owowowowowow-!”
========================================
Warm.
He felt warm.
A gentle hand.
A sting of pain.
“I know it hurts. Sorry.”
Another one who spoke that language.
An enemy?
No.
He was warm.
He held Ratonhnhaké:ton gently.
Pressed something on his head.
He could feel it growing wet with his blood.
He was trying to help.
He was trying to comfort Ratonhnhaké:ton.
And all Ratonhnhaké:ton could do was try to open his eyes.
Yet his eyes would not cooperate with him.
“It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. Ever-”
The man stopped.
Ratonhnhaké:ton wanted to raise his hand.
The way he said that last word.
The sudden stop.
He was in need of comfort too.
Ratonhnhaké:ton wondered if he’d like it if Ratonhnhaké:ton was to pat his head just like his mother did sometimes to comfort Ratonhnhaké:ton.
Ratonhnhaké:ton felt the man tighten his hold on him and whisper, “You’re not alone, okay?”
“You’re not alone.”
His voice was comforting.
He was warm.
Yet he could feel the slight trembling of his arms.
The sadness in his tone.
“I’m here, Ratonhnhaké:ton.”
And Ratonhnhaké:ton wanted to tell him.
His eyes finally opened as he whispered, “I’m here too.”
And he found himself alone. He had to catch himself with his hands before he fell on his back.
He saw something white flutter to the ground.
He grabbed it and stared at it.
It was a white fabric.
Drenched in his own blood.
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