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assassins-and-hidden-blades · 2 years

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Congrats on 1.2k!!! Your an amazing writer and we are all so lucky to have your prompts and stories!

Please for prompt 11# may I have Jacob saying that to F!reader after she’s been kidnapped an tortured for a few days. Blighters took her to mess with Jacob and they intended on killing her and leaving her where Jacob would find her body but they don’t get the chance. He gets to her in time and she’s scared and shaking/trembling. ( p/s she’s a civilian )

02/08/2022: Thank you so much! I'm nothing without your kind words and support <333 there are a couple of #11s around, so I'm going to take an educated guess on which one you mean. I hope you enjoy!

F! Reader x Jacob Frye

#11: "Show me where it hurts, darling, it's okay."

"Where is she?"

He leaned in close to the beaten Blighter in front of him, his low hum delivering a slow threat. "Believe me, I can make this the most painful experience of your life. You either tell me where she is, and you can scamper away with your miserable life, or I shall beat the truth out of you. Your choice."

The Blighter just chuckled in his chair, his bloodstained grin igniting a new rage in the Assassin. Jacob's lip curled in a silent snarl, raising his clenched fist to strike. The door creaked open behind him. "Jacob? Can we talk?"

"Can it wait?"

Evie didn't respond, and Jacob turned his head. The damp stone room was barely illuminated around Evie's silhouette as she leaned against the doorframe. Jacob released the Blighter's shirt reluctantly, moving to the door. "Better start making funeral plans, Frye," the Blighter sneered. Jacob paused in his step, spinning only to send a throwing knife into his shoulder.

"Get comfortable," he seethed, slamming the door behind the howling man.

The adjoining room shone the first sunlight on his skin for about six hours. He knew he was running out of time, and despite taking a deep breath, he pulled off the brass knuckles on his left hand and threw them in a white-hot anger across the room, a frustrated yell escaping his throat. An empty vase shattered in the corner. He turned to rest his fists on the table of weapons beside him.

"Please," he begged, head hung low. "Tell me you have news."

"I followed every lead of suspicious activity, everywhere Blighters have been stationed. I made a short list of--"

"Give it to me." He sniffed before turning to face his sister, hand outstretched.

"Jacob, think with your head for a minute. You know they're trapping you. They want to get in your head."

"I don't care. Give me the list."

"You aren't listening. I'm telling you to not go barging in like you always do. Even when you have your head on straight, you're reckless. You will get yourself -- and possibly Y/n --"

"Evie, give me the fucking list!"

It only took a second for Jacob to realise that he had snapped. He heaved a sigh, rubbing his hands down his face. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

Evie put a hand on his arm. "I know you're worried. But you also need to be safe. You're no use to her dead. Just promise me you'll be careful."

"Yeah. Yeah, I promise." A piece of paper slipped into his palm.

"Finish with your 'friend', and then we get going."

The next time Jacob entered the room, there was a smirk on his face. The Blighter's demeanour had completely changed. He was a pig ready to squeal.

"I'll tell ya everything!" he said once he made eye contact. "I'll tell ya under two-- no, three conditions!"

Jacob raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"Get this fucking knife out of my shoulder!"

Slowly, he crossed the floor to the Blighter. With equal speed, he crouched in front of the chair, grasping the hilt of the knife. "Keep talking, and I'll pull it out."

"How many days has it been?"

"Why does that matter?" Jacob asked, but relented a moment after. He has grown too impatient. "Four days."

He didn't like the smile that emerged after.

"And what's the time?"

"... 5 o'clock." He twisted the knife, releasing another painful cry. "Why?"

"She's... She's at the docks. The Thames docks."

He yanked the knife out of his shoulder, standing up to confer with the list from Evie.

Out of three places, the Thames docks sat at the bottom of the list.

He marched out. "You'll never get there in time, Jacob! By nightfall, she'll be dead!"

The Blighter's words echoed with the slam of the door.

"What happened?" Evie had waited, ready to support him.

"Docks. She's at the fucking docks." As soon as he left the stronghold, he ran to the main road, squinting in the soft light of dusk. A Rook carriage waited outside, ready for this moment. Evie and Jacob took over the driving seats as the Rooks sat inside. Jacob set the horses off urgently, immediately setting them into a canter. "Get the Rooks to cause a distraction. Pick the idiots off from a vantage point. I'm getting y/n."

"Stop seeing red and think about how you're going to achieve that, Jacob."

"Already have."

The reckless driving took merely five minutes, another reason for Jacob's anger. "Everybody out!" He rapped harshly on the wood as he dismounted. "You see anyone else, you bring them here."

"How do you think you're getting in?" Evie grasped his coat before he could walk off.

"That building there is a storage unit. Guarded by two Blighters, probably more inside. And I'm going to walk through the front fucking door."

"Calm down for two seconds, Jacob."

"I..." He took a stuttering breath. "I can't. Not without her."

Evie didn't say anything. She squeezed his shoulder before looking to the Rooks. "Rooks! With me!" She took them down to the opposite side of the docks, already drawing attention as she climbed high.

Jacob stood tall as he descended the stairs to the docks, waiting for the Blighters to come to him. Each time, they would crumble after one counter-attack. The trail of bodies led him to the door of a storage unit he had crossed off the list when he first started the search. Self-loathing boiled in his gut.

With a startling bang, he kicked the old door open. Gun drawn, he gave a hard look to the one holding a bloodied blade to your neck. Jacob studied the hurried rise and fall of your chest, your ruined clothes, the bruising and lacerations adorning your skin, the gag in your mouth. "Drop the gun, Frye."

"If you want to live, you'll step away."

There was a scuffling behind him, the recognisable sounds of people choking on their blood filled the air. In his peripheral, green coats joined him; swathes of Rooks blocked the door, cornering the lone Blighter. The man seemed to stutter in his stance, nervous and unsure of the sudden developments, of the ace that had fallen out of his sleeve. In the next second, he ran.

Jacob couldn't care less what would happen to him. His focus was on you, only you.

"Y/n, I'm so sorry." He kneeled in front of you and pulled the gag from your mouth, gently grasping your face. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen." He cut the bonds on your wrists, catching you as you fell forward. Your eyes were closed. "Y/n, can you hear me?"

Nestled against his shoulder, you kept inhaling stuttering breaths. "It hurts," you cried hoarsely, tears spilling onto your cheeks.

"Show me where it hurts, darling, it's okay."

"E-Everywhere. Jacob, I'm scared."

He readjusted you into his chest. "I'm here now, I've got you. We'll get you home. Are you bleeding?"

You shook your head. "It's stopped." Although it should be reassuring, Jacob's heart dropped at the extent of what they've done.

"You're alright, you're okay."

#assassin's creed #x reader #assassin's creed x reader #jacob frye #jacob frye x reader #assassin's creed x f!reader #jacob frye x f!reader #1.2k follower celebration #assassin's creed fanfiction #assassin's creed x you #jacob frye x you

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dazed-poltergeist · 9 months

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The Scholar & The Assassin

Pairing: Arno Dorian x Reader

Warnings: None in particular.

Summary: Arno makes the Reader take a break for once as they prepare for an important assessment.

Add. Notes: I'm quite sure I have said this before, but I'm sorry if any of the Assassin's Creed characters I write about are out-of-character. I only have access to ACIII and ACIV: Black Flag, and honestly? I prefer playing first-hand instead of watching a playthrough on the internet. Now, watch me try to figure out the entire internal structure of Café Théâtre solely through Fandom Wiki screenshots-

>✉️<

{ Dude. I planned to write this in May/June to celebrate the end of the school year. I was like "why not?" and started writing the piece at the start of May. The problem? It's fucking August. I finished it after three fucking months. I'm afraid I finished this only because I felt obligated to. }

-Eero, August 2023

Masterlist ✧⁠*⁠。

"You have been working for quite a while. Can you take a break with me?"

Arno's spontaneous request caught you off-guard. You were a scholar preparing for the final exams created by your institution, and you now realized you had been studying in the memento gallery the whole morning.

"I probably should, I completely lost track of time." You responded to Arno, as you dipped your quill in the pot of ink sitting on your workspace. "Give me a moment to finish writing this down, I'll come with you in a bit."

"Will you? Put the quill back in the ink pot and simply go out for a bit with me." Arno insisted, but added with a chuckle: "It won't grow legs and escape while we are away."

You giggled at his remark as you got up from your desk. After a stretch, you cleaned up the quill and closed the lid of the ink pot. In the process, Arno left the gallery to get some more practical clothing for you.

As you were changing into the clothing Arno had brought you, he asked; "Do you know any places you want to pass by as we are out?" "I don't have any in mind," You told him, and added a question of your own, "You were the one who wanted to take a walk, though. Don't you have any ideas?"

"It never hurts to ask. But yes, I thought of going to the Café's rooftop, and it looks like that's where we are going." Arno stated, as the two of you began walking in the direction of the gallery's exit.

Once you had entered the balcony, you noticed that the weather had improved from the last moment you had taken a break. The Sun had come out and the winds had calmed down. Perfect weather for relaxing on the rooftop.

Arno swiftly climbed onto the roof, then turned to you and offered you his hand to help you up. You took it, and with a little struggle, you managed to get on the rooftop as well.

As the two of you moved away from the edge of the roof, you realized how much you envied Arno's skills as an assassin. Your inexperienced self was trying to keep up with him while he moved like he lived on the roofs.

Arno gestured you to sit next to him once you had made it to him. You obliged, and told him: "You need to teach me how to climb like that." "Like what?" He playfully questioned. Without a pause, you clapped back: "Like a roof hermit."

The man next to you burst into laughter at your blunt response. He took a moment to calm down, but finally he explained: "Learning to move the way I do takes years of practice. It's not something you can learn in one sitting. "

You sighed when Arno told you the truth about his skills. "At this point, I am probably too old to become an assassin," You told him. "You told me of a few assassins before. All of them were already related to the Brotherhood when they were children."

All Arno could do was agree with you. He was associated with the assassins since his childhood as well – his father was one.

Neither of you didn't want to dwell on that anymore, so you leaned against him, and began explaining the topics that you were revising before he offered to take a break.

He enjoyed listening to you talk about the things you studied, as you were passionate enough to dedicate a few years of your life to learn even more about it.

Arno realized shortly after that you were technically back in the state before the break – revising. He was sure to bring it up: "Wait a second! We are supposed to be taking a break from reviewing all that!"

