asscreedkinkmeme ([personal profile] asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-01-04 10:19 am
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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed [Fills]


We're about to reach the posting limit on pt.1&2, this is for those who wish to continue/write on prompts on both these parts.

Writers! It is your responsibility to link back to the original prompt.

There are no request in this part of the meme.

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Discussion

FILL: Comfort [1/?] Spoilers for da Vinci Disappearance DLC

(Anonymous) 2011-05-29 06:45 am (UTC)(link)
From this prompt:

http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19704.html?thread=4247544#t4247544

Ezio returns to Ferrara after the events of the da Vinci Disappearance memories and fucks Lucrezia's brains out. 1506. Let's just pretend Cesare has escaped and is running around somewhere, and the Assassins are looking for him.

Because I tend to not finish my fills -_- I tried to wait until I had finished before starting to post, but I think I won't have any trouble finishing the story because it's all planned out. So here we go...

***

It was a warm night in Ferrara, and the air of the gardens at the Delizio di Belriguardo smelled of flowers and clipped greenery. Grunting softly with effort, Ezio Auditore jumped up to grip the stone outcrop of a small balcony on the eastern side of the Palazzo, and pulled himself over the wrought-iron railing.

“I knew you would be back, Assassino.” Lucrezia Borgia stood in her nightgown, watching him.

Ezio straightened, and looked at her. Lucrezia's long, fair hair was unbound and fell below her waist, still wavy from spending the day in a braid. Her face was bare, and the wisps of blond hair framing it were slightly damp, as though she had just washed. Her eyes were calculating and utterly unafraid.

“If you have come to rob me again,” she said, “I am afraid you will find the art on my husband's walls of little interest. He does not share your love of Leonardo da Vinci's work.”

“You know that is not why I have come,” said Ezio, brushing off his clothes. He pulled back his hood.

Lucrezia picked a twig from his cape and held it between her finger and thumb. “Climbing in the hedges, were we? Aren't you a little old to be sneaking through a girl's bedroom window?”

“For some things, Duchessa, one is never too old.” He watched her eyes, allowing the scarred side of his mouth to curve into a half-smile. She saw it and looked away, her face flushing, reminding him of how young she was. He laughed softly and took a step towards her, taking hold of her wrists in leather-gloved hands. “Have you decided whether or not to call your guards, Lucrezia?”

“No.” Lucrezia pulled away, and he let go. “But while I make up my mind, you may as well come in.” She turned and went into her room, leaving the doors open to the scent of the night. Her nightgown slid and clung around her hips and backside. Watching her walk, he was sure her hips had become fuller since the time he had held his blade to her throat at the Castel Sant'Angelo. He approved.

“You play upon my emotions, Assassino,” she said, lighting the candles in her chamber. Flickering light was cast over the room, illuminating tapestries, heavy, deep-red curtains and high vaulted ceilings. “But this time, I am not so easily fooled. I believe you have come to search for Cesare.”

“So you have heard of your brother's escape.”

“Of course.” She turned to face him, her eyes narrowed. “But why would he come back to Italia? And why would you think I would harbor him, after what you saw?”

“That, I do not know,” Ezio said honestly. “But he is still your brother. And while he saw you as merely his sister, I believe your feelings for him are – different.”

“This is true,” she said. “And if you think that through seducing me, you could cause me to give him up to you – you are even more arrogant than I thought.” She stepped towards him and trailed a finger down the front of his armor. Her touch was light, and he felt nothing, but somehow that aroused him all the more powerfully. He felt the blood pound under his collarbone and excitement build in the pit of his stomach. Without thinking, he breathed out, hard. Lucrezia watched him closely. Her breasts were high and firm under the light fabric of her nightgown, nipples showing clearly in the candlelight. He brushed one, running the backs of his fingers over it, then rested his hands on her waist.

"Where is your husband, Duchessa?” he murmured, his voice low and tense with arousal.




FILL: Comfort [2/?]

(Anonymous) 2011-05-29 08:00 am (UTC)(link)
“Not here, obviously,” she said, indicating the empty chamber. Her face became closed, and Ezio wondered if the Duca had gone to scout near Ravenna. He had overheard the guards discussing his alliance with the Pope.

“And Patrizio is dead,” she said, her face devoid of emotion. “But I expect you knew that already.”

“You seem very calm about this,” he said, “given that you said he was special to you.” Her expression did not change, so he dropped the point. “And what of the others, Lucrezia?”

“What others?” she snapped.

Ezio smiled faintly. “Why stop at two?”

Ipocrita,” she said. “You judge me for my appetites, but the list of your conquests exceeds my own in every way, except the scrutiny of society. We are -"

"Nothing alike," he said, stepping in close to lay a gloved finger gently against her lips.

She turned her head aside, so that his finger traced her cheekbone. "So you think, Auditore. I know better.”

“Do you, now,” he said. He stroked her jawline, ran his thumb across the delicate line of her collarbone. She closed her eyes.

“I know that, like me, you seek pleasure when you cannot have love. Did you find Leonardo da Vinci safe, Assassino? You know that there are... strange discussions about the two of you, and stranger still about the Maestro and his 'assistant'. How did it feel, to rescue your friend, only to return him to his lover? Is that why you have come to me?”

“Do not speak of this, Lucrezia,” he said. His voice took on a warning growl, harsher than he had intended, and he felt ashamed of himself. But Lucrezia only smiled in satisfaction.

“You know nothing about me,” he told her, but they both knew that was untrue. Lucrezia was surprisingly astute. He could not help but think that, had she applied her brain to politics instead of petty jealousies, she could have been formidable in her own right.

He loomed ever closer towards her. She walked backwards, and he followed, invading her space in subtle threat. Her back touched the wall but he did not stop. He took her hands, pinned them gently against the wall above her head, and began to kiss her. He kept his eyes open as he pushed his tongue between her lips. He reached for the hem of her nightgown and lifted it, slipping his hand underneath. Through the leather of his glove, he felt the sleek warm skin of her inner thigh.

She gasped in pleasure, kissing him back. Her shoulders writhed against the wall. "No," she moaned into his mouth. “Ezio... Stop -”

He dropped his hands to her hips.

"As you wish, Duchessa," he said softly, and bowed. He brushed a last kiss to her cheekbone, scraping her smooth pale cheek with his beard. Then he let her go.

Rage glittered in her blue eyes – she was ready to slap him. “Bastardo”.

"You said to stop, Lucrezia. I have no desire to force you." That was not strictly true. The kiss had made him hard as steel. But only a fool would not have seen this coming. A fool, or a young man; and perhaps they were the same thing.

He walked towards the balcony, hands ready to draw the hood of his cloak back up.

“Wait,” said Lucrezia. There was a note of vulnerability in her voice that told him he had won. “I - meant only that we should move to my bed.” With his back still to her, Ezio smirked and let go of his hood.

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Place-holder - Shaun is King [parts 15+]

[identity profile] blusterby.livejournal.com 2011-05-29 01:43 pm (UTC)(link)
Prompt and fills 1-14 + 2 extra fills: here (http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19704.html?view=5134840#t5134840)

Direct to first parts of fill: here (http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19704.html?thread=4248312#t4248312)

Just a place-holder for the other parts when I publish them so that I have a place to publish them to and so I can link this comment to the first thread!

Second Fill! [15.a/16-ish] - NSFWish

[identity profile] blusterby.livejournal.com 2011-06-02 02:55 pm (UTC)(link)
When he awoke Shaun was exhausted, his back ached from being pressed uncomfortably against the van floor, there was a tell-tale tightness of the skin that suggested he had scratched the skin open on stray sharp rocks and they had bled in the night, he felt grimy, and a sudden movement at his side left a burst of cold air over his exposed collarbone and chest. An alarm screeched on the other side of the room. Desmond jogged towards it. Shaun grasped the edge of his sleeping back cover (open, and that seemed a bit strange until his mind finally woke up a little and reminded him of the sleeping arrangements he and Desmond had made in the wee hours of the morning) and pulled it over his head. It smelt of Desmond and Shaun and garlic and the dust from the floor and he inhaled deeply, rubbing the side of his face into his pillow. The alarm cut off suddenly. Rebecca commented on Desmond's liveliness. Desmond laughed. Rebecca commented on his scuffed knees. Desmond lied about stumbling into the fountain and flumped down on the bedroll Shaun lay next to. He fought the urge to reach out a hand from beneath his thin sleeping bag and touch him. Suddenly the day seemed like it might be more of a torturous experience than the last, a fleeting memory of Desmond's hot and heavy breath on his neck and his tongue in his mouth. He was supposed to be going through an 'I can't keep my hands off of you' stage, but who could do that when such a development in their relationship was kept under wraps from their close-quarters team mates? Who could do that when, to said team mates, such a development would seem unfounded, sudden, out of character and out of the blue?

A heavy hand landed on the round of his shoulder and rocked him back and forth a little. On Sunday, should Desmond take the day off, he would sleep in without interruption.

“Shaun, you awake?” Desmond said, and through the rustling of his own sleeping bag he could hear Lucy and Rebecca clambering up and someone passing the two of them on their way towards the ancient passages behind Altaïr. He gave a muffled and incoherent mumble in reply, sighing heavily.

“I'm going to wash up.” Lucy's voice echoed and Shaun pulled his bedding down to blearily watch her leave with a small wave, gaining one with more enthusiasm in return from Desmond.

