#shay cormac oneshot

[missbenzayb]

The Christmas Catch

Today's the 23rd of December, everyone went out for a holiday shopping to find a perfect gift for their family, relative, love ones, including children. However, during this Christmas season of the day is quite different for y/n. She's on their way to the spot where Shay and y/n meet up for the first time.

She pulled out the phone and opened an app called Pokemon GO while walking towards their destination. Do not worry about y/n, it is an element to look directions before crossing the street! Looking around the place is packed with people, only some are hanging out and buying presents.

As y/n arrives, Shay is already there waiting. She thought about surprising him behind the pillar that he's leaning on. She approach carefully towards him, and gave a strong press on his shoulder. Y/n got his reaction, surprised and felt relief when he saw y/n.

"Jaysus lass, you gave me a good scare! Halloween is over!" He exclaimed, she laugh a little and puts two fingers up near the face. "Well, it's a nightmare before Christmas for me! That's two points!"

Shay chuckled putting his hands in the pockets, "Let's go then, yeah?"

"Sure! Let's!"

The two walked together on the path, slight cold wind hit's y/n face. "Brr!"

"Cold?" Shay asked in concern, she look back at him with a small smile. "Yes! But I will be alright~" giving Shay an assurance, he smiled and continue to walk. The two talk for almost an hour and didn't notice the pathway is becoming not so empty.

It's only just the two of them but they're having a fun day on each other. They saw a cafe as they pass through and y/n pointed "Wanna grab a coffee or milktea? " she asked. "Yeah, I'm dying of thirst right now" Shay joked. He opened the door for y/n and the cafe looked cozy for people who are quiet and social!

They took a seat while Shay is ordering drinks. Y/n pulled out the phone and continued playing Pokemon Go as she waited. A lot of Pokemon popped out and included the shiny (fave name of your Pokemon) is located near the cafe. Excited to catch the pokemon, Shay loves to see Y/n got giddy over the phone.

What she never knew is that Shay got something for y/n but it will be a surprise later on. Shay was able to retrieve the drinks that he and y/n liked. When he return to the table, all of a sudden y/n slumped on her seat and the phone is face down. A huge sigh from her mouth, it look like it turned 100 to 10.

Shay puts down the drinks and sat. "What happened Lass? You were happy earlier and now you become glum." In concern, y/n explained and he gave a slight sad look. "Oh didnt know that's your favorite Pokemon, y/n. How long did you wait for the event in that app?" He asked. "Around Dec 1, looks like I have to wait next year, I suppose." Y/n voice sounded disappointed but not to amount.

She took a sip of her drink and helped a little bit. Only she couldn't get (fave Pokemon) and almost lost all 15 pokeballs she had in the inventory. Before anything went down Shay had one last thing to do for y/n. He stood up and rush to the door, opening it midway and looked at y/n.

"You comin' lass?" Y/n raise their eyebrow "Where are we going?"

Shay smirk playfully, "You'll see, follow me then~" Y/n grabbed their drinks and followed Shay outside. It didn't take long up to a park where there's few people hanging out. Y/n, however, hasn't seen this area yet. Shay beckons over from the bench, she walk to him and both sat beside together.

Somewhat it feels nice for y/n as she drinks. Shay turns to y/n and points at the pocket. "Check your app~"

"Huh? Which one?"

"Pokemon Go." He said. Y/n is confused and ask him, "Why? Is there something you did to the app?" It got her curious yet wasn't sure what would Shay do to it. He shakes his head and doesn't want to sound guilty. "No no no! Not that lass! " He chuckled, "Check your trading screen. "

Y/n immediately opened the Pokemon Go app, she tapped the trading icon when she saw Shay's profile asking for a trade with y/n. She pressed the yes button and the eyes lit up when she saw (fave shiny Pokemon) in the collection. She looked at Shay with disbelief yet shock, "HOW?!! How did you get it?"

"What can I say, I make my own luck!" Using his usual line at y/n. She shove him for being silly. She's still in shock and fixated to the character, Shay explained how he got it. "You were in the event and you never tell me?!" Y/n exclaimed and hits Shay by the shoulder.

"Ow! I'm sorry! Thought it would be adorable to see your reaction. I-I meant in a silly way~" his words stuttered at the end, for y/n find it hard to believe. Pouting to the side away from Shay. It's funny for him to see y/n went all 'dont talk to me, me angy' vibe, he apologies shortly. "I didn't mean to keep it hidden from you, y/n. I'm sorry"

He reaches to his pocket and on his palm is a small (fave color) box, y/n look over and sees it from his hand. "What is it?" She asked. "Take it Lass, it's for you!" Shay said with a smile, y/n didn't know he has a gift and felt bad for not getting for Shay in return. She takes it from his hand and opens it. The reaction was not even close from earlier, she gasps with tension of inhaling while looking at Shay and at the present at the same time.

What y/n received is a limited edition of Pokemon Go ring, she take in until she choked on her own spit. Shay laughed and helped y/n breath again before she even speak. "I'll- I'll make it up to you, but Shay- you shouldn't have!" Y/n was about to cry and he couldn't help but smile more.

"You kept staring at it by the window during our hangout and everytime we pass by to that shop, can't help but thinking about you and how you love that ring very much."

Y/n began to blush on how Shay remembers the ring she adore dearly since the time it announce online. "Shay, I- I don't know what to say." "May I?" As he asks for the ring. She gave it back then Shay reaches for y/n's hand and carefully puts the ring through the finger. Y/n couldn't help but looked at it for how many times.

Then she realize it quickly what Shay did. "I-" she felt the heart hammering. He chuckled, looking at y/n with a soft gaze. "I've been waiting for this moment to tell you, but I was afraid on your reaction. " He said. Y/n quickly looked at him with a tint of blush "No! Don't say that! I- was ready for this, "

She covered their face shying away their reaction, Shay couldn't help again laugh and hugged Y/n because of their adorable answer to him. "Does this means I got the Christmas Catch?" Y/n carefully putting down their hands, taking a deep breath and smiled widely at him.

"Yes!"

"And Merry Christmas Y/n!"

"Merry Christmas Shay!"

———––––––————–————

Made this Christmas One-shot for a friend of mine name AmericanPi and love Shay very much, so I thought of making this as a modern day storyline with a hint of pokemon in it! Hope you like it and (Belated) Merry Christmas! :3

[wyyvernn]

Wyy's Assassin's Creed Masterlist

Note: Excuse the Haytham brainrot yes I am very obsessed

Requests: Open but for Haytham and Shay only. I write for several reader options, including gender neutral and male readers but I mostly write with a female reader in mind. That being said, please be clear with the type of reader you want me to write for in your request!

𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

✧ ˚ · . Haytham Kenway

Vampire! Haytham - Part 1 (Headcanons)

Vampire! Haytham - Part 2 (NSFW - Headcanons)

Vampire! Haytham x Spy! Reader

Injured! Haytham x Templar! Reader

Stranded - Haytham x Templar! Reader

City Chase - Haytham x Templar! Reader

Older! Mentor! Haytham x Student! Reader (Headcanons + Oneshot)

Older! Mentor! Haytham x Student! Reader (NSFW - Fingering)

Older! Mentor! Haytham x Student! Reader (NSFW - Thigh Riding)

Older! Mentor! Haytham x Student! Reader (NSFW - Wall Sex)

Yandere! Haytham Headcanons

Haytham x NB! Reader

Haytham x Doubtful! Reader

✧ ˚ · . Shay Patrick Cormac

Shay x Catwoman! Reader

Vampire! Shay (Headcanons)

✧ ˚ · . Various

How they kiss you - Connor, Haytham, Shay, Evie, Jacob (Headcanons)

SFW Headcanons - Shay & Haytham (Bonus Poly)

[gococogo]

A Night of Christmas | Shaytham Oneshot

Synopsis: Christmas has rolled around and while Shay is out celebrating, Haytham is brooding. And it's on this night that Shay finds a little understanding on why Haytham doesn't enjoy this time of year.

Word Count: 2.8K

Genre: Angsty/Assassin's Creed Rogue

Pairing: Shay Cormac/Haytham Kenway

Other: Credit to @benkeibear for the divider. I know this is weird getting tagged in a random ass assassin's creed fic. But I hold up to the credit tag haha.

Christmas had its perks. Some bad and some… not as bad. But it’s a time that Haytham never truly celebrated. And that was something Shay found out pretty early on in being a Templar under his eye.

Every year, Shay had just found it as an accuse to drink is merry way. And it seemed like Gist did the same thing. Which was something that Shay appreciated cause the only thing he didn’t want is to be drinking alone again. Liam had given it up for his duties for the Creed. Saying that there was no time to hunker down and celebrate when there was shit happening in the world. Liam’s words, not anyone else’s.

The Greenwich tavern is lively on Christmas. The entire crew of the Morrigan is resided there. The man that owns the tavern -Stocky Dave- is a man that is greedy for money. And if there’s money to be made, Christmas is just another pay check in his books. Which means, Stocky Dave is probably the only tavern open on Christmas day. While every other owner is taking this time off to spend their night with their families or friends.

It’s hard to walk from the entrance to the bar as it is. Every single man is shoulder to shoulder and bellowing out their lungs to sing along to the out of tune piano in the corner. One of the crew members play a carol behind the janky keys, keeping everyone in tune. As best as he can. Everyone sounds like nails on a broken chalk board. In their drunken haze though they sound like angels of the heavens singing upon humanity with finely aged wine in their hands.

Gist pulls darts from the dart board with a drunken, sloppy hand. He chuckles to himself as he drops one of them, his fingers numb with ale. Shay watches him a couple of feet away, waiting for his first mate to come back with the darts. He sways where he stands, a cheeky grin upon his face as some of his crew members shove and push behind him. Some slapping him on the shoulder and others pestering in his ear.

He’s winning at darts. Against Gist, it’s not much of a challenge. His first mate thought he could best him when lost in drink. But that was his first mistake. Shay has a keen eye and even drunk as a skunk, he’s still able to hit the target. Even if he be a bit off at times, ninety percent he’s spot on.

…Lets make that eighty percent to be on the safer side.

Any other time, Shay would have told his crew members off. Told Gist that he has other matters to attend to. But it’s Christmas. And for the first time, it’s as if Haytham hasn’t got anything for them to do or any leads to go after. Which has led all of them here. Drinking and forgetting about yesterday, tomorrow and today.

Gist spews the darts into Shay’s hand, chuckling to himself as some of them fall out of his captain’s hands. One thing Shay has learnt knowing Gist. Is that the man is always sipping on his flask that he keeps inside of his coat. Leaving him smelling of whiskey at every turn. But, when the man drinks, he turns into a big child. A big man child.

With the darts Shay has, he holds one between his thumb and forefinger. He pinches one eye closed to aim down the board. But that doesn’t help the target from forming two on the wall. He thought one eye would at least get rid of the doubling up. He throws the dart, aiming in between the two hoping that somehow, he’ll get something.

The dart hits the wall with a loud thunk, nowhere near the board. He must be losing his touch tonight. Gist grabs onto the back of his shoulders and shakes him violently.

“You’ve lost, Shay! Another miss and you’ll be buying the next round!” His first mate shouts in his ear.

It’s deafening and Shay shies away from Gist. But his mate pays no attention to his discomfort. His mind is only the on round of ale that is going to be coming his way in mere seconds.

Now Shay can’t miss.

He wipes a hand down his face, feeling the sweat he smears off his brow. He didn’t realize how hot it had become in the tavern until right now. He’s sweating and can feel his shirt and vest sticking to him, coat long forgotten somewhere in the tavern. Just glad he took it off earlier tonight instead of sweating in the leather. Last thing he would want to do his to treat the coat with a massive hangover.

The two dart boards suddenly come together and Shay quickly aims with another dart. If he starts seeing double again, he’s undeniably going to be seeing the last of his coin leave his hand tonight. He aims with both eyes this time, and throws.

Bullseye.

Three men that have been watching the entire game suddenly rise in a roar of cheer. Louder than the carol being sung and only for a moment does it stutter. But it picks right up real quick after. Gist stares at the board with wide eyes before quickly composing himself. He may be a drunk, but he ain’t an angry drunk.

He holds out his hand to Shay with a cheesy grin. His captain takes it, shaking strongly. If Shay has learnt at least one thing tonight, he’s still good at darts while half a barrel in.

“I’ll grab us another round, aye!” Gist says as he’s already pushing himself through the crowd, trying to find the bar within the hoard of other drunken men.

Shay can’t help the chuckle that escapes his throat. He looks around the tavern, spotting many of his crew mingled in with others local to New York. But something catches his eye. In the front window of the tavern.

Haytham.

Haytham stands sideways looking in, inspecting the crowd that’s making the night rowdy. He’s still dressed up in his blue attire with his tricorn hat upon his head. His eyes dart from man to man like a cat watching prey. As if he had been walking past and stopped to see what all the fuss was about.

Shay’s stare is finally met with Haytham’s. The Grandmaster seems to straighten up, his eyes not leaving Shay’s. What is Haytham doing here? Is he looking for Shay? Has something come up? After that thought, Haytham moves off and out of sight.

Shay moves before he’s even thinking. He pushes through the crowd and being a large man himself, he gets through quite easily. He throws the tavern doors open and the cold air hits him in the face, shocking him. He blinks as if waking up from a dream, his eyes adjusting to his surroundings.

It’s faintly snowing. The New York street is already softly covered in a thin layer of white, giving everything a misty feel. Shay quickly spots the back of Haytham’s cloak walking under a lamp light.

“Haytham!” Shay calls out, running to the Grandmaster without thinking.

Too much ale fills his mind to think properly at this time of night. He’s lost track of what hour it is and it must be late. Or early for that matter it could be some time in the morning.

Haytham stops in his tracks under a lamp and turns to Shay, his face as flat as a day with no wind. He may show no emotion, but it’s already warning enough to tread lightly. Shay may have seen this sober, but not tonight. He stops a little too close to Haytham, the strong smell of alcohol scrunching the British man’s nose up slightly.

“What has you out tonight?” Shay asks with a grin.

 “A ponder is all.”

“A ponder out for me?” Shay steps a little closer. “I’m charmed.”

Haytham takes a large step away out of the street light. Shay straightens up suddenly, finally catching the hint. He clears his throat, taking a glance back to the tavern and around. No one is out on the street. They are either inside with their own family and friends or drinking like the rest in the tavern or little ally ways that no one stupid enough is to go down.

Shay licks his lips. “Want to join us?” He offers.

“No,” is all he gets back as blunt as an iron hammer.

Shay reaches out and grabs onto Haytham’s hand. But, unlike many a times before he’s done such a simple act, Haytham rips his own from Shay’s. The captain sobers up real quick then and there. His brows furrow and he stares at Haytham, looking for an answer. All he’s met with though is a cruel glare that Shay knows all too well.

“Like I said, I’m out for a ponder. Nothing more,” Haytham strikes back. “Not here to get drunk over a Christian holiday that marks no greater cause.”

A cord is struck inside of Shay and it hurts a slight. Something that shows clear on his face with a furrowed brow and open mouth. He wishes he could snap. Could say many a things. But this is Haytham Kenway. He cannot and should not. He keeps those angered words to himself.

“I’ll leave you be, Haytham,” Shay takes a small step aways. “I’ll see you morning come.”

With that, Shay heads back to the tavern in a sour mood hanging heavy over his head. Haytham doesn’t reply back, letting him storm back down the way he came. The rest of the night will be spent drinking in sorrow and not glee. Something that Gist catches onto straight away.

Shay gets to the bottom of his free drink of the night before he decides to call it in for Christmas. It wouldn’t even be classified as Christmas anymore since it is the next day already. That wouldn’t matter for the crew until the sun comes up over the horizon.

Alone, Shay plods home with his coat draped over his arm. His hidden blade bracers weigh heavy on his arms and heave down on his shoulders. He feels like he’s dragging his boots across the pavement with each step he takes. By God will he feel this in the morning. If any one were to sneak up on his drunk ass right now, they’d be able to get a few good hits in. So, to prevent that happening, Shay continues plodding.

Shay remembers his early years when he use to live with his aunt. It wasn’t for long, but he got a good few Christmas’s with her. The first one, it hadn’t been too long after his father had passed out at sea. It was the first time that Shay had felt some sort of happiness after those events. Liam had come to visit but he wasn’t there for long. It was just him and his aunt. It was a mellow day, sat around the fire place keeping warm. Yet, it is a memory to a hold tight on. A moment that pops up every time around this time of year.

Somehow, Shay arrives at the bridge to Fort Arsenal unharmed. He huffs as he opens the gates that creak loudly in the night. It scratches at his ears and nearly all of Greenwich would have heard. He locks it behind him and makes his way to the manor.

The front door opens with ease.

Shay lets the door open by itself as he blinks once, twice and thrice. He knows he locked it. He steps in with hesitance and gives a quick sweep of the manor. The fire place is lit, crackling and burning bright as if it’s been eating at the wood for an hour or so.

Haytham sits on the lounge in front of the fire with his hands twinned in front of him. He stares at the fire in his own world, the light flickering over his hardened features. He doesn’t look to Shay or even acknowledge his arrival.

His hat has been placed on the table in front of him and his coat hangs next to Shay’s head at the entrance. He’s made himself at home and waiting like a house wife. Waiting for Shay to get back from his long trip away at sea. Or, waiting for him to get back home from his long day at work. It almost feels like that to Shay, but he can’t help but feel like a child coming home to his aunt waiting to discipline him for being out too late.

Without a word, Shay sits down on the far end of the same lounge from Haytham. He looks into the fire, wanting to see what has Haytham so interested. A coal pops and a half burnt log falls into the ashes. Like fireflies, coal spews up into the chimney.

“Have you ever had a proper Christmas?” The question slips through ale soaked lips.

A silence follows that is filled with thought. Haytham breathes in heavily and releases it with a sigh.

“I don’t think I have,” Haytham admits.

Shay looks to him softly with a better understanding of him. Maybe not much. But those few words are much more than he would have offered to anyone else in the Order or in the street.

“Not even when you were a youngling?” Shay prods.

A lost look comes to Haytham as the fire dances in his eyes. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“If we had, I was far too young to remember.”

A lie. But one that Shay won’t nudge at. He only hums in reply and looks to the fire a moment more. His eyes droop and his attention wavers as tiredness washes over him like waves. If he stays here any longer, he’ll fall asleep.

With a huff, Shay stands to his feet and walks a couple of steps before stopping. All so that he’s standing on the other side of Haytham.

“Would you like to join me for bed?” Shay asks with a short, outstretched hand.

Haytham finally looks at him, staring to the hand in front of him. The smallest of smiles itch at his lips as he shakes his head just as lightly.

“I won’t join a man that smells as if he’s fallen into a barrel of ale,” Haytham declares with a queer tone.

Shay can’t blame the man. He wouldn’t want to either. Not sober nor even a little tipsy. And he doesn’t think Haytham would get pissed drunk just to join him in bed to help aid his own hangover in the morning.

Instead, Shay leans down heavily with a hand on the arm rest and gives Haytham a soft kiss on the cheek. One that Haytham leans into ever so faintly with closed eyes.

With unspoken words, Shay calls in for the night. All while Haytham recalls his own first Christmas in front of the burning fire. His first Christmas with his father that he can proudly remember.

T’was early in the morning when Jenny had batted him over the face with a pillow. Shouting in his face that Christmas had arrived. That all he was getting was coal in his stockings this year. Haytham had shouted and protested that he had been good. Had raced down the stairs to prove his half sister wrong.