#eero's fics #assassin's creed #assassin's creed unity #arno dorian x reader #arno dorian #arno victor dorian #assassin's creed x reader #assassin's creed fanfiction #ac unity #i havent been writing much for the past few months #i cant tell if its because i cant think of what to write or if its bcs im not motivated enough to write #eh. it doesnt matter

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snailtrain · 1 month

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Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad/Desmond Miles Characters: Desmond Miles, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Malik Al-Sayf, Kadar Al-Sayf Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Desmond Miles Lives, Desmond Miles-centric, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Isu Bullshit (Assassin's Creed), Bisexual Desmond Miles, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Unreliable Narrator, Slow Burn, Angst Summary:

Desmond fails to die as intended. This has a bit of an effect on the timeline.

________________

THIS is the big fic I’ve been workin’ on and was kind of nervous to share my Ao3 but like, also, check out this giant and cool fic I’ve been writing. It’s consumed most of my free time lately ♥

#assassin's creed #ao3 link #fanfiction #assassin's creed fanfiction #desmond miles #altair ibn la'ahad #archive of our own link #♥♥♥♥♥

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bookworm-with-coffee · 7 months

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Torn. . .

(Liam O'Brien x Reader)

(A/N); Ollo and welcome to my first Assassin's Creed fic!! I figured whilst stumped on my other WIP's, I should follow the call of my inspiration and write for this underrated man! Do enjoy!

Plot; After Shay is presumed dead, you are left with a choice

Pairings; Liam O'Brien x Reader (Romantic) , Shay Cormac x Reader (Platonic)

Warnings; angst, mature themes, coarse language, suicide attempt (canon), violence, unrequited love, floofity-fluff

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The night air was taut with tension and restlessness at Davenport Homestead, an uninvited chill being carried upon the snowy breeze. It was long after midnight, the light of the fire's dying embers dancing across your face and illuminating the trails of tears that were left upon your cheeks.

Your throat was tight and raw from the screams and cries that had ripped from you naught but an hour previous. Blooded nail marks trailed your tremoring hands, your hood brought up to shroud your face from onlookers and the elements.

A hollowing pain sat within your chest, your mind drifting to the horrible events that had taken place earlier on in the evening.

Everything had been peaceful, until Shay—

You winced at the sting of your inner wound stirring, trying to banish the memories of your best friend's death from your mind to no avail.

Shay Cormac had taken his own life after stealing the manuscript from Achilles.

There had been a wild chase, and at the end; his untimely demise. The man you'd looked upon in those moments was the furthest thing from your best friend and you knew that his eyes would haunt you forever.

"That's enough!", Liam's scream halted the younger Irishman, his pistol drawn to hold Shay at gunpoint. Little did you all know, it wouldn't matter.

"Give back the manuscript, Shay!!", Hope begged. "I'm sure Achilles—".

"I cannot!!", Shay's cry cut through the howling wind, the fresh stinging of tears filling his hazel orbs. "I will not let this happen again!! All those souls lost—". He turned to look over the knife-edge upon which he stood, anxiety leaping into your throat at the realization that hit you. "One more hardly matters". He was going to—

"Shay!", you called to him, inching forwards with only the intent to save him; the man who held your heart. The manuscript could be thrown into the depths of the sea for all you cared. You just wanted him back.

The Irishman turned to you then, his chocolate hues trained on you with suspicion, a deep-seated trauma reflecting through them.

"(Y/n)—", Liam tried to coax your return out of fear that Shay in his current state may hurt you. But, your trust was deep for the younger man. Achilles held his arms out to prevent the others from following you.

"Cast that damned book into the ocean", you told him, unconcerned with the consequences that you may face from your mentors. You had to try. Extending your arm outwards with an open palm, you paid no mind to the sharp cold of your hot tears freezing against your skin. "But, don't take your life, Shay. Please step away from the edge. Please".

Whilst he knew your intentions were pure, Shay was unwilling to face the consequences that undoubtedly waited for him upon giving in to you. He would die with the manuscript and his beliefs held intact. He had to ensure that what happened in Lisbon or Haiti would not happen again.

"Take my hand, Shay", you begged, inching your steps to try to close the short distance between you. "Please".

"I'm sorry, (Y/n)", he murmured, your feet moving into a sprint far too late. A shot rang out, Shay's figure falling from the stone ledge whilst he attempted to jump.

"SHAY!!!", your throat burned with the wail that passed through it. You fell to your knees at the cliff's edge, spying only the rough seas, icebergs and sharp rocks below. Shay was gone, his image burned into every crevice of your mind.

Various cries tore from your lungs, two strong arms winding around your midsection to pull you from the dangers waiting below. Liam.

"He's gone, (Y/n)!!".

"NO!! NO!!", you shouted, the taller man turning you to be flush against his chest. You fought his touch, trying to break from the stronger hold he had upon you.

Your eyes were clouded and blurred with tears, barely able to spy the gentle kindness that sat within his own. Despite your flailing and blubbering, Liam held your face steady and attempted to hush you.

It all fell to tatters, however; when you spied smoke rising from the barrel of Chevalier's gun.

Shoving yourself from the Irishman's arms, you marched towards the Frenchman naught but a few feet away. "You killed him!! You bastard!!", you spat, Liam quick to pursue you once you gripped onto the older man. "It was you!! You bastard!!".

After landing a few hits against him, your hands were forcibly pulled from Chevalier's overcoat, the Frenchman grinding out his mutual distaste for you from between his forked teeth, "Va te faire enculer! Putain!!".

"(Y/n), stop!!", Liam yelled, Achilles nodding for your counterpart to bring you away from the situation at hand.

It was true; you loved Shay. At the best of times, he was a man who was rather hard to love. Rough around the edges, irresponsible, immature. But, he was lighthearted, humourous and easygoing.

Oftentimes, you were guilty of laughing at the colourful digs or arguments he made at your mentors, or the failed attempts he made to woo other women.

The one thing that set you from him was his inability to see you how you viewed him. He never loved you back. You knew.

You knew when he would gawk at Hope, you knew when he would ruffle your hair like a child or talk openly about other suitors. His heart never belonged to you. It was agony at times.

But, there was also Liam.

Kind, warm, supportive Liam.

Having known him from your youth, the bald Irishman had mentored both yourself and Shay thoughout your lives, despite not being much older than yourselves.

You would be lying if you said you weren't the slightest bit taken by him.

Liam's protectiveness and respectful nature both attracted you deeply. Always, he would await your say-so in marksman practice, hovering those strong hands above your own until he was certain that you were consensual to his guiding touch and whispers.

Even on his worst day, did Liam always have patience and words of encouragement for you. "Bluebird" and "my favourite marksman", were names for you that often tumbled merrily from his lips, leaving you frequently flushing hot beneath your skin.

Liam was a man easy to love and had always been there for you, consistently leaving you torn between your yearnings for both young Irishmen.

Now you were torn between something different entirely.

Steps crunching in the snow broke your focus from the icicles settling into the ground, a steaming beverage being offered to you within your peripheral. You spared only a glance at it before turning your gaze to the detailed ridges of the log on which you sat.

"If you're not going to eat, please drink something at the very least", Liam's familiar Irish brogue was mellowed down to a feathersoft gentleness that had your eyes gathering tears once more.

Your throat was tight, anxiety harping it's way into your pained heart.

You had to tell him.

With a quiver to your lip, you had only two words on your mind. The hardest two words you'd ever speak to him.

"I'm leaving". You regretted the words as soon as you'd spoken them, bracing yourself for the worst in the uneasy silence that fell between you both.

"You're what??", his voice was an astonished whisper. The disbelief in his tone and the way his words broke whilst he spoke them wounded the tethers of your already broken heart further. Your silence left him at a loss, a panic seeming to rise up within him. "What are you on about, (Y/n)?".

"The Brotherhood", you replied with an unusual amount of cold that had hurt flickering into those blue hues once you had the courage to meet them. "Between leaving and staying, I'm torn. We've lost our way, Liam. I see that now".

Despite the words of argument that threatened to boil over from within him, Liam kept himself composed and listened intently when you continued,

"We are not what we were before. We've become desperate. So much so, that now we resort to destroying cities to gain even a slither of power. And I want no part in it".

"(Y/n)—", the Irishman gaped. "You cannot just leave the Brotherhood! You swore an oath to the Creed! To save the world, don't you remember??".

"And I suppose you're going to stop me, Liam?", you challenged, standing to match his height. The fury and hurt that poured through your eyes was carried from the very depths of your soul and couldn't be masked from him.

"That's the second time you've underestimated me tonight", he murmured, his surity meeting to combat your resolve perfectly.

"Are you going to kill me too?? Like Chevalier—". You choked up before the words could leave you, your eyes drifting from Liam to the fading lights of the Homestead in the distance.

"No", his head shook, gathering your unyeilding stare once more. "But, if you think for a second that I'll let you leave without a fight, (Y/n); you are sorely mistaken".

A sigh that stilled his inner rage passed through his nostrils, Liam's ocean blues travelling the features of your face with a kind softness. "Shay wasn't in his right mind and neither are you right at this very moment! You're making a mistake, (Y/n)! You're a good person. The Brotherhood needs you!". You marked the apprehension in his demeanour when his voice cracked with the words that followed. "I need you".

For a moment, you were in a state of disbelief of your own. Never had Liam shown this kind of vulnerability to you, always poising himself to be the strong and independent mentor the Brotherhood needed. That you needed. Yet, not even that could make him falter now.

"I know that you are grieving over, Shay. But, I've also lost a person I care about tonight!", the Irishman insisted, your keen eyes able to spy the tears welling up within his own. "And I'll be damned if I'm losing another!".

"Liam—", you started, only to have him cut in,

"I love you, alright?!". Just like that, his words completely melted your resolve. Stunned from the confession, your gaze searched Liam's for the chance that he was being dishonest or that you may have misheard him. You found neither.

"I love you", he repeated softer this time. The gentle brushing of his hand hovering by your own set goosebumps ablaze within your skin, drawing your gaze to the hope glimmering in the soft blue of his eyes. "I've always loved you, (Y/n). Perhaps, even before I knew what love was".

For the briefest of seconds, you became sharply aware of the details within Liam's gentle complexion and the misting of his breaths in the air; realising you were a heartbeat's distance from him. "If you stay, I know that we can make the Brotherhood a better place. Together". His hand was open to you, restraining from holding your own despite his constant urge to offer you solace. "What do you say??".

With your words dying in your throat, you reached for the nape of his neck, tugging his head forwards to seal the short gap between you both. Liam's breaths stammered within his chest, his lips flushed with a warmth that felt searing against your cooler skin.

His calloused hands pulled you to be cradled against him, your own bracing on the broadness of his chest. Every brush of his lips was a delicate caress, tasting of the salt from the tears you both had wept. Your heated breaths mingled in your concentrated passion, the Irishman reluctant to lose your touch.