“Okay, see you in a bit.” Desmond's hand squeezed Shaun's shoulder as Lucy finally rounded a corner and ascended out of sight. Then he swiftly stretched out on the bed beside Shaun and brought his hand to rest of his jawline. “Good morning.”

“Is it really?” Shaun grumbled in return, Desmond's eyes rolling exasperatedly as he leant in and stilled any other dry comments with his lips.

“Yes, it is.” He mumbled against Shaun, pressing in again. Shaun gave into temptation and reached out a hand to curl around Desmond's hip, hold tightening briefly before resting on the fabric of his boxers. “How on earth am I going to keep my hands off of you?” Desmond sighed. Shaun scrunched up his face inappreciatively.

“One; morning breath. Two; you're going to bloody have to. Rebecca and Lucy cannot find out.” Shaun, despite his argument, then kissed Desmond again, bring his hand up to linger on the man's neck.

“Why?”

“Because if we were to-” Shaun tensed as Rebecca called out from the passage something about needing to go out and buy more toilet paper as they were nearly out and flew up into a sitting position, mouth far away from Desmond's and hopefully looking innocent. “I'll tell you later. I need to bathe tonight anyway.” He mumbled as Desmond sighed deeply.

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Fill: Blind Date (AU; Shaun/Desmond) [1/?]

(Anonymous) 2011-05-30 06:47 am (UTC)(link)
http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19704.html?thread=3547128#t3547128

Summary: AU; Desmond likes British accents and Shaun needs to get laid. So the girls set them up on a blind date.

There will be smut at the end.

-


Between two part time jobs and school, Becca barely found time for a social life. Of course, just because she was lacking the time and sleep, that did not mean she didn't make time for the occasional party and hang out. She had no problems when it came to having fun, despite the lack of free time she had. What was a problem though, was usually her friends. Shaun, her room mate/friend, would rather stay at home and work on school projects (no wonder he was single) than to party and try to find himself some ass. God that man needed to get laid... it was becoming a nightmare living with him.

And then, there was Lucy. Smart, boring, pretty little Lucy, who was the biggest workaholic Becca had ever had the displeasure to know. The only good thing about Lucy was that at least she did try to hang out with friends every once in a while, although it still was pretty rare, and that was when Becca would use her magic (whine) to get the blond woman to finally stop working and studying, and go out with her.

And so here she was, waiting for Lucy to get out of work. The blonde said she could only be out for an hour or two, since she needed to work on some paper for a class, but Becca was going to work her magic on that woman and get her to stay longer. However, as much as she was looking forward to hanging with Lucy, the main reason Becca was so excited to see Lucy today, was that the woman was bringing a friend she knew from high school.

Becca had seen this guy once, when she came over to drop off something at Lucy's apartment, and damn! She had left in a hurry, thinking she was interrupting Lucy from getting some action (God knows the woman needs it!), and the next time she had seen her, Becca had demanded to know who he was. Lucy had waved it off, saying that this Desmond guy was a friend from high school and nothing more. Becca had not believed it for a second, but if Lucy was not interested in the sex god that this man was, well... Becca was NOT going to let this opportunity go to waste.

“Becca!”

Looking up, she saw Lucy waving and running towards her, a huge smile on her face. See? This was why she liked Lucy, she tried to hard to be so matured, but deep down she still was that crazy girl Becca had met in college.

“Hey Luce!” Becca grinned and stood up to give her friend a hug. “Man, its been so long since I've seen you!”

“Becca, you saw me last week.”

“Exactly! We used to hang out every day girl, what happened?” Becca play punched Lucy on the shoulder as the two sat down. “You were so much fun, but now you're like an old lady.”

“Well,” she paused to push her chair forward and place her purse on the table. “Some of us like to do well in class.”

“Hey, I do well in class too! Still that's no excuse, I'm your best friend!... speaking of friends,” She paused to look around. “Where's your hot friend?”

Lucy rolled her eyes.

“Desmond? He has an assignment due tomorrow, so...”

“Aw man!” Becca whined, and slump back on her chair. “I wanted to meet this hottie! You said he was single, so I was kinda hoping I could put on the moves and get myself some.”

The blonde woman laughed as the waiter came up to them to take their order. Becca placed her order, confused at Lucy's reaction, while the other woman tried to get herself together. She managed to place her order before another laughing fit took over her, at this point managing to make Becca a little angry. Eventually, Lucy was able to calm down, and smiled at her annoyed friend.

“Well, Becca, unless you suddenly grow a penis or become a man, I doubt Desmond will be interested.”

“What!?” Becca squeaked, making Lucy laugh once again.

“There's a reason why I never dated him. Don't you think I tried? Jesus, Desmond is.. I used to invite him to my house all the time, you know? Dress up and hope he would make a move, but then one day, I noticed how he kept staring at my older brother.”

Blind Date [2/?]

(Anonymous) 2011-05-30 06:48 am (UTC)(link)
“No way...” Becca seemed to be out of her shock, and pretty interested in the idea of Lucy's brother and Desmond. This woman...

“They never dated, Becca.”

“Shit.” She sounded pretty disappointed at that. Seriously? She went from wanting to date Desmond, to fantasizing about him and Lucy's brother? She did NOT need that mental image in her head.“So I can't get with Desmond, and you ruin my fantasy of him with your brother, who's hot by the way-”

“And married.”

“-but damn! And here I was hoping to convince Desmond that we are soul mates, and how we were meant to be...”

-

After having dinner together, Becca had managed to convince Lucy to stick around a little longer, and ended up going to a bar. Despite the disappointment of Desmond being gay, Lucy knew that Becca would not be satisfied until she knew everything Lucy knew about Desmond.

“So what type of guys does Desmond like?”

Sipping on her beer, Lucy debated whether or not she should tell Becca anything, it really was none of her business, but she had never been good at fighting her sad puppy look. Shit, sorry Desmond.

“Um, I guess he... hm, I don't think he has a type when it comes to physical stuff. He's kinda loose-”

“Dammit, why is he gay!?” Becca interrupted, banging her head on the table. “I'm loose, he's loose, we could have had soooo much fun-”

“Becca, please.” Lucy ducked her head, blushing as she noticed that Becca's outburst had caught the attention of the people around them, she whispered harshly. “Not so loud.” When the only response she got was mumbling, her tone became angry. “I can't understand you when you mumble.”

With a sniff, Becca lifted her head and looked up. Her face was flushed due to all the beer she had drank already. Lucy should have stopped her. Now here they were with Becca declaring to the entire bar that she was loose, and now there were some creepers looking at Becca with interest. This was the reason why she never partied with Becca... this always happened.

“I said,” Becca finally continued, “What turns him on?”

Lucy sighed at the question. She should have known Becca would ask these questions... especially now that she had some alcohol in her system.

“Seriously, Becca?”

“Come on!” Lucy's eye roll did nothing to ruin Becca's curiosity to find out more about Desmond. “I can't get with the guy, at least give me material to dream with!”

“Too much information.” she groaned at the other woman's begging stare. Again, sorry Desmond... “I guess he... likes, um... accents? There was this guy from England in his digital printing class, all he ever did was talk about him, and how sexy his accent was. And one time, when we were drinking, he kept saying how he was going to blow him during class, that sort of stuff.”

Becca grinned, and sat back on the chair. Taking a big gulp of her beer, she pointed a finger at Lucy before continuing.

“See? That wasn't so hard. Hm, British accents? Not my thing.”

“You don't like British accents? Really?” Lucy was honestly shocked. She figured a guy crazy girl like Becca would have all the bases covered. “I would think that...”

“Listen, after living with Shaun for almost 3 years, I can honestly say that the accent gets old, and in the way of an actual personality. Just hearing the accent come up, I think of Shaun and his bitch ass attitude...”

“He's good looking.”

“Yes well, even if I wanted to tap that, which I really don't, thank you very much, he cares nothing for the female gender, if you know what I mean... although, it was pretty hot that first year we lived together. He would bring in his boyfriend to the house and, well, you know... damn it was hot, I wish.... Lucy?”

Becca paused when she caught Lucy's expression. She looked a little shocked, but her eyes looked full of mischief, something Becca missed about their college days together. The blond woman suddenly grinned at her.

“Shaun's... gay? Really? Becca!” Lucy was pretty scary when she was excited.

“What?”

“Don't you see? We have this guy who goes nuts over British men, and this British guy who needs to have sex before he kills you...” Lucy's grin widen. “See where I'm going with this?”

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Clipped

(Anonymous) 2011-06-01 02:42 am (UTC)(link)
Original thread: http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19704.html?thread=4494328#t4494328

Have an abridged version of the prompt-

"Pets" (slaves) are common in the world and Leo and Malik are people who buys them and then let them go. Cue Leo finding three brothers who are pets, Altair, Ezio and Desmond, he wants to buy them, can't, and goes to Malik to try and make up the difference. By the time he goes to get them they're gone.

Some time later he finds Ezio all fucked up, buys him and fixes him up. Learns how he got like this, enter Altair through some way and learn that Desmond is still with the bastards that fucked Ezio up. Ezio and Altair go rescue Desmond who's all sorts of hurt. Cue major h/c (and revenge on whoever bought Desmond.)

Got it, okay!

