#poor Altaïr <:(

[evilbeing]

Bonus

#THIS TOOK SOO LONG #me mixing my love for rayman Ac (especially Altaïr) and Captain laserhawk #Rayman in the Ac outfit <3 #Choosed Altair bc like I said hes my favvv #poor rayman he wanted to join the ac Brotherhood w Edward Kenway 😔 #Rayman #rayman fanart #Rayman 3 #rayman legends #rayman captain laserhawk #rayman clh #ramon captain laserhawk #bullfrog #bullfrog captain laserhawk #bullfrog clh #bullfrog fanart #altaïr ibn la'ahad #assassin's creed #assassin's creed fanart #ubisoft stop making stupid choices I beg u #evilbeing

[assassinschaoticcreed]

Y'ALL IM DYING

I had to share this with everyone since it's now a known fact I love to bully Altaïr (lovingly ofc) and I googled him and sent it to my friend (who is new to the AC series/fandom) I kid you not this came up, and it was under the;

"people also ask" so I didn't look it up I promise 😭

someone is worse than me omg

rip Altaïr, I don't think you have an IQ of 20

IT SAYS HE'D BE AN IMBECILE AND IDIOT

I mean, Malik would probs agree tho

#ac #assassin's creed #altair ibn la'ahad #altaïr #ac altair #rip Altaïr #savage #poor guy lol

[thou-babbling-brook]

Sanctuary

AO3

Rating: T

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Relationship(s): Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad/Maria Thorpe

Word Count: 6344

Tags: Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Maria Thorpe, Al Mualim, Original Characters, Assassin's Creed I, Masyaf, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Crusades, Implied Happy Ending

Summary: After stumbling upon a small caravanserai during a narrow escape, Maria has questions about Altaïr's past - particularly, his defining scar.

This fic is based on some of @nebulacrum's thoughts and headcanons about Altaïr's relationship with Al Mualim, along with his lip scar.

You can click here to see @ramshackledtrickster's accompanying pieces!

I hope you guys enjoy!!!

“Baba, we have customers!”

Fahmi glanced up from his ledger, brow furrowed and eyes squinted as the setting sun squeezed through the cracks in the sandstone walls. His son bounced before him while gesturing wildly to the door. His words blended together with the constant ringing present in Fahmi’s ears. Setting his hands against the desk, he rose, groaning as the aches in his joints cried in protest.

“Ameen,” he murmured, hunched as he shuffled to the gnarled wooden door, sand seeping onto the floorboards as the evening gusts of wind swept the hot sand inside. Maryam wiped her hands on her tattered apron before laying them on Ameen’s shoulders. 

“Come, it is late, and your father is tired,” she whispered, kissing her son’s head while guiding him away from the door. Fahmi nodded his thanks, shuffling to the window and shielding his eyes from the golden glare of the sun as it sank into the horizon. 

“But Mama!” Ameen protested. Maryam shushed him, her words inaudible as she and her son walked through the narrow doorway. Fahmi groaned as he reached down to the floor. Grabbing a few wooden panels, he straightened his back and placed them against the open window. His wrinkled hands trembled with each movement. Each knuckle ached as he flexed his hands and flattened his palms against the wood.

A resounding thud against the door disturbed the sand and dirt gathered by the entrance. Squinting, Fahmi poked an eye through the minuscule cracks in the wood panels. Two camels knelt before the water trough. Their backs were still covered with blankets and saddles. Yet, aside from the rushing winds of sand, the quiet hissing of nearby snakes, and the low chuffs of the camels, Fahmi found no sign of visitors.

Ameen rushed to his side, much to the protest of his mother as he tugged at his father’s robes. “I told you!”

Fahmi quieted the child, hobbling to the door as he pressed his ear against the wood. Another resounding set of knocks, this one more desperate than the first, echoed in the sandstone room. Broken Arabic shattered the silence. A woman, her voice high and exhausted, shouted through the door. Her accent was foreign, reminding them of the soldiers that had marched through the desert not long ago. Maryam tightened her hold on Ameen, pressing him against her front with wide eyes.

Maryam turned to her husband. “We were not expecting any caravans for another week.”

“I know,”  he replied, voice barely above a whisper. Ameen curled against his mother as the pounding continued.

The voice begged and pleaded behind the door. Her pronunciations were muddled and awkward, but the desperation caused Fahmi to move his knobby hand. Slowly, he unlatched the door, prying it open enough to peer an eye through the crack. Immediately, he gasped, hobbling back and slamming open the door. The voice (a Frankish woman, it seemed. Though, it was nearly impossible to differentiate between their accents) was not alone. The pale woman stumbled forward, thanking Fahmi in her jumbled Arabic while Maryam covered her mouth.

“Help,” the woman pleaded, her eyes wide as she looked at her companion. Arm slung over her shoulder, a hooded man collapsed against the woman’s frame. An arrow stuck from his side, covered in gore. His linen robes were coated in dark liquids, sand, and dirt, a few notable slashes still seeping blood into the cloth. Maryam rushed to his side, shouting over her shoulder for Ameen to grab freshly drawn bandages, wine, and washcloths. The boy scrambled backward before turning and sprinting through the doorway. Fahmi knelt before the strangers, eyes darting to his wife as they shared a fleeting, anxious look.

“What has happened?!” Fahmi demanded, still breathless as Ameen returned, arms full of supplies as he tripped and stumbled into Maryam. The foreign woman could only stare with furrowed brows in return, her eyes jerking over Fahmi’s face.

“Mercenaries,” the wounded companion spat. It was clear that he was from the region. If not, a traveler passing through to his home. His face remained hidden beneath his cowl, eyes toward the ground while Maryam gestured for the woman to help her. The two laid the man on his back, flat against the cool floorboard. With the glaring sun hidden behind vast mounds of sand, Fahmi reached for two candles, placing them by his wife’s feet once they were lit. “We barely escaped.”

“God has willed it,” Maryam praised. Ameen sat awkwardly by his father’s side, face growing pale as Maryam and the strange woman attempted to treat the man’s wounds. Fahmi laid his hand on Ameen’s back, rubbing it soothingly. 

“Ready a room for them,” Fahmi instructed his son. “They will need somewhere to rest if he survives, God willing.” Ameen nodded and rushed off down the side corridor. In the meanwhile, Fahmi came to his wife’s side, his hands laying on the strange man’s stomach while Maryam surveyed the entrance wound. 

“It is shallow, praise be,” Maryam explained. The man grimaced, clenching his jaw and nodding. He turned his face to the woman, trading Arabic for a language Fahmi could not quite identify. French? German? It had been so long since he had served in the sultan’s army. He could not recall the languages of their adversaries. The woman shouted frantically back, to which the man turned to Fahmi and Maryam.

“Can you pull it out?” the man asked through gritted teeth. Maryam and Fahmi exchanged glances. 

“It would be unwise.”

“I did not ask if it would be wise. I asked if you could.”

The foreign woman seemed to understand enough of their conversation to slap his shoulder, grasping his chin and forcing him to look at her. She shouted again, her voice choking while her eyes glistened. The man squeezed her forearm, groaning and murmuring something that managed to calm her enough for him to return his attention back to Fahmi.

“You were a soldier. Have you dealt with this before?” the man asked.

“How can you tell?” Fahmi redirected. 

“You avoid resting on your knees.”

“You are right, but I have not seen this in decades.”

The man hissed as Maryam accidentally brushed her hand against the arrow. “Please, sir. My… my wife can help, but I will not be able to translate while you pull it out. I need someone with experience to help your wife.”

Fahmi, for the sake of the man, ignored his own, visceral reaction to such information that the strangers were married. Instead, he nodded, motioning for the woman to join him and Maryam by the arrow. Maryam handed the woman a cloth damp with wine, offering a weak smile as Fahmi placed his hand on the man’s stomach and the end of the arrow.

There was a silence before the man’s screams echoed off the sandstone walls, Fahmi quickly ripping the arrow out of the man’s body. The foreign woman slammed her hands down against his side, the damp cloth preventing blood from pouring out. While the woman kept pressure on the wound, Fahmi helped Maryam wrap the bandages around the arrow wound. They bound the cloth snugly around the man’s muscular torso, then turned their attention to the other slashes on his body. To the mysterious man’s credit, his screams only lasted as long as it took for the arrow to come out. Instead, he huffed through his nose, turning on his side and retching as nausea struck him all at once. His wife stroked his hair beneath his cowl, shushing him in their shared language until he fainted from the pain.  

“We need to examine his body for more wounds,” Maryam explained. She turned to the man’s wife, hesitating before gesturing to her own eyes, then the rest of the man’s body. It was enough for the foreign woman to understand as she crawled to the other side of the man, raising his robes high enough on his chest to view his other wounds. The trio worked diligently, trading supplies as they wrapped the wounded man’s body. 

“How is his face?” Fahmi wondered. He pointed to his own face, and the foreign woman nodded in understanding. However, she paused at the cowl still covering her husband’s head, as though debating whether to look. Her brows knit while her lips formed a pout. Maryam scooted closer, offering to help. The woman hesitated, but finally gestured for Maryam to continue. Fahmi thought nothing of it until Maryam gasped. 

“My God! What happened to him?!” she demanded. Fahmi hurried to her side while the woman tilted her head, squinting her eyes. His eyes widened at the scar adorning the man’s chapped lips. A man younger than what his eldest son would be now, God rest his soul. He laid his fingers against the scarred tissue, twisted and stretched from his chin to his cheekbone. A scar several years old, yet poked and prodded at judging by the abnormal healing.