Weaving his fingers with your own, Liam finally drew back to rest his forehead against yours, seemingly breathless. There was a rasp in his voice when he laughed, mumbling, "I'll take that as a yes".

"Good". Pressing another brief kiss to the Irishman's now swollen lips, a laugh to mirror his own slipped from you, "Because I love you too". Both of you marked it as perhaps your shared first steps to healing from Shay's death. Together.

The End. . .

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Hey readers!! ❤❤ I hope you all enjoyed this fic!! As always, any and all feedback is welcome! So, please - let me know how I went in writing this and how to improve, if I can! If you wished to be added to my taglist for this fandom or any others I write for, check out my masterlist and let me know what you'd like to be tagged in!

Thank you all for your support!! ❤❤

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Translations;

- "Va te faire enculer!! Putain!!" (French) = "Fuck you!! Whore!!" (English translation based on research - PLEASE correct me if I'm wrong)

#liam o'brien #ac rogue liam #ac rogue liam o'brien #ac rogue #assassin's creed rogue #liam o'brien x reader #assassins creed rogue #assassins creed #assassin's creed #assassin's creed fanfiction #assassins creed fanfiction #fanfiction #gifs not mine #credit to creator

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author-morgan · 2 years

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Title: Persuasion Pairing: m!Eivor x fem!Reader x Alexios Rating: M Summary: It takes both Eivor and Alexios to convince you to join them on their summer raid to England. Blame @mrsragnarlodbrok for this filth. ❤️

THE WATER IS warm and relaxing after a long day’s hunt, but the reprieve is interrupted by a messenger from the south named Ragn. He brings word from Eivor Wolfsmal —a summons to meet and discuss plans for the summer raiding season. The arrival of the raids means good plunder for those who partake, but for your people, it means the time to start planting rocky fields and making stores for the next winter is nigh approaching too.

There is a reason your people have not gone a viking in so long —the winters are growing longer and colder, and you cannot risk losing the menfolk, else everyone starve. But Ragn tells you Eivor has set his sights to the west, to the foretold riches of East Anglia and beyond. You thank him for the message and sink further into the cooling water before calling for one of the members of your vanguard, asking her to call upon your bannermen to prepare for departure. At dawn, you will travel south and meet Eivor of the Raven Clan’s call —for old time’s sake, if nothing else.

It is not an overly long journey south, nor is it a short one traveling across rocky crags and rushing streams. It takes nigh two moons before you can see the walls of Eivor’s settlement rising on the horizon —guarding the dark and frigid waters of the fjord beyond. Horns sound to announce the arrival, and Eivor rides out to meet you and your traveling party. People have trickled in for the last fortnight, and you are among the last to arrive —the one he’s wanted to see the most.

He dismounts his white mare as you slide from the back of your mount too and approaches you with welcome arms and warmth in his smile. The years have not changed him. He is still handsome and kindly as ever. He embraces you, a quick greeting between old friends. “Welcome,” Eivor says, then he spares a moment to look you over from head to toe. He feels as though time has not been as gentle to him as it has to you. “You look well,” he remarks.

You reach out, resting a hand on his scarred cheek, and smile up at him. “As do you.” Eivor covers your hand with his own, fingers curling around yours. He pulls your hand from his cheek and places a quick kiss on your knuckle. You ride at Eivor’s side, your traveling party trailing along, single file with the wagons at the head through the streets, stopping at the heart of the settlement before the great hall. Dismounting, you look around at the wood and stone buildings, noting how much the once small harbor has grown in recent years.

“Come with me,” Eivor says, motioning for you to follow him through the muddy streets to the harbor. You wave to your bannermen, and they disperse among the barracks and market —offloading crates and barrels of goods from wagons and carts for trade. Horns sound again, marking the arrival of three longships bearing white sails with a dark eagle clutching a serpent in its talons. The last of those who Eivor summoned for the meeting.

A man wearing pale brown leathers, a mantle of grey fur, and blue wool disembarks from the arriving longship, drawing back his hood. Most of the gathered Jarls you are familiar with, but this is a new and strange face. One who does not belong so far north. His dark hair is matted into locks shorn at his shoulders and adorned with golden beads —his skin is sun-kissed, and his eyes dark. Eivor approaches the man on the wharf, and they both size each other up in a moment of tense silence. The façade quickly breaks with Eivor’s laugh. “Alexios!” He greets.

Alexios clasps Eivor on the shoulder, smiling. “It has been too long, my friend,” he remarks —dark gaze straying to where you wait beneath an arch of wood and stone. But curiosities can be slaked later; for now, it is time to prepare for the feast.

NINE OF THE eleven Jarls who have answered the call retire for the evening. Their absence leaves you sitting between Eivor and Alexios at the table strewn with overturned cups and empty plates —still unconvinced it’s in your people’s best interests to join the summer raids of an all but unknown land. Too much is at stake for you to carelessly venture west.

“You’ve yet to persuade me, Wolf-kissed,” you note, setting aside your cup. The promise of riches alone is not enough to send men to an early grave. “I have my people I must care for and women and children who will lose their husbands and fathers.” Where others could make do with the absence of menfolk during the warm months, your clan could not —only a handful of men joined the raids each year. Every person contributed to the survival of the whole so far north. “Our winters are longer than yours here in the south,” you remind him.

Alexios regards you carefully, a smile tugging at his lips. He’s not said much this evening, but his dark eyes have been busy —watching. He sees a strong will, a sharp wit, and a gentle heart. The makings of a leader loved by the masses. That’s without considering the respect you commanded from the others who have seen more summers than you. He has to admire that after encountering so many weak-willed leaders in his years.

“Perhaps another drink will help ease your worries,” Eivor says, pouring a fresh cup of mead and sliding it across the table for you to take. Even drunk, you do not think you’d willingly throw away so many lives for the spoils of the summer raids. He’s adamant, though. “I know there are riches and fertile land to the west,” Eivor tells you. “You need not endure the harsh winters if your people can call Anglia home.”

“It’s true,” Alexios supplements, “I’ve been there before.” He has wandered around the world for centuries and knows Eivor and others speak the truth about the land once named Britannia. “Thick forests and rolling green hills as far as the eye can see.” It sounds too good to be true —like a dream. “You see,” Alexios continues, “the true riches lie not in gold or silver, but the fertile earth. There’s more than enough land for your people to make a new home,” he tells you.

“Still,” you say, looking between the two men flanking your sides, “I shall have to think on it.” It is no small thing to ask that you uproot your people on a whim for an uncertain future in a strange land, but perhaps you could join them to see this land and its riches for yourself. Though, it is still something that must be considered without the strong mead fogging your senses.

Alexios leans forward, crossing his arms on the table. He looks past you to Eivor —who seems to be in the same mindset as him. He’s certainly not immune to the charms of a woman such as you, and neither is Eivor, considering the looks he’s shared with you over the course of the evening. “Perhaps we can convince you to join us,” he says, voice gruffer than just moments before.

Eyes flitting between both men, you catch onto the game they’re playing. You’re not one to shy away from such games, and it’s an easy choice to decide to play along with whatever they might be scheming. “And how will you do that?” You challenge, lifting a brow.

“Do you know how to wield a spear?” Alexios asks —you catch the double meaning of his question easily enough. Had any other Jarl asked such a thing, you’d have emptied your cup over their head, but there’s a certain allure and charm to Alexios with his sharp features and tawny-gold eyes.

“I do,” you answer, letting another sip of mead wash away what little inhibitions are left for the evening. “I can skewer a boar and bring a man to his knees,” you note. Eivor knows you can do both with ease —he’s seen you hunt before, knows what it’s like to have you writhing as he fucks you.

“How about you, Alexios? Can you wield a spear?” You query, lifting your cup to hide a bold and enticing smile. He moves as soon as you set your cup on the table, drawing you into his lap, hands instantly finding the ties of your soft gambeson and the pale tunic below —as though he’s been waiting for this moment since first setting eyes on you hours prior. The gambeson slips to the floor, and you rid yourself of the thin tunic without care. His lips are warm and soft against yours when he kisses you, palms pressing flat against your breasts.

He leans down, mouth latching onto your neck with a gentle bite that makes you gasp. Alexios moves down your chest until his lips wrap around one taut nipple, his tongue swirling around the bud and drawing a moan from your traitorous lips. You feel him smile against you —the press of his teeth against your chest in a broad grin. You catch Eivor’s gaze, and the color on his cheeks as your hands trail down Alexios’s chest —you can feel the firm muscles in his abdomen beneath your hands and his half-hard cock pressing into your thigh. He offers no resistance when you start unlacing the ties of his pants.

His cock is thick, heavy, and hot in your hand as you wrap your fingers around him —feeling each rigid vein. You can’t help but imagine the feel of them dragging along your walls as he fucks you. Your cunt tightens at the thought —a shiver crawls down your spine, and warmth pools in your belly. What you’d give to mount him like a stallion —you can already feel the aching burn of him stretching you open. But for now, you’ll settle for this. Alexios’s head tips back. The muscles in his neck tense. You lean into him, lips dragging along his jawline, and when he groans, it reverberates through you both. His breath stutters as you start slow. A teasing, languid pace —letting your entire hand explore him.

Eivor shifts in his chair —you can feel the heat of his stare without sparing him a glance. “You’re awfully quiet, Eivor,” you muse, still peppering kisses along Alexios’s neck and letting his calloused hands explore what skin they can. “Still not over that night?” You tease, breath catching when Alexios nips at your collarbone —the scruff of his beard leaving a burning trail that his tongue soothes. “Must’ve been, what? Four years ago, now?” Eivor does not answer. He won’t give you the satisfaction of knowing how many times the thought of you has kept him warm at night.

Your gaze drops to Alexios’s cock as you give him another long stroke from base to tip. Flushed, thick, and throbbing against your skin. You stop holding back —hand moving faster and wrist twisting on each upstroke— and Alexios cannot restrain himself any longer. He feels a fool for coming undone so quickly, but there’s magic in your touch, especially after a long voyage at sea.

“Is this any way to treat your host?” Eivor japes, and you can hear the bitter jealously in his voice as he watches. “Casting him aside to watch?”

“Come now, Eivor,” you chide. “You’ll have your fun later.” The way you say it, taunting and teasing with your hand wrapped around another man’s cock makes this all seem like a competition. If it is, at least it is a game where you will all be victorious.

“Is this not part of the sacred guest-rights?” Alexios asks, his voice half-strangled from how your hand works his cock but amused too. His body arches into you, pulling you against him, and his lips part as he moans unabashedly. It isn’t loud, but it is guttural and desperate, and it makes your core ache with want. Your hand doesn’t stop working him even as he spills himself over your fingers, drawing out his orgasm for as long as you can until you slow to a stop, and he begins to relax —catching his breath.