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(Anonymous) 2011-06-01 02:43 am (UTC)(link)
Leo had trouble with the following week just keeping everything strait in his life which was suddenly being upended and thrown out. Sure his life had changed when he’d first bought Ezio, in ways he could never explain properly, but that had been almost four months ago and now he couldn’t even imagine his house without Ezio and his brothers. They were a part of his household, and in some way a part of his crazy extended family that involved all the pets he’d ever bought or cared for and freed. He always grew attached to the pets he bought even if he knew they’d all leave eventually, but he always kept in touch with them except for a few that just fell off the map. But this was the first time he was purposefully saying goodbye with the express intention of never seeing them again, and he knew he never would.

As soon as he’d been able he’d called Malik. He hadn’t yelled, he’d just guilted Malik into feeling terrible for keeping that from him. He knew he shouldn’t, that he should listen to Altair’s advice, but he just couldn’t. Other than that though he heard little from his friend and he knew it was because he was preparing with the other movers.

Gilberto was over often and he and Altair talked constantly, getting everything in order and figuring out how things were going to go. Gilberto was just a liaison though and Leo knew that eventually the movers would come back and when they left the Rifters would with them. Still some part of him detested the movers and Malik because of what they were going to do. The thief told him that they’d need some clothing for the journey, ones suitable for hot days and cold nights. Leo had no idea what sort that was though because the weather was always temperate and about the same temperature all year in the capital. Ezio expressed the fact that he knew what sort of clothing was needed so he’d dragged Ezio out with him to find some.

It was strangely entertaining actually.

“You act like you’ve never been in a department store,” Leo told him.

“You act as if I have,” Ezio said purposefully trying to flatten his accent into something more similar to Leo’s. It was a terrible, terrible, accent.

“You’ve been here five years,” Leo pointed out as Ezio rapidly flipped through a dozen shirts.

“I was normally not allowed out of the house,” Ezio said lazily and Leo winced, of course, he should have thought of that. “Though once someone tried to use Altair as a prize fighter… it was a very successful venture until Altair broke our master’s teeth,” he snickered.

Leo stared at him, “Why would he do that?”

“He tried to sell Des back to a kennel,” Ezio said moving with perfect fluidity through the men’s section, towering over everyone else there and looking so out of place because of his height. Most people turned away from him as if afraid to meet his gaze. “Also,” he said stopping again and looking at another rack of clothing with seemingly little interest, “stores like this do not exist where I live,” he spoke in a softer tone now, “Everything is— what is the word? Tailored, I think?” he frowned, “Nothing so mass produced and flimsy as this,” he flicked the clothes away. “Are there specialty stores we could go to?” he asked changing subjects abruptly.

“Yes, what sort of specialty?” he asked dragging him towards the exit.

Ezio looked thoughtful and played with the necklace he’d taken to wearing. All three of them were still adjusting to life without a collar: Ezio had found a necklace amid a collection of things Leo didn’t look at to often, Des wore a scarf, and Altair wore nothing but at least twice had scratched his skin on his neck raw before Des (of all people) had put a scarf on him and it had stayed. He knew it wouldn’t be long before they got used to it but it didn’t make it any less amusing to see them adjusting to it. “Camping gear,” he finally said in a decided voice, his accent coming through so terribly that Leo winced when he said the word ‘camping’.

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AltMal, Apple Shenanigans

[identity profile] blusterby.livejournal.com 2011-06-03 09:46 pm (UTC)(link)
Prompt Here (http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19704.html?thread=4095736#t4095736)

1; The Reason

[identity profile] blusterby.livejournal.com 2011-06-03 09:47 pm (UTC)(link)
“Every day, Altaïr. Every day you do this to yourself!” Malik threw papers to the floor from the desk with a grand sweeping gesture, a blazing glare directed at the man standing by the grand window, who looked on passively. The pigeons fluttered and cooed in their coop at the violent movement.

“It's necessary. I have to know how it works.” Altaïr replied calmly, glancing briefly to the strange artefact that had rolled to the floor, parchment now littered around it.

“Killing yourself is not necessary. I should just take that thing away from you right now.” Malik spat. Altaïr shifted restlessly, hands clenching and unclenching.

“But you won't.”

Malik stooped to grasp the cold metal ball in his hand, admiring it's weight and size as it immediately seemed to make itself at home in his palm, gaining the gleam it would often hold at human touch. “You're right.” He mumbled as he straightened up, and eyed the sphere with a mixture of disdain and intrigue. “I won't.” Altaïr's hand covered what was exposed of the Piece of Eden and Malik looked up to catch his eye.

Beneath Altaïr's eyes lay heavily laden bags, purpling and sallow. What were once sharp and golden eyes seemed desaturated and much older than should be in the face of a man of twenty eight. His lips were drawn into a thin line. An errant beard grew from his chin, scraggly and unkempt. Malik shook his head slowly.

“If only I could go back in time and warn you of how much of a novice you would continue to be, even when Grand Master.” He sighed. Altaïr's eyes darkened as he bowed his head slightly, and then there was intense heat blossoming over both men's palms and a blade of light that cast them both into nothingness.

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vendo tag heuer

(Anonymous) 2011-06-06 11:43 am (UTC)(link)
Nice and thanks!

Skelegrow, AltMal

[identity profile] blusterby.livejournal.com 2011-06-07 11:26 am (UTC)(link)
Prompt Here (http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19704.html?thread=2850296#t2850296)

FILL [1.a/?]

[identity profile] blusterby.livejournal.com 2011-06-07 01:25 pm (UTC)(link)
It had started out innocently enough. Just a touch and a question. He had seen Altaïr do it before and come back three times more knowledgeable and to just ask one question...It surely couldn't do him any harm. It wouldn't addict him to the power like it had so many others. Not with just once touch, surely.

Of course, as irony would have it, one questions quickly spiralled out of control.

Malik ghosted his fingertips over the Piece of Eden almost reverently, lips parted and breath bated. He knew that he shouldn't be there in the office. He knew that he shouldn't be touching it. But he was. And he had so many questions that he felt no one and nothing could answer except the sphere just beneath his hand, a hair's breadth away. One questions stood out amongst the others.

Gently Malik spread his fingers down the sphere until his palm touched the crown of the cold metal. A thrill went up his arm and spread rapidly over his body, manifesting in his eyes and tongue and encompassing his entire consciousness in the space of seconds. An empowering, ancient and mysterious energy ebbed through him as the ball began to glow dimly. He wet his lips nervously. One question.

“K-Kad-” He didn't even manage to stutter the rest out. A fierce surge took place, drawing his sight from the room in which he stood to his inner self. The truth struck into him with the brutality of an enemy's blade.

Kadar could neither be happy nor sad. He was dead.

Reality was disappointing and painful, but the knowledge had been so easy to obtain.

Malik shook himself from his stupor and looked to the ball again. Imagine what one could do with this. Control an army, feed a family for a lifetime, create or restore life, heal and absolve. Even regrow limbs.

The last thought had been fleeting. But at the moment it had fluttered through a sudden weight attached itself to his mind and slowed it down, dragging it back into sight. Regrow a limb.

His mind was pried open by pinprick sleeves of light, which burrowed and dug their way into his thoughts and desired. Malik's eyes rolled back and his eyelids fluttered as he gasped at the alien intrusion.

Yes, regrow limbs. Regrow his arm. Be Altaïr's equal. Be a cripple no longer. He could climb and leap and dress and eat and train and live differently; with an ease currently absent. Imagine if he could grow it back.

He wanted to grow it back.

He could grow it back.

He would grow it back.

What remained of the bone in his left arm began to vibrate and hum in it's socket. Quickly and painfully it shot out of the scar tissue, forming the skeleton of his upper arm. He cried out. His elbow cracked into existence and then slowly the Ulna and Radius grew out of that and into a wrist. He chocked as muscle and veins and lymph wound around the new bones, clinging tightly and corded. It was excruciating. His grip on the Apple was hard enough to quake his right arm. Tears slipped from his eyes, lids scrunched tight. Metacarpals rolled out from carpals as tendons wrapped his elbow and cartilage cushioned his joints. He sobbed loudly. The Apple still in hand he fell to his knees. His innocent question had quickly turned in the wrong direction and was becoming the reason for one of the most painful experiences in his life. He skin peeled at the join and then began to inch as fresh, sensitive sheets down the new muscle. He screamed in agony.

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Two Eagles

(Anonymous) 2011-06-08 06:42 pm (UTC)(link)
Original thread: http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/16841.html?thread=1952969#t1952969

Abridged prompt: Immortal Altair in Italy being sort of like a mentor to Ezio, shenanigans along the way.

Two Eagles (119/?)

(Anonymous) 2011-07-14 06:09 am (UTC)(link)
I don't know if anyone's still reading this... this scene didn't want to flow, at all. After this though updates will pick up again, promise; got some new vigor.
--

"You're too important for me to let something happen to you. Do you understand?" Altair asked kissing his knuckles.

"I... yes," he nodded slowly.

"I hope so," Altair said softly continuing to kiss his knuckles with their myriad of tiny scars, "I would become undone if I was to lose you," it wasn't a lie either. "After all who would have the guts to tell me to do something if I didn't want to," he grinned slightly.

"I've never done that," Cipriano said frowning.

"Threatening me when I stayed in my room, not even Ezio came to see me."

"He was busy," Cipriano insisted and Altair smiled, so modest this boy was.

"He knew better than to anger me again for he saw it once and I doubt wanted to see it again."

"Nor would I," Cipriano nodded in total understanding since he'd seen what Altair's anger looked like directed at someone else and probably didn't want to imagine it directed at him. "Have you forgiven him?"

"I was not angry at him. I was angry at myself."