“God help him,” Fahmi murmured, bowing his head and murmuring a prayer. “This is no sword slash.”

“And these are no normal wounds. Who is this man?” Maryam replied quietly. She raised the cowl once more. The man’s wife glanced between the two with a puzzled expression. Ameen returned with the commotion now ended, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot by the corridor.

“The room is made, Baba,” he spoke. Fahmi nodded, groaning as his knees protested as he stood. The foreign woman stood alongside him, glancing between him and Ameen.

“Room,” Fahmi spoke to the woman, gesturing to his son. “He will take you to your room.” He spoke slowly, overly annunciating his words. The woman nodded along, reaching inside her pockets. She handed him a heavy bag of coins. When Fahmi poked inside, his eyes widened. It was nearly a month’s revenue inside the bag. He protested, shaking his head and shoving the bag back into her hands.

“Too much,” he protested. The woman chuckled tiredly, laying it on the desk regardless of his protests. She knelt down to her husband, slinging his arm around her shoulder and heaving him onto her back. Her muscles strained beneath her tunic and trousers. Fahmi had to admit his astonishment at the woman’s strength, knowing he would be of little help. Regardless, he did loop the man’s other arm around his own shoulder, helping the woman carry her husband to their room. Together, they laid the man down on the bed. Maryam laid a fresh set of bandages, linen cloths, and a bottle of wine by the bed.

“For the wounds,” she explained. The woman nodded, eyes downcast to her husband.

Ameen scampered forward, offering a small bucket. “He might be sick,” he mumbled, cheeks flushed with color. The foreign woman managed a smile, mustering her best Arabic as she murmured her thanks. Fahmi and Maryam bowed their heads in respect, ushering Ameen out of the room and closing the door behind them. The couple shared fearful looks.

Just what kind of man had arrived at their doorstep? Worse – who had this man angered that dared mutilate his face before God?

.~.~.

“I have questions.”

Altaïr retched into the bucket, coughing and sputtering while nausea overcame him. He gagged, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before turning to Maria. “Right now?”

“Yes, but I will give you the courtesy of finishing,” Maria decided, scooting closer to the Assassin. Her palm rubbed his back as he heaved. 

“How kind,” Altaïr muttered.

“I rather thought so.”

Altaïr heaved into the bucket again. This time, Maria slid her hands to Altaïr’s chest, holding him up while he kept the bucket close to his frame. Freshly changed bandages demonstrated that Altaïr’s wounds were healing appropriately, but they did little to dissuade the nausea. She laid her cheek against his toned back. 

“You called me your wife.”

Altaïr panted, setting the bucket down by the bed. “What?”

“Your wife. You called me your wife when you spoke to the couple,” Maria murmured. 

Altaïr said nothing. He laid back against the pillows, eyes closed as he steadied his breathing. Maria propped her elbow on the pillow next to him, cheek resting on her palm.

“You were a fool for taking that arrow to your side,” she chastised. 

“You would have done the same for me,” Altaïr replied. His eyes remained shut, brows furrowed as beads of sweat cascaded down his face and chest, his robes long abandoned as they sat folded neatly in a nearby chair. The sweating was good, Maria reminded herself, though it was harder and harder to do so with how pale her companion was becoming.

“It does not make you any less a fool,” Maria murmured. She laid her hand on his chest, fingers splayed over his torso. Altaïr laid his hand over hers, his heart thumping against her palm. 

“I thought you had questions,” Altaïr whispered. He opened an eye, peering down at Maria. She hummed.

“I do. You ignored my first one,” Maria replied.

“It was not a question.”

Maria huffed, pushing on Altaïr’s chest. “Fine. Why did you call me your wife?”

“To avoid suspicion.”

“You could have called me your sister.”

Altaïr paused. “Would you have preferred as such?”

Maria pursed her lips. After a moment, she answered. “No.”

“Then I see no reason for concern,” Altaïr responded tersely. He grimaced as he shifted on the bed, holding his side. Maria sat up, easing Altaïr into a more comfortable position.

“I did not mind it,” Maria clarified. “You know I did not. I… I was just curious.”

Altaïr nodded, though Maria could not tell if he agreed. She fidgeted next to her friend, eyes falling to his lips. His familiar, plump lips, marked by his most defining feature. She leaned forward, reaching up to his lips and pressing her fingertips against his scar. Altaïr stilled. She could feel his body tense under her simple touch.

“They seemed horrified when they saw this,” Maria explained. “I did not understand why. They spoke too fast.” She repeated the few Arabic words she remembered, but they felt clunky and heavy on her tongue. Altaïr’s lips parted slightly, dry and chapped from their journey through the arid dunes. He avoided her eyes, tilting his face to the side as he reached for the goblet of water.

“Your Arabic is improving,” Altaïr complimented. 

Maria frowned. “You are avoiding the question.”

“You did not ask a question.”

“You know damn well what I meant.”

Altaïr shot her a look. Maria gulped. Yet, she held her chin high, too proud to back down from her words now. “I thought your scar was a battle wound, like mine. The man seemed to think otherwise.”

“It is, in its own way,” Altaïr muttered.

Maria laid her hand on Altaïr’s cheek, turning his face toward hers. She studied his scar, eyes narrowed as her fingers returned to trace the sensitive flesh. His upper lip split into his scar, providing a small slit into his mouth and exposing a sliver of his teeth and gums. It was barely noticeable from afar, and rarely had any man reached Altaïr’s face long enough to observe how his scar melded into his face. But for Maria, it had been the first feature she noticed, the cool metal of his hidden blade nicking her throat while she sneered. Admittedly, it had terrified her upon their first meeting. No man’s lips should form such a gruesome tear, after all. She was surprised it took the older couple so long to notice it. 

Maria was no doctor, but she had experienced more agonizing pains and wounds than the average man could dream of. The scar marked just above her left eyebrow proved it, nicked by a Saracen sword in a battle alongside Richard I. For years, Maria wore such a wound with honor. It was her first permanent scar since she had traded a wedding ring for a sword. A sign that no man, nor woman, could confine her. An affront to the English nobility that once trapped her. Such scars were not becoming of a woman, so Maria puffed her chest and bore hers with pride. Her scar was not a trap, but an escape from desirability as she wandered to the ends of the Earth. Her scars were gnarled and twisted and deep, but they had healed.

Altaïr’s most prominent scar differed in this regard. It was gnarled and twisted and deep like her own, but the flesh had not healed as hers had. Her eyebrow scar healed over a decade ago. Altaïr’s lip scar looked nearly as old, but the flesh had not healed. Not until recently, at least. The outer edges of his scar were light, contrasting against his deep tan and dark hair. The edges were fully healed. His lower lip and chin had been spared as well, the scar a faint pale against his skin. But whereas these areas were faint and light, the rest of the scar remained an irritated red. Not infected, but irritated, as though prodded at constantly. The dark shade of his upper lip failed to conceal the redness of his scar. Only in the last month or so had it begun to heal, slowly fading into a pinkish red.

Even as Maria trailed her fingers along his scar, Altaïr sat eerily still. Too still, as though he was bracing for impact. His jaw was clenched. His biceps tensed as Maria moved closer, her face lingering by his. She guided her fingertips to his jaw, brushing her thumb against his jawline. 

“You should shave,” Maria hummed, eyes glancing up. “Your face is growing scraggly.”

Altaïr cocked a brow. “Is that a question?”

Maria shook her head and pursed her lips, brows raised. “No. A suggestion.”

Altaïr stared at her. Those piercing, golden eyes that made even Maria shift under his gaze. She remained so close, barely a breath away from his lips. The puff of air from his nose as he exhaled tickled her own. 

“I can do it for you,” Maria suggested.

Altaïr almost smiled. “This feels like a demand rather than a suggestion.”

Maria rolled her eyes, huffing as she stood and walked to their things. Searching his bag, Maria located a small razor amongst his barren things. Throughout their time together, he always packed lightly. Truth be told, she was surprised he even possessed a razor. She returned to the bed, guiding Altaïr to sit up further with a candle in hand. She set the candle down on the bedside table, then unsheathed his razor. Carefully, Maria raised the blade to the Assassin’s jaw and scraped away a few wrily strands of curly, dark hair. 

“No water?” Altaïr asked.

“You will be fine,” Maria remarked, eyes focused on her work as she brought the blade closer to her thumb. “Besides, it is a trim. I rather like your facial hair. You should let it grow out.”

It did not escape Maria’s notice how Altaïr tensed at her words. For his sake, Maria paid it no mind and continued her work, trimming his coarse hair. A moment of comfortable silence passed, interrupted only by the scraping of the razor against Altaïr’s sharp jaw and the snoring of their camels just outside the minuscule caravanserai. Much to Maria’s surprise, it was Altaïr who broke the silence. 

“You said they were shocked to see my face?” Altaïr spoke. His words were uncharacteristically soft.

Maria frowned. “Not your face, your scar.”

“Is it not one and the same?”

Maria stopped in her tracks. She leaned back, narrowing her eyes as she tracked Altaïr’s movements. His golden gaze avoided hers, cast down upon the scratchy sheets. His lips were parted ever so slightly, Maria watching as he quickly swiped his tongue over them. Her eyes flicked to his hands, which lay awkwardly in his lap. Once again, his body was tense, muscles straining and breath shallow.

“What makes you say that?” Maria questioned, tone harsher than intended.

Altaïr’s throat bobbed as he shifted his gaze back to hers. “What makes you ask?”

“No, no,” Maria argued, setting the razor down against the bed. “We are not starting this. Altaïr, what makes you say that?”

