#ac headcanons

Man died once and copy-pasted himself into the Animus—died twice and hugged Desmond out of the Animus to prevent him from getting deleted with Clay. I refuse to believe Clay was doing fuck all while Des was reaching synch nexus with Ezio. Sure, Des apparently shot down his idea to share a body, but Isu Bullshit is as Isu Bullshit does.

Like Des ends up in Altaïr's time and at first everyone is super suspicious because who the hell is this guy and maybe Altaïr is already married and Darim and Sef are already born and he's confident in his role of Mentor that he quickly realises that this novice is actually no novice and can fight but he acts younger than he looks and he kinda keeps to himself? But he knows about the apple? Malik and Maria get very suspicious but they all team rather quickly to get Altaïr away from the Apple and eventually the entirety of Masyaf starts to welcome him and Des starts to train and he's good and finding a Brotherhood who accepts him is nice and he starts to feel at ease and Altaïr looks at him and gets reminded of himself maybe and in the end he finds himself thinking "I can't believe life blessed me with three sons"

Or maybe he is just in time to save Kadar and in this life Altaïr has one person he can call brother other than Malik and Altaïr and Malik bond over talking about their little brothers

Or maybe he's in Florence trying everything he can to make sure Ezio's family is ok that he starts hanging out with Ezio and he gets invited to the palazzo and he's really sweet with Petruccio and kind to Claudia and laughs with Federico and Maria immediately notices how he looks homeless and he's nothing eating enough and at dinner everyone is chatting and in the middle of it Giovanni freezes and notices Desmond and asks what's going on and Maria is like "wdym? That's our son" and Giovanni notices his resemblance to Ezio and is very confused and scared for a bit that he blurts out "I never cheated on you my love!" and Maria "??? I know dear" and Giovanni quickly notices Des abilities and is this guy an assassin?? Why hasn't he told him?? What is he doing here?? Why hasn't he been notified of another assassin in Florence?? There's a conspiracy against his family?? The Gonfaloniere is a Templar?? What

Or Des ending up in Rome long after Ezio heard his name and the man is tired and he doesn't have much time to think about that goddess- no, no goddess, just Minerva- said because he has a brotherhood to keep in check but Volpe tells his of a new thief in town who is suspiciously good and is sabotaging the Borgias and Des wants Ezio to live his life so he tries to stay away from him but he's looking for the PoE and eventually they meet after the Borgias have been dealt with and Ezio is tired and this young man who suspiciously looks like him eventually confesses his name and Ezio is shocked and Des is sorry and wishes this whole thing happened decades before so that he could save his family and he's confused because why now? And he's crying while explaining the whole ordeal and Ezio... Simply hugs him, and he thinks that yes this might just be the perfect time, he's been thinking about retiring maybe and he could enjoy his older days with a son "?? I'm not your son more like grandson actually" "what" "what" and they set sail for Masyaf and of course save Yusuf and meet Sofia and she also accepts him like a son no matter what Desmond says and it turns out he's actually good at babysitting

Or Desmond finds himself in Boston trying to make Haytham and Ratonhnhaké:ton meet and talk which is already difficult even more so when obviously Haytham doesn't believe him at all even after meeting his son because why would he trust an assassin? So they part ways and Des stays in the village by the Homestead where everyone has welcomed him but somehow always ends up meeting Haytham when he's in town and maybe, just maaaaybe the older man starts to talk to him, he's feeling lonely but would never admit that to himself, he doesn't want to write to Jenny, not really, and he can't really say that his associates are his friends and he's missing Holden a lot more than he's willing to admit and it's not too bad to have someone who is not his son to talk to -even though Connor and him could be brothers he thinks- but damn if possible Des is even more naïve than Connor and Desmond is trying to make him change his mind but next time he actually sees Haytham is in a puddle of blood at Fort George and all he knows he's comforting a crying Ratonhnhaké:ton who's lost his father, his mentor, his best friend, his village and they do become closer and next thing he knows he's not Desmond anymore but ri'kén:'a and he thinks that he's always wanted a brother

Or he gets dropped off after Ratonhnhaké:ton children are born and starts looking for the amulet and the Mentor gets really suspicious when he sees someone by Connor Davenport's grave so he has to confess quickly lest he wants a tomahawk in his skull and everyone is confused as to what Desmond's purpose is in this place, but in the meantime he's welcomed to stay with them -Ratonhnhaké:ton doesn't fail to notice how caring he acts with Io:nhiòte, subtly but not really that subtly explaining to her the Assassins ways-

Haytham Kenway x f.reader

Summary: The night before Haytham leaves to save Jim Holden, he shares a sweet moment with and his pregnant wife, after he catches her wearing his shirt.

Rating: 18+, no smut just some heated thoughts and a heated kiss. But it’s mostly fluff

A/n: So I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone, so I combined Codextober with my Haytham series/works. This is based off of the novel Forsaken, when Haytham had to rescue Jim.

