A Templar in love with the Assassins

Very specifically i'm talking about Ratonhnhaké:ton (Connor Kenway) from Assassins Creed 3 and Charles Smith from RDR2.

Ive been in both fandoms and seeing people boil both of these incredible characters down to a few specific traits that get wildly misinterpreted or they just dont even have drives me absolutely crazy. None of them look at these characters for who they actually are and how they are written to be, all because they are blinded by stereotypes. Neither of these characters are "clueless and innocent" or "shy and deeply, truly connected to nature" like ive seen so many people make them out to be.

Connor quite literally kills people for a living and Charles is an outlaw with a body count so that stomps out the "2 pUre 4 THis WoRL <3" headcanon real fast.

As for the 'soulbound to nature' thing, it just speaks volumes about how much some of you do not pay attention to the games youre playing OR their characters. Both Connor and Charles show great respect for nature, yes, as is evident in hunting missions and such but its not their only personality trait guys! Isn't that crazy!!

Lastly, neither Connor nor Charles have ever been shy. I am in possession of a lengthy list of reasons why Connor is not shy, including but not limited to:

- told his mentor to step outside and square tf up infront of a guest

- demanded control of an army despite having no military background (it worked, he got the army) (he also won)

- threatened Actual George Washington to his FACE surrounded by Washington's troops

As for Charles, well, I may not have a complete and coherent list but I can pull a number of instances out of my ass on the spot that prove you people wrong. Charles' generally reserved nature and gruffness just get painfully misinterpreted all the time, he's not ówò shy🥺👉👈 so please, for the love of jesus christ, stop writing/interpreting him that way.

You cant just pick and choose what personality traits these characters have and you certainly should not be headcanoning traits based on some fuckass stereotypes!! And stop babying them!!!! These characters are so much more in depth than some of you care to notice. so START. NOTICING.

Altaïr

He won’t necessarily change from how he acts after being married. He does usually use a softer tone when he’s talking to his spouse.

He knows that, as the mentor, he has to appear strong and decisive. It’s during the private moments, in the comforts of their own home, that he talks about his problems and second guesses to his spouse.

He was raised in an environment where showing how much one loves his family was frowned upon during the previous mentor’s rule but he tries to show it in his own way.

The best way to get him to finally stop with his research with the Apple or take a break from his duties as a mentor is for his spouse to come get him for a meal. He absolutely knows that his spouse is exaggerating about being hungry and such but he indulges it anyway.

He never forgets an important date. Unfortunately, that includes dates that his spouse would deem not important and he didn’t plan to make his spouse feel guilty about it.

At the same time, this man will remember everything about his spouse and that includes the points his spouse would make during arguments. He has a bad habit of reminding his spouse about those points whenever something that is considered ‘contradictory’ happens.

He talks to Malik bout his marriage life. Malik both understands that he counts as Altaïr’s closest friend and, at the same time, is very annoyed at being the one to have to listen to all this.

Ratonhnhaké:ton

Ratonhnhaké:ton is used to having a close knit community and that’s why he’s glad that his spouse is close to the people of the Homestead.

Ratonhnhaké:ton likes talking to his spouse about everything and nothing at all. He especially likes sharing stories about their lives before they met.

He likes the idea of teaching his spouse how to hunt. Even if his spouse is just indulging him, he still enjoys it and smiles whenever he remembers that’s just how much his spouse loves him.

Sometimes, when he’s alone, he would remember his parents and think about how things would have been different if they stayed together. Whenever he does this, he would get a bit too quiet and wish to hold his spouse hand at the very least.

Even though he took the mansion for himself and his future family, he never removed the Davenport painting in the main room.

i hc that connor likes to post pics of food and nature. his ig account feels like a soft blanket and a warm hug. also!! he shares pics of cute lil animals on his story

making a hole in it, big enough to fit his dick but ever so slightly small for some extra 'tightness'. man's not only a weirdo, but also a pervert. he for sure fucking relishes in the feeling of the fruit juices covering his cock as he keeps battering it - his mind screaming at him about it feeling like a real cunt -.

the squelching noises activating that part of his brain that just pushes him to thrust harder and deeper - and also deactivating any rational part left of it -. his tip hitting the juicy meat of the fruit while in his mind he's imagine that it's some sweet thing's poor cervix that he's abusing.

and don't even get me started on the seeds. pretty fucking sickening but the extra sensation makes him cum a lot faster. the little pips rubbing his aching cock, now an angry shade of red, just right.

ohh and you bet you ass he doesn't pull out. nope, pushes himself deeper in. the same way he would breed a lass. because yes, he doesn't even have the decency to wear a condom when fucking said fruit.

he's just so needy and desperate for some pussy he would 100% fuck a melon.