There was a long pause. In the past, Maria would have dropped the subject entirely, writing it off as some sort of Assassin trick to dig into the deepest pits of her heart and mind. Now, however, Maria held her chin high as she forced Altaïr to keep her gaze, her heart thumping against her chest.

“How did the scar upon your brow form?” Altaïr asked. 

Maria closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. “Altaïr, I am not going to–”

“Do you want to know or not?” He snapped. Maria’s brow furrowed, and Altaïr quickly cleared his throat. He repeated his question, his voice much softer and weaker than before.

Maria stared incredulously, but ultimately decided to play along. “My first battle. One of Salāh ad-Dīn’s men slashed my brow.”

Altaïr nodded. “Were you shamed for it?”

Maria shrugged. “A few soldiers from my infantry joked here and there, but no.” She squinted her eyes and furrowed her brow. “What are you getting at?”

“In Islam,” Altaïr explained, “it is believed God places all of our senses and beauty into our faces. It is why Muslims avoid striking the face.”

Maria scoffed. “My scar begs to differ.” 

Altaïr did not laugh, though she did see the corners of his lips tug up in a phantom smile. “It is taboo to do so. It can leave the face… disfigured,” he explained. “It is not so easy to conceal as a scar on one’s arm or leg.”

Maria’s expression fell. She hesitated before she finally asked her burning question. “Where did you get your scar?”

“Who do you think?” Altaïr all but answered.

Maria should not have been surprised. She only knew of Altaïr’s master through his stories and his codex (Maria could not help it – his journal had been left wide open). Despite Altaïr’s almost nostalgic tone toward a man who had betrayed him time and time again, each story left a sour taste upon her tongue. Now, her tongue tasted bile and copper in disgust. 

“How old were you?” she demanded, her words eerily still. Her blood boiled. 

“Old enough to know better,” Altaïr replied, quiet. 

“Horseshit. How old were you?” 

“Thirteen winters.”

Maria stood from the bed, pacing back and forth by the side. “You were a boy. A boy!” She rustled her dark locks from their meticulously braided bun as she grasped and tugged at her hair.

“I knew better than to speak out of turn,” Altaïr replied, his voice raised almost defensively. “I owed everything to him. My progress, my training, my life. He cared for me, in some twisted way, after my father’s death.”

Maria flocked to his side, kneeling before him on the bed as she cupped his cheek. Her thumb grazed over his scar. She tried not to gag imagining a small boy, voice yet to crack, begging the one guardian in his life for mercy. Apologizing desperately for words that should not have offended an allegedly wise leader so greatly. 

“That is one thing,” she managed once her voice was composed enough. “But it should be healed. It should be healed by now. For God’s sake, Altaïr, you are twenty-seven! Why is it only now healing?!”

Altaïr caught his lip between his teeth. “I have never been good at staying my tongue. I needed reminders.” His jaw clenched as his throat bobbed. Maria nearly choked as he spoke. “If I would not close my mouth, he would pry it closed for me.”

Maria stared. What else were she to do? She stood, pinching the bridge of her nose while Altaïr silently stared – no, glared – down at his own hands. 

“Your master would mutilate you before God,” Maria murmured, her head spinning, “and you would defend him?”

“He was an ordinary man,” Altaïr replied softly, “in control of illusions.”

“This is no illusion, Altaïr.”

“I know.”

Maria tossed her hands in the air before setting them on her head, pacing once more. She inhaled, standing and placing her hands on her hips. She gestured to Altaïr, speechless as she attempted to form words on her heavy tongue. “For thirteen years, Al Mualim slit and prodded your mouth to silence you, on top of his manipulation. As a boy, I understand your hesitance, but you never once fought back?”

Altaïr stood, hand clasping his side while he straightened his back. Maria took a step back, eyes wide but jaw tensed. “How do you fight a man who thinks himself God?” he questioned with narrowed eyes. “What would I have gained? Where would I have gone?” Altaïr winced and sat back down, eyes cast down shamefully. Maria sighed, sitting next to him on the sheets.

“Assassins are not always required to hide their faces,” Altaïr confessed quietly. He tenderly rubbed his stub of a ring finger, thumb brushing over the seared and scarred skin. “Most lower their hoods in Masyaf if they are not patrolling. There is no reason to hide amongst brothers.”

“And you?” Maria dared ask.

Altaïr shook his head, running a hand through his coarse curls. “I was no brother. I was his personal weapon.” His throat bobbed, and Maria tore her face away when she noticed his golden eyes begin to glisten in the flickering candlelight. “He created me. He could mold me into whatever he pleased. He could slice and strike my face. He could shave my beard and treat me not just as a boy, but a dog. He could isolate me. He could tear my name from me and make me the son of no one, loved by nobody. He could do whatever he pleased.” He turned to Maria, voice wavering as he spoke. “Where would I have run to? Who would I have hidden behind that would not whisper my arrogance to Al Mualim?”

There was silence as both Altaïr and Maria turned to stare at the cracked sandstone before them. “My face was unsightly, he told me,” Altaïr whispered. “Disrespectful, even.” He bent forward, elbows digging into his knees while he craned his head and rubbed his eyes. “Better kept hidden beneath a cowl, even in the arms of my brothers.” Altaïr swallowed. “He was correct.”

“No,” Maria opposed. “Your scar is not unsightly. It is not disgusting, or disrespectful, or anything that blabbering fool would have you believe. Your face is not unsightly. You are not unsightly.”

Altaïr chuckled, though it nearly sounded like a sob. “You do not have to lie, Maria.”

“I am not!” Maria all but shouted, coming in front of Altaïr and bending her knees slightly, stopping when she was level with him.

“I am nothing.”

“You are everything,” she pleaded. Maria cupped each of his cheeks, thumbs brushing the heavy, dark bags beneath his kohl-covered eyes. “You are kind and good and curious and wise and beautiful.”

It was Altaïr’s turn to scoff. “Beautiful? I hoped in our time together, you would have some respect for me, even if minute.”

Maria bit back an argument. Instead, she reached for his hands, squatting on the ground while she squeezed them. “You are not some ‘ugly, old Assassin’ beneath your hood,” she murmured, briefly lowering her voice and swapping her accent to mimic his words from Cyprus. Once she had seen his face in Cyprus for the first time, she had thought he was joking during their initial meeting with his Cypriot allies. Now, staring into his piercing eyes, Maria’s heart shattered knowing he had truly not lied. At least, he did not believe so.

She held his hand to her lips and kissed each knuckle. “You are so beautiful. Strikingly so. In fact, it is embarrassing to admit,” she managed a soft laugh. “You are not some broken, shattered weapon. You are the Mentor of the Assassins. You are a scholar. You are a man. You are Altaïr. And Altaïr is more than enough.” 

Altaïr was quiet. Maria did not press for an answer. His tear-stained cheeks, illuminated by the candlelight, were enough to signal the power of her words. Her heart pounded as she imagined the utter agony one man could carry. Maria had little autonomy under Robert’s control amongst the Templars, but Altaïr had possessed none under Al Mualim since the age of eleven. His name was stripped from him. His masculinity was torn away in favor of a boy to manipulate. His face was mutilated simply because Al Mualim could. To be at the mercy of a man with none, who believed himself worthy of the powers of God… Maria choked back her tears, instead burying her face in his hands and kissing each palm. 

“Altaïr,” she murmured, gazing up into his tearful eyes, “you are everything to me.” She cupped his cheek, ignoring her own hot tears as she smiled solemnly. “You have given me a fresh start. You have given me compassion, wisdom, love.” She swallowed a sob, standing before repositioning herself on the bed. Altaïr still said nothing, his eyes simply following Maria with every movement.

“Please,” Maria begged softly. She cupped her hands around Altaïr’s. “We are more than the instruments people would craft us to be.” Shuffling forward, Maria laid his hands over her heart, her own hands keeping them flat against her chest. “You are Altaïr. I am Maria. That is all we need be.”

Maria could not recall what resulted in Altaïr’s lips melding perfectly against her own. Perhaps it was the thump of her heartbeat. Perhaps it was their matching tears and snotty noses. Perhaps it was Altaïr’s released anguish. Or perhaps, it was merely Altaïr distracting himself from his nausea. Whatever the case, Maria gladly opened her mouth, finding Altaïr’s mouth absolutely delectable as her fingers combed through his curly locks. It was not the first time their lips had met so fervently. It was not even the first time their lips had met with so much love. But it was the first time their lips had met so unencumbered. There was no hesitance as Altaïr deepened their kiss, no weariness behind his lips. Nothing but relief and love and catharsis.

Eyes fluttering, Maria dug her fingers into Altaïr’s coarse hair. The warmth of their breaths mingled with each kiss. She sank her teeth into Altaïr’s lower lip, tugging it and slipping her tongue into his mouth. All the while, Altaïr pressed fervently in return, deepening their kiss as he tugged her forward. Maria’s head spun as her lips lingered by Altaïr’s long after they parted for air. His breath was hot and ragged on her cool skin. She tilted her head up, squinting her eyes as she analyzed his face. Tears stained his sharp cheeks. His eyes were red and puffy. Even with his mouth shut, Maria could see his teeth and gums through the exposed sliver of his scar.

Maria cupped both of his cheeks, her thumbs swiping the stray tears from his skin. She watched as his eyes crinkled and his lips tugged into an awkward hint of a smile. His curved nose, slightly crooked from Maria’s boot to his face only a few months prior, bounced the candlelight off his face. The flickering light highlighted his strong, sharp cheekbones. His eyes, a piercing swirl of gold and amber, were only emphasized by the kohl beneath them. Every inch and crevice of his face captivated her. The longer she stared, the more he strained against her palms as if tugging away from the attention. Tears welled in his eyes as her hold left him utterly exposed. But she could not let him tear away. His dark curls and his striking gaze and his full lips and his winding scar and his scruffy beard and his tan skin enchanted her very being. 