He remembers his father standing by the fire place. He can’t remember his face now. Long blurred and forgotten by events that would take a couple of years later. But he does remember the wide grin that wrinkled his eyes. A smile that made Haytham’s heart bloom something warm.

That day, his father had gifted him something so dear. A model ship. His own model ship that Haytham had kept in his room. Looked upon each night before he fell asleep. Wondered what it would be like to sail out to sea on such a thing. Have the breeze in his hair and the salt on his lips. What an innocent thought for such a young boy.

One that went up in flames like the model ship. One long forgotten until days like this. When everyone around would cheer and celebrate such a wholesome day. Haytham could only sit and think about the what ifs. What if he had sailed, something akin to the freedom that Shay has now. What if he had become the man his father would adore into his adult hood. What if he could remember his father’s face one last night. Not out of shame or pity. But one out of pride and joy.

Only if…

[demigoddessqueens]

I love haytham so much. Please could I request a oneshot of the reader being shays sister and inducted into the Templar at the order at the same time and used to be an assassin as well. As soon as she meets haytham she starts to have a crush but doesn’t think he’ll be interested in her romantically ever but a few meetings later he all of a sudden asks her to go to ball with him as he finds her intriguing. Please could it be quite fluffy, thank you and have a great day 💙

Sure thing!

Oh Haytham, how you deny your feelings

He had been watching you for the time, keeping a keen interest in your tactical skills and knowledge of the Brotherhood. At least, that’s what Haytham kept rationalizing to himself.

Always the ever cold and calculating man, Haytham was dedicated to his life’s work for the Templar Order. There was a time when he let those ivory walls down for one, but clearly something as precious was never meant to be his again.

Yet how could he have been so blind?? And by curiosity no less!! Yes, he knew you were Cormac’s sister. Found abandoned and inducted into the Templars the same night as Shay was, and he was so drawn to you. Just as similar as your brother, yet a scathing personality of your own. The quick glances shot his way were not lost on Haytham.

He couldn’t deny the budding interest for you, but you thought otherwise. Any moment you wanted to spend with him was met with the basic cold politeness that was given to everyone. It wouldn’t hurt so much if you didn’t have this longing within your heart. Still, it seemed better to just let it go unsaid.

That all changed one evening with Haytham’s proposition. It was an assignment for you to track down a target that used to be allied with the Brotherhood, and to your surprise, he insisted it be you two. Just you two.

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you hung onto every word and instruction he gave you.

“For the record, Ms. Cormac, this will be strictly just for work—no distractions no matter how the scene, or people, might look for this ball.”

You scoffed lightly, inching close to his ear as you left to make the preparations for the evening.

“With all due respect to you, Haytham, I’d like to see you stand by that when I’m in the dress.”

[thero0ks]

In the Flesh <Shay Cormac>

Another work I forgot to transfer from AO3. Please enjoy <3

Autumn leaves floated on the surface of the river. Her elbows were pressed into her knees, and her nose was buried in a book. Songbirds called to each other, and the soft turning of the pages blended together into a peaceful melody. Her training schedule had been hectic, and preparation for winter at the homestead had taken up most of her free time. It was times like these that she coveted. Solitude, nature, and a good book seemed to always call out to her.

She could be the worst assassin at times. Completely oblivious to her surroundings, and completely engrossed in what she was doing. It was her Achilles' heel, and he knew it. His feet were silent as he crept up the path, taking extra care to avoid the crunchy orange leaves that littered the forest floor. He hesitated studying his target. Her posture was relaxed on the marble bench at the edge of the river. The cowl of her assassin robes were pulled down, and her (d/l) hair was unbound floating in the crisp breeze. As he crept closer he was engulfed in her scent, his eyes fluttered shut for a moment taking in her comforting scent. It reminded him of home, a place that he thought was lost forever. His dark eyes narrowed on his target, and he couldn’t help but grin as he launched himself at her. His hands were quick to find her sides, the tips of his fingers squeezing into soft flesh.

She let out a surprised squeak her body tensing, before letting out uncontrollable laughter. “Sh-Shay.” She managed to choke out between giggles. “Stop!” She shrieked. His attacks finally seized, and he wrapped his arms around her waist resting his chin on her shoulder, “What are you reading lass?”

“That is none of your business Mr. Cormac.” She said with a blush.

His eyes lit up reaching for the novel in her hands. He was quick to snatch it up before she could stop him. “Pamela?” He asked flipping through some of the pages. “A romance book?” He asked quirking an eyebrow as he took a seat on the bench next to her. “I didn’t know you were a hopeless romantic.” He said giving her shoulder a nudge.

“I’m not!” She said reaching for the book, which Shay seemed determined not to give back. “Hope said she liked it, so she lent it to me.”

Shay sprawled across the bench laying his head in her lap, book open to the page she was on. He cleared his throat and began to read out loud, leaving her red faced and embarrassed. After a couple of pages he stopped glancing up at her, “(Y/N) this is an awful book. Are you going to make me read this whole thing?”

She scoffed, “I never asked you to read it. You took that upon yourself, but I see what you mean. It’s even worse hearing it then it is reading it.”

Shay dropped the book, “what’s this sudden interest in romance novels?”

“You aren’t going to drop this are you?” She inquired with a roll of her eyes. He frowned, “humor me. I’m just curious.”

It occurred to her some time ago that he always managed to get her to inadvertently admit things that he didn’t want to be the first to say. He had a knack for convincing her to share her secrets with him, and he always seemed interested in what was going on in her mind. She was never the kind to open up, but if someone asked she would answer truthfully. Her heart was an open book for those willing to ask. “As you know I am a woman.” She began.

“Shocking.” Shay said dryly.

“Eventually, I would like to find someone…” She said rubbing the back of her neck. “Or maybe not, I don’t know. I guess I’m curious?” She continued to ramble.

“Wait, you mean to tell me you’ve never been with a man in any way?” He asked looking up at her, causing the woman to blush.

“I never said that!” She said folding her arms across his chest.

“You didn’t need to.” Shay said with a chuckle. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He added.

“Regardless, my life isn’t exactly relationship material.” (Y/N) simply said, “but I can read about people who are in the position for such things.” She said simply.

“Maybe you just need someone who leads a similar life.” Shay said softly.

**

“He’s dead.” Liam’s voice echoed snapping her back to reality. “Shay is dead (Y/N).” He repeated trying to solidify the statement in her mind.

“Dead? How? When?” She asked. Her knees felt weak, and the world seemed to shake at it’s very core.

“He defected. He’s a traitor.” Liam said once more. He was being extremely blunt with her as if she should take his words as solid facts. “One of our fellow brothers, who shall remain nameless shot him.”

Her eyes widened turning on Liam instantly. For a moment her grief was transformed into rage. “Who the fuck shot him?” She asked shoving Liam against the wall.

“For his safety, and your sanity he shall remain anonymous. Now I would suggest you back down and return to your duties immediately.” Liam hissed.

With shaking hands she released him. Liam would not divulge any more information. He’d mentored her enough times for her to know how his mind worked. She spun around leaving the homestead behind her. Her mind was foggy, and emotions crashed about inside her like a sea during a storm. The marble bench by the river had a blanket of snow covering it. Bare fingered she managed to brush it off. Her whole body was numb, so she didn’t even feel the ice biting into her flesh. She collapsed onto the bench burying her face in her hands. Salty tears came quick, and sobs wracked her body. Her best friend was gone, and she’d never gotten to say goodbye.

* **

“Quicker on your feet!” Liam hollered to some novices across the yard. His eyes flickered back to the (p/c/l) figure in front of him. “Your stance is wrong. If someone twice your size swings at you they’ll break through your defense instantly.” He said placing his hands on her hips to adjuster her stance. His fingers lingered on her hip as his other hand adjusted the position of her sword. She knew what he was doing, but she hadn’t been able to conclude if he was ordered to do it as a distraction or if he was genuinely interested in her. Maybe his conscience was clear since his best friend was labeled a traitor, and was currently six feet under.

They ran through the drill until Liam felt the stance came naturally to her. She was placing a practice sword on the rack when Liam’s brogue startled her, “(Y/N). I wish to speak with ye.” She turned to face him giving him her full attention. “I know I’m your mentor, but I wanted to ask you something more personal.” He said softly looking down at the path as they walked. Her eyes widened, and her heart sped up. She knew where this conversation was going, and she’d been dreading it. “It seemed wrong at the time to say anything. You were a novice, and I was one of your mentors. Shay seemed pretty taken with ye, so I never pushed the matter.” He said stopping turning to face her. His hands quickly found hers gripping them for some sense of comfort, or support. “You’re beautiful.” He said earnestly leaning towards her. “I want you to join me in Virginia. I could be your only mentor from now on, and some time at sea together may do us both good.” He rambled on his eyes flickering up to her (e/c) gaze.

“Liam I-” but she was cut off by an Assassin.

“Sir! Kesegowaase is dead!” The rider declared handing him a sealed envelope. “There’s been reports that Shay Cormac has murdered him.”

Liam growled, “dammit! Dammit all to hell!” His thumb popped open the wax seal as his eyes scanned the letter. “That fucking traitor!”

“Shays alive?” Her voice seemed distant. The shock of the news was still seeping in.

“The Shay you knew is dead.” Liam said shaking his head. “Dammit, he’s overtaken one of the forts in New York. Achilles and Hope need to know. Come, you may be getting another promotion soon.” Liam said leading her towards the manor.

Achilles and Hope did not take the news well. (Y/N) found herself seated at a table watching the three debate the best course of action. “Perhaps we could draw him out?” Hope suggested her eyes flickering over to the (p/c/l) woman.

Liam frowned shaking his head, “he’ll be expecting that. Once he sees her he’ll be immediately on guard, or he’ll kill her.”

Hope tisked, “you boys still aren’t over that feud? Shay is obviously a traitor, you don’t have to worry about losing (Y/N) to him. Shay will know this, but I think we both know that he will try his damndest to win her over.” Hope said simply. “Men aren’t that complicated Liam.” She said flicking auburn locks over her shoulder.

(Y/N) sat up in her seat at the discussion. There were a lot of assumptions flying around the room about her, Shay, Liam, and her relationship with the two. She was about to interject, but stopped herself. It dawned on her that this may be the only opportunity she would get to learn the truth. If she could just speak to Shay she would know. Hope, Liam and Achilles hadn’t been entirely truthful regarding the events of Shay’s disappearance. Liam appeared to know that Shay was alive. How long had he known? Why didn’t he want her to know that Shay was still alive? She couldn’t escape the feeling that they were hiding something from her, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

“I think Hope’s right.” (Y/N) said making up her mind.

Liam raised his eyebrows at her statement. “I think I can draw him out. He’ll know if I bring others with me.” She added glancing around the room. “Liam’s right. He’d expect that, but Hope’s right too. Shay would expect me to try and find him. I’m sure he’s aware that news of him has spread to the brotherhood. I know he’d speak with me.” She said giving Liam’s hand a squeeze in an attempt to convince him her actions were innocent.

Liam squeezed her hand back, “so you’ll go…to Virginia with me?” Hope filled his eyes, and she was tempted to look away, ashamed of her lie.

“Yes, of course. After New York.” She said offering him a smile.

* **

New York was bustling with activity. Blending into crowds was an easy task for (Y/N). She made her way to the docks. The Morrigan had disappeared from the homestead, and (Y/N) assumed that this was the best place to look for Shay. The man wouldn’t wander too far away from his beloved ship. The docks seemed endless. She must have read the name of fifty different ships, but still no Morrigan.

Shay peaked around the corner of a ship. Her back was to him as her eyes scanned the docks. He’d managed to search the perimeter, and he was able to confirm that she was alone. She hadn’t changed much. Still completely oblivious to his predatory gaze. He was directly behind her when he finally spoke up, “looking for me lass?”

She jumped at his voice, but something inside her eased at the recognition of his voice. Her shoulders started to shake, and she knew there was no use in trying to stop the tears that pooled in her eyes. She slowly turned to face him, “you’re really alive. You’re not a ghost?” She stated gazing up at him. He could see the tears collecting on her long lashes and streaking down her face.

“Aye, it’s me. In the flesh.” He said with a simple nod of confirmation.

“You look...different.” She said eyeing his robes, and she noticed the blood red cross on his chest. Her eyes flickered up to his dark lidded eyes. “It suits you.” She said quietly.

He took a step towards her closing the distance between the two. His arms wrapped around her pulling her to him. He knew she’d spill whatever was on her mind when she felt safe, and he wasn’t wrong in his assumption.

“Shay everything is wrong. Liam told me you were a traitor, and that you were dead. I'm pretty sure Achilles, Hope and Liam aren't telling me the whole truth." Her voice was muffled in his coat. "And I think Liam's in love with me."

Shay froze at her last sentence, "Liam is in love with you?"

"I think; he wants to mentor me, and go to Virginia with him." She said, and her eyes widened at what she had just said. She quickly pulled away from Shay. "Shit! I shouldn't have told you that."

"Lass I think you need to sit down and calmly explain what's going on." He said observing her wide eyes and obsessive pacing. "Come on lass." He said putting his arm around her leading her across the docks. Fort Arsenal was close. He studied her out of the corner of his eye as he lead her to the fort. His heart still fluttered at the sight of her, and she still felt like home. He was worried she'd hate him, but he could see the internal conflict within her.

He lead her into the fort sitting her down in front of the fire. He shoved a glass of whiskey in her hand. "Drink this lass. It'll help." He said sitting next to her. He didn't try to speak until she finished the glass.

"Shay, what happened? I came home from my mission and Liam told me you were dead. He said that you were a traitor." Her eyes flickered down once more to the cross on his chest.

Shay sighed running his hand down his face, "I went to Lisbon, and found the precursor sight. When I touched it, it triggered an earthquake. It was a repeat of Haiti. Thousands of people died. All because of me." His gaze flickered to the fire. He couldn't bare to see her reaction. "I told Achilles what happened, and he refused to stop meddling with the precursor sights, so I attempted to steal the manuscript, and you know the rest."

He heard the thump of glass on the mahogany table and the shuffling of feet. "Shay, .Lisbon wasn't your fault. You didn't know." She said softly gripping his hands in hers. She was kneeling in front of him looking up at him.

"Do you love him?" Shay asked his gaze smoldering in the firelight.

"No, it's always been you." She said softly. Shay didn't hesitate to capture her lips in a kiss. He'd thought of this moment often, he'd imagined it in a hundred different ways, but nothing compared to this. His fingers tugging her closer, so that she was in his lap. Her fingers expertly pulling on his dark locks creating a pleasant sensation. He picked her up carrying her across the room letting her back hit the feather mattress. Her long lashes framed pupils blown with lust that gazed up at him with nothing but trust. He smoothed back her (h/c), "do you trust me?" He inquired searching her eyes for any doubt.

She nodded pulling him down by the lapels of his jacket and whispered, "always" against his lips.

* **

She awoke to the warm sun on her bare back. She gave a tentative stretch feeling a pleasurable soreness in her body. She rolled over to find the bed empty. She climbed out of the bed creeping across the floorboards hearing low voices echo through the fort. She turned to find a note on the bedside table.

Early morning meeting. I'll be back around ten. Yours, Shay

She grabbed a light blanket at the end of the bed wrapping it around her shoulders peeking out the window. It couldn't be past eight. Her robes were scattered across the mahogany floor, which she promptly ignored. She found a kettle and placed it over the fire taking a seat. She didn’t know if returning to the homestead was an option after last night. Hope had spies all over the city. She wasn’t a fool, and neither was Shay. Someone saw them enter Fort Arsenal, and she could guarantee that someone had been posted outside the stronghold all night to see if she left the fort. Which she hadn’t, so there were only two conclusions the brotherhood would come to: she was killed, or she defected. Hope would assume the latter, and Liam? Who knew. She could most likely convince him she was held prisoner from questioning, but the rest of the brotherhood wouldn’t trust her. The whistling of the kettle snapped her from her thoughts. She took the kettle off the fire busying herself with making a pot of tea.

* **

It was a little past ten when Shay got back. The pessimistic part of him worried she’d be gone, but his heart told him she stayed. He was eager to see her and possibly repeat the events from last night. He found her seated in front of the fire, deep in thought. “I was worried you’d left.” He said snapping her back to reality.

She quirked an eyebrow, “if I recall I’m the one who woke up alone.”

He chuckled giving her temple a kiss, “I left a note.” His hand giving her bare arm a rub. “I’m yours for the rest of the day.” He said pressing a kiss to her neck his stubble scratching the delicate skin.

“Shay..” She said softly, “we need to talk.”

Shay froze. He knew this conversation was coming, but he hadn’t been prepared for it to come so soon. He was hoping to enjoy her a little more before she left, but he understood the predicament she was in. The predicament he put her in. He rocked back on his heels using the momentum to stand. He took a seat in the chair opposite of her. Her bottom lip was glossy, and he knew she’d been anxiously biting it all morning. A habit she’d had since he met her.

“I realize the position I’m in.” She began her fingers playing with the ends of the blanket that was draped around her. “I am not a fool. I know Hope has spies in the city, I know we were followed, and I didn’t return to the bureau last night. To the brotherhood I’ve defected.” Her voice grew soft at the end. “I suppose in a way I have. I lied to Liam and Hope. They expected me to kill you, and I knew that I wouldn’t.” She hesitated, “a lot of people put their trust in me and I’ve betrayed them.” She groaned burying her head in her hands, “I’m going to fucking hell.”

He cursed, “Shite lass. This is my fault, I should have turned you away immediately. As soon as I saw you I had hope that someone didn’t completely turn on me. Then when you mentioned Liam I got angry, and jealous. I thought maybe he’d gotten to you too, and the thought of you loving him killed me, but when you told me you still cared for me I had to have you.” He confessed gripping her hands in his. “I’ve wanted you for so long, and it was selfish of me, but I’ll never regret last night. Even if you chose to leave.”

“After last night I have no desire to return to the homestead.”

A smile bloomed across Shay’s face, “you’re staying lass?”

“If you’ll have me.” She said kissing the tip of his nose.

He pulled her into a bone crushing hug, his thumb smoothing her hair. “I thought you were going to tell me I’d lost you forever.” He said nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck.

“I lost you once Shay. Never again.” She said kissing the top of his head.

“I love you lass.” Shay murmured against her neck.

Her heart eased at those four words. For once he’d been the first to confess. She’d heard him express it in a million different little ways, but his confession did not leave any room for doubt. Her fingers trailed his back as she uttered, “I love you too.

___

Tag List:

@jstar1992  @pink-polarfox

[thetemplarscreed]

Comfortable Moments of Silence

Summary: Never once have I hesitated in killing any of these women and men. The task has formed me into the shell of a man I once was. I am a stone cold killer… or so I thought I was. Today is the day I hesitate.

Word count: 14, 605

Link to work on AO3 ~  https://archiveofourown.org/works/25556491

I reach the end of the trail. The air is still, and I am a hunter.

Winter strikes New York. The tops of the buildings are covered in white, making the entire city look like a new world. People are scurrying about, seeking shelter in the nearest tavern or shop while the blizzard rages on. There is no one on the streets.

As I look around, the insides of establishments provide an entirely different life of their own. I see people happily dancing and drinking in the taverns without a care in the world. I see townsfolk hurrying their children into their shared homes to protect them from the harsh outside world. Behind me, the sun sets, attempting to push its last rays out for the people to see them, only to be blinded by the howling fury of the storm. Fighting fire with fire. Nature versus nature; it is the cycle of life.