Horny, pent up König who's a straight up pervert and gets hard just by thinking about lingerie vs. König who's not at all interested in sex and cares more about the cleanliness of his knives than the perspective of getting it on;

König who came from a rough background and joined the military in order to escape abuse and neglect vs. König who will forever be his mama's sweet boy, who joined the armed forces with the sole purpose of earning good money and giving her the life she deserves;

König who has no one and dreads the day retirement comes because, God, what will be of him then? vs. König who has everything planned out and anxiously awaits the end of his duty, anxiously awaits the comfort of a nice cabin on top of a mountain made just for him;

König who's deadly afraid of women and will likely die alone because approaching one is his worst nightmare vs. König with a cute wife and even cuter children that he loves so, so much;

König who only likes guns and knives and bombs and violence and only diy's things out of necessity vs. König who has so many weird, unexpected interests and loves to make things from scratch just for the sake of it;

König who never overcame his insecurities and still shakes in his boots by the mere thought of being perceived by others vs. König who's as secure on himself as a man can be and copes with his social anxiety by simply limiting socializing as much as possible.

König, König, König. I love König!!!

He goes with you everywhere - and I mean everywhere. Sits at the empty table next to you while you get your nails done. Walks down the path from your front door to the mailbox at the crack of dawn, his hands shoved in his pajama pants. Clingy, though he'll never admit it.

Loves a bar of 70% cocoa as a snack. Doesn't need water or milk to wash it down, but he won't turn down a glass of cold, whole milk if it's offered to him (it never is. He grabs it himself).

He'll yell at you to turn the water temperature down when you shower together. Corners himself as far away from the stream as he can, acting like you're threatening him with a scalding fire poke.

When he comes home after missions, he doesn't always drag you to the bedroom to do the devil's tango. Sometimes, he hugs you tightly and begs you to make an actual meal, something to replenish him after weeks of boiled chicken and canned beans from wherever he was shipped off to. He wants you to sit at the table with him and just talk, please just distract him from his own thoughts.

If you hand him something, he'll hold it. He won't even pause what he's doing, whether that's talking about Spartan phalanx formations, or listening to you babble about your day. And he won't let whatever it is go until you tell him what to do with it. You'll turn around, seeing him holding the half stick of butter you handed him well over five minutes ago. "König, baby, you can put that back in the fridge."

He holds your breasts in his sleep in a non-sexual way - but damn, his grip can be fucking tight sometimes. He's got his head resting on your soft stomach, snoring against your skin as his fingers dig and squeeze at your tits. It takes a few minutes of your whining and shoving at his head before he finally relents, wrapping his arms around your waist instead.

He's happy to go to Home Goods with you and spend an hour just sniffing the different candles. He tends to lean towards the apple, cinnamon, pumpkin, or any warm, holiday scents. He can't stand the ones like "tropical waves", or "fresh linen".

and anything longer than a few inches of hair under cloth + helmet = sweat heaven.. so either simon is stinky as fuck or he’s as bald as a mole rat.

he stares.

he really likes you, ok? but he isn't going to tell you that because, to him, you're too attractive for a guy like him. a guy tainted by bloodshed and violence would never be able to love someone like you.

so he lets himself stare at you, drinking your image in and carving it into his head. he remembers it all late at night with his fist around his dick, his grip tight, thinking about how amazing you looked and the way you move.

he doesn't intend to do anything about it, to try and take you out on a date, because he doesn't trust himself not to taint you. not to bring you bad luck like he brings to everything else in his life.

john who plucks out the lonely girl in the corner of the pub, abandoned by all of her mates to get chatted up by the blokes inside. someone has to stay by the table and look after the coats and bags

and he could tell she was an insecure wreck just from looking at her, constantly fidgeting and pretending to busy yourself at the empty table. picking up your phone, scrolling for two seconds and then putting it back down. rinse, repeat, etc

but god, you were gonna be a challenge. good thing he’s always up for one. always happy to take in another lonely stray

she doesn’t make eye contact with him, ever. nor does she ever reach to touch him. in fact, she apologises whenever she accidentally brushes him. looks embarrassed every time she gives some lame response to his smooth line

and the second one of your friends comes back to the table, you move away. as if you’re some warm-up act before the main performance. and that just won’t do one bit

you watch him as he follows your friend to the bar, chatting to her before making his way back with two drinks but instead of cozying up to her the way you expect him to, he slides the drink in front of you and makes himself comfortable in the tight booth. leaving you trapped between his musky scent and peeling wallpaper decorating the wall,

“there y’go, pretty. carry on tellin’ me about yourself…”

and for once, you actually hold his gaze for a few seconds, stunned. before inevitably shrinking back into yourself, slowly reaching for the glass like he might be pulling some kind of joke on you

Guiding you through streets with a hand on your hips, moving past you in the kitchen by grabbing your hips or waist to nudge you aside. Maybe they're holding a hot pan or plate and will gently guide you aside with a hand on your hips and words like "Careful baby—there we go, good girl".