She had never seen anything so beautiful in her life. 

“Say something,” Altaïr croaked.

Maria did not. Instead, she leaned forward, peppering gentle kisses to his scar. Maria was careful not to irritate the slit in his upper lip any more than it already was. Rather, she gingerly trailed her velvet lips up along his scar, leaving small caresses along the trail. His facial hair – not quite a beard, but not quite stubble – tickled her cheeks. She smiled. 

“My first demand as your wife,” Maria murmured between kisses to his scar, “is that you must grow your beard out. I am fond of it.”

The world spun still with her words. Beneath her gentle touch, Maria could feel Altaïr’s body stiffen. “What?”

“Oh honestly, Altaïr, you cannot just stop listening to me immediately!” Maria huffed. “You have to wait at least a year.”

“I do not understand.” His voice shook – perhaps from nausea, perhaps from nerves, or perhaps from both.  Maria laid a hand on his bandaged chest. His heart threatened to thump out onto the floor. She grinned.

“We have been like this for many months,” she explained. “Stumbling around our feelings like some prepubescent children. One might think us virgins the way we stammer about.”

“Aside from insulting our maturity,” Altaïr spoke, his face contorted in confusion, “I am assuming you have a point to this.”

Maria waved her hand in dismissal. “Hush, let me get there.” The Englishwoman grasped Altaïr’s hands in her own, her thumbs stroking his calloused palms. “But tonight… something… it is difficult to explain.” She inhaled and squeezed his hands. Her pale, cerulean eyes met his amber stare. “I love you. I think you and I know that intimately by now. But it was not until tonight, with the mercenaries, the arrow, your scar… that I understood the extent of my love.”

Altaïr furrowed his brow. “I still do not understand. Why now?”

“Because for the first time,” Maria breathed, “I thought I would lose you.”

“This is not my first arrow. This is not even our first battle.”

“No, but I have never seen you so injured or ill. I have never seen you, the great Altaïr, retching over a bucket with bandages covering your entire torso.”

“If you do not make a point soon, I fear you may again.”

Cautiously, Maria handed Altaïr the water-filled chalice, waiting until he had drunk his fill to continue. Her throat swelled with tears as she gulped down her pride. “You have been so truly and utterly vulnerable tonight. You have shared with me the deepest parts of your pain. You have let me care for you and stay by your side.” She smiled through her tears, rolling her eyes as she wiped a few away and scoffed at herself. “Oh good God, this is humiliating.”

Altaïr managed a smile. A true smile. Not the phantom of a smile, or a mildly amused look. A small, bright smile that tugged his lips into his cheeks and formed a pair of dimples. Good God, Maria had never even noticed that before, and the revelation was not aiding her poor attempt at an explanation. “No, it is not,” he assured quietly. It was his turn to cup her pale cheeks. He swiped a tear from her eye, then leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Maria inhaled sharply, praying that God would not see her break into some weeping wildflower.

Mustering the courage and dignity that remained, Maria tightened her jaw and stared up at Altaïr. “I would walk with you to the ends of time, Altaïr. To our glory, to our doom, I do not care. As long as I walk beside you and chastise you for your foolish decisions to put yourself in front of arrows for the rest of my life, I will be content.”

Altaïr hesitated. “How can you make such a decision so hastily?”

Maria laughed. “My life is nothing but hasty decisions, Assassin.” She crawled beside him from the edge of the bed, wiggling by his side to find a more comfortable position. “But this is not one of them.”

Altaïr laid his head against the creaking headboard, closing his eyes. “So, you have decided that you are my wife now? I have no say in the matter?”

“Is that a question?”

“Maria.”

“No,” Maria answered plainly. “Not yet. But I will be.”

“What makes you so sure?” Altaïr taunted.

“I am a stubborn woman. You are a hot-tempered man. One will wear the other down eventually,” she teased.

“What if I said no?”

“You would not have called me your wife, then.”

Altaïr grinned. “That is true.” He opened his eyes and turned toward Maria, who quickly shot out her hand to ease the pain in his side. “Then you will need to learn more Arabic. It was horrendous before.”

Maria feigned a gasp. “You said I was improving!”

“Both can be true,” Altaïr countered.

“Fine. Next time, I will leave you to die amongst the vipers and vultures in the dunes.”

“You would not.”

“I will stab the arrow back into your side, Altaïr.”

“Now that, you would do.”

The two glared at one another, squinting their eyes and puffing their chests, until finally, Altaïr began to gag. Maria swooped for the bucket, lifting it to her lover’s face before he heaved into it. He murmured apologies, but Maria merely shushed him, her fingers stroking his curly hair. 

“You are still a fool for taking that arrow,” she reminded.

“You still would do the same,” Altaïr grumbled, panting into the bucket before wiping his mouth and gulping down what water remained inside the goblet. Maria kissed the top of his head, grabbing the nearest rag and wiping the beads of sweat from his face.

“You are not a weapon, Altaïr,” she reminded, careful as she dabbed around his scar. “You are a man. You do not need to earn my love or any other through reckless acts. You are a man, and that is enough.” 

Altaïr nodded, and Maria prayed he believed her.

#assassin’s creed #altaïr ibn la'ahad #maria thorpe #ac1 #fanfiction #ac fanfic #i love fucking bitches up #this took me like three days to write #but I'm very proud of how it turned out!! #and I hope u guys enjoy it as much as I had fun writing it #poor Altaïr <:( #im evil >:3 #altmar #altaïria

[crispyjenkins]

Assassin's Creed fic 👀 I am always a sucker for (good) Desmond Miles fic, hell yeah, would 100% read those if you posted them.

👀 👉👈 you're my new favourite, anon. this isn't close to being done but i'm very fond of it so here's a lil preview~ inspired by esama's study of flight, but with a twist! (gen, time travel/reincarnation, found family, william miles' a+ parenting, accidental subterfuge, desmond goes by miles mostly)

  Inhaling a careful breath, Ezio pauses half a flight from their destination and Leonardo halts on the step above him, frown deepening in concern. “Ezio?” he prompts, when he still doesn’t say anything.

  Ezio sighs. “We have thirteen recruits now,” he explains, turning to lean his back against the staircase wall; the cool temperature of the stone actually calms him somewhat and allows him to go on, “He’s been with us a few months, now.”

  Tilting his head curiously, Leonardo bends closer to him. “I thought you had stopped recruiting for the time being.”

  “I had.” Ezio rubs over his face quickly, such discomfort usually unsafe to display so openly — then again, Leonardo is hardly his enemy. “One of my discepoli, Adele, noticed him first.”

  “ ‘Noticed him’?”

  “... In my defense, I was away on a long assignment.”

  Leonardo just looks bewildered, an expression that’s usually quite amusing to see on the man, but Ezio can only cough awkwardly.

  “He, ah, was here a week before anyone thought to question him.”

  His old friend blinks slowly at him, Ezio can almost see the calculations happening in his mind, before his whole countenance brightens enough to make Ezio wince. 

  “You mean he infiltrated the Brotherhood? And nobody noticed?” he asks gleefully. “Oh, Ezio.”

  Refusing to flush in embarrassment, Ezio crosses his arms with a humph. “As I said, I wasn’t in the hideout at the time. Geniuses some of my recruits may be, but they all thought I had sent him here. Adele was the one to notice he had previous training, and asked him where he had met me.” Letting out a long breath, Ezio does smile, just a little. “The whelp didn’t even deny having snuck in, ’said that this is where he wants to be and was tired of waiting for chance to put him in my path, or I in his.”

  Leonardo laughs brightly, moving to rest against the wall across from Ezio. “And Machiavelli didn’t kill him immediately?”

  “No, Valeria convinced them all to keep it quiet until I returned from my contract, the little hellions. She even used me as a meat shield when Niccolò finally found out.” Ezio loves his recruits to distraction, they’re his brothers and sisters and siblings and he would gladly die for any one of them. He would also like to never face down Machiavelli’s sword and rarely-used hidden blade ever again. Once was already in excess.

  “And the recruit?”

  “Miles defended himself, of course. At least long enough for Niccolò to become intrigued by his skill.” He’s still testing the theory, but Ezio is fairly certain even the rank of millite is too low for him, though why Miles would be hiding his prowess is a concern all on its own. 

  Leonardo has known Ezio far too long, and far too well to not guess at his unsaid meaning, his lips tugging back into a thoughtful frown. “You think he was trained by another Assassin?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” he admits with a sigh. “He certainly wasn’t trained by any of our branches.”

  “Miles, Miles Miles,” Leonardo muses to the sloped ceiling. “Unusual name. Germanic? Or French, perhaps?”

  Ezio had been considering contacting his brothers in Spain, despite being almost positive that Miles wasn’t trained by them; he hadn’t even considered the French branch. Actually, did the French branch even exist anymore? He thinks he recalls hearing of its decimation around the time of the Inquisition.

  “There’s a thought,” he agrees slowly, rubbing his jaw. “I’d have to ask la Volpe or another older member about their fighting styles, I only ever crossed blades with Helene, and she hadn’t been an Assassin in many years by then.”

  “Ah, Helene... Dufranc, was it? Yes, yes, the lovely rogue from Barcelona. ‘Mon petit Assassin’, if I recall correctly?” 