Master Kenway assigned me a task yesterday. A new gang has established its stronghold in Stuyvesant’s Farm, the Grandmaster said. Take them down, and make sure they never even think of laying foot in New York. A simple task, really. This is something that I’ve done since years ago, after leaving the Brotherhood behind. Blow up the poison vats; kill the gang leader; burn down the Assassin flag; hand over the institution to the British regulars. It seems more like a laundry list than anything at this point.

A good time to strike the Assassin stronghold would be now, but the blizzard makes it ever more so difficult. I will seek refuge in my home and strike at the crack of dawn. Pulling my coat tighter around my shoulders, I begin my journey to Greenwich.

Stinging. My cheeks are stinging as are the tips of my toes and fingers and the entirety of my body. Winters in the east are entire monsters of their own. Though I’ve lived in New York for all of my life, I still find immense difficulty in fighting against the final months of the year. I feel patches of ice forming on my face despite having pulled up my mask. I feel a mock sense of frostbite assaulting my body even while wearing three layers of leather, cotton, and wool. At this point it may as well be real frostbite. Home is only a few blocks away, I reassure myself.

Hush. Hush. Hush. Whispers. I hear whispers. Through the howl of the blizzard and the whipping of the wind, I hear an ever faint sound ringing in my ears. Hush, the sound says. It’s all too familiar. Those damned Assassins are after me again, sending their foot soldiers to catch me off guard. They’ll never succeed. I’ve killed them like flies. Where could this one be, I muse to myself. I stop in my tracks and focus my vision, honing on the haystack a few meters to my right, the rooftops above me, and the vegetation to my left. There you are, little rabbit. A bright red outline catches my attention. It is a woman, as usual. It still perplexes me why the mentor would send lasses out to kill me. I can see the smirk on her face. She thinks she has gotten me. I don’t blame her; if I am her I’d be just as smug. She doesn’t know that I can see her, so I continue strolling down the alley to entice her.

A loud “I’ve gotcha now!” joins the screaming wind as the young woman drops from above the skies. Before she can even land on me, I’ve blocked her attack, using my leg to knock her tiny form over. The lass scrambles onto her feet with a look of surprise slightly obscured by her locks. She gasps in shock as she tries to stand, only to slip on the snow-covered ground. I flick out my blades and position myself into an offensive stance. She slips once again and I take the opportunity to run at her and sink my blade into her flesh.

I charge towards the Assassin, hidden blades ready and all. Just as I am about to end her life, she covers her face with her arms. Suddenly, I stop. What is that on her arm? Momentum, however, was not on my side, as I fall on the woman by mistake and slash my blade across her arm. The lass emits a blood curdling scream which was drowned by the blizzard. Red. Red drips down her arms. Red stains my leather uniform. Red covers my vision. Immediately, I press on the lass’s arm, trying to apply direct pressure to stop as much of the bleeding as possible. She is fading away. Her breath is becoming more and more labored as her eyelids begin to flutter close. Her groans are not stopping.

“Fuck,” I mutter to myself, as I remove her grey shawl and use it as a makeshift pressure bandage. After carefully tightening the cloth around her arm, I pick her up and sprint towards home. After running for a minute or so I spot the familiar gardens of the fort. Once I reach the door, I kick it open and immediately bring the woman to my chambers, where I place her gently on my bed. I have to cauterize the wound before she bleeds to death. I reach below the bed for the medical kit then rush to collect a basin of freshwater and a fireplace stoke. Blood spews all over the white covers as I remove the now crimson-stained shawl. My bed is painted in a vibrant red color, like a blood sunrise. The woman groans in pain continually as her eyes close.

I tear a piece of her golden dress and gag her mouth. “This is gonna hurt,” I say quietly, more to myself than to her. In her state of delirium, she couldn’t possibly hear a word of what I say or even fight back if she wants to. I immediately place the burning hot stoke onto the lass’s blood-drenched arm. A scream tears through the night, louder than the one from before. A scream of a thousand people, more like. Suddenly, I felt the familiar sense of guilt wash over me: just like in Lisbon. I remind myself, however, that this is for a different cause.

Buildings crashing and burning, people screaming and running for their lives, waves threatening to engulf the city. It is all too real. I can feel the perspiration forming at the nape of my neck. Why does it feel so real? Why is it so difficult to breathe? Why are the walls closing in on me, the room getting smaller and smaller? I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, mentally reminding myself that those are merely figments of the past, that those events happened years ago.

The smell of burning flesh draws me away from my nightmarish thoughts. They help me focus on the woman. It is working; the wound is sealing. The blood, though staining almost the entirety of her torso now, is ceasing and drying. I remove the stoke and throw it into the fireplace before preparing the stitches. By now, the lass is unconscious, the pain having been too much for her form to handle. I place two of my fingers against her neck trying to find a pulse; a gentle but slow throbbing indicates that she is indeed alive. At least it would be easier to perform the operation.

A few hours, several stitches, crimson garments, and an unconscious woman later, I finally get to rest. I place her soiled clothes at the corner of the room. I will burn them tomorrow. For now, I must use the little hours of the night left to recover and prepare for the attack on the Assassin stronghold in the morning. I leave the lass to “sleep” on my bed as I have no qualms about taking the couch for the short night. Her silent, breathing form is so much different from the terrified and screaming one from earlier. I feel a sense of calm washing over me from simply watching her in this fugue state.

Some hair sticks to her forehead; I push it out of the way so it would not obscure her face. I do not bother changing my clothes as I walk to my living room. I sit on the sofa and release a sigh. Outside, the storm rages on, the wind causing a few tree branches to scrape against the window. It is nights like these that make me feel trapped. I am nothing but an ant in this big, cruel world. Yet, the presence of the young woman in the room next door says otherwise. This woman is like an anchor. She is subconsciously telling me that I have a duty, a purpose.

I normally defend myself quite well against these Assassin Stalkers, as they’ve been sent after me by the Brotherhood for the better half of several years now. Never once have I hesitated in killing any of these women and men. The task has formed me into the shell of a man I once was. I am a stone cold killer… or so I thought I was. Today is the day I hesitate.

The hunt has taken me to the forgotten edges of this world. Seasons pass, drawing me deeper into darkness, where I have found the truth.

Silence. Not a sound rings through my home. The quietness is unnerving compared to the cacophony from the night before. I lazily open my eyes and wipe away the grogginess. Taking a glance out the window, I see a faint glow of pink. The sun is trying to reach out once again. Nature reminds me that I must prepare for my mission. My feet, however, drag me into my chambers. Go check on the lass, my head tells me. And I do just that.

On my bed sleeping soundly is the girl. Her breathing remains the same as last night, not labored but not too slow. I check the wound; it has sealed properly, but in its place is a nasty scar stretching from her elbow to her wrist. A reminder of the night she tried to kill one of the most notorious Templars and turncoats known to the Assassin Brotherhood. A reminder of the night when she almost died, only to be saved by the enemy. I carefully reach over her body and for her hands. Her hands are delicate in their own unique way. Each ring finger contains the bleeding insignia of the Assassin’s Creed. The burn from the initiation is still fresh. Without time to waste, I leave the comfort of the fort.

The air is still. The silence pays kindness to me as it helps me clear my thoughts. I have to be focused in order to successfully take down the gang. Yet, my mind wanders back to the lass. Why would they send someone fresh out of novice training after me? After a man who has spent nearly a decade of his life training with and against both forces? Judging by her looks, the lass is probably four or five years my junior. Judging from her technique, however, she is decades behind my skill level. A fresh recruit taken in and sheltered from the evils of the outside world.

Before I know it I have already reached the border of Stuyvesant’s Farm and Greenwich. The stronghold is nowhere in sight. I’ll have to get to higher ground. Using the convenient rift next to the side of a worn-down apartment, I catapult myself on top of the building. There it is: the stronghold. The smoke from the hideout blends into the early morning glow of New York. Using my vision, I find that there are guards still on night shift: ten of them to be exact, all dressed in the same apricot uniforms. I can’t seem to find their leader yet; however, the snipers are still perched in their nests protected by the guard dogs on the ground floor. Behind the snipers is the flagpole and underneath that is the storage for the poison vats.

First, I will take out the snipers so as to not raise awareness. Then, I’ll destroy the poison reserves to create a distraction to lure out their cowardly leader. Finally, I’ll kill the sorry bastard and tear down their filthy flag. It’s all routine. I take a Leap of Faith and land in the pile of snow at the foot of the apartment. I have to keep a distance from the perimeter, or else the dogs will detect me.

No matter how many times I’ve rid New York of gang activity, I never tire of cutting down a gang’s flag. It is a symbol of failure. Of the dilution of the Assassins. One less gang means that the city will flourish. Before climbing down the flagpole, I take in the glory of post-storm New York on a grey winter’s morning. From atop, the city looks beautiful. The clouds are free flowing as the smoke from the Assassin hideout has been snuffed by the fallen flag. I see miles upon miles of buildings, all covered in white. Civilians are opening their shops as the day begins. I smile to myself as I jump down.

A squadron of the King’s men arrive at the entrance of the stronghold all wearing their red colors proudly. Their captain approaches me with his hand extended. The captain, powdered wig and all, firmly shakes my hand, “So you’re the soldier Colonel Monro wouldn’t shut up about, eh? Mr. Shay Cormac?”

“That’d be me, aye,” I respond. He should not be speaking so nonchalantly about Monro like that.

The captain gives a firm nod, “Well, I haven’t seen the city prosperin’ this well ‘fore your ‘rival. These gangs have been the goddamn bloody blight of New York.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Captain…?”

“Smith.”

“Smith. Captain Smith,” the soldiers around these parts know me quite well since their colonel and I had been so close, “well, sir, before I head on out, mind if I take a look at my organization’s funds?”

“O’ course not, sir,” Captain Smith says, “right this way, Mr. Cormac.” He leads me to an underpass where I spot a chest full of coins and silver sitting atop a mahogany desk. I thank the captain before heading over to check on the Order’s funds. With over fifty-thousand pounds and counting, it’s safe to say that the Order is more than capable. Before I leave, I take a quick glance around the compound to make sure no one is watching me. I withdraw a few hundred pounds. They wouldn’t suffer if I were to take just a fraction of the money.

In truth, I didn’t take the money for my own personal pleasures. I have all of the funds that I need for basic survival through industrial renovations in the coast and the frontier. What I did need, though, is extra petty coin to buy proper clothes and medical supplies for the lass. I wonder how she is doing. Hopefully she has not awoken yet… it would be quite a shock for her to discover her residence at a Master Templar’s home; the girl would probably go into shock again.

I leave the now British-controlled compound and make my way to the nearest tailor. New York is known for its fine fashion industry, most of the fabric materials having come from mass illegal trading behind the British Empire’s back. With the ongoing struggles of the conflicts against the French and natives, the British have been increasingly neglecting their trading children, allowing for the colonists to freely barter with foreign nations and not having to worry about interference.

After a good five minutes walk, I finally find a tailor who specializes in women’s clothing. I enter the establishment cautiously. An elderly woman wearing a clean, blue-checkered dress and white shift stands behind a counter with a welcoming smile on her face. Her eyes light up when they see me; I assume she is eager for more guests. I return her contagious smile and approach the desk.

The woman speaks with a Scottish lilt that even Robert the Bruce would be envious of, “‘Ello, dearie! What would you be needin’ today?”

“Good mornin’, madame,” I greet her, “do you happen to have anyone available to craft a pair of trousers and a blouse fitted for a lass about my age?”

The old woman gives me a puzzling look. I don’t blame her. It’s not often that anyone sees women wearing trousers.

“Well, aye, actually, we do ‘ave some people who can work on that for you, love,” the woman says, “but, I do ‘ave a query: why on Earth would any lass want to wear that?”

“She’s a special one, I suppose,” I say before I can even stop myself.

Rather than interrogating me further, the old woman simply smiles, “That’s mighty kind o’ you to consider yer woman’s own style of clothes, dearie. She must be a real important lass to you.”

I remain silent at her comment while awkwardly pulling out the bag of coins.

“How much would it cost to get it finished in, say, two hours from now?” I ask the woman.

“You in a rush, dearie?” the old woman chuckles, “I’d normally charge for less, but considerin’ that prices are droppin’ due to the bloody war… I’d say that the job’s worth seventy-five shillings.”

I remove the exact amount of money from the bag of coins and place it in her bony hands. The woman gleefully takes it and places it in a metal safe behind the counter. After storing the money away safely, she turns to me, “They’ll be finished with yer lass’s clothes in two hours time, love. Thank you for stoppin’ by!”

“The pleasure’s all mine, madame,” I bow, before leaving the shop. Well, that’s one thing off the list. I take a look at the liveliness of the city and begin my journey back to Fort Arsenal. Again, my mind wanders back to the girl. A recruit fresh out of training like her has no means to be sent out to assassinate one of the most dangerous Templars. Thinking back at her hands, I subconsciously remove my own leather gloves. My hands feel naked without the usual garments protecting them. The cold weather immediately attacks my exposed palms and fingers causing a shiver to run through my entire body. I run my hands over the scars on each of my fourth fingers, the exact same burn marks that the lass has, the only difference being her’s were fresh while mine were forged ten years ago.

I finally reach the front door of my home, the all-too-familiar establishment staring back at me. I take a deep breath before entering, opening and closing the door as gently as possible so as to not wake up the girl. After removing my boots and weapons and unstrapping the belts on my coat, I slowly enter my chambers, where the lass should be resting.

I release a sigh as I spot a familiar form still in the same position from the previous night and this morning. Her eyes and lips are both closed; she is sleeping peacefully. I notice, however, that her cheeks have a reddish tint to them. I approach her and gently place my naked palm against her forehead and then against her cheeks. She is burning. Her body temperature causes a nasty contrast between both of our skins.

“Shite, lass,” I curse. It is no surprise that she would catch a fever after that attack. The rusting of my blade is more than likely the cause of the infection. Luckily with the extra funds (and the extra time), I can find her a doctor. Once again, I prepare for another journey: this time, to the nearest doctor’s office.

“Give her these for the next few weeks and she will recover in no time,” the stout and portly physician orders as he hands me a large vial of foul-smelling amber liquid, “remember: her body can only handle small teaspoons every few hours. Giving her too much will send her into shock. It’ll hurt her even more.”

“Aye, doc,” I reply, “is there anythin’ else that I can do for her to speed up the recovery?”

The doctor sighs, annoyance plastered on his face, “If there were, I’d tell you, man. Unfortunately, there’s not much that can be done. I suppose that you can have her drink plenty of water and keep her clean as her wound will prevent her from getting around the house.”

I nod, taking in the advice of the sour man, “Aye. That I will do. Thank you for your help, doc.”

“Well, it’s my job ain’t it, mate?”

“‘Suppose so.”

I hand the asshole the coin before he takes his departure. Finally. My head is pounding just listening to that sorry excuse of a guy speak for almost two hours. More pressing matters are at stake here, however. I turn my attention towards the lass, who is still sleeping, albeit a little cleaner. While she was unconscious, the doctor and I replaced the sheets and cleaned her wounds. There is less blood, fortunately.

Suddenly, a thought appears in my head. “Fuck,” I swear to myself. I nearly forgot about the lass’s clothes at the tailor shop! For the third time today I have to leave my home. As the door shuts behind me, I decide to take a more direct approach to the shop. I spot a peaceful mare roped in front of a tavern. A cheeky grin slowly makes its way to my face. Surely the owner wouldn’t mind if I take his dear horse out for a run. Without any second thoughts, I untangle the reigns and hop onto the beast.

I’m back in my home… again. With the light, fabric package tucked under my arm, I tiptoe into my chambers to check on the lass. I round the corner only to find that my bed lays empty, except for bloodstained blankets. What catches my eye, though, is a trail of fresh blood on the wooden floor. To my right, I notice a bloody handprint plastered on my desk. The window is open as well, inviting a cold, saltine sea breeze into the room.

“Fuckin’ hell, lass,” I swear, “you couldn’t have gotten that far with that injury and fever.” After placing the package on the bed, I storm out the fort in search for the missing girl. Obviously she thinks that she can escape given that I was not present. I climb the windows of my home in order to get a higher vantage point. Using my vision, I spot the young woman hobbling towards the harbor clutching her arm. A poor choice, really. No one wants to assist an individual beaten to a pulp, lest they wish to suffer the same fate from whichever asshole caused the mess in the first place.

Well, there was really only one way to bring her back without causing a ruckus. I climb to the top of the fort and use the trees to my advantage. After freerunning to an area of foliage closer to the docks, I load my air rifle with sleep darts. The lass continues to walk, albeit slowly. People give her odd looks before she rounds the corner behind a stack of shipping crates. Unfortunately for her, she would have to end up in the hands of the enemy once again. I take a deep breath before adjusting the rifle to eye level. Click. One shot and the lass goes down.

It has been almost an hour. I do not see any signs of consciousness in the girl yet. While she sleeps, I ponder about why exactly I’m even helping her. What can I do for her, really? How would the Grandmaster react to this mess? What if she is a spy sent by Achilles himself? It makes sense, actually: trainees are expendable… to an extent. However, I believe that I am asking myself the wrong questions. Who is she? Why did she join the Brotherhood? Does she have potential to join the Templars?

She looks so peaceful. Her hair frames her beautiful, rosy face like a veil while the sheets cast a protective shield over her. The fever causes her lips and cheeks to be accentuated, covering her face in a red hue. Her frame, slightly visible under the thin duvet, is that of a strong and agile individual. It is obvious that the Assassins have trained her decently. Not well enough to kill a Templar agent, but well enough to pass training and to be sent on ground control missions.

My mind is focused on the lass’s face and body before I hear a soft groan from the bed. Before I know it, I’m face to face with her. She is frozen in fear. Her working hand clings onto the sheets until her knuckles are white. I feel as if I should say something to calm her nerves; the poor thing looks as if she would faint at any second.

“Easy, lass,” I say quietly, “I won’t hurt you.”

Her lips quiver ever so slightly before she asks in a meek, coarse voice, “Wh-why didn’t you kill me?”

Ah, the question that I have been thinking about for the past few days and still haven’t gotten a clear answer for.

I dodge the question, “How are you feeling?”

She shakes her head in fear; tears begin rolling down her pink face, “No- you can’t just… take me in like this! Why am I not dead? You’re Shay Cormac. The Templar. The Assassin killer.”

The girl begins to bawl, “Why am I not dead?” I can barely understand her through the hiccups and tears. Before I can respond, she goes at it again, “Why am I not dead while the others are? Brothers and sisters working for our Brotherhood to seek purpose in their lives… dead! And at the hands of you people, nonetheless!”

I let her grieve for a moment. Watching the lass cry, I feel a sort of pain in my chest. The pain reminds me of a time when I believed in the Brotherhood as well. When I sought out their cause in order to fulfill my life. I understand her loss. For a time in my life, I believed that one had to be dedicated to a certain cause, a certain creed, in order to have direction and motivation, else life would be meaningless. However, those thoughts have long gone now.

As the lass’s tears dwindle down to sniffles, I take a chance and speak, “I didn’t kill you because you were different. You have somethin’ that the others don’t. If you’ll allow me to show you, lass, I would be more than glad to.”

The girl looks at me warily while rubbing her eyes. Eventually, she nods and winces at the pain, knowing that there is not much else she can do. “Alright, lass. Calm down,” I reassure her.

I slowly reach over to her clean arm. As expected, she pulls back, so hard in fact that she accidentally hits the nightstand. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath while hissing in pain.

I sigh, “I promise I won’t hurt you. Relax. Please, let me see your arm.”

Her eyes focus onto me as if I’m the bloody devil; she relaxes her working arm as I gently hold onto it, rolling up the cotton sleeve with delicacy. On her wrist and ring finger lay the fresh, bleeding symbols of the Assassin’s Creed. The blood sticks to my fingers.