But he’s quick to begin taking what he wants. Alexios kisses your neck, moving down your body —the rough pads of fingers trailing along your sides, but it’s not enough. He needs more, wants more, and it’s impulse and desire when he sweeps his arms out, knocking the plates and cups in front of him to the floor. Alexios lifts you from his lap onto the edge of the table —hurriedly pulling at the ties of your britches as you toe off your boots.

Eivor inhales sharply, seeing you bare and splayed out on the table. His tongue darts out to dampen his lips. Memory reminds him of how sweet you tasted and how prettily you’d moaned for him, and he can barely stand the thought of not being the one between your thighs.

Alexios slinks down to look upon his second meal —eager to devour. You feel the stubble of his jaw tickle the crest of one hip and then the other before feeling his breath against your aching center. He kisses the inside of each thigh, then suckles and bites a mark in the same place on each side, laving over the little marks with his tongue. Alexios does not know what will come of this night, though he will leave a lasting impression on you to remember him by for the coming days —and maybe have you coming back to warm his bed on these cold northern nights.

He nuzzles his face against your cunt, inhaling the heady scent —drunk off the smell— and Alexios wrenches an incredulous noise from your throat when his tongue darts out, licking a flat stripe over you, stopping to circle your clit. He repeats the action thrice over, each time adding more pressure —devouring your cunt with attention like a man supping on his last meal, and he will be sure to have his fill. Reaching down, you twine your hands into his dark hair, and he peers up, dark eyes almost black with desire but still shining gold in the firelight. It’s easy to forget you and Alexios are not alone.

His tongue and mouth are insistent but soft, warm, and wet —a practiced lover— and he groans in delight against you when he feels your hips rise from the table and start to roll against his tongue. Alexios thinks himself a simple devotee worshipping at the altar of a goddess.

Every time you make a new noise, it just makes him more voracious —makes his cock stir again, but right now is about you and he’s determined not to stop until you’re shaking. He loops his arms under your thighs and moves his fingers to spread you open farther —letting his thumbs rub up and down your folds, gathering the slick. Then he eases one finger into your cunt, curling, and stroking, then adds a second. It’s devastating —the gentle pressure with each flick of his tongue on your clit— your breath comes in short gasps, chest heaving until it all erupts in slow sparks and smoldering flames.

It's the plummet of a longship’s prowl after cresting a wave when gravity takes its full force. The slow build of heat low in your belly takes to flames fanned by bellows. Alexios curls his fingers just right and feels your body tighten and seize. Your back arches off the tabletop and your ragged cry of ecstasy fill the room as you quiver.

Alexios raises his head, lips and chin glistening in the low light of the empty mead hall. He eases you down, hands stroking the insides of your thighs, and his lips find the skin below your navel before he draws you off the table and back into his lap. You tremble still when he drags the scruff of his jaw over your breasts and clavicles —promptly burying his face into your neck and listening as your heartbeat slows.

Fingers threading into Alexios’s matted locks, you glance at Eivor —his eyes are dark and filled with lust. His breathing is quicker and more labored than it had been during the feast too. Eivor splays his legs open, and you can see the outline of his hard cock through the wool of his britches. You smile for him —knowing it drives him to insanity and jealousy to see you like this because of another man. Alexios’s rough hands slide over your sides and around to your backside, pulling you down and forward against him —so you can feel his cock twitch back to life. A promise the night is not over yet.

But Eivor’s patience has run dry, and he will resign to being a bystander no longer. Rising from his seat, Eivor steps to you and Alexios, tugging your hair and forcing you to look up at him. He cranes down close to your ear and smirks. “My turn,” he rasps, pulling you off Alexios’s lap before scooping you up and over his shoulder and parading through the Great Hall toward his chambers. “Come, my friend,” Eivor calls back to Alexios, “guest-rights would have you take her cunt first.”

Anticipation burns low in your belly as Eivor pushes open the door to his room. Alexios trails a few steps behind —cock half-hanging out of the untied laces of his britches— his hands already fumbling with the ties of his tunic. Then Eivor lets you down from his shoulder and seizes your face in his hands, lips finding yours with burning lust and consuming passion.

You break away, breathless, and start to slide your hands beneath the hem of his tunic, pushing up the coarse crimson wool until he finally rids himself of it. Then your lips trail effortlessly along his heated flesh as you kiss your way from his scarred neck down his chest, then to his stomach, ghosting over the familiar blue-black ink of the runic tattoos accenting his middle. They’re a shade or two lighter than when you last saw him like this.

“Didn’t I tell you you’d have your fun later?” You muse, stopping just below his navel where a trail of hair a shade darker than that on his head begins. His response is a breathy groan as you continue down the path you’d started, falling to your knees in front of him, alas. His hands tangle in your hair as he moans quietly for you, feeling the blood rush as your breath trails dangerously close to the swell of his still-clothed cock.

His jaw clenches in frustration when you slow down, working the ties of his britches. You push the soft leather down his thighs, letting his cock fall free —hard, heavy, and weeping with want. Eivor steps out of his britches, and you press a to kiss his inner thigh, feeling the muscle twitch in anticipation. You kiss his inner thigh and feel the muscle twitch in anticipation. His fingers brush over your jaw, and your lips part to run your tongue across the length of his cock.

You look up at him before circling the head of his cock with your tongue, and he growls, running a hand through your hair affectionately. Your thighs squeeze together, knowing how much he wants your attention makes you feel flushed and warm in the best way. You give him a small smile before you open wider to take the head between your lips and are rewarded with his pleased sigh.

He hisses as he watches his cock disappear into your mouth —can feel the wet of your tongue lapping at him when you hollow your cheeks in. Your eyes are fixed on him, firing with lust as you watch him slowly fall into a haze. His brows furrow, his eyes slip shut, and his mouth parts from the sudden peak of pleasure. He doesn’t expect you to stop so suddenly, though. The aching emptiness between your thighs is enough to drive you mad. You look back at Alexios —he’s bare as you are now, his clothes tossed in a heap at the door, and he’s stroking his cock as he watches.

Rising from your knees, you press your hand to the center of Eivor’s chest, pushing him back toward the bed. He goes without complaint, falling backward into the furs, and you join him, perching on hands and knees —placing a long lick up the underside of his cock before a small sucking kiss on the head and presenting yourself to Alexios for the taking.

Alexios steps up behind you, his hands running over your hips and backside. His fingers dip into your soaked cunt before curling around his cock, stroking himself before pressing into you —slowly, so you can feel each ridge and vein dragging along your walls, filling you. It draws a low moan from you as he bottoms out, then starts thrusting shallowly as you lick a stripe up Eivor’s cock again. You give no warning as you open wide, mouth closing around the head of his cock and slipping halfway down his length. His fingers instinctively yank at your hair, moan cracking in his throat like he’s choking on the sound.

From behind, relentlessly to his snapping hips, Alexios fucks into you. Hard, rigid, merciless through a string of guttural groans and stumbling profanities spoken in a tongue you do not understand. Needy and pitifully pathetic, your aching cunt burns with each thrust, rough pads of his callous fingers digging into the skin of your bare hips. You lay there for him, hands twisted into the fur pelts next to Eivor’s thighs, body jolting and humming with pleasure. You can’t see him, yet you know how he must be —satisfied— and how he must look —chest flushed as incoherent grunts of pleasure bolt his lips.

His thickness splits you inch by inch while he slams in relentlessly, ceaselessly, persistently. Each vein, each ridge, each curve of his cock skidding along the walls of your cunt, driving your body further into oblivion. Alexios’s teeth scrape over your shoulder when he lowers his mouth to your back. One of his hands stays on your waist, anchoring you against him, the other palms your breast, fingers tweaking one nipple then the other. You’re vaguely aware that Alexios and Eivor are saying something to each other, but you’re too distracted by your work to pay attention. You shiver a bit when you feel warm hands come down to grope your breasts, and you let your throat squeeze around him, mind shrouded in a fog of sex.

Alexios looks down at the display of his cock moving in and out of your wet cunt. It’d be a shame not to enjoy what you’re offering in the moment. He leans over you, chest pressed against your back, and kisses your neck —the feel of his hot lips sends a shiver down your spine and makes you clench around his cock. “Fuck,” he hisses, grabbing a handful of your ass to spur you along. You feel the familiar tension blooming in your stomach as he thrusts inside you again and again. The needy little sounds you’re making for him are muffled around Eivor’s cock. Alexios’s bottoming out with every rock of his hips against yours, and this won’t last much longer for either of you —his cock is already throbbing with the prospect of release.

Eivor’s fingers thread into your hair, keeping you against his groin and looking at you like you’re some kind of benevolent goddess. It only makes that heat inside you flare up more. This all feels so good, but you can only offer muffled whines as both of them enjoy your body. You whimper, and the low reverberation and hum of your mouth around his cock is enough to finish Eivor —and you swallow the bitter salt of his seed.

Rough fingertips find your clit, rubbing and stroking until your cunt clamps down tight around his cock, and you lose all sense of focus as the wave of pleasure washes over you —breath reduced to tiny gasps and your thighs shaking. You slump forward, head pillowed on Eivor’s stomach, content to let Alexios work himself to his own finish with your body, and it doesn’t take much time. He comes inside you after a few more sloppy thrusts, cock spasming deep in your cunt, pressed so close against your back you can feel his heart beating fast behind you. The two of you stay together for a minute to get your bearings before he pulls out and steps away.

Eivor’s waited long enough to have your cunt, and he’ll not give you long to recover from how Alexios fucked you. He crawls between your thighs. His eyes hold a certain darkness you’ve never seen before —rooted in jealousy— and his mouth is slightly a gape with his chest rising and falling in heavy heaves. He takes hold of his cock, stroking himself as his spare hand plants to your hip, spreading your legs open wide for his taking. Eivor’s lips quirk into a faint smirk as he guides his cock into you as if to say you’re mine now.

Low and throaty, he hisses to the sensation, eyes momentarily clenching shut to the feel of you as he sinks to the hilt. His thrusts start slow but quicken —he’s thought about having you like this again on many a cold night— cock throbbing and twitching inside you, slipping from your cunt messily each time before plummeting back in. He grunts and curses above you as you plead with sobs of frustration and nigh overstimulation. You’ve never been so well-fucked before.

Your nails dig into his biceps, each thrust presses your breasts tighter to his chest. Eivor dips his head down, teeth scraping over your neck —just above a thrumming pulse. Your body involuntarily reacts, arching into him, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer every time he rolls his hips into yours. His fingertips press hard into your thighs, holding you tight against him, and your back arches with jolting shocks. Eivor’s eyes blacken when his eyes glaze over your body —wanton and bare, completely exposed for him, with your breasts bouncing as he rams in, cock burying deep, deep inside you with each thrust.