The oppressive heat of the Egyptian dusk pressed down on the ancient city of Cairo like a physical weight. Even inside their secluded, relatively cool chamber in a discreet villa just outside the city walls, (y/n) felt the dry, searing air cling to her skin, making every movement a conscious effort.

She shifted in her chair, trying to find a position that didn’t make her poor back scream in protest. At almost six and a half months pregnant, her body felt like a foreign territory—heavy, swollen, and relentlessly warm.

Her growing bump, an undeniable testament to the life she and her husband had created, had become an unwieldy burden in this stifling climate. Their baby, often as restless as as their father, chose these sweltering evenings to perform its most acrobatic routines, a constant, gentle reminder of the future Haytham so fiercely protected.

Though her mind kept wandering to the man who would be walking those halls of danger tomorrow.

A week of relentless strategic planning had etched lines of exhaustion around her eyes, but her mind, ever sharp, refused to quiet. She traced the intricate lines of a hand-drawn map of Mount Ghebel that she had acquired, her finger hovering over the location of the Abou Gerbe monastery – where Jim Holden was being held prisoner.

Jim. The name alone was a phantom ache in her heart. He was more than a friend; he was family, a man who had faced down horrors with Haytham and her, their trio of chaos and camaraderie. And now Jim was in that monastery because of them.

Or rather, because she felt it was completely her fault , a silent accusation she wrestled with daily.

Her mind continually replayed the nightmare of Jenny’s rescue from Topkapı Palace. Between their meticulous planning, their swift/ brutal execution, and the heart-stopping moment when everything had gone wrong.

Haytham, Jim, (y/n), and Jenny had alerted the guards by accident, which they were then tracked down, and in that desperate, chaotic scramble, Jim Holden – loyal, only to Haytham, and now (y/n)– had created a diversion that allowed Jennifer,a heavily pregnant (y/n), and a furious, grief-stricken Haytham to escape.

Jim’s sacrifice had saved their little family. And yet she, in her darkest moments, could not shake the conviction that her burgeoning pregnancy, her perceived vulnerability, had been the deciding factor in Jim’s desperate gamble.

Haytham, bless his stoic, troubled heart, had tried countless times to set her of mind free of this notion.

"My dearest wife, it was my error, and mine alone." he had told her countless times by now, his voice thick with a guilt as potent as her own. "I dragged us into that hornet's nest. Jim did what he did because that is who he is. He acts, he protects, he sacrifices. It had nothing to do with you, or our child, but with his own moral code." His words, however, only partially assuaged the gnawing feeling.

Yet she wanted to be useful, truly useful, not just a liability. She yearned to be by her husbands side, watching his back, with her hidden blade handy, not confined to maps and strategy by her husband's unyielding decree.

"I’m sorry my dear, but I cannot allow you to come this time." Haytham had stated authoritatively, his voice cool and devoid of negotiation, his eyes holding a haunted, dark glint she knew too well.

"Not now when you are with child. You will stay. You may help plan. But you will not come. I shall not gamble with the lives of my wife and child."

And so, that’s what she did, she planned. Every contour of the terrain, every guard rotation, every whispered rumour from her network of contacts filtered through her sharp intellect. Haytham would consult with her, dissecting her deductions, refining her suggestions, his respect for her strategic mind a silent balm to her frustration. But the final decision, the one to put himself in harm’s way, remained his alone.

Their week had bled into a blur of maps, hushed conversations, and the constant hum of worry. Tonight was the eve of the mission, and exhaustion weighed her limbs, yet her mind refused to disengage.

Haytham was out, tying up some last-minute loose ends, making his final preparations. So she was alone, except for their baby’s rhythmic thrum against her ribs.

A bead of sweat trickled slowly down her temple. Her nightgown, a fine linen brought with her from the colonies, was a stifling shroud in this foreign heat, it had now begun to stick uncomfortably to her damp skin. It was designed for the brisk, often chilly nights of Boston or New York, it was useless against Cairo’s furnace.

So with a sigh, she gradually pushed herself up from the low divan, her movements much slower, and more deliberate than she remembered them being just months ago. Her body protested with a series of minor aches, a now common symptom of her pregnancy.

One of her hands instinctively cradling the heavy curve of her belly. The baby kicked—a strong, insistent thud against her ribs—and she paused, a smile formed on her lips as she rubbed the spot with a gentle palm.

"You are as restless as your father," she murmured to the silent room.

Her eyes began to scan the room, landing on Haytham’s traveling chest, it was tucked against the wall. It contained some of Haytham’s personal effects, extra clothes he hadn't needed for their current, more discreet attire. She knelt, her bulging bump making the action awkward, and lifted the lid.

Inside, folded neatly, lay several of his large shirts. Her gaze settled on a fine, light cotton shirt, one of his white dress shirts, simple and practical. It was one he wore often on their long journeys, a fabric that breathed, unlike her colonial linen.

She quickly discarded her stifling gown and chemise , letting it pool around her feet, feeling the dry air kiss her damp skin, and pulled his oversized shirt over her head without hesitation. The fabric was exquisitely soft against her skin, a feather-light caress compared to her own oppressive clothing. His large shirt swallowed her whole, the sleeves falling past her fingertips, the hem reaching her mid-thigh, a vast, airy tent around her swollen form.

The comforting scent of Haytham– a mix of the desert air, leather, sandalwood, gunpowder, and his own distinct masculine musk – enveloped her, a welcome embrace in the quiet room.

She let out a soft sigh of relief.

This was better. Much, much better. It was cool, comfortable, and oddly reassuring.

She wobbled as gracefully as possible back to the table. She sat herself back down slowly and had picked up her quill, dipping it in ink, and began to make a final, meticulous check of the supply manifest. Rope. Grappling hooks. Flint and steel. Medicinal herbs. Every item a silent prayer, a ward against the treacherous unpredictable nature of their world.

She physically couldn’t fight anymore, not with the weight of the child anchoring her, but she could fight from the sidelines, she could strategize and plan.

She would ensure Haytham missed no detail.

The baby gave a particularly forceful kick, as if concurring with the urgency of her task.

(y/n) rested a hand on her belly, a small, knowing smile touching her lips. "Soon, little one," She whispered.

"Soon, your Papa will have us out of here, and we'll be out of this scorching desert. He will not have you born in this kind of dreaded heat, god knows you’re parents were not built for this heat, and neither are you our tiny love..."

But a soft click of the outer door, barely audible, made her quickly pause. She didn’t even have to look, She already knew it was him.

Haytham. Her heart gave a familiar flutter – a mix of relief at her husband’s temporary return, and an intensifying anxiety for the morrow.

Haytham quietly stepped into the main chamber, the faint glow of the oil lamp casting long shadows behind him. He had spent the last few hours meeting with their local contacts, securing final intelligence, ensuring every contingency was as covered as it could be. He had also did his routine check of the perimeter of their safe house, ensuring they weren’t being watched. He would not gamble with the safety of his wife and their unborn child.

His mind was a constant whirlwind of logistics, potential pitfalls, and the grim realities of their objective. The man was tired, his shoulders heavy with the responsibility of Jim’s life, and the unspoken, infinitely heavier responsibility of his wife and unborn child.

He moved silently, his steps practiced and light, his gaze immediately drawn to the light spilling from the inner chamber where (y/n) worked. He pushed open the archway curtain, his eyes scanning the room, seeking his wife out.

And then he saw her.

She was hunched over the table, her dark hair a cascade obscuring her face, her concentration was absolute (even though he knew that she was aware of his presence).

But it wasn't her focused posture that stopped him dead in his tracks. It was the clothes she wore. Or rather, his clothes.

The white cotton shirt, one of his favorites, hung loosely on her frame, yet simultaneously clung to the magnificent curve of her heavily pregnant belly. The soft fabric, meant to cover his broad torso, now stretched tautly across her swollen breasts, hinting at the fullness beneath. Her bare legs peeked out from beneath the long hem of the shirt, ending in delicate, bare feet.

The sight hit him like a physical blow, a wave of tenderness and raw desire that stole his breath. Part of him, the hard-nosed Templar Grand Master, melted completely, leaving only Haytham, her husband, utterly captivated.

Haytham felt a warmth spread through him, a feeling akin to the first sip of fine brandy on a cold night. He felt the familiar tightening in his loins, an instinctive surge of arousal that washed over him whenever he saw his wife.

He couldn’t help but notice how she looked… utterly captivating. Damnably attractive. The unexpected intimacy of her wearing his garment, combined with the breathtaking vision of her pregnant form, was a potent cocktail for him. His gaze lingered on the large, growing swell of her belly, round and perfect, a testament to their shared future, and then drifted upwards to her breasts, so full now beneath the thin cotton, her nipples perked under the white fabric.

Her husband simply wanted to stand there, to burn this image into his memory, to savor every exquisite detail. His wife was a goddess of fertility, a warrior queen in stolen garments, and she was utterly, profoundly his, and his alone.

(y/n), choosing to ignore her husband’s presence, had once again begun to get lost in the intricacies of a schematic diagram, before she felt the air shift, a subtle change in the room's energy. A prickling of sudden airflow caused the hairs on the back of her neck to standup, only confirmed her suspicion. A shadow fell across the doorway, silent and sudden, though she didn’t startle. She had learned long ago to sense his presence before seeing him, a shift in the air, a change in the pressure.

Without looking up, a faint smile playing on her lips, she drawled,

"Must you lurk in the shadows, Grand Master? One might think you were an an assassin, with the way you lerk in the shadows.”

Haytham allowed himself a small, private smile before stepping fully into the light. His tall, broad, frame blocking out the dim light of the hallway. He had shed his outer cloak, leaving him in a lightweight, button up shirt—though, (y/n) noted, he had also stripped down to lighter fabrics for the heat.

"Old habits, my dear. Though I confess, I found the view rather… distracting." He leaned against the doorframe, his sleeves rolled halfway up, his muscular arms crossed against his chest, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"And here I thought we had an intruder. Turns out it's just my wife, pilfering my wardrobe."

(y/n) finally looked up, her eyes meeting his, and a faint blush bloomed on her cheeks despite her attempt at nonchalance.

His grey eyes swept over her, and for a moment, the hardened Templar Grand Master vanished, replaced by a man captivated by his wife. There she was his wife, carrying his child, while wearing his clothes.

The possessiveness that flared in the grand masters chest was immediate and overwhelming. He could feel his arousal growing by the minute, a primal response to the image of her—fierce, vulnerable, and entirely his.

"Well, your wardrobe is far more accommodating to my current… predicament. And significantly cooler. My own clothing, I assure you, was designed for the bracing winters of the American colonies, not this infernal Egyptian oven. This situation is of you’re own making."

Haytham pushed off the doorframe, approaching her with slow, deliberate steps. As he reached the table, his much larger hand gently covering hers where it rested on the map. His rough thumb brushed over her soft knuckles.

He loved her body in this state; he had never found her more beautiful, more potent, than when she was heavy with their child. Her breasts were fuller, skin glowing, her curves more pronounced.

But he pretended to look down at the map, though his focus was split.

"You’re still poring over the monastery layout. You should be resting my wife."

"I could say the same to you, my husband," she retorted, though she leaned back slightly into his touch, "You’ve been gone for hours."

"Perimeter checks. Supply confirmations."

He moved his other hand to the table, bracing himself as he leaned over her shoulder to look at her map. His chest pressed lightly against her back, the scent of him enveloping her.

"But I find myself drawn back here. To the maps. To you."

He straightened up, stepping around to face her. He offered a hand. "Up."

She looked at him, her eyes questioning, but she placed her palm in his. His grip was firm, grounding.

He then pulled her up carefully from the chair with surprising gentleness, his other hand finding the small of her back to support her weight as she found her balance.

"My shirt, it suits you perfectly." he murmured, his voice softer now, devoid of its usual playful sarcasm.

Her husband pulled her smaller body into his larger one, closing the distance. He noticed her cheeks were flushed from the heat—and perhaps, he hoped, from his attention.

"I’m quite found of my wife wearing my clothing," he observed, his tone casual, though his eyes were intense.

"Like I said it’s cooler," she said simply, her cheeks deepening in colour at his attention.

"It is," he agreed, his voice dropping an octave. "But I find the sight… distracting. And on the eve of a mission, distraction is dangerous."

"Is that a complaint Kenway?" She challenged, arching a brow.

"Possibly." He pulled back slightly, as he brushed his fingers over her stomach. He flattened his palm against the curve, feeling the warmth of the fabric and the life beneath.

"In fact, I think I prefer this outfit to any other you’ve worn. You should wear my shirts more often, dear."

The sincerity in his voice stripped away her sarcasm.

She looked down at his large hand sprawled across her bump, then back up to his eyes. She was now flushing on her chest, which now was rising to her neck.

"Though I confess, a part of me believes you wear it purely to distract you’re poor husband from his duties."

Haytham leaned in closer, his intense gaze sweeping over her, lingering on the extremes swelling of her breast, then down to her baby bump.

(y/n)’s blush deepened, her heart giving a giddy little leap at his flirtations. She couldn't help but feel a warmth familiar to his, spreading through her, an arousing sensation that momentarily eclipsed the heat of the climate and the stress of the mission. His compliments, delivered with such sincerity, caught her off guard.

"Oh?" she managed, her voice a little breathy. "And what might your reasons be for such an insistence, pray tell?"

He chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through her.

"Aside from the obvious aesthetic benefits," he said, his eyes twinkling, "it puts your worried husband at ease knowing you're both cool and comfortable. This heat is truly beastly. Does the baby protest it as much as you do?"

She sighed shyly, leaning into his touch.

"He—or she—is quite the little dancer in this temperature. And yes, the heat is utterly unbearable. I swear, my colonial wardrobe might as well spontaneously combust if I wear it much longer."

Haytham nodded grimly. "I understand dear. I truly do. But take heart, my dear wife. Soon enough, we will be out of this desert. Jim will be free, and we will find a cooler climate for you and our child. Perhaps we’ll even stay with Jennifer, at least for a time, before… well, before our commitments call us back to the colonies." He paused, his steely gaze searching hers, his expression turning serious.

"Though I promise you comfort and promise escape from this heat, but what I truly wish to know is if my wife is truly well. Beyond the physical discomfort, I mean. I know what this mission signifies, for all of us. And I know what it means for you, watching from the sidelines."

Her carefully constructed composure fractured. She sagged against him. Her head rested against his strong chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart.

"Oh, Haytham," she whispered, the words thick with emotion.

"I am absolutely terrified. Not for myself, not for the baby, but for you. For what could happen. I hate this feeling of helplessness. I abhor how much my pregnancy has slowed me down, how it keeps me from standing beside you, watching my husband’s back." Her voice broke slightly, "I feel… useless. And I completely loathe it."

Haytham tightened his arms around her, holding her close again, her belly pressing against his own hard frame. He could feel their baby's movements, a gentle thump against his toned stomach, a silent affirmation of the life they had created together. He rested his chin on the top of her head, inhaling the familiar scent of her, now mixed with his own.

"Useless?" he scoffed gently, his voice rumbling against her ear, "My dearest wife, you are the furthest thing from useless. Every successful step of this plan, every contingency, every detail, has your imprint on it. There isn't a strategos in the Templar Order who could rival your mind. And as for watching my back," he paused, his voice softening, "I am glad, truly glad, that this pregnancy prevents you from following me into more danger. My heart could not bear it, not again. Not a second time."

Haytham pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt her chin up, holding it in his calloused fingers, forcing her to meet his intense gaze. His grey eyes, usually so guarded, were alight with a fierce, possessive love that both comforted and unsettled her.

"Though I admit, the heat is… formidable. Even for me."

He searched her face, his expression softening. The teasing glint faded, replaced by a quiet intensity.

"And my wife looks exhausted."

She didn't deny it. The adrenaline of planning had kept her upright for days, but the crash was imminent. She let out a long, shaky breath, the fight leaving her shoulders.

"I can’t sleep anymore," she admitted, her voice small.

"Every time I close my eyes, I see the damned palace in Istanbul. I see Jim pushing me behind himself. I see the guards closing in."

"(Y/n)..." He said her name like a prayer, heavy with the weight of shared trauma.

"It was my fault, Haytham," she whispered, the words she had been choking on for a week finally spilling out.

"If I hadn't been so slow, if I hadn't been carrying this child..."

Haytham’s grip on her tightened suddenly, not painfully, but with a fierce possessiveness.

"Stop," he commanded, though his voice was gentle.

"We have been over this. I made the decision to go to Istanbul. I made the decision to infiltrate the Palace. Jim made the decision to create a diversion. You were carrying our child—my child. You were not a liability. You were my priority, and I put you into danger."

"But I hate this. I hate sitting here while you walk into the monks' den. I hate that my body has become a cage." her voice trembling with frustration.

Haytham adored her fire that still burned behind her exhaustion. Even heavy with child, her spirit was fierce, untamable. It was one of the things that had captivated him from the start.

"Your ferocity, your desire to be in the fray, it is one of the many things I adore about you my dear. But our child, and your safety, must come first now that you are going to be a mother." he murmured protectively, his thumb stroking the soft skin of her arm.

"You are the orchestrator of logistics of a high-risk extraction, while more important are carrying the future of our lineage. You are the only person in the world I trust with my thoughts and safety." He paused, his gaze sweeping over her form once more, a dark, appreciative heat returning to his eyes.

"And as I have admited before, I am profoundly grateful that this pregnancy has kept you grounded for once. It has kept you out of the line of fire. It has kept you safe."

He saw the flicker of hurt in her eyes—the warrior being told she needed protection—and he softened his tone.

"Your fierceness is undeniable, (y/n). But right now, I need you here. I need you safe. I need to know that when I am scaling those monastery walls, I am not worrying about a blade finding you and my child."

(Y/n)’s eyes couldn’t contain her worry. "I worry about that same blade finding you, Haytham. Every second of the day."

"I know."

"Promise me," she said, her voice cracking.

“Promise me you will come back. To me. To this." She placed her smaller hand over his on her stomach.

"Our child deserves a living father. Not a man who died a hero." (y/n)’s eyes welled up, "So humour me this," she said, her voice raw, "Promise me you will come back. That you will return to us. This child deserves their father, Haytham. Not a ghost, not a memory told in stories, but a man who loves them, holds them, who teaches them, who laughs with them." Her voice a silent plea.

Haytham's jaw tightened, his expression grim and resolute. He pulled her back, flush against him again, holding her with a fierce tenderness that spoke volumes.

As his strong, capable hands cupped her delicate face, his calloused thumb stroking her soft cheeks as he stared down at her, passionately into her shimmering eyes.

"I promise you, (y/n) Kenway," he said, his voice a low, gravelly vow, "I will return. To you my wife, to our child, I swear it. Even if I have to burn that damn monastery to ash, even if I have to kill every last monk in that accursed monastery, I vow to come back to you. I will not leave you and our child to face this world alone. Not now. Not ever." His eyes were grey pools of absolute certainty.

She looked unpersuaded

"Dammit, listen to me," he said, his voice low, resonating.

"I have sent many men to the grave for lesser causes. I have faced assassins, and toppled regimes. The Abou Gerbe monastery is stone and mortar. I will go there, I will retrieve Jim Holden, and I will return to you. No more, no less.”

Haytham felt the heavy mantle of his Templar duties slip away, leaving only a husband and a soon-to-be father. He felt only felt a surge of devotion so powerful it eclipsed his ambition.

Her husband brought his lips to her ear, as he nuzzled his face into her hair. "I promise you," he whispered, his breath hot against her lips.

"I will come back to you. God help anyone who tries to prevent me from seeing my wife and child, they will need it."

The dark promise hung in the air, sealing the space between them. (Y/n) let out a shuddering breath, the tension draining from her body, leaving her trembling in his hold. She needed to hear that. She needed her husband’s arrogance, his absolute refusal to fail.

She tilted her head up, bridging the small gap between them.

"Then come back to us," she whispered back, as she felt Haytham inhaling her scent from her hair.

Haytham didn’t need a second invitation. He cupped her face, bringing her to face him once again, before he closed the distance and captured her lips with his.

The kiss was immediate and hungry, a clash of relief and desperate need. It wasn't the slow, languid kisses of their lazy mornings; it was the kiss of a husband and wife seeking reassurance in the face of looming danger.

Her hands found purchase on his lose shirt, gripping the fabric as if to anchor herself against the tide. pulling him closer still, as if she could meld them into one being.

They shared a silent communion of souls facing an uncertain future, yet bound by an unbreakable present.

One of Haytham’s hands had slipped down to rest possessively on the side of her growing bump, feeling the life of his child. He still couldn’t believe he was going to be a father. He had never imagined himself creating a life instead of taking one.

But he never broke the kiss.

He only deepened it, his tongue fighting against hers with a practiced, knowing intensity that always left her breathless.

Despite the heat of the room, a shiver ran through her. Originating from the core of her body, due to the intimate feeling of Haytham’s hard and unyielding body against the soft, round curves of hers.

He was careful with her, always careful now, but the urgency in his hold betrayed the depth of his desire.

When they finally broke apart, gasping for air, the lantern flickered, casting long shadows against the walls.

The silence that followed was different from before. It wasn't heavy with anxiety; it was thick with peace.

The baby, as if sensing the shift in the atmosphere, gave a gentle, kicking movement against her stomach where their bodies pressed together.

He felt it—a small, distinct thump—and he pulled back slightly, looking down amusingly between them.

He had waited to feel movement from her bump again, feeling the movement of his child slowly fade into stillness.

"Finally they seem to be quitting down." he murmured, a small smile ghosting his lips.

"We are truly exhausting the poor thing." (Y/n) whispered, leaning her head against his chest.

The heat of the room seemed to recede, or perhaps they had simply found their own microclimate within the storm.

"Or….perhaps it’s just you. You have a calming effect, surprisingly."

"On the baby, perhaps," Haytham said, his voice husky, "Though I doubt I calm you."

"No," she admitted, her eyes heavy-lidded.

"You never calm me. You excite me. You infuriate me. You make me feel alive. But above all you make me feel safe and loved."

"And I intend to continue doing so," he smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "For a very long time."

They stood there for a long moment, swaying slightly in the dim light, wrapped in the silence of the Egyptian night.

The maps on the table were temporarily forgotten; the monastery, the monks, and the mission were problems for the morning. For tonight, wrapped in the safety of his arms and shielded by the thin linen of his shirt, she allowed herself to simply be.

Haytham continued to hold her tight throughout the evening, even as they laid in bed, committing the scene to memory: the scent of her hair, the weight of her body against his, the warmth of the child between them.

He would return. Even if he had to burn the whole monastery down.

"Sleep now dearest," he whispered into her hair. "I’m here."

And for the first time in a week, (y/n) finally felt like he and their little family were going to be okay.

With the scent of him in her nostrils and the beat of his heart against her ear, his wife felt a profound peace settle over her, a rare and precious calm that had eluded them for months. And within her, as if sensing the quiet tranquility of their bond, their baby stilled, finding peace in the secure, loving embrace of it’s parents.

For this one precious moment, the world outside, with its dangers and its heat and its relentless demands, faded away, leaving only Haytham and (y/n), and the quiet promise of their shared future.

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

(Valley of Memory!)Basim Ibn Ishaq x GN!Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warning: SPOILERS for VOM!!

A/N: More Basim headcanons (but it became more of a oneshot towards the end)

When Basim decides to set for AlUla, he makes it very clear that you are not to join him and Dervis on this journey. Not because he doesn’t trust you, but because this mission already feels too personal and he doesn’t want to inconvenience too many people with the demons of his past

Dervis earns his approval thanks to his navigating skills, but you are left with negotiating with Basim. Luckily for you, you have a cousin living in the city who could give you insider information. The cousin, however, is wary of strangers and needs familiar faces to cooperate

The look Basim gives you is one of exasperation and fondness

And so, you find yourself on a camel the next day

He makes sure to ride close to you during the entire journey; gives your camel extra sweets when you’re not looking. When setting up camp, your cot is the first to be made and the last to be rolled up. Breakfast is laid before you the second you open your eyes and sheets are tucked when you move too much in your sleep

Basim watches from a distance, especially in Valley of Memory. Everything on this journey feels more… raw, like he’s bearing parts of himself to you and Dervis without even realising. He finds himself speaking of childhood memories he thought he’d lost to time. It’s scary yet unraveling at the same time

If you are not already courting by this point, this journey certainly brings you closer. Dervis and, funnily enough, Enkidu, play as undercover matchmakers – in their own way. 

Dervis sits out minor missions – he’s tired, he says. Old age is creeping up on him and he’s not as in shape as he used to be (this is after he massacres a group of 20 robbers btw)

“Go on, now. Go together. No, Basim, I’m not smirking.”

Enkidu watches you. You’re sharpening your sword at the camp when you feel the bird’s eyes boring into you – and when you turn to ask Basim what Enkidu’s problem is, you find him already looking at you. He immediately looks away by feigning disinterest, and when you look back at his companion, you find Enkidu looking away too; only his demeanour is exaggerated, mocking the male assassin

Enkidu also starts to give you gifts like a shiny coin or a mouse he hunted. He’s seen Basim gift you trinkets or feed you when you’re too tired, and he quickly learns to mimic that behaviour. He is in sync with Basim’s soul, and the bond between the two of you clearly runs deeper than with Dervis, so his instinct is acting upon what Basim doesn’t dare touch

So, here’s a dead mouse for you. Say thank you to Enkidu.

You befriend a hare that lingers by your campsite. She’s cautious but trusting enough to let you feed her sometimes, maybe touch her fur before she scurries away (Enkidu was watching lmao). A few days later, you find the figurine of a carved wooden hare on your cot, small enough to cup it in your hands 

That’s how you find out Basim wanted to be a wood carver during his childhood. It’s a new side of him you haven’t seen since you started training together, and it all starts to make more sense the more you study him. Those toys he gifts to the street urchins in Baghdad – those are no donations or stolen goods, but works of his own. The horse on wheels, the wooden doll; all sanded to perfection to ensure the children don’t get any splinters

That means he’s often gnawing and prodding at his fingers to get splinters out. Has definitely missed a few and has tiny scars and cuts on his fingertips as a result

He is still his silly self btw. But you can tell his mind is elsewhere, busy with the whereabouts of his father. He’ll be joking and wheezing with you before bed and then disappear the next morning before breakfast, needing to clear his mind. But he clearly appreciates your presence there, despite his initial apprehension

“When I was a child I used to stand under people’s windows and make weird noises haha”

“Where’s my dad :(“

Speaking of disappearing, you are a wreck when he is kidnapped. Enkidu hasn’t returned either, and after two days of searching around AlUla, you finally hear back from your cousin. Basim is in jail and ‘Abis’s men have spread out through the area, much to the dismay of the people.  

You opt for a side entrance of the jail. It’s less guarded, and the soldiers posted there are gossiping instead of stopping your incoming attacks. One throwing knife after another eliminates your targets up to the entrance, when chaos suddenly erupts

You hear yelling first – the guards unsheathe their swords when the doors open, and for a split second, you think you’ve been caught. But then Basim comes out stumbling, favouring his chest as he drags his feet. He’s barely managing to dodge the bodies on the floor and the soldiers charging at him, his gaze hazy and his lungs squeezing. By the time you reach him, he has collapsed, his skin flushed and his wheezing rattling your heart

You don’t know how you managed to bring him back. Dervis found you halfway and helped you drag him to his cot where he cleaned his wound. For the next few days, Basim is in and out of sleep as he fights a fever, his breathing shaky as his body washes out the poison

When he opens his eyes, he looks dazed. Like he’s not sure the poison has claimed him or if the entire journey to AlUla was a part of his imagination. But you’re sitting there beside him, dabbing a damp cloth on his forehead to bring down the fever, and his lidded eyes are watching you so intently you blush

You allow yourself to chastise him for the worry he caused you and Dervis. How much of an idiot he is for falling for the oldest trick in the book, how he should have asked you or Dervis for help. Despite your anger, Basim doesn’t miss the tremor in your voice. You finally allow yourself to breathe after he responds to your rant with a squeeze of your hand and a kiss to the palm – an apology with what little energy he can muster, but no less sincere.

He doesn’t let go of your hand though – and he’s already fallen back asleep, so you make yourself comfortable next to him and rest

The next morning, you find Enkidu resting by his usual spot – only this time he isn’t watching you, but sleeping peacefully like his partner.

Once he’s recovered, Basim is itching to continue searching for his father. He knows where he is now, and while he is excited to see him again, he doesn’t miss the apprehension on your face. You’re worried of what he might find, if he’ll find anything at all; if he’ll get into trouble again or choose to walk away when he’s certain you and Dervis can’t follow him

And so, he places his father’s beloved amulet on your palm with so much reverence you’d think he’s giving you the relic of an altar. He forces your hand closed, cradles it between his in a silent promise. The warmth emanating from his eyes is new but not unwelcome

(he might as well just propose to you atp)

The days drag while he’s gone. You and Dervis keep each other entertained for as long as you can; but Basim shows up again on his third night away. You’re reading by the edge of the campsite when you see his figure walking towards you, dark clothes blending with the dark dunes under the moonless sky. His scarf flaps in the air in your direction, like an arm looking for you, reaching, yearning. He doesn’t say anything, only takes his hood off with a sigh that betrays the inner turmoil he’s feeling.

You’re almost afraid to ask.

“Did you find him?”

Basim purses his lips, hesitating, before his arms wrap around you and pull you close. The embrace is tender and lacks the playfulness of all the other hugs he’s given you since you met – it’s grounding, new, and warm like the hearth of a home in the eye of the storm. You are the eye of the storm.

“I did,” he responds, voice hoarse like he hasn’t used it in a while. “I have my answers.”

“And what’s your verdict?”

Basim pulls back just enough to find your gaze, nose brushing against yours. His eyes are studying you like he’s done every day during this journey, lingering and wanting – the warmth of his body, the smell of wood on his hands, his fingers quick to fix the lapel of your clothes. His palm cups the curve of your cheek like he carved and chiselled it himself to perfection.

“I have faced my past and buried it behind me,” he swallows before surging forward and catching your lips in a lingering kiss; tentative, almost shy until you melt into it. How you wish you could swallow the sigh he releases at that. When he parts again, it’s with a lingering peck, his eyes blown as they flutter open again. “My future awaits me now. If you’ll have me–”

“Yes.”

That earns you a chuckle. “Very well. We shall leave this all behind. Travel to distant lands.”

You tilt your head, caress his beard when the promise of travel seems to awaken a certain glint in his eyes. “Any particular place in mind?”

I also like to think Shay might be the origin of the 'Ratonhnhaké:ton lived miserably until he died' propaganda. Hear me out, he did it to reduce templar interest and attention and as a way to protect him.

Shay pointed out Adéwalé was a good man, he did still kill him but he tried to advocate for him before being given the order (and maybe Haytham made that decision due to personal reasons but that's just my perspective). When Achilles finally understood the danger behind the precursor buildings, Shay was able to talk Haytham out of killing him.

my usual favorite AC modern Au is Ramshackledtriskers college au, so some of my headcanon are going to be the same as for their sexuality and I’ll be adding my oc’s to this one too son here we go:

Desmond miles lied about how he got his scar on his lip because the real reason he got it is embarrassing due to it being that he tried to eat a stapler when he was five years old

both Connor and Dianna are autistic and are in the same classes and archery club . They are also ace but they get mistaken for a romantic couple when they hangout

Alessía deRossi will be go by alessía rossi for simplicity in this AU, she basically a library assistant (because she loves stories and books) and does part time tutoring and working at a flower shop

Avaline is a closeted lesbian! Why? Because It’s an Au and she needed more love from the fandom

Ezio (like in rams au) is a late bi sexual bloomer and Jacob who is also bi sexual helps him deal with it

Dianna Polyta , was a lacrosse player but quit due to getting a head injury when she was younger but she enjoyed being a dog parent

Jacob and Arno are secretly dating but everyone knows that they’re dating because it’s not very subtle about it when in public

It’s obvious in this au that Desmond, is child of divorced parents: Desmond parents divorce because they fought a lot and they gotten a divorce while he was 16 years old

Alessía and Ezio have a bit of an interesting relationship with each other (they fake dated in order for her mother to stop pestering her about her love life) their friend group think they both are in a on and off relationship (they do sleep with each other occasionally but not always because they are friends and have boundaries)

Altaïr and Maria friend and partner of their polyamorous relationship , Malik sometime wear a prosthetic arm but he rarely because some prosthetic users I think find the sock to the prosthetic itchy (please correct me if I’m wrong on this one)

Edward kenway? Well he’s the best granddad to Connor ever and he has a sailboat that he sometimes used it during summer time

Kassandra is basically a female bodybuilder that you see in the gym sometimes mistaken as a Amazon warrior in mythology

In this au Altaïr can swim is just he chooses not to

Evie and Henry are already married and Jacob is like they’re wingman /third wheel of them

Leonardo is like your best gay friend who awesome and creative free spirit

When one of the friend group has a child they become either honorary aunt/uncles or babysitters when they are ever free because they’ll spoil the baby no matter what