I look into the girl’s eyes, “Tell me, when did they do this?”

She meets my gaze and answers in a quiet tone, “I was initiated into the Brotherhood three nights ago.”

If the look of disgust isn’t prevalent on my face before, it is now. I place her arm down and search for the medical kit.

“You know what that means, don’t you?” I ask.

Silence. She doesn’t say a word. I’m not sure if it’s because she doesn’t know the answer or if it’s because she is too fearful to tell me the truth.

I place the medical kit onto my desk and remove the roll of gauze. Before I wrap her wound, however, I look into her eyes, “Now, why would the Assassins send a recruit, fresh outta trainin’, after a skilled Templar agent, hm? ‘Specially a Templar that has hunted down and killed several Master Assassins? You know what happened to Master Adéwalé, right?”

I can see that the girl has difficulty containing her true feelings. She knows that she is expendable, that she is a pawn. Yet, she is too afraid to admit it. “You claim that your brothers and sisters have joined the Brotherhood to seek purpose and direction in their lives. Is that the same for you, too?”

Again, her lip quivers. She’s trying too hard to hold in her emotions. Alas, a few tears slip down her burning face as she answers me in defeat, “I- They told me that the Assassins needed someone with dignity, honor, and conviction. That their Brotherhood fought for the principles of freedom for the people against the evils of tyranny. Yes, I guess you can say that I did join them for the same reasons as the others.”

Damn him. Damn Achilles and the so-called leaders who blindly follow him. Damn them all. The Assassins’ power is beginning to dwindle in the colonies and he’s seeking any new and sorry souls to join the Brotherhood. To him, they are merely pawns, dispensable beings with no other purpose than to supply the Brotherhood with numbers so that they can daunt the Templars. He and the other Masters don’t care for these trainees at all. And this poor girl is simply roped into the centuries old war.

“Now you have your answer as to why I didn’t kill you,” I say, “it ain’t fair to murder someone who doesn’t have as much experience as me. Hell, how old are you anyway, lass?”

“I turned twenty last summer,” she says.

“Christ,” I mutter in shock, “you joined ‘em quite late.”

“I suppose so.”

An awkward silence fills the space. Neither of us say a word. I actually enjoy the silence, as it gives me ample time to think of a plan. After the lass heals, how should I bring her to Master Kenway? Should I even bring her to the Grandmaster? The questions linger in my mind, though I push them aside in order to focus on her health. Hell, another thought crosses my mind: I don’t even know her name yet.

“I’m gonna wrap your burns with this,” I bring the roll of gauze to her eye level, “don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.”

She does not put up a fight and lets me wrap her arm. She hisses as I gently place the fabric onto the burn mark, “God, my head’s spinning.”

“Aye, that’s ‘cause you caught a nasty fever,” I interject, “after I wrap your wound, I gotta give you that cursed drink over there.”

Both of our eyes glance at the amber medicine sitting on my desk. I catch her gaze and try to get a laugh out of her, “Doctor’s orders, love.”

I swear, I see her cheeks turn even more pink at the nickname. It’s nice to know that the lass has a sense of humor.

“You seem to know who I am. Now, pray tell me your name, lass,” I say.

She tells me her name. I repeat it in my head a few times; it’s a beautiful name that’s well-suited for a girl like her. Despite the tiredness present on her face, she still retains the beauty of youth, something that has been long gone for me. My days working for the Order have drained all my energy, leaving barely any time for me to deal with physical appearances.

After giving the lass her medicine and cleaning her wounds, I depart the room to give her more time to rest, turning around to give her one last piece of advice, “You need to stay in bed. It’ll be a few weeks until the fever dies down.” I can see the look of worry etched onto her innocent face. I know that she’s terrified of what the Assassins would think if they are to find out what has happened to her.

I reassure her with a soft smile, “You don’t need to worry ‘bout the Assassins. They won’t know that you’re here.”

“How can I trust you with that?” she asks.

“Why’d I keep you alive, then?” I counter.

She doesn’t know what to say and remains silent.

I sigh as I get up from the armchair, “Get some rest. I’ll be right next door.” The lass shifts in my bed, getting herself comfortable before closing her eyes and drifting off into a deep sleep. I respect her. I truly do. It takes a lot of balls to go on a suicide mission. Well, what other choice did she really have? I would not have expected her to turn down the mentor’s orders; hell, I didn’t turn down his orders when I served under him all those years ago.

I can see the glow of the moon through my windows. It’s about time I retire for the night. I remove my boots and begin the arduous task of unbuckling the millions of belts wrapped around my body. After a few minutes of mindless undressing, I’m finally in a state of comfort in a simple shirt and pair of trousers. The only remnants of my day’s clothes that remain on me are my hidden blades. I’m not yet ready to enjoy a night’s sleep without them yet. I close my eyes and drift into an endless sleep.

“Tell me a little ‘bout yourself, lass.”

A few weeks time has passed. The girl is well on her feet now, her fever having been completely eliminated. Unfortunately, her wound still remains. Though none of the wounds are painful, they are quite obvious: she has a giant scar stretching from her wrist to her elbow. Her fingers are bleeding less, but the Assassins’ insignia burns brightly on both. All of her wounds still remain. Not only the ones on her arm and fingers, but the one in her heart as well. The betrayal.

These past few weeks have been difficult gaining her trust. I don’t blame her. Who would trust the enemy? She is only now beginning to open up to me. She trusts me enough to let me make her meals in the morning, afternoons, and evenings. She also trusts me enough to sleep in my home, albeit with hidden blades equipped all day and night.

She twirls a lock of hair around her finger, “What do you wish to know?”

“Anythin’,” I say while filling a cauldron with water and lugging it over to the fireplace.

She ponders for a moment before drawing in her breath, “My family emigrated here years ago. We moved to Virginia. My father was a tenant farmer while my mother raised me at home.”

I take a seat beside her after getting out the cutting board and vegetables. As I dice the fresh produce, I make brief eye contact with her, signalling for her to continue. She says, “We were very poor. We were constantly moving across Virginia and sheltering near slaves’ cabins.” Her eyes show her sorrow. Ah, her story is one of an immigrant’s: like mine.

“My father decided one day that enough was enough. He managed to raise enough coin through cash crops to move our family to New York,” she says with a soft smile on her face. The way she speaks of her father brings a familiar feeling to me, one that inspires warmth in my chest.

“We lived happily there for a while in New York. I remember, I was about eleven at the time,” she draws in her breath again, “While my mother raised me in the home, my father taught me real world skills. Soon enough, I learned how to pickpocket, how to talk my way out of situations, and even how to handle a gun and blade. At the time, my father switched careers and was working as a deckhand and ship navigator which allowed him to gain all of his physical knowledge and pass it onto me.”

She pauses for a moment. The look on her face tells me that she does not want to speak any further. I don’t say a word, hoping that my silence would encourage her. Soon enough, she does. The lass stares at the coffee table and says in the quietest voice, “One day, he was assigned on a transportation trip. He was to help with the navigation process,” Wait. Transportation trip? Nine years ago? It couldn’t be… “the crew didn’t know that there was a storm that day. I think you can guess what happened next.”

There is a moment of silence between us. Eventually, it is interrupted by her sniffles. She shakes her head, “I will never forget the day the captain came to our house and told us the news. My mother was heartbroken.” I so desperately want, no need to know if this shipwreck was the same one that I lost my father to.

“Wait, love. Before you continue, I must ask,” I say quietly while placing down my knife, “was the ship that your father was assigned to a merchant fishing vessel captained by Mr. Connelly?”

She gives me a look of surprise and answers the question, “If I can recall correctly, yes. His name was Connelly. I know that it was a private merchant vessel, but the captain, Connelly, was to share a part of the proceeds with the British. My father had worked with those Brits, Scots, and Irishmen for a while. How do you know his name?”

That is all I need to hear. I can hardly believe my ears. I guess the world truly is a small place. Before I reveal to her the coincidence, I wish to hear her entire story. I tell her not to worry about it and to continue. 

She regains her composure before finishing the tale, “Ever since then, it was only my mother and me,” she chuckles, a small laugh filled with venom, “work isn’t easily found for a single woman. She told me this, one night. This one statement. She told me: ‘Whatever you do, my child, don’t become a whore. A whore like me.’”

The lass purses her lips. I can tell that this is a sensitive topic. The most I can do now is offer my ear and shoulder. I do not know what women in her profession must endure.

“She died when I was thirteen,” the lass says quietly, “syphilis can be quite the killer.”

Again, a moment of silence. We seem to be able to share these moments of quiet together with little awkwardness. It’s quite natural. Two streams of tears flow from her delicate eyes. I so desperately want to tell her that it will be alright. I pick up the knife and resume chopping the vegetables. It isn’t until a few minutes later that the girl speaks.

“Apologies,” she coughs into her arm, “she was the only family I had after my father passed away. I made do with the little money that I had before it ran out. By then, the landlord kicked me out, after bargaining to sleep with me, of course. It took me a while to learn how to survive on the streets, how to pick pockets without raising awareness or how to hide in taverns and inns during closing hours. The years felt more like days, or even hours, to be honest. Until several months ago, life felt like a blur.”

I continue listening to her while at the same time preparing supper, getting lost in her story- or rather, the way she tells it. She really does have a way with words, weaving together a story like a distinguished poet. I can listen to her for hours. She inhales, “After seven years of living on the streets like a dog, a miracle happened. This man approached me out of the blue. I remember the day quite clearly, actually: right after I picked the pocket of a poor, unsuspected fellow, this brute in a grey hooded outfit slaps his hand on my back. I recalled my fear; I was afraid that the victim of my crime would have noticed. The mysterious man whispered to me, ‘Go pick seventy pounds worth of coin and bring it back to me.’ He had that musical Irish lilt, kind of like you. But then, I thought, to hell with that. I might as well just run off with the damn money!”

I know exactly who you’re talking about, love. There’s only one bloke that would go around testing folks.

“And that was exactly what I did. I picked the pockets of about ten different people in Greenwich before making a run for it to the countryside. I figured that the guy would make an effort to hunt me down and that this was how my life would end. I mean, the man was covered in weaponry and his presence radiated power and fear. Besides, who in his or her right mind would even consider asking a street rascal for money?” she scoffs at the last part.

A smile breaks out on her face, “Well, ‘lo and behold… the brute did track me down. In fact, he was at the abandoned farm before I damn well even got there! To say I was shocked was an understatement. Let me tell you, though, the guy looked terrifying. Yet, he had a sense of calmness to him. He didn’t look angry, even though I basically robbed him of seventy pounds. I’d go as far as to say that he looked glad. Relieved. He came over to me and said, ‘Congratulations, lass. You passed.’ I remembered being more confused than an immigrant in a foreign country. He introduced himself to me as a certain Liam O’Brien. From that moment on, my life was changed. He told me about the Assassin Brotherhood and how it sought to restore freedom in the colonies, to advocate, serve, and protect those who cannot support themselves. He said that it was the Templar Order which would guarantee the rise of the British Empire and the fall of the people. ‘We fight the Templars because we seek the betterment of these lands. Their belief is that tyranny is the only way for peace to occur,’ he said to me. Pretty words, all of it. I fell for it. I really did.”

I say, “Aye, them Assassins tend to sugarcoat the nuances of life quite often.”

She gives me a brief nod, “Yeah, and they’re damn good at it, too. Before I knew it I followed him to the Homestead, where he introduced me to the Mentor and the rest of the Master Assassins. Though, Shay, I wouldn’t say that their bogus rhetoric was the only thing that attracted me to the Brotherhood. The Mentor and the others provided me with a home. They welcomed me with open arms. I think that is what makes saying goodbye to them so hard.”

“I, for a time, felt the exact same way, lass,” I admit, “it, too, was Liam who brought me into the Brotherhood.”

She gives an understanding nod, “He spoke of you, but only briefly.”

“Bet all he had to say was bullshite, anyways,” I scoff.

“He said that you were a good friend, but that you were disillusioned by the grandeur of the Templar Order.”

“Funny comin’ outta his big mouth,” I say nonchalantly while bringing the cutting board over to the cauldron and throwing in the chopped vegetables.

She smiles again, “I guess it is funny. It’s also funny how he and the mentors decided that it was a fabulous idea to send me, a trainee Assassin, to kill you, a Templar known for his atrocities against his old allies in the Brotherhood.”

“‘Atrocities’ is quite a subjective way to describe my actions,” I retort, “”Justice’ is a better word to use.”

She does not look impressed. She sighs before continuing, “Anyways, a few months passed and all they had me do was train with the other novices and run small tasks in New York. Mostly eavesdropping missions. They claimed that my work was ‘vital to the destruction of the Templars and the British Empire.’ It wasn’t until two months ago that they assigned me to this suicide mission.”

I see the look of pain on her face. Her lips are ever so slightly drooping down at the corners, her eyes avoiding my gaze. It’s as if she’s ashamed to even be associated with them. It’s a special sort of pain, one that very few people can understand. I understand it. I understand her feelings because the Assassins did the very same thing to me. Sure, the procedures of their moral downfall weren’t exactly the same. The scenarios, though, are practically identical. We didn’t betray them. They betrayed us.

“What are you looking at?”

I quickly turn my head to look at her. She appears to be confused. I answer her, “Nothin’. Just thinkin’.”

“About?” she inquires.

“Us.”

She gives me a funny look. That came out wrong. I cleared my throat, “I mean- I’m just thinkin’ ‘bout how our circumstances are so similar.”

“Really? How so? Liam never mentioned your background any more than he did,” she pipes.

“Aye,” I reply, “guess he doesn’t want you knowin’ ‘bout the ‘enemy.’ I’ll tell you how we’re so similar. For one, you recall how I asked you ‘bout that shipwreck, aye?”

She nods.

“Well,” I say, “that very same shipwreck that your father was on… was also the one that killed my da.”

The look on her face. Her eyes look like they’re about to pop out of their sockets; her jaw is hanging down to the ceiling; her eyebrows are scrunched up. I’ll have to admit, she does look cute like that.

I bark, “Careful, else you’re gonna catch some flies like that.”

She closes her mouth.

“He wasn’t the only one on that ship, either. I was there, too.”

She opens her mouth again, this time, her hand flying up to cover it. She scoffs and says slowly, “Y-you… you can’t be serious… right?”

“I’m dead serious, love,” I say, “yeah, that’s why I was so damn curious when you brought up that event. Can’t believe the stars have aligned in such terrible circumstances like that.”

She asks, “Were you a deckhand, as well?”

“Aye,” I answer, “my da wished to train me to become a sailor. He thought it lucrative work, at the time. Since it was only him and me, I was more than excited to accompany him wherever the seas may take us. It was actually where I met Liam, too. Before Liam’s father passed away, they used to work on the docks with us.”

She swallowed, “You guys really did go way back, huh?”

I smile and nod. It’s so odd telling a stranger my story about Liam and my father. Well, I don’t even know if I should consider the lass a stranger; after all, we’ve both been through some pretty damning things.

“I remember how rough the waters were that day. I don’t normally get sick out in the ocean, but on that day, I was throwin’ up over the railings!” I exclaim, “Winds weren’t the kindest either. We lost our first man through the winds. Swept him right off his feet and into the dark abyss.”

The lass scoots her chair closer and leans forward slightly as if she has trouble hearing me. Her attentiveness brings a soft smile to my face. I’m surprised that she’d even want to hear anything from a Templar, no less one that almost killed her. She waits for me to continue.

“Soon after, we realized that it was impossible to transport the goods through the god awful weather. We had to throw some of the shite off board. Connelly wasn’t too happy ‘bout it. After all, he’d be the one they deemed responsible for it,”I breathe, “when we shifted courses to head back to New York harbor, the mast broke. Unfortunately, one of the younger deckhands was almost knocked off the ship; he was barely hangin’ onto the railings. My father rushed over to help him,” I pause to glance quickly at her. She still has the same look on her face, a look of sadness. Sadness for me.

“The gales took both of them. Just like the other poor sucker. Lost in the abyss,” I say. Suddenly, she shifts her chair. She is closer to me now than I remembered before. The lass extends a hand and gently rests it on my shoulder. I jump a little at her contact; I am shocked, to say the least.

She ignores my sudden movement and instead looks me in the eyes with a gaze that meant only empathy, “I’m so sorry.”

I give her a soft grin and clear my throat, “Quite alright. Not your fault. Unless you have the magical ability to conjure up storms like a siren… which I highly doubt is the case.”

She chuckles at the lighthearted jest before rubbing the area between my shoulderblades. The look on her face has not changed. We both lost our fathers to the same storm... I don’t know if she is doing this for me or for herself. Again, we share a comfortable moment of silence. It’s so odd how we are so similar yet different. Our experiences mesh as if we are the same person. Betrayed by those we once called family. Losing family a second time.

After a few minutes I look at her and say, “What the Assassins did to you was wrong. It shouldn’t have happened. I don’t know what’s goin’ on through their bloody minds, but they are only making things worse in the grand scheme of things.”

“I know. Yet, I think fate has a unique way of bringing people together at the most unconventional times,” she says.

“I guess you’re right about that.”

Before I can even stop myself, I blurt, “I think I should take you to our Grandmaster.”

The color on her face drains making her look like a ghost. She turns to me with a look of fear like that of a child experiencing a scolding. She says softly, “You can’t be serious, Shay. I- the man’s going to kill me. On the spot.”

I poke back, “Keep in mind, lass, that I was in the same boat as you once. I was lucky enough to be saved by a British colonel working for the Templars. He saw potential in me and brought me to Master Kenway. And I,” I take her hand in mine, “shall do the same for you.”

She does something that I did not expect. The lass yanks her hand out of my grasp and stands up with enough force causing the chair to fall. She says sternly, “I don’t even know if I want to join the Templars, Shay! You can’t just bestow a fate upon me that I didn’t even ask for! Do keep in mind that I was only just betrayed by my ‘family’ no more than a month ago.”

I take a moment to ponder. I should not have given her that option too soon. Unlike her, I was able to adjust into Templar duties at a slower, more natural pace. If only Monro were still here. How did he do it?

“You’re right,” I say, “that was a bit brash of me. My apologies, lass.”

She did not say anything. There is nothing to say.

“Lass, I think, though, that it is worth your time to at least learn what the Templars truly seek,” I attempt to compromise.

She raises an eyebrow. I explain to her, “The Assassins probably assume that you’re dead, by the looks of it. Which, in turn, gives me ample time to introduce you to what the Order really is about.”

The look on her face shows that she is still skeptical. She asks, “You can’t keep me a secret forever. Eventually, your superiors will find out about me. What then?”

“That,” I say, “is a problem for another time. For now, I will train you. And I will teach you. Besides, where else do you have left to go?”

I can tell that the question catches her off guard, as she sharply turns her head towards me. She knows that I am right. Her only family has severed ties with her. They were the turncoats, the turncoats to their own followers… not the other way around. At the same time, her face shows one of relief. I see the muscles around her eyes and mouth relax as she softly exhales.

“You make a valid point,” she concedes,” Very well. When shall we begin?”

The boiling of the broth in the cauldron briefly steals our attention before I turn to her and ask, “Why not now?”

That my redemption is found in ashes. That I must burn away the past to set things right. 

The following months I spend training her. While the Assassins taught her the basic freerunning and assassination techniques, frontier survival skills, and sneaking patterns, she brings her own skill to the table: pickpocketing and lockpicking. I have yet to see a trainee master either skills so quickly like her. She tells me that she has a knack for both, as she was forced to spend many years on the streets. Her natural talent is evident.

Despite her adaptation to everything the Assassins have taught her, she still lacks the one thing that distinguishes the skilled from the dead: perception. Her lack of perception and awareness was what landed her in hot water with me a year ago. It is a natural ability that the Assassins rarely delve on. What she lacks in awareness in the senses, though, she makes up in dedication. The lass is one of the most dedicated initiates- no- people that I’ve ever met. I thought Liam and Hope were some of the most hardworking folks there were to be, but I was wrong. This girl has potential. Potential. Such a silly word thrown around by the ones seeking to bait those beneath them. I will be a different leader. If not for her, then for the future of the Order. I know that she will be vital for us.

At the same time, though, I don’t want her to join our cause. I don’t want her to align herself with the Assassins, either. I want her to be her own person. As the year runs its course, I realize something: the lass is who I wanted to become. She is given an opportunity to run away from the war, to run away from the deep, dark philosophy. The Assassins believe she is dead, and the Templars do not know of her existence. She is living a life of secrecy. She is given a second chance. This is a life that I wanted… that I want. And I am wallowing in my own self pity by dragging her into the depths of this centuries-old feud with me.

It is winter. The frontier is encapsulated in white. It is a beautiful sight that I will never forget. The white-tipped trees remain still as the winter sun shines down on us. The birds sing their song while the other animals of the forest carry on their typical days of hunting and being hunted. Despite the magical setting of the frontier, my mind is drawn to more personal thoughts. Exactly one year ago from this day, I encountered a young woman who was sent after skin. This young woman grows on me every day. I am unsure if she knows her effect on me. Though we have limited time to train together, I allow her to stay at Fort Arsenal for however long she wishes to. So far she hasn’t left, or should I say, made any attempts to leave.

Neither of us have made a move on each other. We have kept our relationship strictly professional. Does she want more? Do I want more? I don’t know. We have made one major decision together, however. The lass has agreed to finally meet Master Kenway. Now, this can go one of a few ways. Either he will accept her and my word and bring her into the Order, he will kill her or assign me the task of doing so, or he will let her go and chastise me for holding secrets against the Order and against him personally. I hope Haytham gives her a chance like he gave me all those years ago.

“Shay?”

I wipe elk blood off my coat, “Hm?” Today is yet another day spent in the frontier. The lass is learning more hands-on techniques in the outdoor environment. I am teaching her how to use an animal carcass as shelter. She sticks her hands under her armpits while shivering, the cold biting into her skin.

“What do you think the Grandmaster will say about me?” she asks, her voice laced in apprehension.

This is something that I have been thinking about for a while. I am unsure of how to answer her. Though I can often read the Grandmaster like a book, him having shared some of his darkest secrets with me, I know that Haytham can be unpredictable at times: especially when the circumstances involve the Order.

I give her a half-assed answer as I am cutting open the elk’s stomach, “Frankly, I’m not too sure, love. The Grandmaster takes the Order very seriously, obviously. He may think that you’re a spy. But one thing I do know for a fact about him is that he is open to new possibilities. Before I joined the Order, Haytham was skeptical of me. Yet, he took a chance to learn of my abilities and what I could provide for the Templars.”

After cutting open the stomach lining, I turn to the lass, “I am only hoping that he does the same for you.”

She sighs, “Well that’s reassuring.”

“I’m not trying to give you false hope. I am not confident that he will appreciate me keeping secrets,” I turn to her and notice her scared expression, “but, I don’t think you should worry about it too much at the moment. We still have a few days before our meeting with him.”

The girl nods in defeat as we resume our outdoors lesson.

A week passes. We are currently seeking refuge at the Green Dragon Tavern in Boston while we await the Grandmaster’s arrival. During the past several days, the lass has been incredibly quiet and reserved. It makes sense; I do not blame her. Haytham Kenways is a leader who demands the utmost respect and civility upon meeting. The man radiates class and intimidation. Though, under that skin of propriety is a man of puzzle. Of vulnerability. Haytham is a man of two faces- of two lives. I can only pray that she will be brave enough to meet the man face to face.

The joviality of the establishment brightens her mood, however. The sounds of the residents and patrons enjoying themselves provide a lighthearted atmosphere while the songs and shanties from the musicians make the tavern more vibrant. Earlier, the barmaid Catherine offered her a drink to which she denied. The girl claimed that she did not want to look too casual in front of the Grandmaster. A wise choice.

I spy from the corner of my eye the lass biting her lip so hard that it is turning white. I place a hand on her shoulder, “Relax, love. It’ll be fine.”

She looks at me and releases her lip from the confines of her teeth; she sighs and gives me a quick nod. As if her nod is a signal, the door to our shared room opens. The lass freezes; she holds her breath. I pat the small of her back before the door opens fully, revealing the Grandmaster himself. Haytham slowly closes the door so as not to disturb any residents and locks it- seems like the conversation in this room stays in this room.

“Master Kenway,” I nod to Haytham.

“Master Cormac, a pleasure,” he smiles at me, and then turns his head towards the girl, “and you must be her. The woman who Shay has delighted in my knowledge with for the past few weeks.”

The lass clears her throat and nods, almost as if she’s giving a bow. She responds, “Y-yes, sir. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sir. Shay- I mean, Master Cormac, has spoken highly of you.”

Haytham raises his eyebrow before glancing at me with what seems like a look of contempt masked with feigned delight. He says, “Ah… yet, it seems that he has spoken less of you with me, miss.”

It is awkward, but true. I have not been entirely truthful with Haytham about my meeting the lass. Well, it’s rather a lie by omission. I had only recently told him about the girl’s existence two weeks ago. Both the Grandmaster’s and the lass’s eyes are on me.

I swallow before saying, “Only so you two could have a proper introduction. I didn’t want her being too intimidated by your presence and authority, Master Kenway. And I wish for you to see her potential and abilities first hand.”

Haytham seems to find my response acceptable. He and the lass trade some pleasantries and formal introductions before he explains the work of the Order.

“I’m aware that you used to work under the Assassins, but that your allegiance has somewhat shifted. And I’m also aware that Shay has furthered your knowledge on what the Templar Order is truly about,” Haytham says.

The lass straightens her back and answers, “Yes, sir. I was deployed in Greenwich as a Stalker, the men and women assigned to track down high profile Templars in the cities and the frontier. When Shay brought me into his home, he learned of the betrayal. The Assassins’ betrayal against me.”

Haytham nods but remains quiet. I can see the cogs rotating in his head. He is wary of her, as he should be. After a moment of silence, he speaks, “Funny that you bring up the topic of betrayal, miss. I’m not sure if you have heard, but Shay has actually experienced something similar to your little anecdote.”

I am surprised why Haytham would bring that up during our conversation. I begin to sweat a little. The lass looks at me in confusion before the Grandmaster continues, “However, that is a story for another time.”

Haytham takes a step forward, causing the lass to take a step back. He smiles at her, “Very well. You’ve given reason to at least consider you for the Order. Now, I need you to demonstrate.”

I knew that he’d say that. The lass swallows, but nods. I have trained her for this. I know that she will make him proud- will make me proud.

“What will you have me do, sir?” she asks with a little more confidence than before.

Haytham beckons the lass and me to follow him, “Follow me, and I’ll show you.”

Boston in the winter looks identical to New York. Once again, the buildings are topped in layers of snow while small flecks of white rain down on us. Though the sun has already taken its rest, the nightlife in Boston provides ample cover, as hundreds of folks are still out and about. Haytham turns towards the lass and says, “You see that lone pigeon over there? On the balcony of that inn?”

I use my vision and spy the little bird, happily perched on the railing of the building. I know that the lass sees it, too, even with her lack of the vision; I’ve trained her well. She confirms and asks the Grandmaster what to do next.

“Attached to the bird’s foot is a letter. I want you to extract it, and bring it to me,” Haytham says calmly with a smirk on his face. Shite. I have not taught her interception yet. The lass nods, but before she takes off, Haytham calls out, “Oh! I do not want any harm done to the little fellow, as well. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” the girl says, her voice cracking a little. She turns to me one last time and we share a brief, yet silent exchange of encouragement. Use your skills, lass. 

About ten minutes later, the lass returns with the letter in her hand and a toothy smile on her face. I reciprocate the same smile; I am proud of her. She has proven herself well. She has not let me down. Haytham seems to think the same as he takes the letter out of her hand.

The Grandmaster nods in approval, “Well, miss. I’m going to be completely honest: I did not expect you to succeed. You have, indeed, subverted my expectations,” he turns to me, “and you, Shay, have not disappointed me.”

Master Kenway asks us to return back to the tavern, as he has an assignment for us. As he turns his back, the lass and I share yet another quick glance and beam at each other.

I whisper to her in admiration, “You’ve used your skills well, love.”

“Only because I was taught by one of the best.”

Once an Assassin, now their pursuer. I must destroy those who I once called brother. 

“Do you swear to uphold the principles of our order and all that for which we stand?”

“I do.”

“And to never share our secrets nor divulge in the true nature of our work?”

“I do.”

“And to do so until death, whatever the cost?”

There is a pause. Hesitation. A moment of silence. Is this the right choice?

“I do.”

“Then we welcome you into our fold, sister. Together, we will usher in the dawn of a new world. One defined by purpose and order. You… are a Templar.”

“Shay?”

“Yes, lass?”

The lass picks at her hand, a habit of hers that occurs when she is nervous, “Did you feel hesitation during your initiation into the Templar Order?”

It takes me a while to answer her question. In the past, I had dwelled on it all the time. Finally, I turn to the lass and say, “Well, I believe that everyone feels a bit uneasy durin’ such a life-changing event. Personally, I knew that I had to join the Templars in order to stop the Assassins. It was my calling, thus it wasn’t really ‘life-changing’ for me. Sure, I was nervous during the initiation, but what’s more important is how I felt after I made my decision. I was confident. I had no regrets. I ask you the same questions, love. Do you still feel hesitation? Like you’ve made a mistake?”

The lass shakes her head, “No, I do not. Like you, I think I’ve made the right choice to leave those who I once called family.”

Then, she asks me something that I have long waited for, “What happened between you and the Assassins, Shay? Every time someone alludes to it, you always shy away. Every time I ask, you always push it off. Please,” she takes me hand, “tell me what happened.”

It’s a story of pain. Of suffering. It’s something that I do not wish to relive again. Even thinking about it is making me nauseous. During moments of silence, my mind always manages to trail back to it. I can still hear, see, and feel everything. I begin to shiver and sweat.

“Are you alright?” the lass asks worriedly.

She needs to know the truth. I’ve kept it away long enough.

“I’m… fine,” I saw weakly, “i-it’s just a story that I really don’t divulge in often. But, you deserve to know what happened, love.”

I tell her the entire story. Of Lisbon. Of the Precursor Temple. Of the earthquake. Of the aftermath of the tsunami. Of the millions of innocent lives lost. Of the lies and treachery fed to me by the Mentor and Master Assassins. Of the betrayal that I experienced from those who I called family. Of the nightmares that have plagued me for years on end. Of how real it feels. Every. Single. Day. 

I feel my face. It is wet. Since when did I start crying? I can’t look like this in front of her. But at the same time, I feel light. It feels as if a sliver of weight has been lifted off of my chest. Like I can breathe. Why? Why does it feel like that? I didn’t even feel like this when I told Haytham everything. 

Suddenly, a soft hand caresses my cheek. Two thumbs wipe away the streams of tears. I turn my face slowly towards her. The lass’s lips are pressed together lightly, forming a straight line. Her eyes seem just a bit shinier than they normally are. They show sympathy. Not empathy… I know that she has difficulty relating to the severity of the Lisbon event. Few people can. And those people are long dead. Killed by the exact same betrayal.

How could I continue without her by my side? The girl is the light to my darkness. For the past year, she has been by my side, through missions of peril and through moments of joviality. I’ve felt more alive in the year of 1759 than any other years of my sorry life. She has grown with me. We have grown together.

“Shay… I didn’t know,” she whispers, “I’m so sorry you had to deal with this.”

I hear a few sniffles coming from her end. Even though she never had to experience Lisbon or Port-au-Prince, she understands how to care during the moment.

She gently tilts my face towards herself, “I can’t even begin to imagine how you dealt with it all these years. How you felt. This pain… no one deserves to go through this pain, Shay. One thing I want you to know, Shay, is that Lisbon is not your fault.”

“My conscience begs to differ, lass,” I snap unexpectedly. I didn’t mean to. Please don’t take it the wrong way, lass.

Thankfully, she does not. She keeps wiping away my tears, “I am in no position to say otherwise, for this is something personal to your story. I apologize if I overstepped any boundaries. I just want to at least bear some of this pain in order to lessen it for you. I don’t want you having to think about this anymore, darling.”

Darling. Now that’s a first. I perk up a little at the pet name. I feel my cheeks warming up a little, and I’m certain it’s not because of the lass’s hands.

I place my own gloved hands over her small ones, “Thank you, love. Thank you for listenin’ and for not strikin’ me down. This story is so hard to relive, but I know that it’s an important mistake to share, especially with the youth of the Order. It’s a shame that the Assassins never told you what really happened in Lisbon and in Port-au-Prince.”

She smiles, “Of course I will listen to you. Listening to all sides of the story is better than only listening to one. I learned that from you. Also, the Assassins actually didn’t tell the recruits anything about Lisbon or the other Precursor sites. They claimed that the earthquake was a natural event.”

I scoff, “‘Course they did. Connivin’ bastards, the lot of them.”

She nods in agreement, “Let’s go to sleep. It’s quite late.”

“Where is your boss?”

“I’ll never tell! She’ll kill me!”

The lass and I both walk up to the Grandmaster’s impromptu interrogation of one of the Assassin gang members. Haytham seems to have a knack for these types of “sessions,” given his intimidating demeanor.

“If you don’t tell, he’ll kill you,” I say with a smirk. The lass chuckles at the comment.

After extracting the information from the footsoldier, the Grandmaster slits his throat… with a Hidden Blade? The lass seems to think the same thing as she glances at me perplexed. The three of us begin our journey to Hope’s mansion.

“Sir, you didn’t mention that you had a Hidden Blade,” the girl calls out.

Haytham claims, “You two thought that you were the only ones?”

“Well, yes, I suppose… where did you get it, sir?”

“It was… donated by the Brotherhood, miss.”

Again, we exchange peculiar looks. We are both wondering the same thing. What does he mean by “donated?”

In front of the lavish abode, a skirmish unfolds between Hope’s Assassins and New York’s redcoat authorities. Master Kenway, the lass, and I assist the King’s men in subduing most of the gang forces.

“Our mission was a success. The army should make its move any time now,” I tell him.

Haytham agrees, “Good. We lack the resources in New York to handle these criminals ourselves. With a little luck, we might be rid of them once and for all.

I couldn’t help myself, “I make my own luck.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Grandmaster and the lass both roll their eyes in unison. No matter who much it irritates them, I’ll never drop it.

“Now, let us cut off the snake’s head…” Haytham says, his focus honing back to Hope.

As more British troops head into the area, I conjure a plan of attack for the girl and me.

“I’ll go in and get Hope myself,” I turn to the lass, “and she’ll follow in behind me.”

“Very well,” Master Kenway says.

The lass and I stay low to avoid the rain of bullets from the gang and the soldiers. We are making our way through Hope’s garden while I explain to her my strategy, “Hope specializes in dangerous chemicals and gases that are known to incapacitate even the strongest of men. I need you to keep your distance between me while I deal with her. If anything happens, love, I want you to forget about me and use your skills to track her down and eliminate her.”

“What do you mean by ‘if anything happens?’” she inquires.

“I mean that if I become incapacitated, leave me behind to finish the mission,” I say firmly.

I know that the lass feels uncomfortable by this statement, but she will listen. It is for the greater good. We both know that Hope is dangerous to not only the Templars, but the city’s populace as well. It is difficult for me to admit this, though I must convince myself that what we are doing is right. Even though it involves killing one of my closest friends…

I dread this day. The day that I would have to kill Hope Jensen. The woman that used to be my anchor, that used to be the one I dreamed of to keep me afloat. The one that when even she was swayed by the Mentor, I thought that there is no hope left for humanity, no rationale, no reason.

But, I look to my side and see a familiar face. One that has been with me for the past two years. One that is my current lifeline. I really do care for the lass. Always and forever. Now, in the present, she will help me with one of the hardest missions of my lifetime. She’ll soften the blow.

“Okay,” she responds to me quietly, her voice wavering.

We stop under an overpass in the garden. I gently cup the lass’s face, “I’ll be alright, love. Quit your worryin’. I want you to stay at least several meters out of my sight so that the chemicals won’t affect you. After all, I can't risk losin’ my greatest soldier.”

She blushes at the compliment before sprinting to her position. I take a deep breath, and head into the snake’s den.

“You never do give up, do you, Shay?”

I hear her taunting voice ringing in my ears. The poison is coursing through my veins. It hurts so damn much. I don’t know what hurts more: the venom in my body or the fact that I have to kill someone who at one point in my life I considered more than a friend. Must. Keep Moving.

“No matter… the poison will kill you.”

Remember what I said, lass. Finish the job for me. Whatever the costs.

The streets of New York are just as crowded as I remember. Swarms of civilians are running to the sides of the road as I continue my hot pursuit on Hope. She weaves through the people, pushing unsuspected bystanders out of the way. Because of the poison, I could not afford to climb any structures: I had to chase her by foot.

Our chase continues down a dark alley, away from the populace. Suddenly, a figure drops on top of her. I know who you are. The figure slashes into Hope with her Hidden Blade. Hope manages to push the person off of her. The two fall down, only meters away from each other. The mystery person’s hood falls down to reveal a familiar, pretty face.

Hope snarls, “So you’re working for them now? Being their little lapdog?”

The lass doesn’t say a word. Rather, she reaches into Hope’s pockets and takes out the antidote. She throws the little vial of elixir at me before backing up and leaving me room to interrogate her.

After drinking the antidote, I walk up to Hope, “Not for us. With us.”

“I should have known…” Hope coughs, “you’re late, again, Shay.”

I kneel down to her level with a pained expression on my face, “Hope, I didn’t want to do this.”

“I trained you to do this,” Hope looks at the lass, as if she’s directly speaking to her instead of me, “I expected nothing less.”

I have to get answers. I ask her, “Then why-”

“To give Liam time to leave. Soon, Chevalier will be on his way to the Precursor site.”

“I will stop him.”

“He will see you coming. Pity… you had so much potential.”

She fades away right there, in front of my very eyes. Potential. A word that has so much to offer, yet so little to show. I feel a hand caressing my back. I turn around to face the girl. Her eyes are cast down, as if she is trying to avoid my gaze.

“She seemed very close to you,” the lass says.

I nod gravely, “Aye. Hope believed in me for a while,” I take her hand, “it’s in the past, now. We have what we need. Let us report back to the Grandmaster.”

She seems unconvinced. She wants to know more.

“Hope used to be one of the few people that I confined with during my time serving the Brotherhood. We had a close bond. It pains me to see her go like this, to see her go down thinkin’ that she is right,” I squeeze the lass’s hand, “but, overtime, my feelings have changed. Don’t get me wrong, I still saw her as a mentor. It’s just… that initial spark isn’t there anymore. I feel that for someone else, now.”

The lass gives me a pained smile. Now she understands. She nods to me before saying, “Come, Shay. Let’s go meet with Haytham.”

I raise an eyebrow. That is the first time I’ve heard the lass refer to the Grandmaster by his given name. I think that she is beginning to feel at home, once again.

The air is still...

“Hope was right… I do make a good distraction.”

In a fit of rage, I throw the sorry French bastard’s body off of the side of the ship. How could I have been so stupid? A fucking distraction? The Assassins are more clever than I thought, sending the Templars on a wild goose hunt across the entire globe. It only shows how desperate they are, now that half of their pathetic Brotherhood is dead.

Once I am at the helm of the Morrigan, I thank Captain Cook for his assistance. After our pleasantries, the man boards his ship, leaving Master Kenway, Gist, the lass and I to discuss our next course of action.

I tell the Grandmaster, “De la Vérendrye’s dead. I have the coordinates. I know where the Assassins are goin’.”

Haytham says, “Then, let us make haste.”

I believe that the Grandmaster made the correct choice. While he and I are to go after Achilles and Liam into the Precursor Temple, the lass and Gist are to remain aboard the Morrigan for behind-the-lines assistance. While Haytham was giving instructions, the lass was visibly upset. I was, as well. Though, we both know that it is for the best, in order to limit distractions and to end the Assassins as quickly as possible.

The freezing Arctic air pierces through my uniform. The scenery, though, contrasts the violence of the weather. The Arctic is a sight to behold: a different land, covered in white, just like New York, Boston, and the frontier during the winter. There is not a speck of color out of place. The inlet is littered with floating ice plates, allowing us to cross. I breathe and see my breath escape as a puff of white air; turning to the Grandmaster I say, “This would be beautiful if it wasn’t so damned cold.”

All of a sudden, one of the ice floes crumbles as Haytham places his foot onto it. He pulls back just in time before warning me, “Tread carefully… some of this ice is rather thin.”

“Is this the Apple?”

“No! Don’t touch anything. Shay was right.”

“What would he know?”

“More than me, apparently…”

I can hear them conversing. Fucking finally. Finally they understand how dangerous these Precursor sites are. It only took them years of pointless chasing to realize the danger of the natural world. Haytham and I reach Liam and Achilles.

Years. Years wasted for one simple realization. I cannot bear to listen to these fools anymore. I yell, “Finally you understand, Achilles. This is a structure to hold the world together, not a weapon to control it. This whole calamity could have been avoided if you’d only listened to me!”

The Mentor jumps as he hears my voice. Master Kenway and I are unexpected visitors, I presume. He quickly regains his composure and scoffs, “Disrespectful to the end.”

“Yes, we’ve been working on that,” Haytham chides, causing me to roll my eyes.

Liam steps into the conversation, a look of disappointment on his face, “Right or wrong, Shay, you betrayed the Brotherhood, Achilles, and me.”

“Says the man, the friend, who shot me in the back,” I snarl.

“At the Homestead?” Liam laughs, “That was Chevaliar. I don’t miss.”

What in God’s name are you doing, Liam?! Liam pulls out a flintlock and aims directly at me. He is a fool to think that that is a wise thing to do in a place like this.

Achilles lunges at him, screaming, “Liam! Don’t!”

It is too late. Liam falls onto the artifact, knocking it off its pedestal. The little spiked orb disintegrates into black dust. Well, we’re fucked. The temple begins quaking, slowly yet surely. Large icicles fall into the abyss and pierce the snow-covered grounds. The glowing First Civilization structures are falling, separating me, Achilles, and the Grandmaster. In the chaos, I spot Liam gaining a head start and running past me to the end of the temple. I guess it’s just you and me, old friend.

I give chase. Using one of the temple’s structures as cover, I dodge Liam’s stray bullets. As I am avoiding the crumbling foundation and ice shards, my mind goes back to the lass. Please… I pray that the earthquake has not reached the outside of the site yet; I pray that she is not hurt. If anything happens to her, I cannot live with myself carrying that blame.

“How could you do this to us? How could you kill Hope?!” Liam bellows in fury. I can hear the pain in his voice. I do not have an answer for him. Instead, I use this emotional moment to attack him. Our skirmish causes the platform to break. My heart jumps as we begin falling down the frozen waterfall.

I feel light as I, luckily, land into a pile of snow. Liam, however, isn’t as fortunate. I hear a loud crack as his body hits the cold, hard ground. Blood begins flowing from his head, seeping through his hood. The man can barely move his body. Yet, he makes out some words; Liam struggles, “That… was lucky.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Liam? I make my own luck.”

Liam frowns, “And how’d you do that, you bastard? You broke the Assassins. Betrayed… everyone you knew… you sided with our worst enemies; you soiled our legacy; you molded our youth into blinded sheep, and for what?!”

Wait… ‘blinded sheep?’

“What are you talkin’ about, Liam? Who are you talkin’ about?” I ask, heat rising through my body.

He coughs, a cough laced with venom, “You know who I’m talking about. Damned fool. I hope whatever world you are oh-so valiantly trying to save… is a good one.”

No. A loud sound pierces through the freezing Arctic air. It is the sound of a flintlock. I bolt in the direction of the noise toward the shoreline in search of Master Kenway and Achilles. Instead, I see three people: Haytham, Achilles, and... no. It can’t be.

“No! What is going on here?!” I scream, breathing in exhaustion. My chest feels heavy. Constricted. Why did this have to happen? Why have my actions, once again, caused death?

Haytham sighs in frustration, “Shay, I am sorry to say this, but… she is no longer with us. You can thank your friend Liam for that.”

I can’t even look at her. Her bloodied, lifeless body lays beside the Grandmaster. There is a large tear on her torso where the blood seeps from. Her garments are stained in red. Red. Red just like how I first met her. Her eyes are closed and her arms are folded over her chest with her hands placed upon one another: a position of respect. My friend, gone. My protégé, gone. My lifeline, gone. How does a man feel in this position? What do I have left to live for?

In front of the Grandmaster lies a screaming Achilles with a bleeding leg. A man who I used to respect. Who I used to call my Mentor. A man who I cannot bear to see alive one more second.

“Allow, me, Master Kenway,” I growl, holding my hand out. Haytham hands me the gun.

“No! Shay! Don’t do this! You monster!”

Click. One shot and the monster goes down. 

… and I am a hunter.

[assassins-and-hidden-blades]

Assassin’s Creed Mobile Masterlist

23/04/2020: Hey! So basically, I finally got round to help you mobile users with one of these -- I’m doing it with the RDR2 one and The Witcher, which are embarrassingly short in comparison. I also thought it was time for a bio makeover, y’know? It’s a bit cluttered over there.

If there’s anything wrong with the links, please let me know so I can fix them haha.

Reblogs would be greatly appreciated (I don’t know whether Tumblr’s ban on links in search is just for outside sources or not, but better safe than sorry)!

Grab some snacks, a drink, a massive blanket, a pair of those really fluffy socks, and enjoy!

This is definitely me not procrastinating through admin btw

Last updated: 12/09/2022 (dd/mm/yyyy)

Bullet points indicate two shots or series.

Indents show corresponding links.

[NEW] indicates fics added since last update

ASSASSIN’S CREED: THE COMPLETE MASTERLIST

ONESHOTS

Acceptance (Evie Frye x F!Reader)

A New Mission (Ezio Auditore x Spanish!F!Reader)

A Midnight Bathe (Alexios of Sparta x GN!Reader) 

Arrows & Accidents (Ezio Auditore x M!Reader) 

Babysitting (ModernAU!Connor x F!Reader)

Comfort (Ezio Auditore x GN!Reader)

Confessions (Arno Dorian x GN!Reader)

Death and Danger (Ezio Auditore x F!Reader)

DON’T BE A BABY (JACOB FRYE X GN!READER)

Don’t Be a Baby  (Sick!Jacob Frye x Reader)

Don’t Be a Baby: The Sequel (Jacob Frye x Sick!Reader)

Don’t Care  (Ezio Auditore x M!Reader)

Don’t Hate The Player, Hate The Game (Jacob Frye x F!Reader)

DOWN UNDER (Jacob Frye x F!Reader)

[PART ONE]

[PART TWO]

Fox-Trot (Malik Al-Sayf x F!Reader)

Hai Scelto Me (Ezio Auditore x F!Reader)

Helping Hand (Connor Kenway x GN!Reader)

HOLD ON (JACOB FRYE X GN!READER)

Hold On (Part 1)

Don’t Let Go (Part 2)  

Hunted (Shay Cormac x GN!Reader)

Interrogation (Jacob Frye x F!Reader) 

Liar (Ezio Auditore x F!Reader)

Le Langage Des Fleurs (Evie Frye x GN!Reader)

Lost (Connor Kenway x GN!Reader)

Meglio (Ezio Auditore x GN!Reader)

MIRACLES (JACOB FRYE X F!READER)

(Part 1)

(Part 2) 

(Part 3)

Out of Place (Ezio Auditore x F!Reader)

Secret Admirer (Malik Al-Sayf x F!Reader)  

Sculptin’ Skillz (ModernAU!Connor x GN!Reader) [bit of a Crack!fic tbh]

SHAMELESS (Various x GN!Reader)

Arno Version

Ezio Version

The Challenger Beats The Champion (Jacob Frye x F!Reader)

This is New (Edward Kenway x F!Reader)

Through The Ages (Jacob Frye x GN!Reader)

TRUST ME (Edward Kenway x F!Reader)

(Part 1)

(Part 2)

Two Reasons (Evie Frye x F!Reader)

White Noise (Connor x GN!Reader)

Would You Care to Dance? (Jacob Frye x F!Reader) 

SERIES

THE PREADATOR AND THE PREY (DetectiveAU!Jacob Frye x F!Reader)

Masterlist

HEADCANONS (some specified in fic)

Being Ezio’s twin sister would include… (F!Reader)

Modern!Altair and Lazy Days would Include… (GN!Reader)

Malik Dating Altair’s Twin Sister would Include... (F!Reader)

Being Mary Read/James Kidd’s Twin Sister would Include… (F!Reader)

Haytham Comforting His S/O (GN!Reader)

[Haytham, Connor + Desmond] Reacting to their S/O Being Killed by Their Enemy (GN!Reader)

Haytham and Shay Getting Jealous (GN!Reader)

Connor’s Reaction to Having a Half-Sister (F!Reader)

Haytham Finding Out of Your Involvement with Connor (F!Reader)

Connor With a Really Talkative S/O (GN!Reader)

Jacob and Alexios Reacting to You Losing Your Job (GN!Reader)

Mechanic!Jacob and Mechanic!Reader Headcanons (GN!Reader)

Jacob with a Short, Weak (not physically strong) F!Reader

Shay Being Soft With His S/O (GN!Reader)

[Ezio + Jacob] With Autistic S/O (GN!Reader)

The Assassins and Their Secret Admirers [+ Altair, Ezio, Arno, Jacob] (GN!Reader)

How The Assassins Would React to Their S/O Confessing to Them [ + Altaïr, Ezio, Jacob]

[+ Connor, Arno]

How the Assassins Would React to Their S/O As A Vigilante [+ Shay, Arno, Connor, Edward] (GN!Reader)

How the Assassins Would React to Their S/O Returning After a Long Term Mission [+ Haytham, Connor, Evie, Jacob, Shay] (GN!Reader)

How the Assassins Would React to Their S/O Being Badly Injured [+ Ezio, Connor, Shay, Shaun, Desmond] (GN!Reader)

How the Assassin’s React to Being Betrayed by Their S/O [+ Alexios, Ezio, Haytham, Connor, Shay, Edward, Jacob] (GN!Reader)

How the Assassins Look after Their Children (Alone) [+ Alexios, Kassandra, Ezio, Edward, Arno, Jacob, Evie] (GN!Reader)

How the Assassins Would Teach Their Children to Climb [ + All - Evie] (GN!Reader)

How the Assassins Would React to Their Child Talking Back [+ All] (GN!Reader)

How the Assassins Would React to Their Child Becoming The Leader of a Gang [+ Haytham, Jacob, Arno, Altair, Connor, Ezio] (GN!Reader)

How the Assassins Would React to Their Child Being a Talented Artist [+ Connor, Altair, Alexios] (GN!Reader)

How the Assassins Would React to Their Child Waking Up From a Nightmare [+ Haytham, Connor, Edward, Arno, Evie] (explicit F!reader in some, otherwise not referenced/GN)

How the Assassins Would React to Their Child Asking Where Babies Come From [+ Ezio, Connor, Jacob, Desmond] (Implied F!Reader)

How the Assassins Would React to Their S/O Being Pregnant and Their Baby Kicking For The First Time [+ Haytham, Shay, Arno, Jacob] (F!Reader)

THE ASSASSINS IN AN APOCALYPSE!AU:

Intro (possibly to be followed by drabbles) [ + All] (GN!Reader)

Field Medicine [+ Altair, Connor, Jacob] (F!Reader)

Safe (Part 1) [+ All? Jacob x Reader] (F!Reader/M!Reader/GN!Reader)

How The Assassins Comfort You Before Surgey [+ Ezio, Edward, Jacob] (GN!Reader)

Jacob Frye Flangst Headcanons (GN!Reader)

Jacob Frye Planning your Surprise Birthday (GN!Reader)

DRABBLES

Edward Kenway’s First: Fight, Kill, Sparring Match (F!Reader)

Edward Kenway: Health to the Company (F!Reader)

Jacob Frye: His S/O’s Child Falls Over (F!Reader)

Jacob Frye: His Children Sparring -- “Winner Gets Ice Cream!” (Heavily implied F!Reader)

Jacob Frye: A Rough Day (GN!Reader)

Ezio Auditore: After a Hard Day at Work (GN!Reader)

Ezio Auditore: Unexpected Anguish (GN!Reader)

Ezio Auditore: Unrequited (GN!Reader)

RANDOM SCRIBBLES (ALL GN!READER)

Wishful Thinking

Brave Advances

Happy Halloween

Home

Golden Lullaby 

[cacti-are-like-flamingos]

Characters/ Types of Request

**Characters will be added if I can imagine them actually saying the words I write

All characters will be aged up 21 yrs.+ if they are originally minor. I will repeat once more, I started this page incredibly young --- back then, it was appropriate for me to like kid characters because I was a kid myself. But I am older now. If you want me to write about a character that first premiered as a minor, I will only write about them in an adult setting. Meaning, all characters, from this day (1/3/2023) and onwards, are fully grown adults going through adult situations w/ the exception of a flashback or .

Example.

My canon universe --- BNHA is a University Setting. JJK is a current/post-canon University Setting. Haikyuu!! is a University Setting. Anything before 2023 is to be treated as a teenager's want to practice literature.

From now on, things will work differently.

If you read this, thank you for your time.

Feel free to request according to the establish rules.

...

One Piece -

Pirates

Monkey D. Luffy

Portgas D. Ace

Zoro Roronoa

Sanji Vinsmoke

Trafalgar D. Law

Kid Eustass

Killer

Shanks

Katakuri Charlotte

Silvers Rayleigh

Gol D. Roger

Doflamingo Donquixote

Dracule Mihawk

Marco the Phoenix

Thatch

Izo

Benn Beckman

Sir Crocodile

Marines

Smoker

“Aokiji” Kuzan (ex-marine ver. too)

“Kizaru” Borsalino

“Akainu” Sakazuki

“Fujitora” Issho

Captain Koby

Rocinante Donquixote

Monkey D. Harp

Sengoku

World Government

Kaku

Rob Lucci

Other.

Kyoshiro / Denjiro

My Hero Academia -

Pro-Heroes/University Students

Katsuki Bakugou

Izuku Midoriya

Shouto Todoroki

Hitoshi Shinsou

Eijirou Kirishima

Denki Kaminari

Tenya Iida

Hanta Sero

Momo Yaoyorozu

Ochaco Uraraka

Fumikage Tokoyami

Mina Ashido

Mirio Togata

Tamaki Imajiki

Inasa Yoarashi

Eri (Parental)

Pro-Heroes/Professors

Shouta Aizawa / Eraserhead

Toshinori Yagi / All Might

Hizashi Yamada / Present Mic

Tsunagu Hakamata / Best Jeanist

Keigo Takami / Hawks

Enji Todoroki / Endeavor (Debatable)

Nemuri Kayama / Midnight

Taishiro Toyomitsu / Fat Gum

Gunhead

Sekijiro Kan / Vlad King

Shinji Nishiya / Kamui Woods

Villains

Kurogiri

Tomura Shigaraki

Touya Todoroki / Dabi

Chisaki Kai / Overhaul

Himiko Toga 

Haikyuu!! -

Karasuno

Kageyama

Hinata

Tsukishima

Nishinoya

Asahi

Tanaka

Daichi 

Suga

Keishin Ukai

Nekoma

Kuroo

Kenma

Aobajohsai

Iwaizumi

Oikawa

Date Tech High

Aone

Fukurodani 

Bokuto

Akaashi

Shiratorizawa

Ushijima

Tendou

Assassin’s Creed - 

Assassin’s

Ezio Auditore

Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad

Connor Kenway

Alexios

Jacob Frye 

Yusuf Tazim

Templar’s

Shay Patrick Cormac

Haytham Kenway

John Wick -

John Wick

Fire Force -

Company 1

Leonars Burns

Karim Flam

Rekka Hoshimiya

Huo Yan Li

Company 5

Hibana

Company 7

Benimaru Shinmon

Hikage (Parental)

Hinata (Parental)

Konro Sagamiya

Company 8

Akitaru Obi

Lisa Isaribi

Iris

Maki Oze

Takehisa Hinawa

Shinra Kusakabe

Tamaki Kotatsu

Viktor Licht

Vulcan Joseph

White-Clad

Sho Kusakabe (Parental)

Assault

Other.

Joker

Jujutsu Kaisen -

Yuji Itadori

Megumi Fushiguro

Nobara Kugisaki

Gojo Satoru

Toge Inumaki

Levi Ackermann

Maki Zenin

Sukuna

Aoi Todo

Kento Nanami

Suguru Getou

Toji Fushiguro

Imagines - (Open)

Imagines will consists of a requested or on-the-spot-idea with a gif/pic with a really short story

Oneshots - (Closed)

When sending a request, I will write a 1k-word fic based on requested scenario and character. If I’m really familiar with the character, I may write more to it.

Drabbles - (Closed)

Very much like oneshots but usually consists of less than 700 words.

Headcanons - (Open)

These are really fun to do! Send in a few characters names and I’ll tell you how they’ll likely to react depending to your requested scenario

[notursdutch]

Hello there, how are you? Following your offering, could I maybe get a hc or oneshot (maybe even both if you don't have too many other requests) for Shay Cormac with an so, who loves to take care of him and make sure he's allright secretly, but is anxious about telling him about her feelings for him because she doesn't feel good enough for him? Thank you so much and stay healthy and save!

Thank you for your request, I loved it!! Hope you’re safe and healthy too 💙  You can read your request here https://notursdutch.tumblr.com/post/613371466286759936/shay-cormac-x-reader

[missbenzayb]

(Thought I drabble or oneshot this dream I HAD??? O/// _ ///O and I still remember this morning! Just so you know- I'm recovering from Covid (still in isolation) but the dream didn't have to do that for me! 😆 Anyway, Connor and Haytham were in my dream so- probably its during their father and son trying to get along missions~ I will call this-

Maid in red outfit

(Sad note: There were no dialogues in the dream so its just actions and reactions lol 😂)

I ended up in someone's mansion, very old but managaeble. There are maids handling each task everywhere and have distinct color outfits of them, I was just standing by the hallway. I got mesmerize by the interior design cuz it literally looked like in AC3 game, until someone dragged me into the room. I do not know who but they told me to put this on, still confuse but I put it on the outfit they gave me.