He grunts, jaw tightened, his pace never faltering. Your cunt pulses and throbs —Alexios’s seed leaking onto the furs below. Eivor breathes your name, face lowering to yours —mead-tinged breath hot against your lips as he quietly growls, teeth barely grazing your jaw. Persistently, he nips at the soft skin of your neck, leaving marks to match those left by Alexios, as if marking his claim too. “Fuck,” he grits, his eyes frenzied and primal, wild as he asserts his dominance —taking what should have been his all along. It’s the way his throbbing cock works your cunt, the way he perfectly fucks you into pure and utter bliss.

Throaty and gruff, he lets out rough moans, breathy and raggedy, and hot as he shudders, sending shivers of wanting down your spine when you know he’s close. Your head tilts back, and you can see Alexios reclined behind you —watching contentedly. With a few particularly harsh thrusts, you yelp in pleasure, ascending another peak, searing your nerves as he continues to fuck into you, chasing his own end. Eivor’s cock hits your end with a halt, a satisfied grumble of his chest rumbling against your breasts as he finds release, filling you with tingling warmth. Then his head falls forward, forehead pillowed on your breasts, and he lets out a breathy exhale, chest hot and puffing from the exertion. Drawing in a long sigh, Eivor slides his cock from you, rolling off to the side.

Shifting, you rest your head on Alexios’s stomach and drape your legs across Eivor’s. He smooths his hand over your calf and turns his head, watching the seed drip from your ruined cunt. Sleep weighs heavily on your chest after the length of days of travel, and now this. It calls sweetly. “Have we persuaded you to go to England with us?” Alexios asks, half-laughing as he runs his fingertips over your stomach and stops to fondle one of your breasts.

“Will the two of you be having me like this every day if I do?” You ask in turn, voice airy —dreamy— eyes slipping shut. Both men exchange a look, and neither will object to such a proposition. You can feel the low rumble of laughter in Alexios and Eivor’s chests. You certainly wouldn’t object to the proposal. Eivor kisses the bend of your knee, and Alexios takes your hand, lips pressing to the center of your palm —each kiss like a promise of what’s to come.

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itseivwhore · 1 year

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♡ 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒑𝒍𝒆'𝒔 𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 ♡

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Valentine special, day 11th : “Couple's dance”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Pairing : Edward Kenway x fem Reader

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Summary : While patiently waiting for Edward to come back from some business affair around Great Inagua, from the balcony you were leaning into, you heard cheerful melodies coming from the dock. Unable to resist curiosity, you decided to walk near the tavern, quickly joining the collective amusement...thanks to Kenway, of course.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Author's note: I'm incredibly sorry if I'm one day late, also because I promised myself I wouldn't skip a day, but it was over the weekend and well here we are ;( BUT for you all to forgive me, I made this way longer than the last one shot I wrote + I even added some lyrics from one of the songs you can actually hear while standing near the taverns of pretty much all the cities/villages in AC Black Flag! I thought it was a cool idea, so if you want to give it a listen, here's the link!

Ps. I miss writing for Edward so much oh my gOD.

*˚ .♡⋆ﾟˊˎ -

The gentle lapping of the waves as they slowly washed up on the beach, together with the gentle, rhythmic sound of the cicadas singing, lent a peaceful, relaxing atmosphere that reigned unperturbed over the island. From the vast and airy balcony of the manor house where you were currently standing, you had a wide view of the beach and the pier, paying no attention to the darkness that embraced everything; your eyes immediately adjusted to the few, warm and soft lights coming from both the small bonfires on the beach and the numerous candles in the tavern.

Everything around you was motionless and surrounded by shadows, were it not for numerous fireflies that seemed like quick flashes of light dancing, suspended in the air. Sitting on a large, comfortable chair you had managed to get outside, that sort of strange, rhythmic dance caught your attention for a while, distracting you.

After you had lost yourself in watching the pretty insects, you looked away and noticed that a sultry, warm breeze was shaking the tree branches, even causing the sails of the Jackdaw, anchored near the dock, to move slightly. You also noticed the sailors who, having finished their respective jobs on the ship, jumped off and made their way to the tavern... from which immediately arose light-hearted laughter, joyous singing - and even some light brawling, which the wind carried to your ears.

A bored sigh came out of your mouth, your patience running thin with each passing moment without Edward by your side. It was now an hour since Edward left you in the manor alone, saying he had to meet with one of the villagers down the beach to arrange a deal; he hadn't given you much information, leaving you only with a promise, saying he would be right back and you would spend the rest of the evening together, you in turn promising to stay there and wait for him...leaving a gentle kiss on your temple before disappearing into the darkness of the night, leaving you hopeful, waiting for him with such trepidation.

Trepidation that became anxiety, which faded into boredom and tiredness, thinking of the Captain's return while you were aimlessly watching the people far away from you in the distance.

Getting up from your chair, you turned your steps towards the balustrade and, leaning on it with your elbows, you began to look at the tavern and listen to the harmonious and cheerful sound of the songs that the sailors, together with the innkeepers, sang at the top of their voices. All that vitality, all that fun that was like an omniscient presence in the atmosphere of the island, only spurred you more and more to leave the manor and join in the commonl fun.

You looked over your shoulder, behind you, seeing the large chair you have been sitting on for almost a hour, pondering if to leave once for all and give in to your temptation, or if to keep on patiently waiting for Edward to come back, biting your lips at your indecision.

After all, you weren't going to be gone for long, you just wanted to relieve the boredom and waste some time, and you'd be back before he even returned. After all... if Edward hadn't returned until then, how could he ever return just when you weren't there? It really would have been a coincidence, wouldn't it?

And so, happily and firmly slapping the stone balaustra when you finally made up your mind, you swiftly jumped over the balcony, quickly walking down the cliff towards the dock, a satisfied little smile on your lips as the lights and the voices grew stronger and louder.

~ ~ ~

"We like to sneak out without keeping our promise, eh, sly fox?" countless emotions and thoughts overpowered your mind and body as soon as you heard that all too familiar voice and mocking grin; the need - the urge to flee, to run away or even to throw yourself into the water violently seized you as soon as you saw Edward walking towards you.

It had been a while since you had finally arrived at the tavern, taking a seat not far from the counter, silently enjoying yourself amidst the laughter of the sailors and the melodious voices of some young women, singing accompanied by violins; some couples were dancing merrily among the tavern tables, their quick steps on the wooden planks echoing in the air. You watched and savoured everything attentively, and the anxiety of having to return to the manor before Edward, was now long gone.

But as soon as your eyes caught sight of a tall, blond figure walking slowly towards your table, a slight panic took hold of you: not so much that you could do anything though. What could you possibly have done? He had obviously already seen you, you could feel his piercing blue eyes in the distance; there was no reason to run away after all. Edward could be very magnanimous when he wanted to be... plus his laid back expression and his quiet footsteps put you more at ease.

And here he was, standing tall and proud before you in his usual attire, hood down resting on his shoulders as he was looking down at you, who held his inquisitive gaze, without breaking eye contact. His rhetorical question, said in such a mocking tone and him leaning in more towards you, made you feel slightly in awe.

The captain received only silence in response: you did not know what to say or what excuse to make up. But you knew that Edward was as magnanimous as he was cunning, and it was useless to lie to him as he would immediately discover your lies. In short, it wasn't worth it, and the only thing to do was to keep looking at him with a straight face.

"I was just coming back, it was just a matter of seconds," he continued in an upset tone, raising his eyebrow and pointing with a vague gesture of his hand to the cliff in the distance.

You became lightly shocked in hearing his almost disappointed words, rising one of your eyebrows in a questioning look. Were you wrong, or was he trying to give you the fault, as to excuse himself for his own wrongs? But as you looked in his eyes, you noticed cheekiness twinkling in the blue of them, also finally seeing his usual smug smirk plastered on his lips. He was just genuinely teasing you– as always, and you know he enjoyed seeing you flustered just for the fun of it.

And so, hit by realisation, you decided to play his game, straightening your back as you leaned forward towards him, hands playing with the flame of the candle on the table.

"Seconds which became minutes...and minutes which became a hour. You didn't keep your promise" you replied defiantly, mimicking his grin, stressing each one of your words, reminding him of his own broken promise.

Edward seemed to be taken aback at your biting words, at which he let out an amused little chuckle, lowering his head and shaking it as he clicked with his tongue.

"I was looking for you, but I see someone is so impatient" he uttered with a low voice, murmuring this near your ear when he leaned in down to your face, placing a hand on the back of the chair, his stubble slightly brushing on your cheek.

"I apologize, Kenway" you breathed out with just a low voice, reaching out with a hand towards his cheek, caressing it, then sliding it down to his jaw and chin, touching his strong neck before playing with his necklace, smelling humidity and salt on his tanned skin.

"There should be a Captain in there somewhere" Edward whispered back in a suggestive tone, his nose nudging your sweet spot near your ear, making you shiver; drawing him closer and closer to you with both you mannerisms and voice, for then placing both of your hands on his chest, pushing him away from you, laughing in seeing his astonished expression.

Continuing to laugh you nodded to him to go get something to drink at the counter, and he obeyed as he gave you a wink; returning to your table with two glasses of rum, he sat down opposite you, saying nothing as you both watched the people dance in front of you.

"So how did the meeting go?" you asked loudly enough so that you could be heard, as the violins and voices only increased as you drank some of your rum.

"Everything's already sorted out, we just need to discuss where to build the brothel" he explained as he vaguely gestured over the houses; as he kept talking about his business in the small village, he somehow and sometime got distracted by glancing his sailors with their companions, who kept on quickly dancing around the tables, sometimes even stumbling over your own.

"This place changed a lot. I really like the tavern and the people, and how lively the atmosphere is" you expressed your thoughts loudly, gazing all over you and bittersweetly grimacing at remembering how lame and miserable the village was when you and Edward firstly arrived here; smiling fondly in seeing how much Great Inagua changed thanks to Edward's efforts...and money. You knew– and understood the need of Edward to find a new place to call home: to feel like home. And you always have supported him however you could.

You wondered why he was not giving you an answer, and when you turned in his direction, you saw him shift his gaze from the dancing couples to you, and vice versa. Your eyes met, and somehow you immediately understood what he had in mind when he chugged down all the rum, for then slamming the empty glass on the table, some droplets flying around.