  Glowering, Ezio kicks his friend’s foot at the reminder of the nickname he only escaped upon return to Italy. Some of his Spanish brothers still tease him about it in their letters. “I regret ever telling you about that,” he grumbles, much to Leonardo’s amusement. 

  Though, he quickly sobers and meets Ezio’s eyes under his hood, pinning him there easily. “Why am I here, old friend?” he asks, softly, but leaving no room to wriggle out of the answer again.

  He really isn’t making this easy, is he?

  Ezio can only hold Leonardo’s gaze for a few moments more, before he has to look away. “Miles is a bastard from a Veneziana whore. He never met his father.” He needn’t look to know Leonardo gets it immediately, but Ezio still goes on, “My students aren’t nearly as subtle as they think they are, and I do not know if it would have occurred to me without their whispers.”

  Leonardo understands this immediately, too. “Ah, does he not bear significant resemblance to you, then?”

  Ezio shakes his head. “My recruits seem to think so, but I’m afraid I’ve gotten far too in my head about it and am no longer sure if what I see is simply what I want to see.”

  “Oh, Ezio,” Leonardo sighs, standing straight to reach across the narrow space between them and put a hand on his shoulder. “I would be glad to meet him, old friend. Then, after, we will sort all this out, just as we always have.”

  Despite himself, Ezio finds himself relieved by the comfort, and reaches up to squeeze Leonardo’s hand, before removing it and stepping away. “Thank you,” he murmurs, and nods to the bottom of the stairs. “Miles is usually sparring one of his brothers or sisters around now, come with me.”

  “Or siblings,” Leonardo reminds him with a soft laugh, following at his heel.

#title's gonna be from poor isaac by the airborne toxic event #this whole fic is based on the trope of time travel des not knowing how to lie for shit and people making assumptions (à la study of flight #except their assumptions turn out to be mostly right #des isn't ezio's kid tho 👀 #anyway i love desmond almost as much as i love obi wan if that tells you anything about my current state of mind #crispy writes #i also have a modern-era bleed effect injury angst thing and an altdes where they both go back in time which is a MESS of a fic #but it's power couple mostly established relationship where everyone thinks altaïr found another adha and they aren't exactly WRONG #seriously i could gush about desmond endlessly #anon #cj answers #savage price

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

I’m thinking something like that fic ‘The Double Edged Sword’ by AuRon_Scaleless where Ezio and Altaïr are being manipulated by the apple of Masyaf to hate Desmond.

Difference is, the apple of Rome is also there because Ezio brought it with him by mistake so now it sits with Malik for safe keeping. The Masyaf one sits with Altaïr because the man studies it.

Anyway! The two are mistreating Desmond and he’s slowly falling apart with the mixture of bleeding effects and the after math of using the eye to save the world. With the added words and jabs at his apparent ‘betrayal’ it just deteriorated him more.

Malik is just as distrustful of the young man as anyone but at the same time he can feel that there is something more going on here. He just can’t figure out what.

This is until the Rome Apple decides to show him just what Desmond had gone through before popping up here. He sees the farm, the way he grew up, the borderline abuse disguised as training, the years of running and constantly looking over the shoulder, the eventual capture.

He sees Desmond fighting tooth and nail against the modern templars and he sees them drug him, forcing him into the animus to do their bidding. Then there’s the assassins doing pretty much the exact same things to him, his time in the machine growing longer and more frequent as his symptoms get worse and worse and worse.

And when Malik thinks it’s finally all over, that this used and abused young man can finally get a break from everything the ones who promised him a painless death and swift passing on do the exact opposite.

Malik can feel the wisps of pain that Desmond experiences and even that is almost too much for him. He sits there and watches Desmond scream and writhe for what felt like hours but must have been mere seconds.

Then Desmond is transported here, a few months after his second ancestor mind you, only to receive treatment just as bad as his original life.

Malik is practically thrown out of the memories, breathing turned ragged and tears that he didn’t event notice before streaming down his face. The apple in his hand pulses gently, as if it is saddened by the memories he had just witnessed, imploring him to do something to save the young man.

Before he can even move there is a hesitant knock on his door, a familiar head of brown accompanied by a face that is much too gaunt popping through the doorway with a hesitant smile. Despite everything the man still tries to smile at everyone and gain their trust, a feat he has not quite achieved with everyone sadly.

Desmond opens his mouth to speak, Malik hasn’t a clue as to what he’s about to say because he’s already up and across the room. He pulls the young man into a firm yet gentle hug, mindful of his still tender arm and trying to convey every single jumbled emotion he feels in that moment. God, Malik’s sure he has never despised missing an arm more than in this moment.

“I’m so sorry Desmond… you didn’t deserve… any of this. But you worked so hard for the brotherhood, for us and I am so proud of you.” There’s a moment where the young assassin doesn’t move, frozen in his arms before his chest suddenly hitches, body collapsing against Malik’s own as he lets out a quiet, bitten back sob.

The sound just makes the pain radiating through the Dai even worse. God the man couldn’t even cry freely without fear of something happening to him. He ignores the thoughts though, bringing Desmond to the pile of cushions he has set up in the corner of his office for those late nights he can’t quite make it back to his sleeping quarters.

They collapse into the mound together, Desmond burying his head deep into Malik’s chest and clutching his robes as he shudders and silently cries against him. The Dai can feel the young man’s mouth opening against his chest, as if he wanted to scream and sob aloud, but no sound escapes. Just ragged breaths and quiet sniffles.

They lay there for several long minutes, Malik keeping his arm looped around Desmond and running the tips of those fingers up and down what little of his spine he can reach. The young assassin doesn’t seem to mind though, relishes in it even as he slowly begins to calm down.

Before either of them realise it Desmond’s fast asleep, face looking peaceful and form more relaxed than Malik’s ever seen. He can’t help but plant a tender kiss on the younger’s forehead, breathing him deep as he tries to think on what to do next.

Apparently today is a day for interrupting him since there is another knock on the door, the noise loud and startling in the now quiet room. Desmond doesn’t even flinch at it though, an apparent testament to how exhausted he is.

Before Malik can get up the person enters, pleasant greeting on his tongue dying before it fades into an annoyed and angry scowl at the sight that greets him.

The Dai feels his own annoyance and anger rise at the sight of it, all those previous moments over the last few weeks suddenly springing to the forefront of his mind. Malik growls lowly at his longtime friend, glaring at him in a way that he knows the other is somewhat scared of, though the man would never admit to it.

“Get out Altaïr. I will speak with you later.” The mentor isn’t as easily cowled apparently, already opening his mouth again before stopping when Malik suddenly shoots to his feet. He had been extracting his arm and Altaïr hadn’t even noticed until now.

“I said leave novice. Do not make me say it again or I will make sure you regret it.” The mentor looks down at the still sleeping form of Desmond with one last glare before turning on his heel, walking out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

Malik huffs out an annoyed breath at his antics, turning around only to be met with wide and frightened eyes, scanning over everything as if looking for an escape route.

Also I suddenly thought of this. Desmond goes to the poor districts to help treat the sickly people (he has first aid knowledge because of his need for survival while he was on the run. Nothing like surgery but basic shit like how to prevent an outbreak and set a bone sort of stuff) and as a result the people there love him. It’s the only place he can feel like he’s doing something right and feel as if he belongs.

Nobody else knows of this for obvious reasons. They’d either spread the rumours there and make everyone hate him or they’d do something equally as bad. But that’s where he escapes to when things get to be too much for him in the bureau.

He’s not allowed to leave either because they have to ‘make sure he isn’t a threat to the people’ even though they don’t spare him a single thought the second he goes missing.

Malik follows him one day and when he sees just what the man does in order to help people he can’t help but feel even more anger toward Altaïr and Ezio. How could they treat a man so broken and pure like that? How could they hate him so when he smiles that reassuringly toward a child who has merely scraped his knee? It makes no sense.

#fic prompt #prompt #fic #assassins creed #Desmond miles #Ezio auditore #Altaïr Ibn-La’ahad #Malik Al Sayf #established Ezio x Altaïr #Future ezio x Desmond x altair?? #or future malik x Desmond?? #honestly this is already half a fic #I may have something like this already posted #poor Desmond #Altaïr and Ezio are assholes #Desmond’s a saint #Malik holds the braincell #as usual

[demigoddessqueens]

Imagine Altaïr, Malik, Ezio, Haytham, Shay, Connor, and Arno trying to deal with an S/O who has befriended the local crow population.

It's cute when the crows keep bringing you small trinkets, keep using you as a perch, or follow you around all the time.

What's not quite as cute is when one day you get captured and the damn crows keep breaking into the residence and SCREAMING at your poor boyfriend. He'd be finding you right away the instant he knows something's wrong and you're hurt, and the corvids are definitely more than smart enough to help.

Oh, and when you're found? Injured? Not only are you staying right with them at all times but you're being watched by five or six sets of beady eyes all the time.

Awww! This was so cute and then got angsty then cute again!

HERE ON MASTERLIST 9

altair

It’s 50/50 with him, either he’s intrigued by your bird companions or annoyed they impose on moments with you

if you were ever taken from him or missing, Altair tries not to panic but feels some relief that he can track you down when the crows lead him to you

Now he appreciates their loyalty to you and how they’ve come to accept him as well. After all, he’s glad there are those who look after you when he’s not there

malik

Thought it was a bit odd at first, but it wasn’t a bother to anyone, and at least when you visited there was additional company with the birds. As long as they didn’t make a mess of things.

if anything bad happened to you or you were taken, he’s grateful for their lingering presence to signal where you are

After an incident like that, Malik now has the habit of tying notes to their legs, saying something like “whatever impulse you have that leads to trouble, think twice about that.”

ezio

Equally annoyed but intrigued about the corvids and tries to bribe them to bring him trinkets too

in the case of you being taken or missing, every eye on the ground and in the sky is able to find you safely.