After that, I was moved into a different room and there were maids in it too. All of them are doing their usual, like cleaning floors, wiping the table, dusting off the shelves. And I look my clothes- they're red (like Shay's templar Enforcer outfit red) with floral embroidery on it. I wondered why my outfit is pleasantly special while others are colorfully plain?

One of the maids signaled me to join them and I didnt know why, so I joined the girls on the floor. They gave me a damped cloth and started cleaning, I went along with it. The door at the other side of the room, opened and there were men coming in with specific color coding clothes like the maids.

And there he was- Connor entered the room being one of the guys but his outfit has the same color as mine. The last person along with Connor is Haytham wearing his blue navy outfit but his tricorne hat is missing. The maids and I were still doing our cleaning duties inside of a huge dining room which I realized just now.

Some of the men are sitting, some are standing which Connor preferred to and so is Haytham, some leaning onto the walls and some are uninterested. They started looking at the maids around them. Connor rather- looked at me, probably the outfit I wore (Twinies lol 😂). That's where the men looked at me, then someone called the maids including me to go out of the room and waited for one of us to be called.

We all did and waited outside. Couldn't tell what's happening inside, there's total silence. That's where a guy busted through a door! All beat up on the floor, the girls panicked and ran away. I went to check and see what's up. Inside: I see windows got busted, table is broken in half, chairs were destroyed and its everywhere and I see Connor holding up one last guy.

As he saw me, he rush towards me and hugged me tightly. Thought it felt nice and hug him back, (my dream me hugged him right?) only I felt- HIS BACK! FULLY BARE! I felt the blushing went throuugh my chin to my head, then Haytham had to cut in because I heard him grunting. Connor threw a piece of red fabric at his father's face.

I realize that's Connor's cloth, thought someone might've pulled him and ripped it off. We all went out of the room immediately and that's where the dream ended~

(So- what you all think? 😆😂 I have multiple dreams before and after this one but this is only dream I remembered, although this dream has a kiss part but i dont wanna add it or else it will sound too mary sue in a way, so I prefer to write this in a wholesome and comedic way 😂 Hope you all enjoy reading this lol~ I plan to make this as a comic once I'm fully recovered for better visualization hehehe)

[winterwriter8845]

Writing Masterlist

Hey, guys. So this is my master-list for my writings. My writings will also be on my other blogs: @asssasssincreed and @hawkeyeismydad. But all of my writing from here on out will be posted on here, no matter what fandom they belong in. 

Oneshots (Fandoms in which aren’t a huge group)

You’re Not Alone (Zero Kiryu) (Moment of Weakness)

Bucky Barnes

Welcome Home, Soldier

Thunderstorms (Moment of Weakness)

I Can Kiss Away the Pain (Bucky Barnes X OC) (ONGOING)

Assassin’s Creed

A Night in Istanbul (Yusuf Tazim)

Death and Love (Jacob Frye)

After a Mission (Shay Cormac- Smut)

“I Just Want Cuddles, Kenway.” (Haytham Kenway)

“Why?” (Jacob Frye) (Moment of Weakness)

“Can I Be On top This Time?” (Shay Cormac- Smut)

The Aggressive Flirt and the Idiot Gang Leader (Jacob Frye) (Part 1) (Part 2)  (Part 3 (SMUT))

Captain Kenway’s Fight (Edward Kenway)

The Escape (Desmond Miles)

The Shark

“We’ll Get Out of Here, I promise.” (Desmond Miles)

“You are my everything.” (Ezio Auditore x OC)

The Maid and the Assassin (Jacob Frye X OC) (ONGOING)

My Random Writing

A Visit

Photo Memoir

Relationships

Under the Stars and Moon

A Normal Asylum... Or So I Thought

A NonFiction Memoir (Creative Writing Assignment)

“I’m Sorry For What’s About To Come.”

[thero0ks]

Like A Son (Shay Cormac)

Another fic of our favorite Irishman ♥ Thank you @marshmallow--3 for the idea and the request! I hope you enjoy it! :D

The scent of gunpowder lingered in the air, as the smoke settled on the deck. The cannons left a ringing in Shay's ears as he bellowed out orders. The battle was almost over, and his men had the upper hand. The impact came as a shock. "Move Captain!" Came a deep voice, before he heard the crack of a gun. He was quick to draw his own pistol, his aim came second nature as he pulled the trigger. He could hear his crew cheering, a sign that they'd overtaken the man'o war.

He heard a choking, gasping breath. He turned to see one of his most loyal sailors laying on the deck. Red blood slowly pooling beneath him. With a panic Shay realized what the man had done. That bullet was meant for him, but Erik had took it instead. 

"Cap-" the man gasped. 

Shay drew closer, as the man placed something in his hands, "tell my sis, I love her...and tell Jami-" but Shay cut him off. 

"I will. I promise,” he said firmly. After a few more ragged breaths, the light in his eyes dimmed. Guilt plagued the Irishman. It seemed death was something he always cheated, but it always took a life for his. He glanced down at his open palm. Erik had placed a ring in his hand. It looked old, something a viking would have adorned. The high planes of Erik's cheeks indicated that the ring was most likely a family heirloom. Erik's family had settled in New York. With the help of Gist, Shay was positive he could locate Erik’s family to give them the news of his passing. 

*

**

The house was located out of town. It was isolated, and he was shocked to hear the thudding of hooves coming quickly behind him. He leapt out of the way just in time to see a small boy flying down the trail on a fat pony. The boy was sounding a loud battle cry as he passed by. His wavy brown hair was a tangled mess, and mud caked his face. "Jamie!" A voice called, and the boy nudged the pony towards the wooden house. 

Shay was surprised to find that Jamie couldn't have been past seven. He was a wild child, and his hair was the color of Erik's. The boy leapt off the pony and bounded towards the house. The buckskin pony gave a violent shake of his mane. With a snort the pony went to work on the closest patch of grass. 

Shay heard the wooden door shut twice. "Awww but ma…" the boy groaned stomping out of the house with her hot on his heels. 

"You haven't even unsaddled him. Now go put him up, and make sure to brush him good Jamie." She ordered. 

The young boy let out an exaggerated sigh as he grabbed the reins leading the pony towards the small barn. The woman was beautiful. He didn't think Erik had a wife, but he also didn't know the intimate details of his crew members. "Can I help you sir?" She asked wiping her hands on the white apron that was tied to her waist. 

"Are you Erik's wife?" His question solicited a laugh from the woman. 

"No, I'm his sister. (Y/N)," she said offering her hand for him to shake. 

"Shay Cormac." He said gazing down into her soft (e/c) eyes. 

"Ah, captain Cormac I presume?" She asked with a smile. He gave her a nod of confirmation. "Well come in, I have whiskey, or tea." She said leading him towards the house. 

The home was small, but cozy. A fire kept the place warm, and freshly baked bread was on the counter. "Help yourself." She said as she busied herself with making tea. 

Shay paced the room, too nervous to sit. He'd thought of a million different ways to break the news, but none of them seemed right. 

The door flew open and in strolled the young boy. It was clear that young Jamie believed himself to be the man of the house in his uncle's absence. "Jamie Dahlberg-Cameron." The little boy said offering his small hand. 

The woman's lips quirked up at this. The Irishman shook his hand, "Shay Cormac." 

"Do you know uncle Erik?" The boy asked making his way to the table to get some bread. 

"Aye." Shay said softly. 

"Do you sail with him?" Jamie asked stuffing the bread in his mouth. 

"Aye, I was his captain." Shay said softly. 

(Y/N) froze at the word “was”. Jamie hadn't missed a beat, "you're a captain?" He asked excitedly. "Do you have your own ship?" Jamie asked swinging his legs. The bench he sat on was too tall for his feet to touch the floor. 

"Aye, her name's the Morrigan." Shay said taking a seat next to him. (Y/N) placed the tea down in front of them. A feeling of dread growing in the pit of her stomach, but she didn't want to bring Jamie's mood down. Instead she observed the pair. Mr. Cormac was extremely patient with the young lad. 

"Have you ran into any pirates?" He asked excitedly. Shay was too happy to jump into a tale of one of his many voyages. 

Shay spent the evening recounting many wild tales to Jamie. The boy was eager to listen, and couldn’t help but giggle at the Irishman’s accent. If Jamie’s father had stuck around, the young boy would have most likely have taken on his father’s soft Scottish brogue. His mother knew that she could sit all night and think of “what ifs,” but it would do very little to bring back Jamie’s father, or her brother Erik. 

"Jamie, I think it's time for bed." (Y/N) said ushering him up the stairs. 

"Can Captain Cormac tuck me in?" Jamie asked excitedly. 

"Oh, I'm sure you've worn out Mr. Cormac." She began before Shay waved her off. 

"Of course lad, I'll tell you all about the time we took Fort La Croix from the French." His voice drifted off as the pair climbed the stairs. 

(Y/N) took a seat in front of the fire. She was alone with her thoughts, and they started to drift towards the inevitable. Erik had not come home, but his Captain came to pay them a visit. It could only mean one thing, Erik was gone. Silent tears leaked out of her eyes. Her last relative, and her last friend in this world was gone. She knew life at sea was dangerous, but he'd insisted saying that it was in his blood. Jamie had the same reckless, zeal for life. Sometimes she wondered what he'd inherited from her. 

The creak of the floorboards snapped her out of her thoughts. She quickly dried her eyes. "I'm sorry Mr. Cormac we don't get visitors very often. Jamie tends to be a bit enthusiastic." 

"It's quite alright lass. It's nice to see a boy with a bit of spirit. I take it he gets it from his mom?" He inquired, taking a seat across from her. 

"I take it Erik has told stories about me?" She asked with a raise of her brow, and the Irishman gave her a nod of confirmation. “He’s gone. Isn’t he?” Her voice came out hollow. 

"I'm sorry.." His voice cracked as he watched the flames lick the logs. "Your brother was a good man."

"He was always the better one of us." She said softly. "Everyone loved Erik."

Shay studied her. She was barely holding it together. "It should have been me." He said softly. She glanced up, seeing the guilt in his eyes. "He shoved me out of the way and took the bullet that was meant for me." Shay explained holding her gaze. He wanted her to look at him like he was a monster. That's what he deserved, but her eyes grew soft. 

"Thank you for telling me...in person." She said softly. He pulled out the ring and handed it to her. A look of surprise came across her face.

"I never thought I'd see this again." She said studying the intricate gold band. "I'll give it to Jamie when he's old enough." She explained. 

"Where's your husband?" Shay inquired, and her face hardened for a moment.

"Jamie's father and I never got married, officially.” Shay could tell she was choosing her words carefully. She had gotten up to pour two glasses of whiskey. 

“Officially?” He inquired, taking the glass of amber liquid from her. 

“I’m sure you know what hand-fasting is?” She asked swirling the drink in her hands. 

“Aye, it’s a little more common in Ireland and Scotland.” Shay said with a nod of his head, taking a long pull from his drink. 

“He explained that hand-fasting is essentially the same as marriage, except it lasts a year and a day from when the hand-fasting takes place. Within that time either person can walk away. Of course he made me believe we were actually going to wed. The morning after we hand-fasted I woke up alone.” She shook her head taking a long drink. 

“Jamie has never met the man." She explained. "That's why we live out here. I didn't want Jamie to hear what they say. I'm not ashamed." She said quickly meeting the Irishman's gaze. The fire in her eyes could attest to that. "I don't want Jamie to think I regret anything, and he shouldn't suffer for my sins." She added. 

Shay studied her for a moment, "Is it just you and the lad now?" 

She sighed, giving him a nod. "Erik was the only family we had left. My parents disowned me when I became pregnant with Jamie." She explained. 

"I'll come to visit." He said softly, as her glassy eyes peered up at him.

"I couldn't ask that of you. You've been kind enough." (Y/N) said softly 

"I insist. I'd like to see the lad. I know what it's like to not have a father around." He added, his dark eyes seemed to be somewhere else. Lost in an old memory. 

"Thank you." She said giving his hand a squeeze.

*

**

Shay made a point to visit as often as he could. Sometimes it would be months before he'd appear at the gate. Occasionally, he would turn up after a year or so at sea. (Y/N) never failed to worry for the Irishman. She'd grown fond of him over the years. He treated Jamie like a son, and Jamie adored the man. Jamie would often run around the house trying to mimic the Irishman's brogue. 

Jamie was 13 when he told his mother he wished to have a life at sea. His mother wasn't surprised. He'd never made it a secret that he wished to be just like Shay. 

After Jamie’s confession, she found a quiet place in the garden to sit. She let her mind wander. It didn't seem long ago that she was in the middle of her season. 

Her parents had hoped she'd marry well. She met Aaran Cameron at a party hosted by the Coopers. He was a tall man, his auburn locks singling him out. All the women in the room took their turns at pulling him onto the dance floor.

Jane had been eyeing the man curiously. "He hasn't taken his eyes off of you." Her best friend gave her a nudge, "go speak to him." 

Y/N scoffed, "I'm perfectly content to stay right here." 

"Guess that suits him as well. He's headed this way." Her friend said with a small giggle. 

"He's what?" She hissed, spinning around to see the Scotsman making his way towards her. 

"May I have this dance?" He asked reaching for her hand. 

One dance turned into another dance. Eventually the pair found themselves dancing the night away. They continued to court until one night when the rain was coming down hard, the two sought refuge in a barn. It was there that he explained hand-fasting. 

He draped the plaid across their clasped arms. She repeated his words,

"You cannot possess me for I belong to myself.

You cannot command me, for I am a free person.

But I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night and the eyes into which I smile in the morning.”

That next morning she recalled waking up in the hay loft alone. She'd spent the morning waiting for him to return, believing that he had just run out for a moment, but he never came back. 

Jane was the first person she told about Jamie. She recalled her last conversation with Jane.

"Tell your parents of the hand-fasting. Aaran is married to you for a year. They can pressure him to honor the year long commitment. He may decide to stay after that."

"I do not want a husband who doesn't want me." She said stubbornly, her jaw was set. "Can you imagine waking up every single morning to a man who is only there because his reputation is on the line? Knowing he'll never truly love you." 

Jane was quiet for a moment, "your parents will disown you. The whole town will ridicule you. My parents will not allow me to see you anymore." Jane said as tears slid down her eyes.  

Y/N embraced her friend. Jane would be the one person she would truly miss. 

Even after all these years she still felt the void her best friend used to occupy. She saw Jamie chopping wood near the house. He looked so much like his father. 

Soon she'd be alone. She couldn't stop him from chasing his dreams. Even if she'd be worried sick over his safety. He was young, and he still had a few more years left at home. Y/N saw Jamie bound towards the front gate. 

(Y/N) quickly got up to see who had captured Jamie’s interest. She was surprised to see Shay at the front gate. The last time he visited was only a week ago. 

She noticed the bundle of lilies in his hands. "Shay, you're back so soon?" She inquired glancing up at him. He wore a bashful smile as he handed her the delicate flowers.

She took the flowers from him, her fingers brushing his. Her eyes shifted over to Jamie who was grinning at the sight. "I needed to ask Jamie something important when I visited last." He said glancing over at the young man. 

"Can we go for a walk?" Shay asked gesturing towards the garden. (Y/N) nodded, taking Shay's arm linking it with hers. Shay didn't speak until they were at the edge of the garden. "I love Jamie like my own son." Shay began his gaze focusing on the rose bushes. "Over the years I've been slowly falling in love with you. I don't know when it began, but suddenly all I knew was that every time I came back to land the only place I wanted to be was here. With you and Jamie." Shay had stopped, turning to face her. She clutched the lilies to her chest, her heart pounding inside her chest. His fingers tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. 

"You love me?" Her voice was soft, as she searched his eyes for any lies. His dark eyes were sincere, and soft. 

He nodded, "the day I met you, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever laid eyes on." 

"I love you too Shay." She said gazing up at him. 

"Would you kiss her already?!" Jamie's voice came from the bushes. 

"Erik James Dahl-" but she was cut off by Shay's lips on her's. She was quick to melt into his kiss. She threw her arms around his neck, on her tiptoes to pull him closer to her. When they finally parted their lips were swollen, and they were wrapped up in each other's bliss. 

"Did you propose yet?" Jamie asked popping up from the bushes. Twigs entangled in his brown locks. 

"I hadn't got there yet lad." Shay said shooting him a look. Jamie gave a sheepish grin, "sorry Shay." 

"Lass, will you marry me?” He asked his hands splayed firmly on her back. His dark gaze searching her (e/c) eyes. 

“Yes Shay.” She said softly, pulling him in for another kiss.

[mylittleacobsession]

Title: An End to Lonliness

Author: mylittleACobsession

A/N: This is a little one shot from @imakemyownblog who requested the following:

“Can I please have a oneshot about templar!Shay coming across an uncharted island? Curious, he and Gist go to inspect the land when they come across the reader. (You can decide what the reader is doing/who they are, etc.) 😊 please and thank you!”

I decided this time to just go with a shipwrecked reader who gets rescued though next time I think I’m going to aim for more danger and action because I’m itching to write that. So sorry this took SO long to get to but I was out of town the whole week after this was requested. Anyhoo, I hope this is ok and not too boring for you. THERE SHALL BE ACTION NEXT TIME! ^___^

How long has it been since you’d heard the sound of another human voice? You weren’t sure anymore, you’d long since stopped counting the days by marking them with charcoal scratches on the large stone down by the shore, but today a sound catches your attention as you gather fruits in the woods and you pause to listen. Yes. Yes, those are voices. Your head snaps around and some small still human part of you knows you move more like an animal these days than a person. Years on the island had honed your body and senses to deal with predators, to become one yourself when needed, and you have learned to skitter over rocks, up trees, and glide through the ocean waves like the creatures all around you. For now, you stand as still as a deer in the clearing. Your eyes scan the trees around you, your ears strain to follow the sound you can just barely make out.

You blink slowly in the filtered light that seeps between the foliage high above you. Nothing moves in the golden shafts that pierce the canopy and you note the sudden silence that descends. The animals had long since become accustomed to your presence but their silence confirms what your thumping heart already figured out.

There’s someone else on the island.  

You drop your hand-woven basket and crouch low in the underbrush, slithering along through the dense growth toward the sound of conversation.

There’s more than one.

You crest a short rise and peer down between two stones, pressing your face against the cool rock to ward off the heat of the afternoon as you scan the cove below you. There, bobbing silently on cerulean water, is a ship. It’s pretty thing with its big red sails and shimmering armored hull but you tear your eyes away at the sign of movement below you. You quickly make out a small host of men that have just disembarked from a lifeboat.

There are five of them total and one in particular catches your attention. He’s tall and broad-shouldered with dark hair swept back into a ponytail at the base of his skull and it’s his voice you lock onto with a sense of fascination. There’s a brogue there…something your brain wracks itself trying to place. You know that accent but you can’t recall now where it’s from. His voice is soft and musical but strong enough to catch his men’s attention and they scurry to follow his orders as he calls them out.

“You three go and grab some o’them fruits we saw round the way. Gist n I will head inland to see if there’s fresh water about.”

One of the men whom you assume to be “Gist” turns and falls in beside the man with the accent. Gist is wearing a large hat that blocks your view of his face but as they turn you can finally see the other man’s features. He has a handsome face, chiseled and darkened from stubble on the lower half. A scar runs down one cheek but frankly you can’t say it’s a bad look for him.

You duck behind your hiding spot as he looks up to where you’d been crouching.

“You know, Shay, there’s so many islands out here that I’m beginning to believe we’ll NEVER chart them all,” Gist says. His voice is loud and playful, completely at odds with his softer and more solemn companion.

Shay. You mouth the word to yourself. Shay and Gist.