"Dance with me" he said from all of sudden with a decisive voice and firm expression, not giving you the time to realize what was about to happen: the Captain was already standing before you, towering over you. In the heat of the moment you didn't had time to properly think about his sudden proposal: but his outstretched arm, him offering you his opened hand and his encouraging and trustworthy smile made you immediately accept, throwing away any doubts or insecurities. After all, you decided to go to the tavern because you were bored and you wanted to have some fun. So why denying? Why denying a dance to your lover, who was so willingly and happily giving you his hand?

And so, widely smiling, you grabbed his hand and squeezed it, letting him pull you up from the chair, grabbing your waist as you placed one hand on his broad shoulder, for then finally starting to dance.

It had been a while since you had danced with someone, in that carefree way, not particularly following the rhythm of the cheerful music, not feeling embarrassed when by accident and emotion both you and Edward stepped on each other's feet, laughing amused at your awkwardness. Stumbling and colliding with other couples, not stopping for a moment except to drink and kiss each other appassionately and hastily, tongue crashing, tasting the alcohol on each other's lips, keeping on dancing, breathless, body against body, feeling each other's fanning breaths on your sweaty necks.

Spinning around the tables and other people, dancing wildly and messily for all the night, the ashen light of the moon and the hundreds of stars which enchanted you when Edward knocked you backwards, only to pick you up again soon after; your neck exposed to him who, inches away from your chest and leaned down on you, left a searing kiss on it, feeling him smile against your skin.

Seeing your wheezes, your hearts beating wildly in your chests and your heads that were spinning both from the twirls and the alcohol, you both decided that it was enough for that night. All the sailors and the women were passed out, some on the damp wooden floors, some on the chairs and some even on the tables... and some vomiting as they looked out over the water.

You and your lover found shelter in a corner away from everyone, still near the tavern, not too far away not to hear a last tune that one of the few awaken sailors was singing alone. Edward was sitting on his chair, and you on his lap, head laying on his chest, smelling his natural perfume, delicately lulled both by his now calm heartbeat and by the crackling produced by the small waves who hit on the Jackdaw.

Just when you were about to fall asleep, eyes closed and snuggled so close to him, your hands clasped around the back of his neck, you heard him humming something under his breath:

"Here's a health to the dear lass that I love so well, for her style and her beauty, sure none can excel..." smiling fondly when you recognized that he was softly singing along the lyrics of the song of the sailor.

"...there's a smile on her countenance as she sits on my knee" your smile only grew wider, your heart skipping a beat and shivering as he started to murmur the melody closer to your ear, his hands securely holding you.

"There's no men in this wide world as happy as me" he stopped to sing, falling silent and you bet that you could still hear his soothing voice lingering on the air and on the breeze.

"I didn't know you could sing so well" you joked in a sleepy voice, giggling amused when you felt his body shake for his chuckle.

"I used to sing a lot to myself while doing commissions around Bristol for my parents, when I was a boy, sweetheart" Edward answered as he played with a lace of your clothes, hearing a nostalgic veil covering his words, you humming as you tried to imagine his youth.

Silence returned to take hold of you both as you relaxed in each other's embrace,you giving one last glance at the tavern, at the people, at the village and at least, at the manor on top of the cliff

"Do you think this can feel like your new home?" you softly asked, almost scared of the answer he might would have given you when he didn't immediately answered you; pondering his words before your felt him placing his cheek on top of your head.

"Yes, it can" he whispered, feeling him squeeze your waists "with the right people"

#edward kenway x reader #edward kenway x y/n #edward kenway x you #edward kenway one shot #edward kenway fanfic #assassin's creed fanfiction #assassin's creed one shot #assassin's creed x reader #valentine's special #valentine's week #my writing #bonus point for everyone who got the Jack Sparrow reference! HAHAHAH

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musetta3 · 8 months

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It was a pleasure to paint this art commission for the amazing @tkwritesdumbassassins ! Her Federico and Tristan is my Assassin Creed OTP; loved painting them. Based on 1470s Florentine fashion; all the fabrics are based on real textiles from the late 1400s, found at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC.

Check out TK’s fic here! One of my favorites in the fandom. Thank you again for commissioning, TK! <3 (please click pictures for optimal quality!!)

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reiverreturns · 5 months

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a semi-organised masterlist (ao3)

✈️ top gun maverick ✈️

quiet promises (M | Phoenix/Bob | 3k) every time I think I prefer this ship platonically they say "no <3". canon-compliant developing relationship

nostos (T | Phoenix/Bob, Rooster/Hangman, gen dagger squad | 1.6k) vignette study of how each dagger makes it home from the mission

rules of engagement (T | Phoenix & Rooster | 6.5k) platonic soulmate relationship study. no one can be besties with a man like Bradley Bradshaw without some equalising emotional baggage

when we collide (we come together) (E | Rooster/Hangman | 4.9k) life-affirming angsty smut between exes after Javy and Nat's very terrible day gone worse

painterly (G | Rooster/Hangman/Phoenix | 0.5k) established relationship sereshace character study ficlet, written for the prompt 'teal'

memory lane (G | Rooster & Maverick | 0.5k) post-canon mavdad reconciliation ficlet, written for the prompt 'rosy'

calefaction (M | Rooster/Hangman | 9k) summer exchange fic, written for the prompt 'air con broken during a heat wave, getting together'

take me to the stars (M | Maverick/Phoenix | 0.8k) post-canon established relationship ficlet, written for the prompt 'raw'

🗡️ assassin's creed valhalla 🗡️

for those we left behind (M | Eivor/Vili | 74k | unfinished) canon divergent childhood-friends-to-lovers the game should have given us ft. a greek chorus of Randvi, Birna, and Rollo

swim until you can't see land (M | Hytham/Randvi | 9.3k | unfinished) nerd4nerd crackship, post-canon angst to happy ending

attrition (E | Eivor/Vili | 8.9k) smutty reunion years after Vili takes his father's seat, against the backdrop of the the danelaw taking hold in england

🇺🇸 far cry 5 🇺🇸

blessed are the meek (T | gen | 2.7k) canon-compliant character study of Jacob Seed and his feelings towards his bastard (affectionate) family

active wips

halcyon days (M) - Phoenix/Bob roadtrip fic, sequel to quiet promises

untitled sereshace (E) - relationship study of Phoenix and Hangman in an established sereshace context

miscellaneous writing

drabbles, WIPs, and writing asks on #reiverwrites

prompts and requests

requests and prompts are always gratefully received, though seldom filled in a timely manner

#a pinned masterlist? who IS she???#a lady who is terribly disorganised and wants all her links in one place apparently #did i spend my evening putting this together instead of writing? well yes #masterlist #top gun fanfiction #assassin's creed fanfiction #far cry 5 fanfiction #reiverwrites #fic masterlist #graphic design and tumblr post formatting is not my passion

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reemonna · 8 months

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Hello can you make a another hc’s or Connor ? ;)

Yes, sure! Thank you for the request! (And sorry for the delay) To be honest, I was looking, lately, for some excuses to write more about Connor since he's my favourite assassin so here are some Connor headcanons. I hope you love 'em! (I will certainly be uploading other Assassin's Creed characters headcanons, but I think I'm going to stick with Connor for a while)

When you're stressed or panicked with Ratonhnhaké:ton / Connor Kenway

He blames himself for what you had to go through

He will try so hard not to show it. But his stoic face gaunts gradually seeing you weep and sob in his arms

He shows various signs, biting his lips, intensely moving his gaze away, gritting his jaws, or clenching his hands cruelly that his knuckles turn white

He gets narky and manic to the point he could set the whole world on fire just for your sake

He's considered socially awkward, thus why he's not really able to express what he really feels correctly -and nicely at the same time- since he comes from an isolated society, and he doesn't open up to anyone about any of these sensitive issues and events, especially these which happened to him as a child. So he just stays silent, holding the urge to say anything that might make the situation worse as much as possible

He will leave you alone for some time to let you calm down and manage yourself on your own should he feel you're stressed out in his presence

He tries containing and perhaps dragging these vengeful and bloodlust thoughts out of your consciousness -in a situation of one of your loved ones dying by the enemy-, whether by distracting you or alerting you of what walking down that road could lead to

He doesn't wish to witness you turning into someone he long-lived detested and fought, like the templars, or like himself sometimes

He'll try to know who's behind your sorrows and deal with them, staining his hands with more blood to keep yours clean

He will lean closer to you, aiming to embrace you, and by accepting his offer he will gently wrap his arms around you, holding you tight and absorbing your anger

Taking you to a tranquil place, where no one can be seen or heard except for your footsteps, and maybe the animals running around you -if you were in an open space among the nature-

He thinks a little walk in such places could ease the tension even a little bit, since he used to spend a lot of his time there whenever he wants to clear his mind

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nuka-cherries · 11 months

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the pessimistic optimist cast!

the bene squad cinematic universe aka my fic with special guest stars of my mom @templarsandhoes and sib @ratonnhhaketon 's OCs.

if y'all haven't read the pessimistic optimist, y'all are missing out!!! it's so so so SO much fun to write and i really hope y'all give it a read! if you like a fanfic with bisexual architect arno dorian who falls in love with a bisexual mortician named adair 'adi' henaf in the midst of a wacky ass revolution in wacky ass france AND with a wacky ass writer aka me trying to fix everything in assassin's creed unity by rewriting it as much as i possibly can to gaslight myself that this is indeed the actual gameplay, then BOY do I got a fic for YOU!

adi henaf - me, esmeme fic: the pessimistic optimist faceclaim: rege jean-page

ellie price - @ratonnhhaketon fic: revenge is a fool's game faceclaim; amelia zadro

grace jacobs - @templarsandhoes fic: put me back together faceclaim: alexis coppola

Please read these wonderful fics from these wonderful people because y'all are missing out!!!!

#adiarno #adi henaf x arno dorian #assassin's creed unity #esme makes a text post #assassin's creed fanfiction

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assassins-and-hidden-blades · 2 years

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Hey! How are you :)) I am here to request some headcanons, some very cute ones, fluffy ones hehe, can I please have jacob Frye x weak short female reader, I'm sooo weak! And short so I struggle doing a lot of stuff :| it sucks.

Thanks you ❤️ I also want to say, appreciate your work as I know it isn't easy and I love your writing xox

12/09/2022: Sorry this took me so long! I've only just been able to figure out worthwhile scenarios for this! I hope you're still around! Thank you so much for your kind words! They really mean a lot to me :)

Warnings: No beta we die like lampposts on London road when Jacob's driving

Jacob Frye with a Weak, Short, F!Reader may include...

He teases you for it.

Mercilessly.

In the train, you being weak and short isn't much of a problem.

He would usually watch you struggle with a smirk on his face.

Can't reach the Assassination board? He'll wait to see what genius solution you can come up with.

Having trouble shifting cargo? Brace yourself for teasing jokes.