Also likes to tie notes to said crows’ legs to pass along to you. Something funny, cute like “I see you.”

haytham

Is not amused at all. He thinks they’re annoying 😝

but if you were ever kidnapped or separated from him, he’s grateful that the unlikeliest allies help find you

There was a rare moment you saw him attempt to bond with them, one successfully perching on his finger

shay

He didn’t think much of your pet birds before but they were a welcomed presence on the ship during longer voyagers

the one time you were not by his side, his fiery temper almost got the best of him before your own trackers lead him down every path to find you

From there on out, he greets them like he does any other crew member. Giving them treats sometimes

Ratonhnhake:ton

He adores your birds and thinks it’s sweet they look out

however, pity the souls who try to take you away because there’s no corner they can hide in

Of course your pet crows are just naturally drawn to his calmness, always perched on his shoulders

arno

He thought it was oddly endearing that you’ve bonded with these birds, although they happen to be a bit of a nuisance

Now if you were to ever be taken from him, it’s all hands on deck

Given the amount of loss and heartbreak he’s had in life, it’s no surprise that Arno always wants you close to him and appreciates the corvids for keeping tabs on you

#inbox requests #assassin's creed #assassin’s creed x reader #my writing #headcanons #ezio auditore #ezio auditore da firenze #ezio auditore x reader #ezio auditore de firenze #writeblr #altair ibn la'ahad #altaïr ibn la'ahad #altair ibn la'ahad x reader #haytham kenway #haytham kenway x reader #shay cormac #shay patrick cormac #shay cormac x reader #arno dorian #arno victor dorian #arno dorian x reader #malik al sayf #ratonhnhaké:ton #ratonhnhaké:ton x reader #writers on tumblr #connor x reader #writers of tumblr

[teecupangel]

Concept: Imagine if Altaïr had a habit of adopting birds of prey and stuff.

Ezio did the same thing except with cats (including a lion cub, if you know the reference to Da Vinci you'll get it)

Connor adopted canines constantly.

Desmond inherits all of these and takes in every single stray animal he finds. It doesn't matter if it's even safe to keep as a pet. He just adopts every single animal in sight.

In other words, through genetic manipulations, the Isus have created the ultimate savior of humanity:

A Disney Princess.

And it all started with Altaïr accidentally turning one of the towers in Masyaf as an aviary that only housed Birds of Prey.

No one knows how he did it.

They were pretty sure he started doing it after his father died and no one had the heart to tell a grieving child to stop adopting birds as a coping mechanism.

By the time Altaïr had been initiated, the aviary and its occupants have become just another staple in Masyaf.

Is it weird that they only listen to Altaïr?

Is it weird to hear Altaïr have a full blown conversation with them?

Very much so.

But it was Altaïr.

He was as weird as he was talented.

So people just left him be.

Time passed and Altaïr became a legend in the Brotherhood.

There were whispers that he could command any kind of birds of prey to do his bidding.

Perhaps he could.

Perhaps he could not.

No one found out the truth.

Ezio, on the other hand, was known as a hoarder of cats.

He gives food to even the dirtiest stray cats that could be found scurrying in the streets.

And they would follow him back to the Brotherhood’s hideout where some poor servant or recruit would have to bathe the cat, suffering the scratches and bites.

Only to be rewarded by the cat purring contently when it is presented to Ezio who holds it in his arms and calls it bella or bello.

And then… Ezio managed to get a hand on an illegally smuggled lion cub who grew up to be quite… large.

A very spoiled large cat who always loved it when Leonardo would come to visit because he would give the lion treats so it would let Leonardo study it.

Now, Ratonhnhaké:ton didn’t plan to adopt any animals. It just so happened that he joined a wolf pack in taking down preys once and now he was considered a… ‘kindred spirit’. They would join Ratonhnhaké:ton whenever he was off hunting and wouldn’t take his kills.

When he left the village, he saved a dog being mistreated by Red Coats and the dog just followed him to the homestead.

While he was sleeping the barn, he saw another dog, all skin and bones, rummaging the containers where the old man keeps the horses’ food for any scraps it might eat and he felt sorry for it so he would throw it a bit of the meat he would prepare for him and the first dog that kept following him.

By the time, Achilles finally agreed to train him, the wolf pack that he had hunted with near his village came to the homestead and… just followed him around.

Achilles thinks it’s a gift.

That there have been Assassins that had a close kinship with animals like Altaïr with his birds and Ezio with his cats.

The wolf pack stayed in the homestead when Ratonhnhaké:ton went with Achilles to Boston. The dog that Ratonhnhaké:ton fed also stayed because they learned that he was already quite an old dog.

Achilles didn’t say anything but the grief in his eyes made it clear that the old dog’s owner had been one of the many dead Assassins that Achilles knew.

When Ratonhnhaké:ton returned from Boston…

Not only was he accompanied by the first dog he adopted, he apparently adopted 3 more dogs along the way.

Achilles has himself to blame for that one.

And so, time moves on and Desmond Miles is born.

The window to his nursery was always close because birds and squirrels would come inside an open window and surround his cradle.

His mother had been worried that those squirrels and even some of the birds might carry something that would make a baby sick.

When he grew older, his friends were the animals in the woods surrounding the Farm and the guard dogs that Farm used.

The other children thought he was weird because of his affinity to animals.

Many adults found it to be a bit disturbing but also a sign of the greatness that Desmond would achieve.

Why else would he have the same ‘skill’ as Altaïr and Ezio, after all?

Then Desmond showed… to be lacking in training.

He wasn’t bad.

He was even better than a lot of the other kids.

The problem was…

Everyone expects him to be more than that.

And Desmond couldn’t take it.

So he ran away.

And the animals ran away with him.

And Desmond finds an abandoned farm where he finally carves out a place of happiness for himself and his friends.

… Desmond has no idea where the bear came from but he became docile after Desmond scolded him for destroying the trash bin and eating spoiled food.

#it’s about leonardo’s mechanical lion #yeah that’s a thing #assassin's creed #desmond miles #altaïr ibn la'ahad #ezio auditore #ratonhnhaké:ton #connor kenway #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed #ask and answer #disney princess desmond

[fromashesweriseuphiddenones]

These bleeding effect prompts are so fun to write. Thanks @sulfies for suggesting it. This is another Heralds of Valdemar X Assassin's Creed. This time instead of Desmond having a bleed, he is on the other end of one.

Desmond Miles had to wonder how he could have been so lucky lately. He found his way back to Valdemar, had employment as a mercenary, had family, a daughter and friends. He also had a strange connection with the Companions of this world. He could hear them but he could only verbally respond to them. He was happy. Salvais and Malik served him willingly and happily as Hertasi. Though poor Malik his vocal cords weren't healed properly in his reincarnation into a Hertasi so he was mute. Add in him being with only one arm and well angst. He was often on Desmond's shoulders for a height advantage. Salvais, as he had been as Leonardo Da Vinci, was very talkative. Then there was Altaïr, turned into a gryphon, a white one with ten of his feathers tipped red. A call back to the hunt for the nine Templars and Al-Muailm.

Right now though he'd been out riding with his daughter Elspeth. She was eighteen soon to turn nineteen. But she had been through some things. Vedic had been back and had found out that Elspeth was his daughter and had her kidnapped. In doing so Desmond found his protective papa bear instincts kicking in hard. Whether it was instincts or leftover bleeds he wasn't sure but now he had to watch, Elspeth had been forced into the Animus too like he had. They had found in a bleed, but it passed quickly.

This bleed could not have been anymore I'll timed. He heard the fireball before he felt it and dodged with his horse. He turned as Gwena, Elspeth’s companion warned him

“She's bleeding.”

“And likely Vanyel.”

“Yes.”

Desmond frowned not knowing what to do. That fireball was aimed at him likely because he may have looked like a Karsite or worse Maar himself. Remembering what Edward did for him he smiled kindly and asked

“To whom do I have the pleasure and honor of speaking to?”

“The herald mage called Vanyel.”

“It is truly an honor then, master Askhervon. I am called Desmond Kenway.”

There was a pause, before Elspeth shook her head, almost falling from Gwena but Desmond was there to catch her.

“It's ok kiddo I am here.”

#assassin's creed #writing #desmond miles #vanyel ashkevron #hearlds of valdemar #the last herald mage

[altairz]

Day 5 - Majd ad-Din

was a Saracen regent of Jerusalem and a member of the Levantine Templars. He was the sixth individual to be assassinated by the Assassin Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad and, like his Templar brothers, his death was planned by Al Mualim. Majd Addin was located in Jerusalem's Poor District

Majd Addin was once a simple scribe. At some point in his life, not only did he become a member of the Templar Order, but he also became aware of an Apple of Eden and its capabilities; Addin and nine other individuals closely guarded its secrets and intended to use the Apple to create a new world.

#assassin's creed #video games #art #my art #majd addin #9days9goalsofaltair

[callmemrskenway]

You Guys Get Caught Making Out

This isn't flat out NSFW but I just wanted to do this bc some of these guys would be so funny.

*Contains SPICY content*

Altaïr:

- Man's is so flustered but tries not to show it but like, its an embarrassing situation.

- You get caught by a few trainees when they were trying to look for him and its not like he was supposed to be gone for long, you just wanted to give him a peck but then it turned into something more.

- Altaïr most definetly tells them to get back to training and he'll be with them shortly as you giggle at his flustered reaction before kissing his cheek to make him feel better.