Part of you wants to run, go hide back in the trees you’d become used to after so long, after all you have no idea of the intentions of these men. You’re a lone woman on an island, not like there’s anyone to protect you if this gang of men decides to be…well, less than gentlemanly. Despite this, you can’t bring yourself to flee entirely. There was a time when you were a lady, when you wore fancy dresses and went to parties and danced till the morning with gentlemen that wanted to woo you. Those days seem like a dream played out behind foggy glass in your mind. Too many endless days stuck here alone.

If they don’t have ill intentions…Oh how nice it would be to see your grandmother again. How wonderful to go home, to put on nice perfumes, to walk boulevards. You sigh and decide it’s worth the risk. You can’t live here forever, not like this, and you shudder to recall the last hurricane that hit the island. You almost drowned and your meager home had been destroyed then. You might not survive next time and there’s little chance of anyone else coming across you again so you can’t exactly be choosy. You take a deep breath, risk a glance to see what direction the two men are heading, and then duck quick and quiet as a mouse through the paths in the underbrush that only you know.

You find the only clean water source on the island and crouch down behind the huge green leaves that crowd around the base of the waterfall. The water feature isn’t huge by any means but you know from experience that the men will likely hear it once they move into the quieter interior of the island where the foliage muffles external sounds. You only have to wait about 15 minutes before you hear them approaching. Funny enough, it’s Gist that’s making the noise. Shay is silent, moving with the easy cat-like grace of a predator as he steps into view.

Gist lacks the subtle danger that seems to exude from Shay as he saunters through the last of the brush, snapping twigs left and right. He wanders down to the edge of the small stream which slips away at the base of the waterfall and crouches to refill a water skin pulled form his belt. Shay isn’t so easily lulled by the peaceful surroundings and those big brown eyes are constantly scanning for signs of potential danger. You watch from beneath leaves heavy with moisture and ignore the chill of the spray against your bare arms. You can’t seem to look away from Shay. He’s handsome, chiseled and yet rough around the edges all at once. Maybe it’s been the lack of company, male or otherwise, that has you unable to look away but you’re pretty sure this man is gorgeous and you work to calm your heart for a few minutes as you watch him dip to fill his own flask.

He glances up suddenly and freezes, his eyes locked directly onto yours. He’s seen you peering out from the plants and he elbows a completely oblivious Gist who almost drops his waterskin. Gist shoots him a perturbed look before noticing where Shay is staring and he turns to squint into the darkness beneath the leaves. You hold your breath.

“Alright, come on out now, nice and slow,” Shay drawls. His fingers slip down to the sword hilt at his side but he doesn’t draw it.

For a long moment nothing happens and you fret over what to do. You finally creep ever so slowly toward the stream and slip out into the pale green light of the forest, sliding along on all fours as you edge out onto a rock.

Gist gasps at the sight of you. “Good lord!”

You freeze and Shay places a restraining hand on Gist’s shoulder. His eyes never leave you though and he moves his hand away from his sword to hold it up in a placating gesture. “It’s alright, lass. No one’s going ta hurt ya.”

You know you must present a sight. You’d long since cast away your pretty dress to be reused for blankets, bandages, and so on. All that clings to your skin now is a tattered chemise you’d torn in two so that a haphazard skirt dangles from your waist and a thin cotton top ends just above your abs. Both are filthy to a point where you can’t recall the pristine white they’d once been and the only decoration the chemise had once sported was some embroidery on the sleeves. You’d torn them off after the first time they got caught on the underbrush. Your hair is barely kept back in a tangled knot of a bun where you’d pulled it away from your face and pinned it with sharpened bone and slivers of shell. You glance down at your arms and note the grime there. It wasn’t that you didn’t bathe frequently in the stream but the island wasn’t exactly forgiving of proper hygiene and you were often dirty again by the time you made it back to your shelter.

Your eyes snap back up as Shay takes a step toward you. His eyes are soft with mercy or pity. You’re not entirely sure which but his outstretched hand is enticing. “Come on then, darlin’. Is there anyone else here with you?”

You stare at him for a moment and then stand up and slowly edge into the river. You shake your head mutely, unsure of where to even begin as the tragedy of your story suddenly threatens to overwhelm you now that you have someone to actually tell it to.

“Please don’t hurt me,” you whisper as you take tentative steps toward him. Your eyes glance to Gist who looks at you like he’s entirely uncertain if you’re a wild animal or a woman. He takes a step back to give you more space once he realizes that he might be making you nervous.

“No one’s going ta hurt ya, lass. You have my word.” Shay reaches his hand a little farther out to help you step up onto the opposite bank. “My name is Captain Shay Cormac. This is my first mate, Gist.”

You slide your hand into his own and feel a rush of relief at human touch after 3 long years without it. His fingers curl around your own, warm and strong, as he pulls you up and he doesn’t let go until he’s sure you have stable footing. You choke back a little whine when he takes his hand away but wait patiently as he sheds the myriad buckles, belts, and straps that litter his form like lines on a map. He peels off his coat and wraps it around your shoulders. It engulfs you almost entirely and you breathe in the heady scent of ocean air, salt, leather, gunpowder, and something musky and warm that you assume must be the scent of his skin.

You pull the jacket tight around you and peer up at him as he finishes buckling the last of his belts back into place.

“What’s your name? How’d you end up all the way out here? Is anyone else with you?” Shay stops himself as he realizes he’s throwing too many questions for you to answer all at once.

You smile at him and utter your name softly. It sounds almost foreign on your lips now. It’s not like the animals around you had really needed to hear you say it and so it had fallen a bit out of use save in your own head. “Our ship….there was a storm.” The words stir up the old memories and they wash forward once again. “Only six of us made it to shore. My father, the captain, first mate, the ship’s doctor, the bowsman. Me.” Your voice trails off as the memory of the storm turns to darker thoughts of the days after and you shudder.

“They…aren’t here anymore.” It’s a statement, not a question, and the sorrow in Shay’s voice says he knows you must have witnessed something awful in the aftermath. “They wouldn’t have left you.” There’s a note of confusion this time. He’s trying to puzzle out what happened to them because his own sense of honor won’t let him consider for a moment that any man would just abandon a woman alone on an island.

“They didn’t leave,” you say softly but the words fail you there and Shay just nods in understanding. Whatever you’ve been through, he decides not to press and instead gently places a hand into the small of your back and guides you back down toward the waiting ship. You brush some stray tendrils back from your face and glance up at him as you walk. He shoots you a supportive smile and waves away the rush of men that come to investigate when you break the treeline and step out onto the beach. You hold on to Shay’s words, his promise that he won’t let anyone hurt you, and as you walk down to the waiting skiff, you believe him. He lingers at your side, just to the left and behind you like some guardian angel and his presence is comforting.

It’s hard not to trust him. There’s a sincerity in his voice that could soothe almost anyone and while that could be faked, the look in his eyes can’t be. There’s genuine concern there. He looks at you like something made of glass that he’s worried he might break if he’s not careful and so he shifts around you like a protective barrier to keep everyone else at bay. You pause to lift the edge of his heavy coat as you try to maneuver stepping into the small boat but he sweeps in and goes to pick you up before pausing just as he reaches for you. He glances up at you to judge your reaction but when you smile he returns it and gently scoops you into his arms.

He’s strong and your weight doesn’t seem to slow him in the least as he steps into the boat and gently sets you down at one end.

“Now then,” he says, taking a seat across from you, “let’s get you aboard, get you a decent meal, and a good night’s rest. When you feel up to it, then maybe you can tell us more of what happened and where it is you’re from.”

You nod and smile at him. “That sounds like heaven,” you say with a sigh. For the first time in so very long, you finally feel safe.

[gray-anxiety]

Gray Dragion’s Gucci Character Masterlist

HC’s, Drabbles (to be requested), Oneshots, Fanfics, Characters (you’re here!)

(The links will take you to individual masterlists for said character)

* = to be requested/ written (I have too many ideas and too little inspiration)

Side note: If I don’t do your request I’m so sorry- I probably forgot to do it or had no inspiration-

MARVEL:

Loki Laufeyson

Thor Odinson*

Peter Parker*

Tony Stank*

ASSASSIN’S CREED:

Shay Cormac

Edward Kenway*

Connor Kenway*

Alexios*

ATTACK ON TITAN:

Levi Ackerman

Mikasa Ackerman*

Eren Yeager*

HAMILTON:

Marie Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert Du Motier Marquis De Lafayette

Thomas Jefferson

[assassins-and-hidden-blades]

Updated Masterlist

This is the updated 08/02/2019 masterlist! Hopefully that will help any newcomers decide how recent this is. If there are any problems, do let me know! I’ll put them all under the cut. 

Also, you can also tell which works are older; don’t pay them any heed if you don’t like them; I’m cringing just as much as you might be, haha.

Also, feel free to reblog this post, since apparently posts with links don’t show up in the Tumblr search :)

Another important notice: If you want to be tagged in any fics, be it type of fic or any character or series or fandom (although there are only two lol), let me know :) I’m thinking that tag lists would be a good idea, so if that’s something you guys are interested in, drop an ask :D

Bullet Points indicate two shots (An extended oneshot)

@assassins-and-hidden-blades Complete Masterlist

Assassin’s Creed

Oneshots

A New Mission (Ezio Auditore Da Firenze x Spanish!Reader)

Babysitting (ModernAU!Connor Kenway x Reader)

Comfort (Ezio Auditore Da Firenze x Reader)

Confessions (Arno Dorian x Reader)

Death and Danger (Ezio Auditore x Twin!Reader)

DON’T BE A BABY (JACOB FRYE X READER)

Don’t Be a Baby (Sick!Jacob Frye x Reader)

Don’t Be a Baby: The Sequel (Jacob Frye x Sick!Reader)

Don’t Care (Ezio Auditore x Male!Reader)

Don’t Hate the Player, Hate the Game (Jacob Frye x Reader)

DOWN UNDER (JACOB FRYE X READER)

Down Under: Part One Down Under: Part Two

Hai Scelto Me (Ezio Auditore Da Firenze x Reader)

Helping Hand (Connor Kenway x Reader)

Hold On (Jacob Frye x Reader)

Hunted (Shay Cormac x Reader)

Liar (Ezio Auditore Da Firenze x Reader)

Lost (Connor Kenway x Reader)

Meglio (Ezio Auditore Da Firenze x Reader)

Miracles (Jacob Frye x Reader)

Through The Ages (Jacob Frye x Reader)

Two Reasons (Evie Frye x Female!Reader)

White Noise (Connor Kenway x Reader)

Headcanons (Some Specified in Fic)

Being Ezio’s Twin Sister Would Include...

Modern!Altair and Lazy Days Would Include...

Being Mary Read/James Kidd’s Twin Sister Would Include...

How the Assassins Would Teach Their Child To Climb

How the Assassins Would React to Their Child Talking Back

How the Assassins Would React to Their Child Becoming the Leader of a Gang

How the Assassins Would React to Their Child Being a Talented Artist

Jacob Frye Flangst Headcanons

Drabbles

Edward Kenway’s First: Fight, Kill, Sparring Match

Jacob Frye and his S/O’s Child Fall Over

Random Scribbles

Wishful Thinking

Brave Advances (Can be read as a sequel to Wishful Thinking)

[thero0ks]

Complicated Friendships (Haytham or Shay)

This is going to be a three shot, with a choose your own boyfriend ending. :)

The pub was packed with bodies. It was a typical Friday night at the Stag Inn. Amber liquid swirled in her glass as she watched him from across the room, deep in conversation with a beautiful stranger. It was easier in her early twenties to brush her feelings aside. However, the more relationships she went through the less patient she got with his antics. The Irishman was still her best friend, so she tolerated it. Friday nights gave her the opportunity to get well acquainted with the various whiskies on the shelf. Shay usually hung around long enough to share a basket of fish and chips before he was off to flirt with the prettiest woman in the room. 

“You’ll get wrinkles looking like that.” An eloquent voice echoed from above her, snapping her attention to steel colored eyes. 

“Haytham. You’re off early.” She said sitting back in her seat. 

He slung his jacket over the back of his chair before taking a seat. “I decided to take your advice, and let off some steam.” He said setting the glass of brandy on the oak table top. “You can stare at him all night, or you could tell him.” Haytham stated bluntly, taking a pull from his drink. 

A scoff passed her lips, “as you can see, I’m not really his type.” She said tilting her glass towards the woman. Haytham’s gaze fluttered over the woman, and then back to her. 

“I’d choose you.” Haytham said with a simple shrug of his shoulders. A small blush crept up her cheeks as she tried to focus on anything but the Englishman next to her. “She’s beautiful, but she isn’t my type.” Haytham continued. (Y/N) could feel him staring at her, and she dared to meet his gaze. “I prefer a woman who doesn’t need to tell the whole room she’s beautiful. The woman that every man’s been looking at, but are too afraid to speak to.” 

She couldn’t recall when he leaned closer, but she could feel his breath on her neck and shivers raced down her spine. His sultry voice was like music to her ears, and he was the kind of man who radiated power. “Haytham!” An Irish lilt called from above the noise. (Y/N) straightened up caught in an intimate moment with their mutual friend. Haytham seemed content to stay close to her. His arm slung over the back of her chair, and she could feel the brush of his chest as he reached for his drink. “Shay.” Haytham acknowledged with a nod. 

“I didn’t think you’d be sticking around for long.” Haytham observed seeing the blonde across the room giggling with her friends. 

“Oh her?” Shay asked glancing over his shoulders. “I told her it was my birthday, and she’s a little eager to celebrate.” The dark haired man said with a laugh. 

“Well, before you leave us to...celebrate.” (Y/N) said trailing off reaching into her bag. “I have a present for you.” 

Shay beamed taking a seat at the table. “What is it?” He shook the wrapped box eyes alight with excitement and wonder. He tore at the paper opening the small box, “(Favorite band) tickets?!” Shay asked excitedly. “You’re the best.” He said giving her a hug, and a kiss on the cheek. 

“Happy birthday Shay.” She said softly, the feel of his lips tingling on her skin. 

Haytham studied his friend for a moment, "my birthday gift to you is that I won't fuck your best friend. I will however, walk her home." Haytham said downing the rest of his drink. 

Shay rubbed the back of his neck nervously, "thanks Haytham your a real mate." Shay's words were clipped at the end. 

"We can stay longer Shay…we just assumed you'd want to get to your...celebration with blondie." Her voice was soft touching the Irishman's arm. A comforting gesture he was used to from her. 

He shook his head, "I was about to head off too. Now I don’t have to worry about you getting home safely." Shay said offering her a smile. He gave her a quick hug before bounding across the bar to his pretty acquaintance. 

Haytham grabbed his jacket before offering her his arm. They walked down the street a comfortable silence settling between the pair.

(Y/N) studied the Englishman a moment trying to figure out how she ever overlooked him. She’d spent more time with Haytham then she had with Shay the past couple of years. The two seemed to get along quite well. "Haytham." She inquired, plucking up unknown courage. 

He stopped for a moment, "are you cold?" His voice was laced with concern and he automatically reached for his jacket buttons. 

"No, thank you." She said stopping him quickly, before continuing, "tomorrow isn't Shay's birthday."

"Quite intuitive aren't you?" He teased soliciting a playful smack from her. 

"I'm trying to be serious." She said a slight smile on her face. It was a crisp evening, and the street was mostly silent. "You told Shay you wouldn’t fuck me tonight, but what about tomorrow night?" She peeked up at him through her lashes too shy to look at him directly.

He stopped walking, bringing her to a halt as well. He gazed down at her studying her features she felt flustered, "I only meant..well at the bar I thought you were dropping hints, and I..I buggered it all up. I'm so oblivious sometime-" she was cut off abruptly by warm lips. 

It didn't take her long to get swept up in his earth shattering kiss. She'd kissed many men, but none had ever kissed her like that. One hand pressed into her lower back pulling her closer, and his other gripping the brick wall for support. Her hands clasping his jaw, standing tiptoed to be as close to him as possible. The rest of the world was drowned in his kiss. His tongue tasted of the brandy he'd drank at the bar. When they finally parted Haytham hung his head, eyes fluttered shut coming down from his high. "Since the moment I met you I wanted to kiss you like that." His voice came soft, and his eyes looked silver in the moonlight. 

"I should have seen it. I should have realized you'd been there all along." Her fingers gently stroked his face, her (e/c) pools lost in his hypnotizing gaze.

Haytham's lips quirked up, "as you so bluntly put it. You can be completely oblivious my dear." 

His arms wrapped around her, and she was enveloped in his sent of tea and brandy. "So is that a yes to tomorrow night?" 

"Let's start with dinner, and then see where the night takes us." He said pulling back to kiss her once more. 

She shuffled closer to him as they walked. The feel of her pressed against him made him feel light, and happy. When they finally arrived at her door, he was having second thoughts about leaving her. “Do you want to come in?” She asked unlocking her door. “You only promised Shay we wouldn’t hook up, but you never said anything about sleeping with me.” 

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. The soft hallway light from her half open door illuminated her hair, and giving her skin an iridescent glow. “Are you always this forward?” He inquired, taking a step closer to her. She called to him like a siren, and he couldn’t resist holding her in his arms once again.

“Only when I know what I want.” She said simply. 

“What is it that you want?” He inquired tilting his head, gazing down into her (e/c) pools.

“You..us..” She said looking down. The possibility of rejection was easier to come to terms with when she wasn’t getting lost in his piercing gaze. 

He tilted her chin up, he wanted her to see the sincerity in his eyes, “I’d love to come in.” 

*

**

He knew the way to her flat like the back of his hand. His head was pounding, but he knew (Y/N) would make a good brunch date. The thud, thud, thud of his hand on the cast iron fence echoed in his head as his feet carried him down the sidewalk. He grabbed the hide-a-key from a flower box in front of her living room window. The house was silent when he entered, which was odd. Usually she was up by eight am. He quickly kicked his shoes off heading up the staircase silent as a mouse. “(Y/N), let’s go get birthday brunch.” Shay’s voice echoed as he stepped into the room. 

She snapped awake by his voice. “Shay, you asshole.” She mumbled throwing a pillow at him. 

Shay then noticed the other occupant in the bed. “Haytham?” Shay asked his eyes widening at the sight of his friend laying next to his best friend. “What the hell!?!” Shay bellowed angrily. 

“Don’t worry, he kept his promise Shay.” (Y/N) said pushing past him to start some coffee. Shay hot on her heels. 

“What, so Haytham and you are an item now?” Shay asked scrunching his nose up. 

She shrugged, “you always complain about hating my boyfriends. You already like Haytham, so what’s the problem?” She asked pouring coffee grounds into the french press. 

“I don’t want to think of my best friends fucking each other!” He said throwing his hands up in the air in frustration, as he started to pace the kitchen floor. 

“Oh grow up Shay.” She said with a roll of her eyes. “Every Friday night I watch you grope every attractive woman that walks through the door. Haytham and I could fuck in a booth in the pub and you wouldn’t even notice, so spare me the lecture.” 

Shay’s jaw clenched, “you think I don’t notice the way he leans over you all the time, or the way he looks at you like you hung the fucking moon?” 

(Y/N) froze turning to look at him, “you’re fucking jealous.” She leaned against the counter folding her arms across her chest. 

“I am not jealous!” Shay shot back stopping his pacing to look at her. 

“You’re the most insufferable man I’ve met.” She scoffed, shaking her head as she grabbed a mug out of the cabinets. 

In a flash Shay crossed the marble tiles to trap her between his arms, “How many times are you going to kiss the wrong person?” He asked dark eye’s heavily lidded as he gazed down at her. 

To be continued...