"You're about as strong as a dead twig."

"You're about as tolerable as a bull in a china shop."

When he's had his fill of mischief for the day, you can tell his demeanour shifts to one that he shows you the most. The goofy, caring gang leader who'll act as your personal muscles and ladder.

He'd come up behind you while you were reaching for a shelf, hand grabbing the exact thing you needed before putting it in your hands -- if you closed your eyes and ignored his scent you'd think you had telekinesis.

If you lost something under the sofa that's too far to reach, Jacob would plant his feet in front of it and heave it up high enough for you to crawl under and grab it.

"Christ, you're strong."

"Don't they say opposites attract?"

On missions, he'd have to deal with any issues seriously, less the plan goes seriously wrong.

One example comes to mind where he ran up a wall during an escape, leaving you to stare up at him.

"Don't just stand there!" He yelled.

"You idiot! I can't reach!"

"Oh, for..." Jumping down again, he braced himself against the bricks, locking his fingers together.

One look at his smirking lips made you roll your eyes.

"You did this on purpose," you said.

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not!" He covered his laugh with a cough. "Ready?"

He launched you up, where your fingers grasped the edge of the wall.

Straining, you managed to get one arm over the edge before a gun went off.

In the next second, Jacob had climbed the wall and settled behind you, enclosing his body around your own.

"Can you not plan your escape routes better next time?" you asked as he drew his pistol to shoot back.

"Don't you enjoy the thrill of the chase?"

He moved to the side and pulled himself over before outstretching his hand to you.

You took it, glaring at him.

"Yeah, when we're winning."

"That would be too easy."

----------

Taglist:

@marshmallow--3 // @yourlocalfrenchie // @rahdaleigh // @sofia-t-g /// @iceboundstar // @mythandmagik // @itseivwhore // @pink-polarfox // @missbenzayb // @alleycatbookstore // @timbreavery // @dacian-assassin // @thepalaceofmelanie // @asilverraven // @danzalladaggers // @eclectic--assassin // @thehistorynut19 // @ta-ka-shi-ma // @roki3chocoa // @fandomsfanman // @le-nottibianche // @bandit-brunsmeier // @starmoji1 // @spocktheestallion // @salty-thembo // @missingfrye // @xdeimos // @connorsleftbicep // @timeless-tende // @b3k1720 //

#assassin's creed #x reader #assassin's creed x reader #assassin's creed x f!reader #jacob frye #jacob frye x reader #jacob frye x f!reader #assassin's creed fanfiction #jacob frye fanfiction

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dazed-poltergeist · 1 year

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Powers of Eden (I)

Associated fandoms: Assassin's Creed x The Umbrella Academy

Pairing: Altaïr Ibn La'ahad x Reader (Platonic), perhaps some Altaïr x Malik in later pieces

Warnings: One (1) spoiler for The Umbrella Academy

Summary: The reader, who is similar to the "The Umbrella Academy" character Five Hargreeves, attempts to travel back in time. While it succeeds, they travel a lot further back than what they would've liked..

Add. Notes: Allow me to give some background on Five, for those who haven't seen the show: The original Five Hargreeves comes from an adopted family of 9. The siblings' names are Luther, Diego, Allison, Klaus, Ben, and Viktor, and his "parents" are Reginald and Grace. Along with his siblings, Five has superpowers, which in his case are teleportation and time travel. He used to work for a timeline related commission as an assassin. In this story, the reader/Five has no affiliation with the said Commission.

>✉️<

{ I've returned with a new piece! I'm pretty sure that I will write more parts for this, but I'm not sure how I should write a specific part related to languages without using Google Translate. So if any of you has advice related to that, I'd appreciate if you spare some for me. In any case, it looks like I managed to write something before St. Patrick's, so happy (still early) St. Patrick's Day! My so-called "spice" for this time is that I speak in English a lot more than in my mother tongue, which causes me to forget words in the latter language. }

-Eero, March 2023

Masterlist ✧⁠*⁠。

ー

When you were younger, you would practice teleporting –and on a few rare occasions, time travel– with Reginald's guidance, starting with a few small units at a time and then building up from that. On these very few occasions, he only allowed you practice time jumping to the future, and whenever you questioned him for that restriction, he would say things along the lines of "A wrong move down the line could change the whole world as we know it," "Time travel is far more complex than teleportation," and "You were not educated enough to understand time travel."

Even if what the older Hargreeves had explained to you these days was true or not, he wasn't just a prick, he was the whole cactus. Today felt like a good day to not listen to what he had told you, just to spite him. It wasn't like Reginald was going to stop you anyway; He was dead, "playing tennis with Hitler in hell," as Klaus said before his funeral.

You told Grace and Viktor about what you were going to do, even though they weren't going to know that when you meet them yesterday, the day you planned to jump back to. You strutted to the Umbrella Academy's courtyard, where after two attempts you successfully opened a way through time.

Except, when you stepped through the ripple of time and looked for signs that you actually time travelled instead of teleporting in an arduous manner, you realized that you weren't in the Academy's courtyard anymore.

You were standing on the roof of a small, sand-colored building. You could see a city around you, with a bunch of houses and towers in different shades of yellows and whites. You recognized a large building as you took in your surroundings; a blue and white temple with a gold dome acting as its roof. With the famous temple in mind, you easily concluded that you somehow ended up in Jerusalem.

Once you came out from your daze of admiring the landscape around you, you realized that a hooded man dressed in white was behind you, staring bullets into your head. You wanted to tell him about what happened to you, but given your location, you doubted that he would understand you.

The assumption ended up being correct, because he began speaking in an unrecognizable language. The only useful thing you could do in that situation was gesturing to him that you didn't understand him, which was exactly what you did. Some gears seemed to align for him, and as a response he took you by the arm and into the building below you.

The two of you landed on the floor of what seemed to be an outdoor living room. You couldn't really take in many details, since the strange man continued dragging you through the building. The room you stopped in had a collection of bookshelves, baskets, pots, and many other things, but what caught your eye was a one-armed man standing behind a table.

The cripple noticed you the moment you and the hooded stranger walked in, and began to question the latter about you. They talked for a short period of time, then the man behind the desk walked away from the table to you and the other strange man.

The two men turned to you, and tried to introduce themselves in the most simplest way they could to someone who didn't understand their language; they pointed at themselves and said their names. The now formerly hooded man introduced himself as Altaïr, and the other one with a dark robe over his similarity white outfit introduced himself as Malik. You told tell them your name in the same manner; you pointed at your torso and said "(Y/N)."

Altaïr looked at the other man and said something in his language, to which Malik chuckled and made another comment as a response.

("A name. That's a start.") ("What a funny name. You certainly weren't wrong about the 'odd person' part.")

The two began brainstorming on what they should do with you now; they couldn't let you leave the bureau, because you didn't understand their language, you likely had no idea what the surrounding world was like, and you looked like someone out of a bizarre story told by a drunk bard. All they could think of with the given circumstances was that they needed to take you in.

Malik went to one of the shelves in the room, and began looking for books that could possibly help with the language barrier. You joined him to look for documents with dates on them; you needed some year written on a recent paper, to get an idea of how far back in time you actually jumped.

Altaïr realized what you were doing, and found some excess paper to write down the year for you. You took the paper and thought that you wouldn't be surprised about the year, since their appearances seemed to give it away. Yet, you were very surprised, even for someone who just time travelled on purpose. You had jumped into the period of the Third Crusade.

You quickly recovered from the shock that came with that fact, and wrote down "2019" onto the other side of the paper Altaïr had given you. You gave the paper to him for both him and Malik to see. The two froze in place, and Altaïr dropped the piece of paper onto the ground. They turned to look at you again, and visibly wanted to ask multiple questions about the future from you; you could see the eagerness on their faces. Unfortunately, the language barrier was no help.

The presence of an inability to communicate with you made the two white-clothed men determined to try and teach you their language while you were under their wing.

For a change of scenery to let you process what happened, Altaïr took you back to the main area of the building, where he sat you down. He walked into a third room to get you some food, after Malik had left you two alone to find you some clothes that would help you blend in—to make it less obvious that you've come from 900 years into the future.

As Altaïr handed you some food, Malik came up to you two and placed a small stack of clothing next to your legs. He muttered something to Altaïr in their foreign tongue as he was walking back into what you concluded was probably his office.

("If they need help with the clothes, you can count me out.")

Since the building usually didn't have any visitors of your kind, majority of the spare clothes were related to what seemed to be their uniform. The clothes Malik had provided you included a pair of dark pants, some white robes similar to the ones Altaïr was wearing, and plain boots fit for running and climbing, along with a leather harness to keep the clothes in place. Those clothes obviously weren't what you were used to wearing, but they were relatively better than the ones you had on at the moment.

You left Altaïr alone into the main area to go change into the robes. Only after you had changed you realized that your clothes looked like a downgraded version of the two men's outfits. You concluded that the clothes they wore had different features based on ranks. You didn't even know what kind of organization they worked for or what their jobs were, so you couldn't put more thought into the conclusion that you had just made.

As you got back to Altaïr, you only then felt the exhaustion from the energy-consuming time jump kick in. Even if you would've had enough energy to try time-jumping again, you wouldn't have wanted to risk accidentally travelling into the Stone Age. The little "living room" seemed comfortable enough to be used as a bedroom, which was the reason why you lied down in the bundle of pillows that were sitting on the ground.

The white-clothed man briefly disappeared into another room and returned to get you a thin blanket. As you prepared to rest, Altaïr sat down to begin contemplating on the things he could try to do in order to help you adapt to a possible life in Jerusalem. Thanks to a sheer lack of ideas, he only thought of recruiting you as a novice for the Assassin Order.

Now that you had fallen asleep, Altaïr went to Malik to consult him on what they should do.The latter thought that recruiting you—a strange person who literally emerged out of nowhere and couldn't even speak their language–into the Order was an outrageous idea that should be out of question. The dark-coated man also added that they couldn't even take you to Masyaf to swear you in and train you there because of the language barrier. But even then, their morals told them that teaching you was the best they could do with the lifestyle they had.

The two decided to show you a little thing or two about being an assassin, without making you an official member, and see how it would go. Malik proposed that he would teach you their language whenever he could multitask, and Altaïr added that he could show you a move or few while he trained or when he brought you along for an info hunt. All they could do now was to wait for you to wake up and get ready for a bring-your-novice-to-work day with the two men.

ー

Personal pointers: A particular bureau for Assassins that Altaïr frequently visits in certain fanart is in Jerusalem, since Malik is the Rafiq there. Like majority of the buildings in that city, the hideout is in the color of sand and maybe a few specific spices.