- He gives you a soft smile before facing his trainees, now having to live with the fact that these guys now have the image of the greatest Master Assassin almost about to bottom for his s/o-

Ezio:

- Yeah, no, he really doesn't care. He loves you, he wants to show you, and he wants you and everyone else to know the passion he has for you. But also, this isn't the first time he was caught and this won't be the last.

- Like Leonardo made some random invention he wanted to show Ezio and he walks in with him absolutely about to ravish you and he's has the 1400s equivalent of "REALLY!? IN FRONT OF MY SALAD!?" reaction upon seeing that.

- Ezio laughs and apologizes to his old friend as you hide your blushing face in his shoulder and also apologize to Leonardo and promise that this won't happen again.

- He doesn't believe you and to be fair, you don't believe yourself. Ezio is a lover as well as a fighter and sometimes he can't resist the urge to show you his love.

Connor:

- Oh God, it was Achilles who found you two. I feel so bad for you guys because you're just having fun cuddling and kissing and Achilles is trying to look for Connor to train him.

- You're arms are wrapped around his neck as he holds you bridal style, wanting to hold your smaller form in his arms and allowing you to run your fingers through his hair. And Achilles walks in before coughing, "If you two are done engaging in amorous congress, Connor, you still have training."

- HE DROPS YOU. CONNOR LITERALLY DROPS YOU. GOD HE IS SO SORRY AND HELPS YOU UP AS ACHILLES WALKS AWAY AND YOU SWEAR YOU HEAR HIM CHUCKLE. Then he apologizes one more time before running to Achilles.

- Honestly you feel bad for him, even if he did drop you, because he's way too flustered from being caught and DROPPING his lover to properly learn how to use this new weapon Achilles was trying to teach him how to use.

- Yeah, no, he's gonna lose more sleep over this than you.

Edward:

- Okay technically you guys weren't caught, some poor newbie on the ship was trying to find him to ask him something and for some reason, DIDN'T HEAR THE SUSPICIOUS NOISES FROM THE CAPTAIN'S QUARTERS.

- You were on his bed with his hands pinning your wrists above your head, the both of you just going at it. THE SMART PERSON WOULD'VE CLOSED THE DOOR AND LEFT BUT THIS CREWMATE WAS ALL: "U-Um.. Captain Kenway-"

- Both you and Edward gasp as you pull apart and you were blushing as Edward was yelling and scolding the guy. He's not really embarrassed because you guys suck face in public anyways. HE'S JUST MAD BECAUSE HE GOT COCKBLOCKED-

- Sits down to comfort you and tries to make light of the event before kissing you and telling you that he might as well take care of whatever the guy needed help with but, he slyly bites your exposed shoulder and tells you that he hopes you both can continue as soon as possible.

Arno:

- Okay I can't think of context for this situation but someone found you two and it causes you to get flustered and he just absolutely goes off.

- *Angry French sounds* and basically scares the dude who caught you both away while also SEVERLY damaging their ego.

- Also coos to you and comforts you, assuring you have nothing to be embarrassed about but also, placing assuring kisses on your forehead and promising that he'll try to avoid situations like that in the future.

- Decides to romance you the entire day to make up for it. At the end of the night, he'll have you laughing so hard and so breathless with beautiful views of the city that you forget the incident. Unless its one of those nights where your cringey thoughts catch up to you.

Evie Frye:

- ONE OF JACOB'S STUPID ROOKS WALKED IN. Apparently he was looking for her or something and when they walk in on you two, ALL THEY FIND IS WRATH.

- Like she's obviously flustered but also very indignant because can she not share a nice intimate moment with her lover without being rudely interrupted??

- Jacob is so confused when his rook comes back to him embarrassed and shameful. Meanwhile you try to calm down Evie by placing gentle kisses on her neck.

- She smiles at you but then tiredly sighs saying she better go check on Jacob and see what he could POSSIBLY need from her.

Jacob Frye:

- You guys where caught in a carriage, my dude. He was on a mission to kill a big money target and he brought you to be his cover date and actual date and he decided that during the ride, it would be a good time to sneak a make out session.

- However make out sessions tend to get TOO heated that you guys didn't even notice the carriage stopped or anything.

- His rooks are standing around the carriage confused because like...do they knock?? Do they let him know that they've arrived? You snap out of it first and are all: "Um, Jacob?"/ and he's just kissing your neck and is all: "hmmm?"/ "I think we're here."/ "Are we? That was quicker than I thought."

- He walks out of the carriage as if he wasn't just necking you and you were fixing your appearance. The rooks know what you two did. YOU TWO KNOW THE ROOKS KNOW. But no one says anything because, like, its Jacob. No one is surprised.

#I FEEL LIKE THIS IS REALLY BAD BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOY NONETHELESS. #assassin's creed x reader #evie frye x reader #connor kenway x reader #Jacob Frye x reader #Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad x reader #I make my own slightly happier ending for Altaïr sometimes- #ezio auditore x reader #Edward Kenway x reader #Arno Dorian x reader #assassin's creed

[renleonhart]

AC Men using peel off masks (while the ladies are watching and laughing at them.)

Altaïr: Pfft, he doesn't understand why the others are screaming and hollering while peeling this stuff off. It's like a walk in the park for him....that is until he realizes that some of the stuff got in his eyebrows and then he is just thinking "well, fuck."

Ezio: "GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!" Poor man is in tears, because it's all in his beard and sticking to the strands of hair that fell loose from his ponytail. And it hurts. Claudia is trying to help him, but he keeps pulling away so it took Leonardo and Mario to pin him down while Claudia is ripping the mask off of him like a bandage. Meanwhile Leo is not helping by being all like "Now you know the real peice of beauty, huh?"

Edward: Kinda in the same boat as Ezio, except he is a little more tolerant to it. He legit says "ow" maybe once or twice because the mask stuff is also somehow in his beard and sideburns. But it wasn't that bad.

Haytham and Connor/Ratonhnhaké:ton : Kaniethtí:io overheard him say that there was no possible way that using a "simple" face mask cleanser was that painful, and that everyone is overreacting. So, she slapped a good amount on his face and told him "You're going to wish you never said that." Though she also did the same to Connor just to see who will last longer before the stinging of having their skin pulled by the mask becomes too much.

Haytham is making faces and funny sounds as he's trying to be gentle and removing the dry mask off, while Connor isn't even batting an eye (it also helps that he was smart and used a bandana to cover his hair before allowing his mom to put the stuff on his face.) Haytham finally conceded and allowed for Kaniethtí:io to finish off the rest while Connor was watching with an expression that was a mix between amusement and smugness.

(Might do a part 2 to this, to include the rest of the AC men once I try to think of more things to write.)

#assassin's creed #connor kenway #ratonhnhaké:ton #haytham kenway #altaïr ibn la'ahad #ezio auditore da firenze #edward kenway #ac leonardo #ac leonardo da vinci #kaniehtí:io #claudia auditore #ac modern au #assassin's creed modern au #ac headcanons

[assassinschaoticcreed]

What the boys dumbest thing that they ever did?

Altaïr: walk into a glass door, broke it and kept walking.

Arno: used his Eagle Vision while drunk (like in the game, my mans almost had a Game Over)

Connor: I could see him cutting his own hair as a kid, like the sideways chopped bangs and the ends butchered. Ziio was VERY upset and Haytham laughed his ass off. Charles Lee would go out of his way to make fun of poor Connor.

Desmond: bought chickens, goats, and almost an acre of land while trying to shop when he first started learning Italian, specifically when Maria asked him to do shopping alone.

Ezio: fallen through rooftops while racing Frederico and Desmond.

Edward: thought he could go spear fishing after he had a few drinks. he in fact could not, and almost drown.

Jacob: after waking up from a night of drinking with Edward, he awoke up in grandpa style clothes. he doesn't know how, when or why but he then decided to try and get a senior citizen discount. and it worked 👏

#ac #assassins creed #ezio auditore #ezio auditore da firenze #desmond miles #ac desmond #arno dorian #arno victor dorian #altair ibn la'ahad #connor kenway #ratonhnhaké:ton #edward kenway #jacob frye

[d3r34l1z4cja]

Idk why but I'm tempted to make an AC fic about WWII Poland

I'd probably start it following a novice assassin after the Invasion of Poland where they're kinda the only assassin left in the Warsaw Brotherhood so they have to find some Isu artifacts to contact other assassins that also touched pieces of Eden (a la dream visitor from WoF but without control of who they're visiting)

Like yeah I'd have to involve Ezio and Altaïr into it, that'd be funny as is. But if the poor novice got in contact with Shay who promptly has a PANIC ATTACK over the whole situation? Tasty.

Also might use Malik also cause he delivered the Apple in AC1 so it's entirely possible that there are some lingering traces that the Polak's artifact could catch onto. And then there are also records for others to find to confirm the whole situation.

Maybe there's a sign of when this novice is about to show up? Like a bird or a cat or something. Definitely would depend on what I decide to name the assassin though.

Thoughts?

#assassin's creed #fic idea: assassin's creed

[tamiisnthere]

Tami's interactions with Templars

Another idea from @fancysteawberrybeard! Thank you once again! 💗

I will admit that I will use a few Templars, because I don't know much about them, so Tami only had interactions with a few of them. I hope you don't mind. 😊

Tami meets the Templars for the first time when she starts going on missions. They're her enemies, so mostly relationships are hostile, but there are some little exceptions.

Haytham: Although he is the main enemy of the Assassin's Brotherhood, Tami has some respect and fear for him. Once she and Altaïr almost got him, but Edward stopped them, because he is his son, and thanks for that, Haytham successfully escaped from them.