"Why?"

"It doesn't matter anymore, I am past it," mostly past it at least, he was still trying to think of how to fix what he'd blundered. "We are not talking about Ezio though," he bruised Cipriano's knuckles and fingers with more kisses. He felt the other of the darker man's long fingered hands comb through Altair's hair.

"Aalam?" he asked. Altair just hummed, enjoying the caresses given to him freely by the young man. "You would never hurt me would you?"

"No," he lied. One day he would hurt him just like he hurt all the others. The ones that lasted always wanted to become old with him. But while they could do such a thing he could not grow old with them, he did not age, he did not change, he was eternal, more than even stone. Stone could change its form, become new stone, but Altair could not, all he could be was what he was right now. Even after all this time he'd yet to figure a way out of hurting those he loved, because in the end he became just as wounded as those he hurt. "I would never hurt you," the words came freely to his lips when he spoke, for years of lies made even the deepest ones sweet to any ears.

Cipriano leaned down and kissed him gently, a soft smoothing of scared lips over his own with the one deep, permanent scar. "Good," Cipriano said against his lips.

"Come to bed and let’s put this behind us," Altair said softly gently stroking his face the skin smooth under his calloused fingers.

Cipriano nodded and shed the remaining of his clothing, letting the pants drop onto the floor with a soft 'wumpth'. Altair lay down on the bed and was surprised when Cipriano climbed onto it after him not beside him but on top of him. "Aalam," he said as almost a whisper, tipping his head down and kissing him before pulling away the sheet Altair had pulled over himself to caress his bare chest.

"You don't have to do this Cipriano," he said when they came up for air.

"I know, but I want to," he said and ran one of his hands through Altair's hair.

"I don't want to hurt you-"

Cipriano laughed softly, "You won't. You never would, not now," and kissed Altair again to silence any complaints Altair might make. "I trust you," he almost told him to stop then since he did not feel worthy of such innocent and boundless affection this young man was all too willingly showering him with. Instead he pulled Cipriano close and kissed him firmly, pulling away the rest of the sheet as the darker man ground his body against his.

Cipriano's hands fumbled over Altair's scarred and marked skin. He knew the young man had every blemish, every cut, every scar, every tiny imperfection on his skin, a number which had only increased with his age, memorized and his lips and tongue seemed to find every one. Altair sighed when that red tongue rolled over a particularly large one on his chest where he'd been cut from flank to breast in one fell swoop back in the thirteen hundreds. Again and again Cipriano touched those old scars and made Altair shiver and where his tongue had passed would break into goose flesh as saliva cooled and dried on his skin rapidly.

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(Anonymous) 2011-06-11 10:51 am (UTC)(link)
This anon will be using this thread to rewrite the beginning and finish posting A Meeting With Ghosts (http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19704.html?thread=4188664#t4188664).

(Anonymous) 2011-06-29 02:47 pm (UTC)(link)
GAAAAAAAAAH, I LOVE YOU. <3

(no subject)

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Adopted

(Anonymous) 2011-06-12 06:40 am (UTC)(link)
I have no idea how long this thing is gonna take me, so I'm just going to upload the rest here.

Here's the Prompt:
http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19704.html?thread=3924216#t3924216

Adopted 10/??

(Anonymous) 2011-06-12 06:46 am (UTC)(link)
He slept and dreamed. Because the alternative was pain and hunger, fear and desperation. He wanted to hide, he wanted to just be left alone, didn’t want the responsibilities anymore, didn’t want the pain. More and more though, the reality outside his mind intruded on the happy dreams, built on the loss that never truly left him.

He shied away from those dreams, not wanting to see those that were most important to him falling to their death, with him unable to prevent it. The dreams twisted to him losing everyone he cared about, and he was unable to remember which was the nightmare and which was the truth.

He began to lock down everything, running from both dream and memory, taking refuge in the darkness. Nothing could hurt him there, and he didn’t want to risk leaving the safety of that darkness for anything.

~:~:~:~:~

Leonardo stared down at Ezio. The assassin was awake, lying still on the tiny bed, but not looking at anything. Those golden eyes were unfocused, and the artist feared that his friend would never fully wake up anymore. Alcina was under the table, twining herself around his ankles and giving him frustrated noises and looks. He’d kept taking her off the workbench, as she’d merely made a nuisance of herself and got in the way as he changed Ezio’s bandages.

The last few days had been touch and go. Leonardo had cleaned the wounds as best he could, stitching them up with the finest thread he could lay his hands on, and bound them to prevent more infection. Ezio had whimpered through the treatment, fever growing so high that Leonardo feared the worst. But after managing to get water and some broth into the injured assassin, Ezio had begun to recover. The fever eventually broke, and that was one worry gone.

Alcina had made use of that the time while he fussed over Ezio to relocate her kittens again. Leonardo despaired at ever being the sole owner of his workshop again. On the first night, the artist had woken up to a kitten staring at him, perched on his chest. He’d almost knocked the poor thing off of the bed as he sat up. He’d been forced to make them a bed, taking the feathers from the basket Ezio had fallen asleep in days previously, and made a pillow with scrap cloth. He reused the large basket and placed it in a corner of the workshop. Alcina then took it from there and firmly placed her kittens inside the bed, though they crawled right back out once she left them.

Alcina was obviously intending to keep her litter here if she couldn’t take Ezio away. Leonardo wondered if he could live up to the trust the cat had with him. Clearly she wanted him to heal her adopted “kitten,” but now, with Ezio not truly there, Leonardo wondered what he could do. The artist buried his face in his hands, struggling to regain control. His friend was still hurt, and he could only hope that with the body healing, so would the mind.

A thump reverberated through the table, and he dropped his hands to see Alcina climbing up onto the cluttered surface. The inventor made to grab her again, but she hissed at him, swiftly picking her way through the mess of medicine and gauze. Leonardo reached for her again, worried that the cat would do something to hurt Ezio accidentally. The cat gave him disgusted look, as if she could hear the thoughts babbling through his head, and curled herself protectively around the bed and Ezio. Leonardo watched as she began to purr, settling her head close to the tiny assassin.

“Ah. You just want to make sure he’s fine, don’t you?” Leonardo murmured, reaching a hand out and gently petting the overprotective calico’s head. “Forgive me, little one. I know you’re as worried as I am.”

Alcina merely gave him another glare, and swept her tongue across Ezio’s ear.

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Hooters

(Anonymous) 2011-06-27 06:20 pm (UTC)(link)
This is the continuation for the Hooters prompt in part 1, in which Desmond and Shaun have "mucho funfunfun" at Hooters. There are more specifics, so here is the link:
http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/16841.html?replyto=1872073

I will begin where I left off, so, onwards!

Bound (1/3) of [5/?]

(Anonymous) 2011-06-27 06:26 pm (UTC)(link)
For the love of God, this was why he didn't want to come back to America and suffer all her "nationalistic traditions"—drinking rotten beer, scoping women with assets that rivaled those of Barbie, swallowing grease, and whatever the hell Neanderthals did. It was here at this time, chugging his liquor, that he wondered why the hell a bill was taking so long to prepare, why the hell he was feeling so agitated at all of this raucous he experienced everyday in New York. His thoughts soon gravitated towards the extreme, and there was no helping it.

He should never have transferred out of Oxford, never have sold his penthouse in London, never have applied for a long-term visa, never have stepped out of the airport.

Never have given into this idiot who looked at him with confusion at its alpha stage.

"Shaun? Hey?"

Never.

"Shaun?"

"What?" he snapped, downing his fourth bottle. Just how weak was their stash? He was pretty sure a squirrel could finish off two and still hype around. "What do you want?"

"You okay, man?"

"Okay?"

"Yeah." Desmond rubbed at his chin, what Shaun noticed to be a habit he brought around in times of awkwardness, and sighed, his fingers toying with a french-fry. He took a sip of his Coke before he gestured over to poor Kadar, who seemed to want to blend into the counter. "Like I said: I'm sorry about all this. I'm eating really quickly, so—"

"It's fine."

"You don't sound fine."

"Miles, I said that I'm fine. I just want the bill to be here."

" … Alright. But—"

Shaun quirked an eyebrow when his shirt was tugged, turning around to address whatever nonsensical problem there was with his current life. No sooner did he gesture for Kadar to hand him another beer was something hot pressed against his lips, something salty and familiar, and before he knew it, his mouth strayed and took it without his mind's consent. He shook his head and rest his gaze on the other as he got ready to admonish the hell out of him—whatever he put into his mouth, he nearly forgot due to his exasperation. However, just as he was about to make his sarcasm be the first stone cast, he stopped in his plans and readjusted his frames, his set beer left unopened.

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Writer!anon

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G-rated Shaun/Rebecca, helping him escape Abstergo

(Anonymous) 2011-07-02 07:57 am (UTC)(link)
Original request: http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19704.html?thread=3178488#t3178488

"6th from top, subject is Shaun Hastings. read the bit on how he escaped the guards, and it clearly says there probably was hacking involved... so I only know one person capable of doing that, and that would be Rebecca, though Lucy is no idiot either."

Summary: The one where Shaun gets in over his head and Rebecca saves his ass.

Tutorial [1/5]

(Anonymous) 2011-07-02 08:05 am (UTC)(link)
She called him when he got back to his hotel room.

Her. The loon of a woman who’d been contacting him for years now, at every hour and from every new phone he bought. She’d called him yesterday after he posted to WikiLeaks, before he got a little short with her and finally asked she not call again. Then he left for the conference and threw away his cellphone.

(Oh, the conference—a very handy excuse for getting out of the country in a hurry. Yet another clever safety precaution that didn’t make one iota of difference in the end.) Of course she knew his hotel room number less than a day after he checked in. Of course. And the lone thought burning a corner of his mind up, frantic: if she had found him, how long would it take Abstergo?

He was well-acquainted with her voice. He felt he knew her, in a weird way. Her unique and interesting vocal texture, her verbal quirks. He heard her laugh once, despite how she only called to warn him about getting in too deep with Abstergo. Didn’t know her name, obviously, though in less sober moods he thought of her as his more obnoxious Trinity.

He expected it was her before picking up the receiver. His new cellphone showed a recent missed call from an unknown number, probably also her. Maybe, deep down, he even expected it was at last The Call, not the usual admonishment.

“Shaun,” she said without making sure. And that was when Shaun knew. “They’re coming. Get out. Now.”

He didn’t argue, didn't response, just ran down the hall came out of the hotel in an alley somewhere, fumbling with his cell when it buzzed in his pocket. “You need to get out of the city,” she said, as though they were still on the hotel line and he wasn’t stumbling down the street, checking over his shoulder. “I’m gonna give you a location and you need to meet me there, got it? Don’t run,” she added, reading his sodding mind. “You’ll only attract attention. Walk, blend. Think blendy thoughts, keep out of sight. How good a climber are you?”

Shaun barked out a laugh. The street traffic determinedly walked against him and he stumbled and tried to make his way through without bumping people. It wasn’t working very well. “You do realise I’m one of those pasty-white academic types that go around wearing dowdy sweaters? How athletic do you imagine I am?”

His voice clearly shook. She didn’t comment on it. “That’s okay, Shaun. Listen, I’m gonna walk you through this, okay? Tell me where you are now, I’ll guide you to—”

There he is! ” a voice shouted. Shaun whipped his head around, glimpsed a lanky fellow with sharp angry eyes wearing an Abstergo uniform.

“Fuck,” Shaun said evenly.

She must have heard. “Okay, now run.”

He shoved the cellphone in his pocket and took off at a life-depends-on-it sprint. It would have worked better if people on the street were courteous enough to move out of the way first. The guard yelled again when Shaun ducked down an alley, finally free to run unimpeded—

An arm shot out, catching him below the chin. Shaun had never gone from vertical to horizontal so fast in his life.

The back of his skull cracked against cobblestones. He found to his mild shock that he couldn’t breathe. A med school roommate at university told him once the esophagus has the strength of a roll of cardboard covered in soft wax, and Shaun had just clotheslined into solid bone and muscle at a dead run.

“I thought they said he was a professor or something!” the first one said as he caught up. He leaned against the wall, panting. “He doesn’t run like a teacher.”

“Goes down like one,” said the second. They laughed.

Under the asphyxiation and panic, some deep and eternally snarky part of Shaun rolled its eyes and thought, you were caught by these idiots?

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(Anonymous) 2011-07-06 05:40 am (UTC)(link)
This is adorable, love tiny!Ezio so much. :D

(Anonymous) 2011-07-06 06:16 am (UTC)(link)
...? Misfire? XD

Were you looking for this fill by chance?
http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/20186.html?thread=5402586#t5402586

That's the only tiny!Ezio I know of.

FILL: Shaun/Desmond, sex pollen.

(Anonymous) 2011-07-07 03:20 am (UTC)(link)
Request located here: http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19704.html?thread=3468792#t3468792

Summary: Shaun starts sneezing for some reason and then suddenly porn.

Sneezes and Other Physiological Responses

(Anonymous) 2011-07-07 03:28 am (UTC)(link)
Desmond figured Shaun just had the sniffles. He thought about it for all of two seconds, wondering if he was getting an early look at his own cold in a week or so.

Then the sneezing stopped. A fresh set of symptoms emerged to replace them.

Shaun breathed deeply. “Lucy,” he warned as she swept past him. “It’s allergies, not Ebola, apparently you didn’t get that email? It's better now, I don't even notice.”

“It’s worse,” Lucy said. “Trouble breathing, cold sweats, light-headedness, rapid pulse, mild arrhythmia… We don’t have the medication to deal with this if you have some kind of anaphylactic reaction, Shaun.”

“Well of course it’s going to sound bad when you list them off like that!” Shaun said.

They’d stopped Animus work and made him sit at his desk after the flushed skin and shivers started, since he vehemently refused to take a rest in his bed for some reason. Desmond leaned in. “Can you even breathe?” he asked. “You’re all red.”

“Lobster red,” Rebecca offered.

“Yes thank you, children,” Shaun said sourly. “I can, in fact, breathe.”

Rebecca looked up at Lucy. “What do you think? He has been getting worse.”

“No, do not start taking unnecessary risks because of this!” Shaun snapped. “It looks worse than it is. I’m not dying.”

“Aren’t anxiety and confusion both symptoms of some allergic reactions?” Rebecca said, peering into Shaun’s face.

“If your airway started closing for no reason you’d be a little anxious too, I imagine.” Shaun blinked. “Not that mine is. I can still talk. You can hear that, can’t you? Me talking? Telling you I’m not dying for the hundredth time?”

Desmond sniffed. “Have you ever had allergies before?”

Shaun opened his mouth and closed it again. “Just because I—”

“Then how do you know what to look for?”

“Desmond’s right,” said Lucy. She put a hand to her forehead. “Okay. Desmond, stay with him. We’re going for supplies.”

Shaun whined and bitched in usual Shaun fashion until they were gone.

And then without warning he doubled over with an agonized moan.

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[Fill] Overprotective big brother Federico

(Anonymous) 2011-07-10 07:41 am (UTC)(link)
Original: http:// forkinsocket. livejournal. com/19704.html?thread=3564792#t3564792

Prompt: Sooo going back to AC2 at the first scene where Vieri throws a rock at Ezio's face and all that fighting...

What if, as Vieri and his group fall back, Federico sees him (Vieri) making eyes at his little brother (Ezio)? And so big brudder goes and teaches Vieri a lesson (no sexytiems, just instilling pure FEAR, because that's what real big brothers do)!

I just like to see big siblings protect the younger ones :>

***

His eyes opened, which was strange, because he didn’t remember closing them. He saw darkness, the sky pitch black and cloudy. The ground was hard and flat at his back, but it was smooth and unlike the rough, uneven surface of the alleyway he remembered being in last.

Then came the ache in his jaw.

Vieri blinked, his hand finding its way to his mouth. It hurt. His lips parted, breaking apart, the blood dry between split skin. He could smell the blood, sharp and unpleasant—unpleasant if only because it was his own. It contrasted the dull throb he felt in his hands, and he glanced at his knuckles to see them splotched pink from abuse as if he had hit something. Repeatedly.

“You’re awake.”

Vieri whipped his head up at the voice that came from behind him. Federico stared at him, lying on his stomach a few feet away, his chin resting on crossed arms. His cheekbone was slightly swollen, red and painful-looking. He continued to speak, a small smile gracing his lips.

“I was afraid you’d wake up before I got you up here, but you were out cold. And here I thought you could handle more than a few hits.”

The last thing Vieri remembered was Federico’s fist in his peripheral vision.

Vieri twisted around onto his stomach to push himself up to his knees, refusing to take his eyes off Federico. He suddenly remembered everything: the way he was taunted and goaded into a fight, the way he was led on a chase to separate himself from his men.

Federico had been a crafty bastard and had only stepped out of the shadows when Vieri found himself alone and without backup. The fist fight that ensued had been short, Vieri getting in the first shots, but Federico was swift and knew where to hit to cause the damage he wanted.

Vieri’s hand automatically went to the top of his head, searching for his hat and finding it gone. He recalled it getting knocked off after one of Federico’s hits. His eyes narrowed at the memory, his mouth opening to throw out a enraged curse at Federico, who hadn’t moved from his spot. He would have yelled, would have leaped to his feet to attack, but something wasn’t right. The darkness surrounding them seized Vieri’s attention, halting his actions.

He realized with a start that the reason why it was so dark was because the lights of the buildings were far below them.

“Where—?” He cut himself off as his eyes darted around. He knew where they were: on the rooftop of Campanile di Giotto. He glanced behind him to see the cross on top of the dome of Santa Maria del Fiore. A light breeze blew through his hair and his shoulders drew up. Vieri warily sat back, hands flat and anchoring him to the ground. “How...?”

This time, Federico silenced him, a grin on his face as he pointed towards him. “You’re not exactly light.”

“What is wrong with you?” Vieri shouted, incredulous. Federico was mad! To carry him all the way up here, and for what?

“You don’t think it’s a beautiful view?” Federico stood up and dusted himself off. He turned and grabbed the railing at the edge of the rooftop to gaze out over the buildings. He leaned his forearms against the flat surface and sneaked a peek over his shoulder, staring at Vieri with hooded eyes. “Come, enjoy it with me.”

Vieri pushed himself to his feet, feeling lightheaded. It was probably because of the hits he took from their earlier fight. It could have also been because the ground seemed to move, and he couldn’t help but sway as he straightened. He could see all across the city from where he stood.

“What are you getting at?” His lip throbbed and the back of his hand pressed against it. “Why are we up here?” he growled, irritation mumbled into his skin.

Re: [Fill] Overprotective big brother Federico

(Anonymous) 2011-07-10 08:00 am (UTC)(link)
Federico didn’t turn around, didn’t answer him. He seemed content to gaze at the stars twinkling between clouds.

Vieri wondered if he could get close enough without being detected. He could just imagine how shattered Federico’s body would be after hitting the ground from this height. No one would question it; Federico could always be seen climbing along the rooftops. It would only be fitting that one day he’d fall.

He didn’t like being up here, but maybe he could use it to his advantage.

One step forward and Federico spun around. “Why are you so violent, Vieri? I don’t understand.” Federico pushed himself up on the barrier, sitting at the edge comfortably and without a care. “You should be nice to people. The change would do you good.”

“Are you lecturing me?” Vieri said, words ground out as his eyes narrowed.

Federico shrugged. “More like scolding.” He rubbed at his sore, reddened cheekbone. “It’s something else you need, apparently.”

It didn’t matter that they were at the top of the bell tower. It didn’t matter that there was an opening in the middle of the roof and that with one misstep he could fall through. It didn’t matter, because Vieri needed to finish his fight.

Vieri rushed Federico, who hopped from his seat and waited. His laid-back attitude about their encounter only fueled Vieri on to want to lash out harder.

He swung at him, cursing when Federico twisted out of his way immediately. Hands clamped down on his shoulders, Federico taking the steps to pull Vieri to the side and to fling him towards the other edge of the building. Vieri stumbled from the force of the shove, crying out when a body hit his back, Federico’s weight driving him into the railing. His stomach slammed into the ledge of the low wall, his breath leaving him in a pained gasp.

His hands snapped around the railing in an attempt to lessen the overbearing pressure as he fought to push back. His grunt of exertion turned into a loud protest when Federico gripped his hair and forced him further over the barrier.

He took in a harsh breath; he seemed so much higher up now that he was looking over the edge. He was hit with the realization that while he wanted to toss Federico off the building, Federico could very well do the same to him.

Vieri threw him a wide-eyed look without meaning to. From the smug grin he received then, Vieri knew Federico understood what he was thinking. Federico took a step up onto the low wall, yanking Vieri up with him by his arm and shoulder. Vieri jolted back in his grip when the city opened up below him.

“What are you doing!?” he cried out sharply, struggling to break free from the strong hold on him. There was a small wooden platform that jutted out of the side of the building, and Federico shoved him on it. When Vieri scrambled to heave the both of them back towards solid, steady ground, the hold on him became crushing. It kept him still and upright, and more importantly, secured to the beam.

It was no comfort to him and Vieri could not help the frantic noise he made when the body at his back crowded him forward. His feet skidded along the wood as Federico took advantage of his panic to overpower him and to wrestle him towards the very tip of the view point.

Vieri bolted upright as the empty night sky surrounded him, wind whipping around him. There was nothing below him, nothing to grab if he fell. His hands shot back to grip at Federico’s clothes, his fingers clenched tightly in desperation. He didn’t care; he leaned into the body at his back.

Fuck Federico. He probably wasn’t worried in the slightest. Heights meant nothing to the bastard, but Vieri had never been so high up. He found himself frozen to the spot, staring past his boots at the edge of the platform. His breathing refused to slow, coming out loudly through clenched teeth.

“Look.” Federico’s voice was calm and encouraging over his shoulder as he pointed towards the right. “You can see where I live from here.”

Re: [Fill] Overprotective big brother Federico [3/3]

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Fill: A Long Time in Coming

(Anonymous) 2011-07-15 01:57 am (UTC)(link)
My repost and continuation of the LadyHawke prompt from the first part, found here:

http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/16841.html?thread=1802441#t1802441

I'm a very slow updater, so I apologize for that in advance. I also encourage anyone reading this to take the time to go and watch the movie it's based on, because the movie is amazing and I'm only trying to do it justice.

For quick notes, this story is somewhat AU from the game, but not completely, and would take place after it ended. Malik is also in possession of both arms, and there is an OC. That said, read on.

A Long Time in Coming- Prologue

(Anonymous) 2011-07-15 01:58 am (UTC)(link)
To Altair,

My friend, I have no doubt when you awaken you will be just as disoriented as I have been these past few days. I have left this for you to take the place of the notes we have left each other since the start of our predicament. At the very least, this will not leave us wanting for paper at inopportune times. Our current location may seem a little strange, but ultimately it is for the best. My friend, we must leave Masyaf. No, indeed, we must leave everything. Until our situation has been undone, we cannot afford to be found, cannot afford to be known. Even our allies, our brothers, cannot be trusted. While they might do us no harm, this...this curse is too dangerous, and leaves us too vulnerable should the knowledge be spread.

So I have decided the best course of action is for us to take to the road. I have no idea how long it will take for us to find the Apple and rid ourselves of this blight. Perhaps weeks, perhaps years. I wish I could take you into confidence, share and discuss these matters to your face. It pains me to think that it shall be many days, or weeks, or months, before I can again look upon you in the flesh. Nonetheless, I wish you to know that, whatever happens to us now, I will always keep you safe, and will do whatever I can to bring an end to this, however long it takes.

For now, I leave you the comfort of this book, to share your thoughts with me, and I with you. Take care, my friend, be safe, and know that, whatever form, I am by your side.

Malik



Malik gazed sadly over the land before him. Masyaf was quiet in the morning light, the city only just beginning to stir, unknowing of the man who stood in the outlands, watching it with the eyes of someone who knows he may never return. He felt a sting in his chest. No longer would the walls of the city be a comfort to him. No longer could he depend on it for safety or reprieve. Indeed, it may easily be years before he lay eyes, or foot, in it again.

He scolded himself a little for it. He should not be letting himself get so discouraged. It would not help him to brood and mourn what he could no longer have. He had others things to worry about now, other responsibilities.

As if in response to his thoughts, one of which, and perhaps the most important one, made itself known with a small squawk and a light butting against the side of his face. He turned his head slightly to gaze at the eagle nestled on his shoulder, and raised his hand to stroke the feathered head. The bird let out a soft keen and gently nipped his fingers. He smiled a little.

"You are right, my friend. It does not help to dwell on dark thoughts. We should depart."

The eagle fluttered its wings slightly in agreement, and Malik nudged his heels against his horse, spurring the beast to turn and begin to trot away from the city. He cast one last glance over his shoulder before forcing himself to look ahead. Whatever awaited him now, he mustn't be hesitant. He must not regret. He needed to be strong for the trials he was sure to meet, in order to seize back his future.

Both their futures.

A Long Time in Coming- Favorable Chance Encounters 1/?

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Fill: Assassin and Thief [1/6]

(Anonymous) 2011-07-15 05:59 pm (UTC)(link)
This is a fill I started writing on Part 2 ages ago, reposting it in full because I want it to be all together. Sorry if that is not the right thing to do D:

Original prompt:

"... I want to see more dork!Ezio, trying and failing to be suave, but doing his best to make up for it with his puppy eyes of doom. I don't care who he's with - Cristina, Leonardo, La Volpe, Rosa, a courtesan, a goat, whatever..."

http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19704.html?thread=3030264#t3030264

Also my sincerest apologies to the OP for the delay. I'm going on a kick of completing my old fills starting with this one :)

ALSO ALSO, Another anon was kind enough to give me some constructive feedback for the first 2 bits of this... NONE OF WHICH I have incorporated because of time constraints, I thought I better just finish the damn thing instead of revising earlier parts because I am a BAD ANON who leaves WIP.

***

From a courtyard near the old Roman ruins came the familiar sounds of Borgia loyalist guards delivering a beating. 

"Southern trash." Metal struck metal, and scraped. 

"Go home to your farm." A thunk, and a grunt of pain.

"You're going to squeal. Just like your wife did at first." Coarse laughter. "And you're going to regret ever raising steel against Cesare Borgia's men."

Ezio Auditore da Firenze, on a nearby rooftop, took the first guard by surprise with his crossbow. The fool certainly looked surprised, eyes rolling up and mouth open as the crossbow bolt struck him in the middle of his forehead. The second and third guards fell as Ezio leaped down into the courtyard, using their bodies to break his fall, hidden blades buried in their throats. 

The citizen took the last guard as the fool circled Ezio. The guard seemed to have forgotten all about the man he and his friends had just been pummelling - so it was a simple matter for the citizen to get behind him and slit his throat, which he did efficiently and without hesitation.

Ezio sheathed his blades and looked the citizen over. He liked what he saw. Tall, slim, twentyish. Dark hair, brown eyes, roguish stubble. All that, and could use a blade, too.

He really liked what he saw.

"Imbecile." The citizen spat on one of the bodies. "I don't have a wife." 

Excellent.

"Are you hurt?" Ezio said.

The younger man touched his nose, feeling for blood, and shrugged. "I don't think so. They were just starting." He began to search the bodies, taking weapons and pocketing money and anything else of value.

"What's your name?" Ezio said. "Let me take you back to -"

"No. Thank you. I have to work in the morning."

"You don't want to - ahh -" Ezio pushed back his hood and ran a hand through his hair. He hadn't been prepared for this. 

This is the part where you kneel and declare for the Assassins. Look earnestly up at me. Beg me to teach you how to fight the Borgia. That's... what they all do.

"Listen." Ezio caught him by the arm. God, it was so much easier with the girls. He did his best to make his eyes compelling, mysterious, dangerous but kind at the same time. He watched the younger man's face, gauging his reaction. "Perhaps you don't know who I am."

The younger man shook him off. "Oh, I know who you are. The guards were only chasing me because I stole from them. I'm not so interested in the rebellion." 

...Not so interested?

"But the guard said that you -"

"Raised steel against Cesare Borgia's men? Of course I did. They were trying to kill me."

"Ahh - in that case -"

"I should be off. Thank you very much for killing those stronzi." He bowed theatrically. "I would have got away, but this way I get to keep their money too. All in all, a fine evening." He turned to go.

"Wait," Ezio said.

"What?"

"Do you - ahh - do you know La Volpe?"

"La Volpe? You know La Volpe?" That had his attention. If he wouldn't join the Assassins, perhaps the Thieves could do something with him. And perhaps Ezio would see him around the inn and have a second chance. He'd certainly managed to fuck up this first one.

"Yes, I know La Volpe." Ezio sighed inwardly. This was not going the way he had planned. "Let me buy you a drink, and we can talk."

Fill: Assassin and Thief [2/6]

(Anonymous) 2011-07-15 06:00 pm (UTC)(link)
In the end Ezio did not take him to La Volpe Addormentata. He wanted to establish some things before he let the young thief meet his hero.

For his part, the thief - who gave his name as Ciro Cavallari - did not care where he was. He was happy to sit and drink wine at Ezio's expense. He believed all of the most ridiculous myths about the old fox - who, in person, was quite ordinary! Ezio drank his wine and propped his chin on his hand, listening to Ciro rattle off the usual "facts". 

La Volpe could steal anything from anyone, and see through walls. La Volpe robbed the Pope in the Papal carriage, in broad daylight, and nobody noticed. La Volpe was immortal. La Volpe could run and climb forever without tiring. 

I can do that, thought Ezio. The inn was warm, and Cavallari had unlaced the collar of his shirt, showing a hint of the sparse hair on his chest. The skin over the young thief's collarbone was damp. It would taste salty. 

"La Volpe can climb to the roof of the Palazzo Medici," said Ciro Cavallari. "It is said he was there, and on top of the Palazzo della Signoria, and on top of -"

On top of your mother, thought Ezio, but kept that to himself. "I know, I know,” he said instead. “The Basilica at Santa Croce. All at the same time. Think about what you're saying - no man can be in three places at once! It was probably just on the same night."

"Have you climbed the Medici palace?" Cavallari's brown eyes narrowed as he smiled. His sleeves were rolled up over his elbows, showing wiry brown arms and strong hands. He was a little on the skinny side, but his back was straight, his shoulders square. And that smirk. No wonder the guards had wanted to smack him about. Ezio would not be surprised if he could start a fight just by looking at a man, with that insolent expression on his face. He needed to be slammed against a wall and kissed. Among other things.

"Well -" Ezio swallowed a mouthful of wine. "I've been on the roof. Yes."

"You climbed from the outside?"

"...No."

"Then how did you get up there?"

"There are - certain chambers on the third floor on the eastern side. It doesn't matter. I can climb anything La Volpe can."

The thought of exactly how the old fox had got on top of the Palazzo Medici had never occurred to Ezio before. Lorenzo had never mentioned him. But then, Lorenzo had never mentioned lots of things.

"I don't know about that," Cavallari said, draining his mug. He signalled for more wine. "La Volpe is said to have the agility of a young man in his prime."

Ezio had had enough. He stood up.

"Il Colosseo," he said.

"What about it?"

"We race to the top."

Cavallari laughed. "If you want. How much have you had to drink, Auditore?"

Cheeky brat. 

Ciro Cavallari really needed to be taught a lesson.

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beginner

(Anonymous) 2011-07-16 03:13 pm (UTC)(link)
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Altered Flight Pattern

(Anonymous) 2011-07-16 05:59 pm (UTC)(link)
Prompt: http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19704.html?thread=2688760#t2688760

Prompt condensed: Malik and Ezio are bffs and Malik has a super crush on Ezio (who's strait). One day he fucks it all up though and Ezio starts ignoring him. Enter Altair, Ezio's cousin from Syria who's had his eye on Malik.

Re: Altered Flight Pattern

(Anonymous) 2011-07-21 03:07 am (UTC)(link)
Yesssssssssss. My absolute favourite story that i've read here!

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Cannot Unsee. [1/2]

(Anonymous) 2011-07-19 11:37 pm (UTC)(link)
Original prompt found here: Voyeur!Claudia prompt (http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19704.html?thread=2533368#t2533368)

AKA: "Claudia spies on her brother making love to his lover, preferably Leonardo. It could be on purpose, or accidental."

Onward to the story.

---

Cannot Unsee

“Per favore, signorina!” a novice in grey Assassin robes cried out. The maestro is in a meeting. Please do not disturb him.”

Claudia raised a brow, and brushed indifferently past the young man. As she passed, she threw him a dark look. “Surely the great maestro can be bothered to make some time for his sister.”

It had taken her a half day’s journey to arrive at the Tiber Island hideout, and she had not returned early from the Rosa in Fiore to be told that her brother was ‘not to be disturbed’. Their relationship, strained as it was, had begun to improve slightly since he had noticed her prowess with a knife, and one thing had led to another, resulting in her induction to the Order. As an Assassin, she had new intelligence regarding the straggling remnants of Cesare’s followers. As a sister—well, there were no laws declaring that she could not visit her brother.

Claudia would be damned if her journey had been for nothing.

“I warned you,” the novice called after her.

She snorted softly and continued down the hall. As she neared her brother’s room, Claudia heard faint whispers from the stairs.

“Ezio, we must not. There are other people here. We do not know whose eyes and ears may be about.”

That was the voice of Leonardo, her brother’s closest friend and confidante. Other than herself, of course.

A low, pleasing baritone laugh in response. “You worry too much, Leonardo. We are in an Assassin stronghold, what could happen here?”

Stifling a giggle, Claudia recalled that the last time they had been in an Assassin stronghold, they had been the victim of a siege, and Ezio had been caught with his pants down. Literally.

“…I suppose there is sense in that. But still…” The artist was silenced by something that sounded mysteriously like a kiss, and Claudia ascended a few more steps, struggling to get a better look. What she saw made her clap a hand to her mouth in surprise.

For all the things Ezio had confided to her, he had never mentioned this.

Ezio’s fingers were wound tightly in Leonardo’s hair, as he slid the artist’s cape off with his other hand. “Mmnh, Leo—”

Leonardo had covered Ezio’s lips with his fingers. “Yes, Ezio, like that. Call me that when we are alone like this.”

“As you wish, Leonardo.”

The older man’s fingers fell from his lips, and he frowned, visibly disappointed. Claudia grimaced. Her brother could be remarkably pig-headed at times.

Mi dispiace, I will keep that in mind,” Ezio murmured, trailing his hand towards Leonardo’s shirt. “…Leo.” The word seemed like an awkward afterthought.

Pig-headed, but willing to learn, decided Claudia. She sighed inwardly, thinking it a wonder that they had gotten together at all.

Leonardo’s response was curt. “Ezio, we do not have much time, your novices wanted you—”

Ezio waved his hand dismissively. “I know what they want from me. But they cannot want me like you do, caro mio,” he purred, pressing an insistent kiss to Leonardo’s neck.

Shaking his head, Leonardo was a loss for words for a moment. “…That much is true,” he conceded with a chuckle, as Ezio slipped a hand into his shirt. “But Ezio, please, hurry—”

“These things cannot be hurried,” Ezio replied. He pulled back from his soft kisses along Leonardo’s jaw. “If you like, I can meet with my novices now, and we can continue this after. I believe they can wait…but can you?”

Leonardo responded only by dragging Ezio down toward him for a rough, messy kiss, and shrugging out of his doublet. Drawing back briefly, Ezio pulled off his robes, discarding the knife belt to the side. He followed this by undoing the clasps on the bracers and letting them fall to the floor.

“I wish you would take better care of my creations,” Leonardo said, a hint of regret coloring his voice.

Cannot Unsee. [2/2]

(Anonymous) 2011-07-19 11:40 pm (UTC)(link)
Ezio traced his thumb carefully along the edge of Leonardo’s jaw. “Later, I will treat them with the finest oil, until the leather looks newly tanned, and I will polish the blades with the most delicate of cloths until each design you etched into them shines. But now?” He raised Leonardo’s chin and pressed a soft, leisurely kiss to his lips. “Now, I will take care of their creator.”

“Then show me you are not all talk,” replied Leonardo, grabbing a fistful of Ezio’s shirt and pulling it away to expose the broad chest beneath.

From the stairwell, Claudia bit her lip and smiled. Only Leonardo could get away with speaking to her brother like that. She found herself watching with lewd fascination as Ezio pulled Leonardo’s breeches off, flung them to the side, and fell upon him. As Ezio dipped his fingers into a vial of oil and brought them to Leonardo’s rump, she heard a sharp intake of breath.

“P-please, Ezio…slowly…I am still sore from the night before.”

Claudia nodded solemnly. So that was why neither maestro had been present at dinner the previous night. Another thought struck her: this was not the first time. How long had they been…like this? Her thoughts were interrupted by a low whine.

“Nngh, Ezio…per favore…harder…yes,” Leonardo hissed, bucking his hips into Ezio’s fingers. “Aagh…”

Ezio leaned close, his words a murmur. “Well, am I all talk, as you presumed?”