#assassin's creed #altaïr ibn la'ahad #malik al sayf #altaïr x reader #platonic #eero's fics #assassin's creed x reader #assassin's creed fanfiction #altaïr #ac altair #assassinscreedseries #assassins creed #ac crossover #umbrella academy crossover #five hargreeves #five hargreaves

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itskenwaybitch · 8 months

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this is my first fic, please be nice DX

#assassin's creed #assassin's creed fanfiction #shaundes #desmond miles #shaun hastings #add tags later

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ask-the-almighty-google · 5 months

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Just some Magic Mechanics for my Assassin’s Creed/The Librarian(s) Crossover Fic

Pretty sure I posted this before but forgot to tag properly and then Tumblr ate it so… reposting my art!

Literally begging people to ask me about it please.

Below is an interlude chapter from my fic The Book of Memories under the cut, in which Judson and Flynn discuss magic and the diagram above...

Judson actually jumped a little bit when he walked into the Annex Hub inside the Library and nearly ran into Flynn, who had pounced the moment he’d set eyes on the poor man with an open book balanced in one hand and a cuneiform tablet stylus in the other. His entire appearance was disheveled, to say the least, from the perpetually-tussled state of his hair to the now-constant lack of a tie and unbuttoned collar of his shirt (evidence of Desmond’s paranoia about giving enemies an opportunity to strangle him having finally broken the habit of neckwear) to the fact that the shirt was untucked, and finally to the missing left shoe with the sock that had little snowmen on it.

“Can I help you?” Judson asked politely. Flynn just nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah. Can you teach me magic?” Judson blinked, and Flynn gestured to the book with the stylus. “It’s just- I’ve been reading up on the books you recommended but I’m not really understanding some things. I was hoping you could explain?”

“…I see. What is the purpose of the stylus?”

“I was practicing on a tablet, it’s not important-”

“And the missing shoe?” Flynn finally paused for breath, that manic gleam in his eye fading away as excitement turned to a grimace.

“One of the gnomes got out and ate it. Desmond lost his right one using it as a lure, and Jenkins lost a blacksmithing glove trying to get it into the groundhog trap. But we got it back into the enclosure eventually.”

“If there isn’t a loss of limbs, I suppose we can chalk it up as a success,” Judson sighed. “Why the sudden desire to learn about magic?”

“Well… I just… I know you’re teaching Desmond,” Flynn said awkwardly. Judson sighed, tiredness seeping into his tone.

“Flynn, it- it’s a different situation. I’m teaching Desmond how to control his natural talents. Talents which you do not possess and thus don’t need to learn to control, and as such have no reason to learn anything.”

“I still want to,” Flynn begged. “Please? I sort of know the difference between Mages and Sorcerers, just not a lot, but I think I could learn! I’m an A student for a reason, hard work doesn’t faze me. Long hours of study? Definitely in my wheelhouse. I love a challenge! Even if it takes years I want to give it a shot. Just… give me the chance?”

“…Very well,” Judson sighed, motioning for Flynn to sit in front of the chalkboard. Taking up a piece of white chalk, he began to draw an information web from rote memory. It consisted of a large central circle with eight small circles around it, and four larger branches stemming off of the center. Above it was base information on magical creatures and below base information on Mages and Sorcerers, separate from all else. The four branches were ‘Null, Linguistics, Mathemagicks,’ and ‘Runic.’ Off by itself not touching anything was a smaller circle labeled ‘Isu.’

“There are some tests we will have to engage in to determine whether or not you can even perform magic at all,” he explained when he had finished with the diagram, pointing at the upper left branch labeled ‘Null.’ “Every living being has some level of base magic inside of them. Mages are born with an excess, and using magic comes to them very naturally. But Nulls are people born with a deficiency of magic, making their levels so low they may as well be nonexistent.” He pointed at a few of the connected bubbles as he spoke. “Because of this deficiency, Null people are naturally shielded against environmental magic, psychic magic, curses, and anything involving any sort of mind control. Like water off the backs of waterfowl, magic just… slides off of them in many instances. The lower a Null’s magic count in their body, the greater chance they have of not being affected by it, though spell strength can occasionally ensnare most of them if potent enough. Now-”

“Continue,” Flynn said patiently, completely ignoring Judson’s flabbergasted look as he stoked their tiny little portable fire pit and prepared a marshmallow for roasting. “I’m listening.”

“Mm… As I was saying, your ability to interact with some of our artifacts tells me you are not a Null, but this doesn’t explain your magical affinity,” Judson said doubtfully. “Mages, while having a natural affinity, need years of study to hone their raw gifts. Sorcerers can attain great abilities after years of study- far longer than a Mage might need I may add- but they can be fairly powerful on their own right. Magical creatures have by far the most daunting levels of raw power, but this always manifests in niche areas of ability and comes with certain restrictions based on what creature being discussed.”

“Like Isu?” Flynn asked, nodding pointedly at the single lonely circle on the diagram. Judson shook his head.

“Not exactly. As you know, the beings mythology have come to think of as the Gods of multiple pantheons across the world were actually a species that predated- and created- humanity called the Isu. After the human rebellion lead by the Hybrids Hawwāh and Adem- Eve and Adam- and the destruction of the world due to the solar flare that caused enough tectonic unrest to trigger the Toba catastrophe over 75,000 years ago, the Isu departed to a different plane of existence called ‘Eden’ much like the Fae world of Tír na nÓg where they could live forever. The Isu, being steeped richly with potent magical affinity, created three areas of study.” Here, he pointed to the remaining three branches on the diagram. “Isu could choose to master all three if they so chose, though different sects chose to master different branches as a cultural demarcation than anything else. The Feyan- or Greek and Roman Isu- chose to focus on the Mathemagick side of things. The Egyptian and Norse focused on Runic. Hindu and Celtic? Linguistic. They would often cross between the three in their experiments and so on and so forth, but the basics remain.”

“Can humans also master all three branches?”

“No. While humans were created in the image of the Isu to be a slave workforce, they took the precaution of limiting our magical abilities. While an Isu could use magic with impunity, a human can suffer extreme backlash if they do not understand the risks or know what they are doing, which is why practitioners of magic are extremely rare. Tossing aside the severe rarity of Mages, Sorcerers just don’t happen that often, due to how long it takes before dedicated study produces any positive results- at minimum, a Sorcerer won’t see any progress until the five year mark if not later. It can be extremely discouraging as a result, meaning that Sorcerers are actually even rarer than Mages statistically speaking.”

“So… trying to master more than one branch would be… bad,” Flynn summarized. Judson nodded.

“Tremendously. Fatally, even. That’s not to say that a practitioner can’t dabble, mind. We do it all the time, but we would never presume to claim mastery over more than one branch. I myself am a Linguist, and Charlene a Mathemagician. Jenkins has become extremely adept at Runes over the years. Deciding which branch to study is determined by which you are most attuned to. Your being a polymath may make that process difficult down the line once you’ve grasped the basics, in fact. But not impossible.”

“Color me intrigued.” Flynn removed the marshmallow from the fire and carefully placed it between chocolate and graham cracker, then crunched down. Judson sighed and decided to ignore the s’more situation in favor of continuing his lecture.

“Linguistics is a fascinating field of study, at- at least as far as I’m concerned. It relies heavily on empathic influence, and the more complex the crafting of the prose the more powerful a spell will usually be. The branch of Incantation carries curses, enchantments, illusion, and even the ability to distort reality. Lyric, or musical, spell casting is also somewhat common if you have the pipes for it. Another branch is called ‘Charmspeak,’ and it implies what you think it implies. The ability to persuade or hypnotize someone into doing or believing what you want. The ah- the little white spell that automatically gains peoples’ trust when you tell them that you are a Librarian falls under such a category. Extremely powerful Linguists can even summon Fictionals using this form of magic-”

“What’s a Fictional?” Flynn asked. Judson paused, mulling the question over, before shaking his head.

“A complex answer for another time, I’m afraid.”

“…Okay?”

“Mathemagicks is the employment of equations and science to affect and even warp reality. It contains alchemy, medicinal miracles for the most well-studied, and usually comes with a high affinity for technology including but not limited to technopathy. Runic practitioners enjoy environmental spellcasting and the ability to create artifacts or encode a magical charge and spell into a desired object through carving, embroidering, calligraphy, or even the occasional tattoo. The magic they use can be freeform in creation, but must contain specific purpose towards the object the magic is being imbued with. Only the most adept can create a phylactery or, in other terms, an object containing a piece of one’s soul.”

“…Like the Book of Memories and the pendant Altaïr created to reincarnate,” Flynn said, catching on. Judson smiled.

“Yes. And, like his forebears, Desmond has a very high affinity for Runic spellcasting in particular. Hence the reason he studies how to control his magic more with Jenkins than he does with me.”

“Are there abilities that everybody can do even if they don’t choose a specific area of study?”

“Of course. The Sight, which you have seen Desmond employ many a time, is so readily usable that even untrained individuals with a decent enough magical threshold can use it, and it is utilized quite frequently by the Assassin Brotherhood. Less- less so in the more recent centuries of course, as wild magic has faded from the world due to inactive Ley Lines, but you understand the principle. My ah- my mirror trick is another easy form of magic, and most individuals with magical affinity that are repeatedly exposed to magic develop a natural shielding of their mind, soul, and body over the years. Ah… clairvoyance, or dreamsharing, can happen by accident for the more magically inclined and give them some rather unpleasant deja vu on occasion. Astral Projection is usually obtained through careful balancing of mind and body and enjoyed as a way to study with impunity by monks the world over. Telepathy and minor illusion spells- usually of the sort that obscure a person from being discovered during a search and so on- require a decent grasp of the base mechanics through study to use effectively.”

Here, Judson smiled and held a finger and thumb up. He snapped them together, disappearing in a shower of golden dust and reappearing on the other side of the long center table. Flynn turned to see him in his seat.

“Snap Travel is perhaps the trickiest baseline spells to master and must not be attempted in any complex way unless done by an experienced practitioner after many years of study. It is not nearly as simple as it appears and requires a nearly encyclopedia knowledge of geography and latitudinal and longitudinal coordinates. Suffice it to say, I feel it will be almost annoyingly easy for you to utilize if you decide to pursue magical study under my instruction.”

“I’d love to!” Flynn exclaimed, leaping up and bouncing on his feet. Lopsided of course, given the lack of one shoe, but not deterring him from his bouncing in any way all the same.

“Hm.” Judson looked him over and gave an approving nod. “I’ll see about adding on to your education as Librarian, then. We’ll see what best suits you.”

#concept art #fic: the book of memories #magic mechanics #assassin's creed fanfiction #the librarians fanfiction #flynn carsen #judson

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