Make you keep eye contact with them whenever you speak, it could be you rambling on about your day fidgeting with something on your lap and they will guide you to look up with two fingers to your chin, gently coaxing you to meet their eyes, "Hey, eyes on me, pretty".

Always making sure you're fed. You're busy with work, typing one email after the other and they will come up behind you tap on your cheek and press a fruit slice to your lips "Open. Now" and you do because there's no other choice.

It's always the one worded commands that make you lose it.

"Sit."

"Come here."

"Stop."

You don't carry bags or touch door handles around them and if you try, "what did i say?" With that stern look that makes you shut up instantly.

Pulling you between their legs while they're on a call, pressing your back to their chest as their hand travels up your shirt and traces lazy patterns against your stomach while they talk, making you shudder.

You say something snarky, bratty, they just give you the look, lean in and say "That's not how you speak to me. Try again".

Knows when your exhausted and will come shut your laptop for you with a simple "You're done" and drag you off to bed over their shoulder if your unwilling to leave.

Makes sure you're hydrated, if your water bottle is not as empty as they wish they will simply place it in your hands and cross their arms, standing over you. "Drink. Now".

Will always put your seatbelt on for you, usually with a snarky "There. Try not to die".

Always offering you the best seat in the house with a pat on their lap "Come. Sit."

Price always had a lot going on; being the Captain of a Task Force demanded a lot of time, energy and most of all - nerves.

So when one of the nurses on base had pulled him aside and said that she suspected someone stealing Morphine, all he did was nod and call in a meeting. Luckily, everyone had obliged to giving him a urine sample to let it be tested for drugs.

What no one seemed to notice was Simon's eyes staring into nothingness as all he did was pray that his heavy heart wouldn't give his covers away. His head was spinning because he searched for a way out of this - there had to be a way he didn't have to take it. And suddenly his mind started to wander off to you; the only one who'd met him without knowing he was Ghost. The only one who knew he had a problem - a fucking big one right now - and the only one who understood him was you.

One hand tightly gripping the little cup, the other one knocking loudly on your door. He didn't hesitate when the door opened; he simply pushed it open and walked into your tiny apartment.

"Simon?" you asked with a frown plastered on your face. You hadn't expected him - of course you hadn't so all you were wearing was one of your cute pyjamas you avoided to wear around him normally. "Is everything okay?"

"I messed up," was all that came across his lips with a heavy sigh. When his gaze met yours, all he could do was put the cup on your kitchen table and point at it. "I need your help."

You stepped closer and eyed the little cup and when you realized what exactly he'd asked you to do, you shook your head. "No, I'm not helping you fake a drugtest."

"Please, luvie," his eyes studied your face - he reduced the distance between you two quickly and took your face into his rough and calloused hands. "I'll never ask anythin' of you ever again. Just let me keep my job, fuck- it's the only thing that's been keeping me sane all this time."

Of course your heart sank when you heard his pleading and even more so when you looked up at him and you could see the desperation in his blue eyes. After moments had passed - which felt like years for Simon - you'd finally nodded and given in to him.

"I knew you'd understand," he whispered and pecked your lips before letting you go take the drugtest.

You'd never felt so dirty in your life. Pissing into a little cup while Simon waited impatiently outside the bathroom made you feel greedy and so, so worthless. But if you were being honest; there was nothing you wouldn't do for Simon. Of course you weren't supporting his addiction - that was the main reason you had broken up, after all. But he was your Simon. The closest you'll ever get to finding unconditional love.

A few days after Simon had given the sample to Price - he'd been the last to hand it over - the test results finally came. And Price would never doubt his team; they'd done everything together for years at this point, but he could also imagine one of his soldiers having an addiction as it was nothing new.

To his surprise and relief, all the test results came back negative. But looking at Simon's results made him frown - or more so, all he could do was huff at the result.

"You wanted to speak to me?" Simon had stepped into Price's office; not even thinking that it could have anything to do with the drugtest as he knew you hadn't taken any.

Price's eyes never left Simon's form. He watched him intensly as he took the seat across from Price's desk. "Yeah, well, the results came back and since you're L.T., I thought you'd deserve to know before everyone else."

Simon hummed in response while leaning back, silently thanking you again.

"Luckily, everyone's negative," Price announced which made Simon even more relaxed. "But.. The Lab was a bit confused and thought something went wrong as Simon Riley's clearly a male name."

"Captain, I don't think I can follow you," Simon had frowned under his balaclava.

Price barked a bitter laugh as he looked at the Lieutnant in front of him. "They found the hormone Beta-hCG in your piss. You wanna know what that means?"

All Simon could do was nod; unaware of what's to come.

"The fuckin' piss is from someone who's pregnant," Price lowly said. "So now we not only know this wasn't your piss, but I think you two would've been smart enough to know we‘d find out. So, Riley, should I say congratultions?"