Assassin’s Creed Imagines @haythams-blade - Tumblr Blog

Haytham Kenway x Templar!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You are a Templar who has the pleasure of going to bed with your Grandmaster.

Content Warnings: Penetrative sex, oral (giving), unprotected sex.

Words: 2123

Author's Note: This was written (mostly back in like 2023ish..) after spending an unhealthy amount of time staring at this fanart of Haytham. Also the shirtless render of Haytham in the graphic is from this post.

Tagging: @sangheilihoes @vivvysstuff

haythams-blade

HAYTHAM MY BELOVED 😍❤️

crystalhalooo

Anyway my type is men with beautiful noses

anzasa-stock

my beloved british man <3

skxtchyghost

check out my new bookmark

i had a shay one too but i accidentally dunked it in ink erm

moriitis

Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that..

~ i don't know the tag for the artist - sorry !

Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. will cuddle her whenever she demands.

Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. that will always let her play with his hair, yes, that even means letting her tie it up in bunches; anything if it makes her smile.

Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. that will never doubt her skill. that will encourage her, train her to defend herself as he knows how dangerous a world is for such a woman. he will hold a sense of pride toward her that at times, makes him emotional.

Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. will crawl around on the floor while she rides his back, pretending to be a horse.

Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. will always find himself swaying for anything she wishes. his heart melts are her pouts, her sobs, that he's always at her side.

Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. covers her face in kisses every night and every morning, though will always do it in private (as much as he enjoys embarrassing her.)

Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. that can't help but feel a strong sense of protection over her. that he can't help but feel he's set her up for a life of difficulty.

Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. would never be like his father.

Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. always loves listening to her babble, especially at night even when she can't form sentences, he will still nod away and respond.

Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. will teach her his culture and hers. the background of which she should know. his language which is now hers.

Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. will made her giggle with his dry sense of sarcasm.

Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. lets her captain the aquila for the day and shoots any of his crew stern looks if they do not obey her commands (even if she were to command them to do something silly.)

Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. gets tearful himself when his daughter is hurt.

Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. claims he found her in a forest one day and that she is a rabid wolf he is still trying to tame.

Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. loves when she is messy, with twigs and sticks in her hair.

Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. always loves teaching her about animals, the importance of their duty.

Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. can't tolerate the scolding. he hates upsetting her.

the fact that he's a girl dad and its canon is so urgh !

hvit-ravn-deactivated20181206

Anonymous said: Leo helping out Ezio after he failed a mission? (Poor Ezio is bleeding out and the guards, including few templars are searching for him)

gothifia

corrupted memories—reloading sequence...

happy birthday ezio auditore da firenze 🎈 (june 24th)

songder

It's June 24 you know what that means

haythams-blade

ℂ𝕠𝕕𝕖𝕩𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟙𝟟 𝕄𝕠𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕟 - 𝕄𝕠𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕟 𝔹𝕒𝕤𝕚𝕞 𝕩 𝕗.𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

Rated: PG (all my works are +18)

Summary: Basim is trying to help reader regain her memories in the modern world of her past life as Sigyn. This takes place after the events of Valhalla. There also might be hints of havi and reader.

{ A/N: I suck at dialogue rip}

Inside the remote New England cabin, the air was thick with the scent of pine smoke and the low hum of cooling servers. In the corner of the main room, Shaun Hastings and Rebecca Crane were hunched over their monitors, their faces illuminated by the pale blue glow of encrypted data streams. William Miles sat further back in the shadows, hunched over a table, his eyes fixed on a map of the world that looked increasingly like a chessboard. Basim sat with his back against the rough-hewn log wall, feeling the vibration of the generator humming somewhere beneath the floorboards. Outside, the wet winds of the New England winter howled against the old window shutters, but inside, the fireplace cast it’s heat, the flames creating dancing shadows that made the small living room feel like a hall of old to him.

(Y/n) was warmly pressed against his side. Her head fell tiredly against his strong shoulder somewhere between his description of Yggdrasil and the binding of Fenrir, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder like it had in the past, as if her body remembered what her mind refused to acknowledge in the present day.

The pair were off in their own little world as clicking sounds filled in as background noise as Shaun Hastings tapped aggressively at his laptop across the room. Rebecca Crane went back to sorting ammunition at the dining table, the metallic clink of brass on wood rhythmic and precise. They were planning something—an insertion into an Abstergo facility, a data heist, the endless, honorable war of the Brotherhood.

Basim should have been paying attention to the others. But he did not care for them.

And they still did not fully see the fox lurking behind his eyes. They did not see the old god.

Basim did not care for their brotherhood.

He only cared about the woman breathing softly against him. He cared about the way her fingers had unconsciously curled into the fabric of his shirt whenever he spoke of Loki. He cared about the fracture in her psyche where Sigyn slept, buried beneath a lifetime of (y/n)’s new memories—her childhood, her family and friends, her initiation into the Creed, even her first kill.

The Sigyn he had once known would never have been able to cause harm to another, let alone kill.

But (y/n) was not Sigyn. Not anymore. She was now reborn an Assassin, a woman of the modern day who believed in free will and the Brotherhood's cause. And Basim... well Basim was only helping the cause because she was there. He would follow her into any war, wear any mantle, play the part of ally to these earnest, doomed humans until the stars burned out, if only she would eventually remember who she had been to him in their past lives. She had been his wife in a different life. Before the catastrophe, before the encoding of his memories into the human gene pool.

Basim was feeling like a man out of time, a ghost inhabiting a body that felt both like a masterpiece and a prison. He found his focus on her sharpened, a hunter’s instinct honed over lifetimes. This was it. Another chance.

“Sigyn,” he said, his voice a low, melodic hum. He shifted slightly, allowing her to settle more comfortably against him.

"The stories say," Basim continued, his voice lower now, intimate, "that when the Asguardians bound Loki with the entrails of his own son, Sigyn stayed. She stood beside him in that cave, holding a bowl to catch the venom dripping from the serpent Skadi hung above his face. When the bowl filled, she would turn to empty it, and the poison would strike him. He would thrash, and the earth would shake."

She shifted, her cheek warm against him.

"She stayed," she murmured, "Even then."

"Even then," Basim repeated firmly.

The fire popped, sending sparks up the chimney.

"She loved him, and he loved her." He continued, as he picked up the fireplace poker, and stoked the fire half haphazardly. They both stared into the fire, both deep in thought.

He watched her face out of the corner of his eye, searching for any sign of recognition, any flicker of the Isu consciousness he knew was dormant somewhere within her.

But he eventually continued on, telling another one of his tales of Loki and Sigyn’s love, and that’s when he finally saw it. A flicker in her eyes, a subtle shift in her breathing. It was there and gone in an instant, but he had already spent a past lifetime learning to read the subtle tells of her soul. It was the same look Sigyn would get when he’d return from a long journey, the quiet, profound relief that he was home. His heart ached with a fierce, possessive longing.

“She had held that bowl above his face,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “as an act of eternal, unwavering devotion. A love that endured torment. Her love for Loki was unconditional.”

The story hung in the air between them, a memory disguised as mythology. He leaned down, his lips brushing the top of her head in a gesture that was both chaste and deeply intimate. For a moment, he allowed himself to believe it was enough, that the stories alone would eventually be enough to bridge the chasm of time and trauma that separated her from her former self.

But then she shifted slightly, tilting her head up just enough to see his face clearly. The sleepy contentment in her eyes was replaced by a sharp, analytical glint of her inner assassin.

“Basim,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “You’re leaving out the rest of the story.”

He stiffened. “The rest?”

She then sat fully upright, and leaned back to create space between them. The distance she created was minimal—merely the space needed to look at him—but he felt it like a physical blow. Her eyes were clear now, the soft haze of contentment, replaced by the sharp intelligence that had made her one of the Brotherhood's most promising operatives.

“Where he used her loyalty like a weapon. Emotional neglect. Infidelity. He expected her to just... wait. Forever. While he did whatever he wanted."

"Those sagas," he said cautiously, "were written by small minded men who needed someone to villainize, they needed Loki to be the villain. He was a complicated man, too complex for their simple mindsets, they exploited his wrongdoings into their tales.”

"Maybe," she mused. Her voice was gentle, but the blade was there.

"But the patterns are consistent. She was loyal to a fault, and he exploited it. He was selfish, Basim. He was devious, cunning, and selfish. She was nurturing, faithful, and compassionate. He didn't deserve her in my opinion. He simply wasn’t a good husband, Basim,” she stated, not as an accusation, but as a simple fact. “He was a serial adulterer. He fathered monstrous children with other beings, with the giantess Angrboða, with the stallion Svaðilfari. He brought ruin and chaos upon the Aesir, and Sigyn was the one left to clean up the mess, to stand by him while he was despised by all.”

Basim’s carefully constructed narrative began to crumble. He wanted to argue, to defend the man he once was, but the words caught in his throat. She was right. He remembered it all with perfect, agonizing clarity.

“He neglected her,” she continued on, her voice gaining a quiet intensity.

“He humiliated her with his affairs. He was emotionally absent, wrapped up in his own ego and schemes. And yet, she stayed. Her loyalty wasn’t noble, Basim. It was tragic. It was the loyalty of a prisoner to her cell. In the myths, Loki treated her terribly. You keep telling me these beautiful stories about their love, but you've skipped the parts where he abandoned her for years. Where he had children with other women—other goddesses, giants, everyone and anyone. Where he used her loyalty like a weapon. Emotional neglect. Infidelity. He expected her to just...wait. Forever. While he did whatever he wanted."she spoke carefully.

The words fell into the space between them like stones into still water.

The fire popped casually, a sharp report in the suffocating silence that followed. Shaun glanced up from his laptop, sensing the shift in the room’s atmosphere, but a subtle shake of Rebecca’s head told him to stay out of it.

Basim remained silent, and felt a wave of shame so profound it was physically painful. He had been so focused on the romanticized image of their love, that he had willfully ignored the centuries of pain he had inflicted upon her. He had once been Loki, the god of chaos, mischief, and deception, and Sigyn had been his biggest victim.

Basim was realizing, with a slow, dawning horror that crept up his spine like frost, that she was right. He had been curating the mythology, selecting the verses that painted Loki as the tragic romantic, the misunderstood genius. But the truth—the raw, historical truth of his own behaviour or as Loki—was uglier. He had taken Sigyn’s devotion for granted, a constant he could ignore until he needed comfort. He had betrayed her trust not once, but repeatedly, each affair a small death delivered to the woman who had given him her eternal allegiance.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he managed, his voice strained. He avoided eye contact with her and stared distantly into the fireplace.

He pulled his arm away from her, not in rejection, but because he suddenly felt unworthy of her touch. “The old stories are… complicated. They are not always what they seem.”

He continued staring into the flames, but the fire offered no comfort. It only illuminated the ghosts of his past. The image of (y/n)’s thoughtful face dissolved, replaced by the memory of Sigyn’s, her expression one of quiet, soul-crushing devastation.

The memory shifted, twisting into a new, more painful scene. He was imprisoned now, bound by magical chains that dug into his flesh. The poison of the serpent dripped relentlessly onto his face, a torment of fire and ice. And above him, Sigyn held the bowl. But her eyes were not on him. They were fixed on the great hall of Valhalla, on the figure of Odin—Havi—standing at the high table.

Loki’s rage, even in his bound state, was a living thing. He saw the way Havi looked at her. It was not the look of a king for a subject. It was the look of a man for a woman he cherished. Sigyn’s gaze was returned, a silent conversation passing between them across the celestial divide.

She had eventually left him. After discovering his ultimate betrayal with Aletheia, she had not simply withdrawn; she had actively sought another. And she had chosen the one being in all the realms who was his equal and his opposite. His own father, for all intents and purposes. His own jailer.

The injustice of it burned hotter than the serpent’s venom. Havi, the All-Father, the great lawgiver, who had fathered countless demigods and taken multiple consorts, had the audacity to take Loki’s own wife as his prize. He had punished Loki for his transgressions against the order of the Aesir, only to then build a new life and family with the very symbol of Loki’s domestic failure. Sigyn, who had once been his, now belonged to Odin. She had started a new life, a new family, with the man who had condemned him to an eternity of torment.

The rage was a black tide, threatening to drown him. It was the fury of a spurned husband, the wrath of a betrayed god, the bitterness of a man watching his own legacy be rewritten by his enemy.

“Basim?”

(Y/n)’s concerned voice cut through the memory like a shard of glass. The fire was just a fire again. The cabin was just a cabin. The chains were gone, but the phantom ache of them remained.

He blinked, his eyes refocusing on her concerned face. She had sat up, her hand resting lightly on his knee. The others were watching them now, their pretense of ignoring the pair abandoned.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her brow furrowed. “Basim, you did thing again. You went somewhere else for a minute. Your hands are clenched into fists.”

Basim looked down, surprised to see his knuckles were white. He consciously uncurled his fingers, taking a slow, deep breath to steady the tempest raging within him. The ghosts of Asgard receded, leaving only the quiet reality of the cabin and the woman before him.

He forced a small, wry smile. It felt brittle on his lips. “I was just thinking,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended.

“Thinking what?”

He met her gaze, his eyes holding a depth of emotion she could not possibly understand.

He saw her—this new assassin, she was brave, intelligent, and fiercely loyal to her own cause. And beneath her, he saw the faint, shimmering outline of Sigyn, the woman he had once failed so spectacularly.

“How much of a fool Loki must have been.”

Her expression softened with confusion. “A fool? Why?”

“Because he had a goddess who would hold a bowl of poison above his head for eternity out of her sheer loyalty,” he explained, his voice low and intense. “A woman whose love was a fortress, and he was too busy trying to break out of it to ever appreciate that it was also his only sanctuary. He was a fool not to see her value. A blind, arrogant fool. To have Sigyn—to have all of that loyalty, that love—and to squander it. To not appreciate the weight of what she gave him."

The silence that now followed was different. It was no longer comfortable, but charged with a new understanding. She stared at him, her eyes searching his, as if trying to place a familiar face in a crowd of strangers. For a fleeting second, he thought he saw it again—that flicker of recognition, a spark of ancient memory ignited by the raw sincerity in his voice.

But again to his disappointment, she shook herself out of the trance and it was then gone, replaced by a gentle, modern sympathy. She didn’t understand, not truly, but she felt the weight of his words. The suppressed memories of her past life were teetering on the edge of her mind.

“Well,” she said softly, giving his knee a gentle squeeze. “It’s just a story, Basim. A sad, old story.” She said as if trying to convince herself as well.

She studied his face for a long moment, her eyes searching for something—he did not know what. Then, slowly, she relaxed back against his side, tucking herself under his arm once more.

Her expression softened. She reached up, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, a gesture so tender it nearly broke him.

"Well," she said quietly. "He's just a myth, isn't he? Stories in books. We're here now."

"Yes," Basim whispered back. "We are here now."

She settled back down, her ear pressed over his heart, listening to the rhythm that had beat through three separate incarnations of flesh.

"Let's stop telling stories about them," she whispered. "It makes me sad. Let us focus on the present moment."

"Yes," Basim agreed. "Enough talks of Loki and Sigyn."

She settled back against him, her head finding its familiar place against his strong shoulder, her body a warm, solid presence against his side. She seemed to accept his strange mood as nothing more than a historian’s melancholy. They fell into comfortable silence. The fire became the only voice in the room—hissing, crackling, surviving. Basim wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer until he could feel her heartbeat against his ribs. She sighed, a sound of contentment, and closed her eyes.

But Basim could not sleep. He could not rest. The memories came unbidden, as they always did when he let his guard down. Basim swallowed his thoughts, and simply rested his cheek against the top of her head, closing his eyes. The rage and bitterness from his flashbacks still churned in his gut, a toxic residue of a life he was determined not to repeat.

He had been Loki, the betrayer, the neglectful husband, the selfish god. He had lost Sigyn not to Odin’s power, but to his own profound stupidity and cruelty. He had thrown away the greatest loyalty the universe had ever offered him.

But he was Basim now. A new man. And she was was a new woman. It was the universe giving him a second chance.

He would not make the same mistakes. He would not be the same man who took her for granted, who sought affection in other arms, who failed to see the treasure he held until it was gone. He would follow her to the ends of the earth, not just because her path aligned with the Assassins, but because his path was, and always would be, wherever she was.

He held her closer, a silent, desperate promise echoing in the quiet of his own mind.

I shall not hurt her.

Not this time.

I will not be the same fool this time.

Basim tilted his head back against the log wall and stared at the ceiling, staring at the old wooden beams, breathing in the scent of her mingling with the smell of the wood burning.

I will not mess up this time, my love.

The vows were silent, carved into the meat of his mind with the same violence he had once used to carve names into the world-tree. He would not be Loki—selfish, scattered, burning bridges behind him as he sprinted toward the next diversion. He would be better. He would be worthy. He was now Basim.

He did not need the Assassins and their war. He did not need their creed or their brotherhood. But he needed her. And if she needed them, then he would stand at their fire, he would aid their missions, he would smile at Shaun’s cynical jokes, and nod at William’s grim strategies. He would endure the modern world with all its noise and fragility, because it was the world where (y/n) now lived, and he would not lose her again to Odin’s memory, or to Aletheia’s ghost, or to his own stupidity.

He did not know if she remembered—if any part of Sigyn stirred in her dreams, recognizing the arms that held her as the same ones that had held her while the world ended. He did not know if, when she looked at him, she saw the man she had left or the man he was trying to become.

But as her breathing deepened into sleep, and her body became heavy and trusting against his, Basim allowed himself to hope. Not the chaotic, destructive hope of Loki, but something older, quieter. Something like fidelity.

The snow fell. The fire died to embers. And in the dark, Basim ibn Ishaq—who had been Loki, who had been a killer and a trickster and a god of chaos—kept watch over his future wife, and swore that this time, he would be more deserving of her.

{ a/n: i think I’ll eventually write something for Sigyn/reader character x havi/Eivor }

{ a/n: gonna eventually get through this list!!! I have so many ideas I want to write about, but I want to finish Codextober. I have no idea how y’all finish the list in a month. 🤷🏼‍♀️}

jynx-raven

How I look at my phone screen when y/n does/says something I would never do/say

Like girl, that's not me

andthenshedrew

Ratonhnhaké:ton.

One of my most recent pieces.

I miss drawing, sometimes.

cippicat

Naoe with Edward's robe

After @assassinbearconnor tomhawk Naoe stole @badassedwardk robe

Guys what did you do to upset her XD ?

haythams-blade

ℂ𝕠𝕕𝕖𝕩𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟙𝟠: 𝕀𝕊𝕌 - 𝔽.ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕩 ℍ𝕒𝕧𝕚

Rating: all my work is +18, mentions of pregnancy.

Summary: Reader is carrying Havi's children and must make a decision between her husband, Loki, or Havi, who is her not so secret lover. The reader is running out of time though, and the ISU are trying to find a way to cheat death.

{ a/n: The reader's character is based off of the norse goddess, Sigyn. Also you can read this as an adaptation of Basim and Eivor }

The energy that flowed through the ancient halls of Asgard was thick, not with the usual scent of mead or celebration, but with the sorrow of impending doom. The Great Catastrophe—the solar flare that would scorch their world—loomed like a ghost over the heads of the ISU of the Æsir clan. They had had a name for this catastrophe, they had named it Ragnarök. Their energy hummed with the fear of gods who knew their world was dying ad they were running out of answers. Ragnarök was approaching, and the fate of the gods was unknown.

But under the troublesome night sky that flickered with the unstable aurora of a dying world stood (y/n) by the balcony. The cooling winds of the high peaks ruffling her silk robes, her hand resting instinctively, protectively, over the subtle swell of her growing stomach. Havi stood a few paces behind her, his presence a calm, steady anchor in a sea of encroaching dread.

"The tremors are worsening," She whispered, as she watched the Aurora borealis dancing across the sky above them.

"The data from the Yggdrasil nodes... it’s all pointing toward the end." She muttered.

Havi turned her around gently to face him, his sharp, calculating blue eyes softening as they took her in. He placed his hands rough warrior clad hands over her much softer ones. "I am close to the solution, Ástin mín. I have mapped the cycles. I will not allow this catastrophe to claim you. Not you, and not our children."

At the mention of their unborn twins, (y/n) leaned into him, a soft exhausted sob catching in her throat. She was the wife of Loki, the god of mischief and trickery who spent his nights in the arms of another woman, Aletheia, the goddess who had borne him monsters in the shadow of their marriage, and their own children. (y/n) had been left to wither, a discarded relic of an old allegiance until Havi had stepped into the void. He had become a father figure to her sons, Narfi and Vali, who now looked to the All-Father for guidance, their eyes bright with a devotion they no longer felt for their biological sire.

"You worry to much. Have faith in me Hjartað mitt." Havi murmured, as he planted a kiss on her head.

"It's hard to have faith when I am worried about their future." She whispered, looking up at him. Her eyes, once hollowed by Loki’s betrayal, were bright with a terrifying, singular hope of keeping her children alive.

"I worry whether or not our children will have their father in their life when they are born. Or if the world ends, Havi… will they even exist to hear the wind?"

Havi pulled her closer, his large, calloused hands moving from her stomach, cupping her cheeks. "Frigg has found the threads. We are weaving a path through the catastrophe. We will not fall, your time has not come yet. Our children will be born into a new world of safety and prosperity."

"What does that mean for you? What if i don't want to live in a world without you in it Havi, have you ever thought about that?"

"I refuse to live in any version of time where you are not breathing. My life is a small price to ensure you and our twins see the dawn of a new era." he said, his vow ringing with the weight of an oath.

"You must be careful, Havi," (y/n) whispered, her hands trembling as she focused on distracting herself by smoothing down the fur of his cloak. Her eyes, once bright with the joy of carrying new life, were now etched with the weariness of a woman who had spent centuries forgiving the unforgivable, and now was out of time for herself.

"I will find a way, (y/n). For the sake of our kind, for our people... and most of all, i'm doing it for you and our children. I refuse to see a world where you do not breathe. I refuse to live without you—or our children." Havi spoke with the promise of a father who was ready to give up everything to save his family.

(y/n) shut her eyes sadly, and leaned her forehead against his chest, not ready to say goodbye to him or their world. "The time is so short, but i will try to have faith."

"Then we shall make that enough," Havi promised.🤷🏼‍♀️💕💕

Neither of them saw the flicker of a shadow behind the carved oak pillar.

Loki, the silver-tongued trickster, stood paralyzed. He had come to find his wife—perhaps to offer a hollow apology for his latest disappearance with Aletheia, perhaps to beg for her silence regarding his illicit brood in the wild lands. But the words he heard struck deeper than any blade.Across the hall, the shadows shifted. Loki watched them. He was a creature of sharp angles and sharper malice, his eyes narrowed as he nursed a goblet of nectar. He had spent his decades weaving his own web—an affair with Aletheia, the birth of his monstrous children, the secrets he kept tucked away in the pockets of the world. But seeing Havi—the stoic, the leader, the man who had stepped into the ruin of his marriage to collect the shards—made the bile rise in Loki’s throat.

Our children.

Loki saw the way his wife clung to Havi’s arm. He saw the way Havi leaned in, whispering secrets that were for no one else to hear. He saw his own sons, Narfi and Vali, standing near Havi, their faces turned toward the All-Father with a reverence they had long since stopped offering their own blood.

Calculations ran through Loki’s mind with the speed of an Isu processor. The cycles they had spent apart, the coldness of their bed, the way Sigyn had looked at Havi with a devotion she once reserved for him. The children were not his.

Loki’s heart, hardened by years of narcissism, felt a crack of pure, jagged jealousy. Bitterness, hot and caustic, rose in his throat. He did not strike then. He was a creature of the long game, a weaver of public shames.

So he waited.

Days later, the Æsir gathered in the Great Hall to discuss the progress of the calculations.

Havi sat upon his throne with a troubled expression, his hands anxiously stroking his beard. (y/n) stood near the sidelines, avoiding unwanted attention, yet she never seemed to stray far from Havi. She had her gown draped elegantly to hide the slight swell of her midsection.

The Great Hall was filled with the pantheon and other scientists and researchers. Frigg, Thor, and Tyr stood in clusters, faces grim as they discussing the shifting climate of the Nine Realms with worried scientists.

Loki enjoyed the chaos, so he chose his moment with the precision of a serpent. He strode into the center of the room, his stride theatrical.

"A grim gathering for grim times," he remarked, his gaze sliding toward (y/n) like a snake through grass.

"Though, perhaps there is reason for joy amidst these desperate times? My wife looks particularly... radiant today." Loki spoke out loud, drawing all eyes.

He turned to his wife, who stood near Havi. "My beautiful wife has been so secretive of late. Such a glow about her, such a heavy, tired step. Tell me, wife, is it the stress of the kingdom, or is it the weight of the bastard seeds you carry for our illustrious leader?"

She stiffened, her hand instinctively fluttering toward her stomach, but said nothing.

"Tell me wife," Loki said, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall, "The life you carry—this sudden bloom in our darkest times. When were you planning to tell your husband? And more importantly... who shall I thank for doing the labor I clearly neglected?"

The hall fell into a suffocating silence. Other members of the Æsir—Frigg, Thor, Tyr—began to stare Loki down.

"Answer me," Loki demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Who is the father of that child?"

His wife's face drained of color. She looked at the floor, the weight of a thousand years of Loki’s infidelities crumbling under the weight of this singular, public accusation.

"Enough, Loki," Havi’s raspy voice was a low growl, like rolling thunder.

Loki looked up at havi sitting upon his throne, eyes dangerously staring daggers into Loki.

"Enough? Is the All-Father uncomfortable with the discussion of lineage? I merely wish to know whose bastards my wife is housing." Loki smirked.

Havi stood. He did not look like a king; he looked like a force of nature. He stepped down from the dais, walking past Loki to stand directly in front of (y/n). He placed a hand protectively on her waist.

"She is carrying my children, Loki. And they are under my protection."," Havi said, his voice echoing with absolute authority. "And they are no bastards. They are the future kings or queens of the Æsir."

Loki recoiled as if struck.

"You... you admit this? In front of the High Council?"

"Every soul in this room already knew, Loki," Havi said with a sneer of pure contempt.

"Besides you. Perhaps if you spent less time in the shadows of the Aesir-Vanir borders in Aletheia's bed, or less time mourning the monsters she birthed you, you might have noticed the change in your own household. You should have had spent more time tending to your wife. You neglected her heart until it stopped beating for you. I simply gave it a reason to start again."

"The weight of survival is heavy, Loki," Havi said, his eyes hard as flint,"and if you had sort more time at your own hearth, you would have noticed the shift in the winds long ago."

Loki’s face contorted with disgust. "You are nothing but a thief yourself Havi." Loki sneered, swirling his cup. "I've notice plenty. I notice my wife seeking shelter under the cloak of a pretender. I notice the way my sons look at you, as if you were the sun itself. Tell me, (y/n)—when did you decide that my house was no longer enough?"

(y/n) stepped out from behind Havi, her face tear-stained but resolute.

"Your love was a tomb long before he arrived in our bed, Loki," she said, her voice trembling but gaining strength. "You left me to wither while you built a life with Aletheia. You left me to raise our sons while you played at war and lust. You left me, Loki! You were never here! Havi was the one who held me when I wept, the one who read to, and taught Narfi and Vali everything they know, he was the one who kept the darkness from my door while you chased ghosts!" her voice was sounding more brave.

Loki looked as though he had been struck. He laughed, a high, thin sound that lacked any mirth. "Your children? You stole her, piece by piece. You preyed upon her grief while I was away. You are a thief of hearts, Havi, nothing more."

"I am the one who stayed," Havi stated, his voice cold and resonant. "I am the one who listened when she wept. I am the one who will be the father those boys have never known. Everyone in this room saw this union coming, brother. You are the only one who remained blind, blinded by your own vanity and your dalliances with an ally ofJötunheimr."

"You take my children’s loyalty, you take my seat, and now you take my wife's womb? What else will you take from me?"

"He took nothing, Loki! You threw it all away! For every night I wept while you were with Aletheia, Havi was there. For every time our sons, Narfi and Vali, needed a father and found an empty chair, Havi was the one who taught them to hold a blade!"

"Silence, I will hear no more from you!" Loki ragged, stepping toward her angrily with disgust.

Havi was faster though. He intersected loki before he could reach the woman.

"I dare you to speak ill of her, Loki." Havi warned.

(y/n) stepped forward, her hand pressed against her heart. "Loki, stop. Please. This is not the place—"

"No, let him speak," Havi countered, his eyes locked on Loki.

Frigg, sensing the volatile energy in the room, stood up and hurried forward, her face with worry as she placed a hand on the woman's arm. "Havi, stop this. She is in distress. Can you not see the toll this takes? The twins... they feel her worry."

But the cruelty in Loki was already boiling over. "The twins?" Loki sneered, his lip curling. "Two bastards of the All-Father. How noble. How perfectly arranged. You think you can replace me, Havi? You think you can claim my wife and my legacy?"

"You abandoned your legacy the moment you forgot to love them," Havi replied.

It was too late. Loki’s hurt had turned into a desperate, sharpened spite at the word of twins. "Let your children feel the shame of it! Let them feel the shame of being sired by a tyrant who hides behind his throne while the rest of our world burns! You are no savior, Havi! You are a coward in all matters, who steals what he cannot earn!"

With a roar of sudden, blinding rage, Loki lunged, but Havi was faster. He caught Loki by the throat, slamming him back against a marble pillar. The sound of the impact echoed like a thunderclap. (y/n) screamed, but Havi didn't relent. He held Loki pinned, his strength the literal force of a shifting mountain.

"You dare insult the mother of your children?" Havi hissed, his face inches from Loki’s. "You dare drag her name through the mud of your own failures?"

"Loki of the Æsir," Havi continued, the ritualistic tone of a sentence being passed. He stepped back from Loki and handed him over to the guards.

"For the betrayal of your vows, for the neglect of your household, and for the intentional distress of a mother of the realm... you are hereby stripped of your stature. You are sentenced, Loki. Stripped of your status in this court. You will not approach her. You will not approach the children. You are an exile within your own halls.You are sentenced to the darkness of the lower vaults until the Great Catastrophe claims us."

Loki bravado vanished instantaneously. "You cannot do this! You cannot keep me from my wife! From my sons!"

Loki looked toward his own two sons, Narfi and Vali, who stood near the periphery. The two young Isu stood tall, their expressions cold. They did not move to help him. They didn't even look sad. They looked at Havi as if waiting for his command.

But (y/n), her heart torn by the remnants of the woman she used to be, fell to her knees, her breath hitching in ragged gasps as Frigg knelt beside her. "Havi, please... have mercy. Do not let him go into the dark with hatred in his heart. Forgive him, for my sake."

Havi pulled back and made his way over to (y/n), his chest heaving as looked down at her. His expression softened for a fraction of a second, his hand gently stroking her hair, but his resolve remained ironclad. He signaled to the guards.

"He has had a thousand years of mercy. He used it to build a monument to his own greed."

He then made his commandment to his guards.

"Silence the room. Take her to my chambers. See that she is tended to with the highest care." Havi commanded, his voice devoid of room for debate. "Keep her away from this filth."

The woman on the floor tried to speak again, but a soft hum of Isu technology—a command from Havi—dulled the sound in the room. She protested as she was led away, looking back at Loki one last time with a mixture of pity and profound sorrow. As the guards were gently leading her past Havi—her eyes pleading with him one last time—but Havi turned back to the man who was held by both arms by guards. The room seemed to grow colder.

Once the doors latched behind her and the other Æsir dispersed to the shadows of the hall, Havi approached the restrained Loki.

"Listen well, Trickster," Havi hissed. "The Great Catastrophe approaches. I have seen the end of all things. I have found the way to save my bloodline, to keep them safe in the void that is coming. They will live. They will thrive. I will find a way. I will bridge the gap between this world and the next. I will ensure that (y/n), Narfi, Vali, and my own unborn children are shielded from the fire. They will live. They will be safe. They will have a world to inherit."

Havi leaned in closer, his voice a deathly whisper. "But you? You will not be saved, there is no room for you in the calculations. You will stay here. You will burn with the old world. You have forfeited your place in the future. You will die in the ruin you helped create, while I build a world for them that you will never even be able to dream of."

Loki, held back by the guards, bared his teeth in a feral grin, even as tears of rage pricked his eyes. He spat on the floor at Havi’s feet. Loki struggled against his bindings, his eyes burning with a promise of future vengeance.

"You think you’ve won, Havi. But a shadow is never truly gone. I will find a way. I will have her back, and I will tear down everything you build to reach her."

"You think a flare of the sun can keep me from what is mine, All-Father?" Loki spat. "Calculation or not, I will find her. I will see my wife again, in this life or the next. And when I do, it will be me who keeps her safe. I will be the one she remembers when your 'new world' turns to ash."

Havi didn't answer this time. He gave Loki an amused expression, not believing a word Loki had uttered.

Havi then simply turned his back on his brother, his cloak swirling like smoke. He did not look back, even as Loki’s laughter followed him out of the hall—a hollow, broken sound that promised the end of the world was only the beginning of their war.

Translation: Norse -> english

Ástin mín: My love/darling

Hjartað mitt: My heart

{ A/N: tried my best to follow the ISU lore! But if i messed anything up, then im so sorry, please forgive my ass.}

shroudofeden

We need to start mentioning stockings and garters more in AC fanfics, specifically the time appropriate assassins (Connor, Arno, Jacob etc)

Can you imagine Connor’s big hands, so rough from years of use, gently unclasping the buckles of your garters before pulling your stockings down the length of your legs, you’re perched on the side of your bed in only your shift and your stay, looking down at the mass of man kneeling before you, planting a kiss on the curve of your ankle before tucking his head underneath your white linen shift…

shroudofeden

Roleplay with Arno is so unserious, because you’ll Genuinely be in the The Palace and Park of Versailles™️ King Louis XVI will be in the room literally 16 feet away and this little shit will be fully in character pretending he’s meeting you for the first time, getting people to introduce you to each other, giving you a little smirk as he kisses you hand, lingering in a deep bow just a little longer than usual.

Then he fucks you against a fountain with your dress hiked up, the heavy fabric resting against his elbows as you babble on about “my husband, h-he would kill us if he found out!” The husband in question is standing before you, all 32 pearly whites showing in his smug grin.

almr001

Basim again!! 💛

hinril

Oh, this family.

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

Assassin’s Creed Imagines