Shay: Haytham's right-hand man and former assassin is a dangerous opponent. But Tami knows his reason for betraying the brotherhood. Once she was injured during one of the missions, Shay was about to shoot her, but then he felt guilty, left her alone and disappeared before her partner came to save her. At that time Tami realized that not all Templars are purely cruel and evil people, but that doesn't mean their actions are right and must be stopped.

Abstergo Industries: Tami had noticed their products before, which were overpriced despite the poor quality. She and her family regard Abstergo's products as a scam. Later, after joining the Brotherhood, she found out that Abstergo Industries is a Templar's company so they could more easily manipulate the public.

Lucy Stillman: In one mission, Tami and some assassins were captured by Abstergo and imprisoned. She met Lucy with Vidic, who felt sorry for the young assassin. Later, when the assassins came to rescue her and the other captives, Lucy decided that she would help Tami escape and accompany her to the assassins. Tami thanks her and promises that if they ever meet again, she won't kill her.

Daniel Cross: He is another former assassin and Nikolai's great-grandson. He trains new recruits for the Templar Order. Tami notices him whispering something like he always hears voices and wants them to stop. Thanks to Rebecca and Shaun, she knows Daniel suffers from the Bleeding Effect, which affects his life, which made her feel empathy for him.

Warren Vidic: He had planned to research the history of Tami's ancestry, which she was against so she wouldn't get the Bleeding Effect. In the prison, she watched helplessly as the prisoners were being tortured, which made Tami cry and rage at the same time. When the assassins came to save Tami and others, Vidic wanted to stop her, but he was assassinated by Desmond.

Juhani Otso Berg: He is an Abstergo Industries agent. Tami only saw him around when she was imprisoned. Truth be told, Juhani is a mystery to her and she doesn't know more about him.

Robert de Sablé: Whoever is Altaïr's archenemy, so is Tami's. He was also a threat to the TaE Family (her adoptive family), because he wanted to take over their land and destroy everything they had built for years. Later, Tami tried to assassinate Robert to save her home, but he easily defeated her. At the last minute he was assassinated by Altaïr.

Charles Lee: Haytham’s another right hand. Connor mentioned that he would kill him one day. Tami doesn't see much Charles during the fights, because he is afraid of Connor.

Cesare Borgia: General of the Templar Order, but he would like to become a Grandmaster and usually complains that he is not. Tami sees him as a power-hungry lunatic and wonders why the Templars tolerate him.

Jamal: He was a traitor to the brotherhood and Tami's first target. Of course Altaïr was going to help her with her first assassination mission, which she was afraid of. When they found him, Tami lunged at him but Jamal fought back and was about to stab her with his dagger. Altaïr, panicking that he will lose his lover, attacked Jamal, who unexpectedly wounded him. Left with no choice, Tami stabbed Jamal's neck with her hidden blade. Tami stared at her bloody hand in horror… She took someone's life… Altaïr calmed her down, dipped the feather in Jamal's blood and hurried back to the bureau.

#thanks to these headcanons I have some more ideas <3 #tamiisnthere's fanfic #Assassin's Creed #crossover universe #Tami Fountain #Altami #canon x self insert #canon x oc #canon character #oc #persona #self insert #headcanon #headcanons #Templar #Templars

[demigoddessqueens]

Imagine being in the hospital sick or some reason and they cannot for the life of them keep your partner out of your room. They don't know how they keep getting in. But security finally coaxes them out but they turn around for 20 minutes and your partner is wrapped around you in the bed.

I think Haytham, Shay, Jacob, and Ezio would be the worst about it. Malik and Evie would just deliver the verbal smackdown of a century till they were let in. I don't know a single intelligent member of hospital staff who would try and stop Altaïr or Ratonhnhaké:ton

Sorry for the long ask, I just got out of urgent care myself cause the muscles in my left leg ceased functioning while my heart and pulse said "hey, you know what would be fun? If we decided to start doing our own thing" (I'm fine it's not a stroke or heart attack)

Omg 😱 I hope you’re doing ok! That sounds pretty serious and I hope you’re recovering

Ohmygooawdd 😆 this would be an experience for the poor medical staff

Connor is just so big and muscular and tall so no one gets in his way. Altair just has The Stare™️, striking gold eyes to match, and the nurses just move out of his way.

Haytham is not loud per se but he makes his sternly-worded opinions and voice known. Shay, Jacob and Ezio are loud AF and want to see you ASAP

Malik and Evie both have words for the staff about getting to see you, but also have gentle chastising for you too

#assassin's creed #headcanons #assassin’s creed x reader #evie frye #ezio auditore #ezio auditore da firenze #shay cormac #malik al sayf #shay patrick cormac #jacob frye #haytham kenway #ratonhnhaké:ton #altair ibn la'ahad x reader #altaïr ibn la'ahad

[teecupangel]

Normally, Desmond is sent back in time to mess with things.

But what if it wasn't him?

Like, maybe Desmond couldn't go back in time himself but he could, in the split second he touched the apple, send someone else.

What if one of his ancestors went back in time? (Upon their deaths or something.)

I imagine a young Altair (who might be using a fake name) running around Italy with a tired Ezio following like a worried mother hen. (No, Claudia, he is not hovering he is just concerned) He ends up taking Altair under his wing (No, Claudia, it is not adoption.)

Or maybe Altair ends up in Bayek's time, Oh! Or Connor in Ezio's time. (Edward and Ezio would either get along badly or be too powerful if they were together in the same time period.)

These boys ruin the timeline and somehow save the world/future by simply stumbling through everything with no clue what's going on. and of course the power of friendship and really sharp blades.

Desmond and Clay are laughing their asses off in the afterlife as their ancestors destroy centuries worth of carefully calculated plans. (They might also manipulate things a little to help.)

And the time traveling ancestors for the most part, are doing the best they can in their current situation.

They are freaking the fuck out the whole time but are excellent at hiding it.

Poor Ezio.

(No, Altair, you can't kill that person because that have information we need, yes, I'm sure, Claudia don't encourage him.)

Well… How about we add some… ‘order’ to the chaos?

Desmond only had a fraction of a second to send his ancestor back in time.

And he hesitated.

He didn’t know which one to send.

Should it be Altaïr? Altaïr always felt like he would find out what to do even if he was given only minimal clues.

But Ezio was his prophet, the one he had been with the longest…

Ratonhnhaké:ton though… he deserves answers. He deserves the truth.

And when he woke up…

In that endless sea of gray…

The first word he heard were…

“’Morning. Which fucked up timeline do you want to hear first?”

Desmond sat and blinked as Clay stood before him, arms crossed with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Uuuhh…”

“Do you want to hear about how Edward Kenway managed to save his grandson and his grandson’s mother from the fires that should have killed her?” Clay asked before adding, “Oh… and he’s learned that his son’s a Templar by the way. At least, one of his old friends believe he’s actually Edward Kenway. If you think the Kenway Family Drama is bad when you were reliving Connor’s memories, then you gotta see the top tier drama that’s happening with Edward and Haytham right now.”

“Or maybe you want to hear about how Connor got kicked into Ezio’s time? He has no idea what’s happening but he got appointed as Federico’s combat instructor. He knows jackshit, by the way, about the tragedy that’s about to happen but, hey, at least Giovanni believes he’s an Assassin from another country or something. Oh.” Clay rubbed his chin as he added, “Connor doesn’t like how close Giovanni is with the Medici by the way. Lorenzo reminds him a bit of Washington or maybe he’s projecting, who knows?”

“Maybe you’ll like to know how your dear prophet is doing? Well, he’s doing badly in preserving the damn timeline that’s for sure. Let’s see… he got in touch with Alamut and managed to bluff his way into making them believe he’s the mentor of a destroyed Assassin branch from the crusader lands, he got the mentor’s permission to make his own branch in Levant, made a deal with said mentor to become a thorn in Al Mualim’s side and find out what he’s hiding, adopted Altaïr and even went as far as adopt Abbas because he believed he could ‘change’ things.” Clay was quiet for a moment before he added, “Oh and his branch is in the underground temple in Jerusalem so he has the Apple with him already.”

“Then there’s Altaïr.” Clay said with such… annoyance Desmond was actually afraid of what Altaïr had done. Clay rubbed the side of his forehead as he started, “See, they can only be transported into what counts as their past so we can’t have something like Altaïr being pushed into his future in Ezio’s time or something. And, since your only instruction to the Moraes was to ‘change the past’, they had to improvise with Altaïr considering he’s more or less the starting point. They had to pick another one of your ancestors who was important to your past and this world’s future so…”

“Altaïr’s been sent to the time of the Isu-Human war and his knowledge of the POEs and getting unconstrained access to the POEs at their full power… well… let’s just say…” Clay’s tone was drier than the desert as he said, “The Isus didn’t know what hit them.”

Desmond could only stare at Clay as he said.

“Soooo… which one do you want to contact first as their ‘patron’?”

#look I know I could have pushed altaïr to aquilus’ timeline who is a confirmed desmond ancestor #or to esio’s timeline who while not confirmed could be ezio’s ancestor #but the idea of altaïr #just fucking the isus over #by becoming the shadow king #behind eve and adam’s revolt #was too funny to pass over #and yes #that patron bit is meant to be a reference to dnd warlocks XD #they all got transported #after their death #with a body at the peak of their 'prime' #ask and answer #assassin's creed #desmond miles #altaïr ibn la'ahad #ezio auditore #ratonhnhaké:ton #connor kenway #edward kenway #clay kaczmarek #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed