#ac shay

[skxtchyghost]

very chatty

[cippicat]

@shaycormac-templar Don't be rude on @thegrandmasterhaytham

He is not built for sea life like his son or his father

Artist Unknown Found on Pinterest

[peridot-tears]

[donnadellarte]

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Assalamu'alaikum ukhti<D

Someone please be my guinea pig, I just made something new, the requirement is, you can speak Indonesian, that's all

Nuhun:3🙏

@sangheilihoes @indomie-fried-noodle @memoriesofafallen @timdrakesbussy @xxthe-father-of-understandingxx @asneakyobserver @wyyvernn @especiallyhaytham

[russianblue22]

Have a small headcanon about Assassin’s Creed Rouge:

I’ve seen some videos about how rogue is historically inaccurate and I’ve come to the slight conclusion that the game could just be abstergo’s propaganda and we’re playing the in lore video game rather than the actual events.

[little-theatrics]

Shay Cormac - Creed: Unity CG HC

꒷ Regression is virtually unheard of for the sailor. He’s built his life and duties around being big and strong, always running ahead before the world can catch up. The first time he hears about it, he almost doesn’t get it.  

꒷ But then again, there’s never been a challenge he didn’t face head-on. He tries it like his father at first; taking you out on the seas, roughing you up. And while it works to some extent, it takes him longer to figure out how to be gentle-to bring out your smile through patting your head and praising your good work in the day.  

꒷ Very focused on quality time. He sits with you on the back of the Morrigan, singing to you sea shanties while Gist drives. He teaches you little knots and helps you to tie back your hair. He shows you how to navigate with the stars, all soft words and friendly teasing.  

꒷ He’s still a Templar, though, and duty often drags him away. If you’re not with Gist (who he trusts with you about as far as he can throw the private) you’re with Haytham, reading the big books in the Grandmaster’s study and desperately missing the easy rhyme & slang of the Morrigan. He makes it up in all the outfits he brings back, things with bright colors and childish cuts.

꒷ The only thing to soothe Shay to sleep better than the rock of the waves is you, watching you play absently with the small rope toys he makes you, or tug on his coat as you request cuddles. He’s nothing if not clinging onto you, although he claims it’s so you don’t go overboard.  

꒷ Anytime he has to switch robes, he leaves his previous uniform with you-contented to know he’ll come back to you tucked into it, and pleased with the candies, notes and coins he left in the pockets. 

꒷ Tried to teach you swordplay. Quickly decided he was going to stop teaching you swordplay. Now you just use brooms-to the displeasure of the rest of the Morrigan, you now have twice the reach and half the control.  

꒷ Lets you nap in his lap while he charts maps and writes logs. Sometimes he’ll stay extra still and extra long in his chair, if just to give you the extra rest, regaling sea stories to your sleeping form for extra comfy points.

[favficbirthdays]

Happy Birthday

Shay Cormac (12th September 1731)

Assassin's Creed

[marshmallow--3]

Valentine's Day with my Assassin Boys (canon timelines)

Jacob: (1868 onwards)

Sending Valentine's Day cards is the latest trend. Those of a creative disposition may find themselves making their own cards and decorating them with bits of lace, mirror and other fabrics. A heartfelt message expressing one's adoration may also be included.

But is that really in Sir Jacob Ethan Frye's nature?

A knock at the door interrupts my train of thought. I answer it, a young boy in green hands out an envelope for me, a suspicious grin adorning his lips. I reach into my pocket to pass the little Rook boy a coin, he shakes his head.

"No need, Miss. Boss already paid me handsomely!" He pats his pocket and reveals it's filled with artisan chocolate. His face is as bright as though he'd won the lottery.

I thank him and dismiss him.

The envelope has my name and address scrawled in Jacob's chicken scratch, and on the reverse the parchment is sealed with his Rook insignia.

Breaking the seal, I smile at what's revealed of the card inside, a border of flowers, doves and harps. As more of the card is revealed, however, my jaw drops to the floor.

"Jacob Ethan Frye!"

His head pops round the corner of the kitchen doorway, his face composed in a dramatic sterness. I see the corner of his lips twitch as he observes the mortification in my face, putting all his strength into keeping his smirk at bay.

"Yes, love?"

"Don't you 'yes, love' me, Mister. What on Earth is this?"

He cocks an eyebrow and rubs his beard in thought, studying the card as though it were his first time seeing it. While the borders are romantic and classy, the middle of the card features a white lacy corset, perfectly impractical for everyday wear, accompanied by the lewd confession that the culprit "thinks of me with inexpressible delight".

"I think you have a secret admirer, my love. Perhaps I should dig out my knuckle dusters and find this wicked devil of a man."

I just shake my head at the mock delight in his face, flipping the envelope over, smacking his shoulder with it and pointing at the broken seal.

"The plot thickens! The devil is one of my very own men! Oh, the dishonour! I must find the fiend who dare steal my wife from under my very nose!"

"Jacob, no."

"Jacob, yes!"

I roll my eyes at his performance, grabbing him by the lapels and drawing him close for a heated kiss. Satisfied that he was finally silent, I break away and nudge his nose with mine, smiling warmly at him through my eyelashes.

"You, my darling, are a handful."

He pouts, affronted. I cup his chin and pull his gaze back to mine.

"And I wouldn't have it any other way."

Knowing I'm not one for jewelery, he gifts me an ivory figurine carved into the shape of an elephant with its trunk pointing upwards. I unwrap the ribbon of the parcel and blink upwards at him, flabbergasted.

"Do you like it love?"

I find a place for it on the mantlepiece and quickly spin into his arms, gushing my thanks.

But the day's not over yet.

We dress up to the nines and attend an opera. I'm treated like royalty, tasting the most moreish sweets and snacks I've ever tasted. My tastebuds rejoice.

While the posh treatment is nice for a while, we both know it's not us. So he whistles for a carriage and directs the driver to our favourite pub in Whitechapel.

Dressed in luxurious garbs in the middle of a loutish pub definitely catches a lot of attention, even from the Rooks who still find themselves taken aback by Jacob Frye's precarious disposition.

He just tips his top hat and shoots a wink in their direction.

And at the end of the night? Well it might or might not be the alcohol talking, but I voice how much I want to sit on his face while nude.

Oh the smirk he gives me before pushing me down onto the bed.

I doubt the neighbours sleep much more than we do tonight!

Ratonhnhaké:ton: (1777 onwards)

It's our first Valentine's Day together and God bless him, he has no idea what to do for me.

He asks around the Homestead to get some ideas, but none of the suggestions seem right for me.

Chocolates? Flowers? Sex?

Achilles suggested ear plugs for himself.

It's just, none of them seemed to be grand enough, particularly the latter. You can have sex any day of the year.

What he eventually settles on melts my heart.

A Pomeranian pup, a fluffy tan cloud on legs with white streaks running through his fur and a tongue as pink as a strawberry.

I call him Heath. Connor calls him Heathen.

There's mutual disdain between the two boys in my life to begin with.

Connor doesn't like the way Heath leaves fur everywhere, or the way he instinctively knows which undergarments belong to Connor and chews holes in them, or the way he yaps territorially at him whenever he enters the same room as me.

Heath doesn't like how Connor gets to sleep next to me at night, if the howling and scratching at our bedroom door is anything to go by.

I walk into a room one day and call out to Connor, asking if he's seen Heath anywhere, the manor eerily quiet without his incessant barking.

I stop in my tracks at what I see.

Connor is snoozing on the armchair with Heath curled up against his broad chest, little snot bubbles at his snout and everything.

I barely contain myself, smiling proudly at the scene before slowly backing out of the room, terrified of waking the two of them up now that they're the best of friends.

Shay: (1779 onwards)

Captain Shay Cormac is, well a Captain, and a Templar. This keeps him away from home for more days than I like, but I understand the gravity of his work.

It still doesn't stop me from nicknaming the Grandmaster, Mister Haytham Kenway, a veritable cock block.

Shay stays in touch with me the best he can, but by the time he sends a letter describing his time in one continent, he's already docking in another. It makes keeping track of him and knowing his exact whereabouts an insurmountable task.

But in his previous letter, he warned that he wouldn't be home in time for Valentine's Day. As much as it hurt, his erotic words that followed left me impervious to disappointment, much like they always did.

He also promised that he'd arranged for my gift to be delivered on the day, which made the butterflies in my stomach flutter in anticipation.

When the gift arrives, I'm awestruck by the beauty of such a thing. It's a rectangular box, medium-sized, just fitting in two hands. The intricate carvings etched into the dark wood are like pieces of art. I spy a Celtic knot here and there, but truly it's a piece that requires greater inspection to absorb all of the details, and I'm far too eager to open the beautiful case.

Soft twinkles of music play as I lift the lid, and tears form in my eyes as my mind recalls the melody. It's a lullaby I remember hearing as a child, I never caught the name of it but I could never forget how the song goes. And here, in my very hands, the music plays, as high-pitched as the keys on the far-right of a piano.

"Shay... How...?"

A spinning ornament catches my eye. At first glance, it's a small carving of a breast-feeding mother, her skin porcelain and perfect, her features motherly and pure. But closer inspection shows the woman resting on sea foam. I gasp. She's Venus, Roman goddess of love, beauty, desire.

He remembers that I love mythology, Venus, this song, and that I've always wished of owning a music box, ever since I was a little girl.

It's in this moment that I realise just how much I love that man.

When he eventually returns home from his ongoing mission, he greets me in the hallway with a searing kiss.

I can't help it.

I sink to one knee and hold his left hand between my palms.

I'd prepared a speech about traditions be damned, I could never give him anything like what he gave me, but all words leave me as he looks down at me, completely aghast.

"Shay Patrick Cormac, will you be mine?"

Genuine interests of mine:

Elephants with their trunk pointing upwards (sign of good luck in Feng Shui)

Sitting on Jacob Frye's face

Cute fluffy doggos

Cute fluffy doggos with handsome men

Music boxes

Venus

Mythology

Here's an interesting link to Victorian Valentine's Day cards where the idea of Jacob's smutty card came from:

Valentine’s Day in the Victorian Era

From Christian martyrs to Chaucer to Shakespeare, Valentine's Day can be traced back to Ancient Rome, but it is the Victorians who made it i

And I know the use of ivory is disgusting and illegal but it's canon timeline, so it was fine in those days.

@sassenach-on-the-rocks

@thank-god-its-fryeday

@iceboundstar

@assassins-and-hidden-blades - I borrowed your idea of Connor gifting a dog, it was originally going to be a horse, but dogs