Leonardo fixed him with a sly look. “I have yet to see you demonstrate—ah!” The artist’s voice caught as Ezio deftly removed his fingers, and thrust into Leonardo suddenly.

“E-Ezio—ah, harder,” Leonardo gasped, his hand seizing the arm Ezio supported his weight with. “Dio mio, more, Ezio, more!” His pleas came in short, ragged breaths, punctuated only by low, wanton moaning.

Claudia could swear she spied Ezio grinning as he somehow thrust even harder into his lover.

“How much more?”

The artist could only gasp and beg nonsensically, clutching at Ezio’s hip and moving his other hand down to stroke himself. Ezio slapped his hand away, irritably.

“I do not think so, Leonardo. Remember that when I am within you, you cannot touch yourself in any way.”

Leonardo whined low in his throat, but his hand did not stray downward again. “P-please…Ezio…I am so close…”

Claudia wondered how exactly Leonardo was going to attain release, with the way Ezio denied him the satisfaction of stroking himself. She received her answer when Ezio brushed his lips against Leonardo’s ear and began whispering things she could not hear, likely declarations of lust, of desire, to coax him into climax. The artist bit back a broken moan, straining and convulsing in Ezio’s grasp.

Evidently, the erotic whispering was all that was needed to bring Leonardo over the edge, as his hips jerked helplessly against Ezio’s and he came with a short, shuddering cry, his seed spilling brazenly across his abdomen. Several thrusts later, Ezio’s hips stilled, and he groaned, falling forward onto Leonardo’s heaving chest.

As their breaths began to slow, Ezio propped himself up on his elbows, cradling Leonardo’s face in his palms. “I think,” he began, “that we should do this more frequently. It is not often that you are this vocal, Leonardo.”

The artist traced the contour of Ezio’s waist lazily as he smiled. “Well…I cannot let our audience down, after all.”

“Indeed,” Ezio replied, bringing his mouth to meet Leonardo’s again as Claudia hurried away, her face flushed a dark shade of scarlet.

---
[A/N: Can’t believe I wrote this thing of pure porn. @^@;;; NO WARM FUZZIES HERE.]

Re: Cannot Unsee. [2/2]

(Anonymous) - 2011-07-20 07:31 (UTC) - Expand

[FILL] Incense 1/

(Anonymous) 2011-07-25 05:07 pm (UTC)(link)
... can be really bad for assassins' brains. No kidding.
Prompt is here: http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19704.html?thread=4365816#t4365816

Long story short: Altair is 'trolling' around at the bureau and knocks Malik's incense pot. And he had to go and buy some more. Of course, he manages to mess up and end up buying some highly aphrodisiac incense instead. (Which none of them realize at first...) And topping Altair was a plus...

I said I was on it like a month ago, and I apologize for the delay. I hope you anons will like it still.

...

Malik huffed for the umpteenth time of the afternoon, watching Altair lounge in the Bureau. It was annoying enough that the assassin had to work in 'his' city, but he had to stay here as long as he could, right? Meaning, as long as Malik doesn't threaten to manhandle him out of the Bureau. And Altair himself knew better than to tempt Malik into throwing knives at him – the man was a master at aiming after all.

However, such considerations never quite entered the ex-Master Assassin's mind as he got up and made it to the desk, as if to say something. But he kept silent and his only presence made Malik want to slam his head into the wood – either Altair's or his own, at this point he did not even care. The dai really hated to have someone peering at him when he was working. Actually, the only thing he hated more was Altair tipping his incense pot over...

“If you have nothing better to do, I suggest you leave. As far as I know, there are no templars here.” A polite way to tell him to get the hell out of here. Or not so polite. But he did not need to be polite or anything – it was Altair, after all.

A sigh – and a dull thud. Ashes on his map, catching in the still-wet ink. He could hear the assassin smile, even though he did not say anything. It was too much. Slamming his hand on the desk, Malik threw just about every curse he knew at his 'brother's head, until it sounded like a sandstorm. Undistinguishable but still scary. And that alone made Altair stop dead in his track. Part of Malik smirked inwardly at the unguarded flinch in the assassin's posture, making it clear that he expected something to be hurled at him. In search of incense, he found none – and then, he felt like he should make Altair pay – not only the map was ruined but he had no more incense. Sometimes, Malik wondered if the man did not follow courses about 'how to infuriate a dai in 10- minutes' – knowing him, it must be an innate quality.

“Altair... come back here, please.”

Malik rarely asked anything, let alone said please but it was all the more why Altair turned around and slowly stepped toward the fuming dai. Maybe tipping the incense pot one more time was a mistake? Oh well...

“Since you haven't started your investigations, I have something for you: go to the market. You can find informations but... I will have you buying me incense. Sandalwood and Benzoin, if you can recognize them. Otherwise just ask – if they don't have any, just come back, and I will deal with it later.” Just as Altair nodded and went to the door, the dai called after him: I'll reconsider kicking your sorry ass into next week if you come back before the next round of the guards.” And with just this, he sent the eagle out. It was actually of telling him to be wary of the guards. He did not need to have to tend to Altair's wounds before his mission started.

Re: [FILL] Incense 2/

(Anonymous) 2011-07-25 05:16 pm (UTC)(link)
It was only when he was out that Altair noticed that Malik did not supply him with the money to pay. Meaning he will have to pay for the incense himself. As he bemoaned his fate, he scanned his surroundings, carefully getting down the roof. No need getting spotted and hunted down because he simply used the roof to get to the market. Thanks Allah that he remembered where the market was. It was all too easy, no one actually caring about him – despite all that Malik seemed to think he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself and to go about unnoticed in the streets. However, the stealth was not everything and when he finally got to the stall with the incense seller, his memory chose to betray him.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“Huh...” He was at a loss about what to do – he did not recall the name and thus tried to trust his nose. After a while, he thought he got it right and was glad he managed to find anyway, though when the man named his prize, he could not help but cringe. No wonder Malik was such a money pincher at times, nagging about uniforms and all. Those things were damn expensive! Slouching in discontentment at having been played, he went back to the Bureau, not even in the mood to try to listen to conversations. Not that anything was interesting to him anyway – he should be in Damascus running after Jubair but he could not help dropping in Jerusalem. And he was fairly certain that Malik knew it perfectly well. What was strange was that the dai did not even say a thing about him being here rather than in Damascus. Or maybe he sent a message to Al Mualim and he will get an earfull when coming back to Masyaf. Anything was possible where Malik was concerned after all.

Once near the Bureau, he silently climbed the ladder, letting himself fall through the opening. He had avoided all the guards and while he really wanted to rub it in, he did not say a word when approaching Malik. He was still working on a map but the light was starting to fade and Altair had to bite his tongue not to make a snide remark about rafiqs ruining their eyes for nothing. Instead, he laid on the desk his purchase,

Malik only cast him a sideway glance, nodding ever so slightly upon recognizing the sandalwood. Indeed, Altair's nose rarely fooled him. He let the assassin prepare the incense and place it carefully on the burner. Unbeknownst to him, he kept an eye on him, silently noticing the strange grace of Altair's movement as he slowly put just the right amount of incense in the cup. It should have been a surprise but Malik could not but surmise that Altair must have observed him doing this countless times by now. Actually, it had always been something he did – burning incense. It soothed him and helped him concentrate. The content varied but for the sandalwood, a scent he found to be light enough not to make him want to air out the place every hour – as frankincense would do. When the fragrances started to rise, he failed to recognize that which underlined the sandalwood, though it was far from being unpleasant. Actually, it would even raise his spirits.

As it would be inhospitable not to feed a fellow assassin – even who was not supposed to be in Jerusalem at the moment – Malik let Altair eat with him, though in silence. The night was still warm, though not as stifling as it would get in a few months. In fact, it was rather pleasant – and the smoke from the incense kept the insects at bay, something for which Altair was grateful. He abhorred mosquitoes just about as much as Templars must hate their hidden blades – sneaky, not quite silent and relentless things they were.
Malik then retired to sleep, leaving Altair to make himself a nest out of the pillows sitting in the corner of the outer part of the Bureau. The moon was but a thin crescent and shed barely enough light for him to go about without falling right on his face. But the comfort of the pillows was well-worth it. After a few minutes, sleep's arms wrapped around him, making him sigh in contentment at being safe and well-fed.

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(Anonymous) 2011-08-03 06:03 am (UTC)(link)
Please don't give up on this! :(

Tomorrow Was Not Dull [1/?]

(Anonymous) 2011-08-06 04:24 am (UTC)(link)
Prompt: (forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19704.html?thread=4156664#t4156664)
Prompt Summary: Teenaged Altair and Malik are transported into the future and see their post-game selves having sex.

A/N: A million hugs and kisses to my beta who is entirely responsible for making the fic coherent and fit to be seen in public. :’D

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They had been sparring when the world suddenly turned over their heads in a dizzying sweep of colors and lights. At first, Altair thought he had switched to his second sight, stunned into the grey vision as Malik slammed into him, knocking the both of them to the ground. There was a sudden burst of gold unlike anything Altair had ever seen, vast and all-encompassing instead of the single silhouette he was used to—but when he blinked, there was only Malik on top of him, the flat of his palm tucked under Altair’s chin to force his head back. Had there been the hidden blade strapped to Malik’s wrist, Altair would have been dead.

“What was that?” Malik had asked, pulling his hand back. He glanced down at Altair, seemingly displeased that his victory was only because of the distraction that overtook them. Not waiting for an answer, he looked around, the frown on his face deepening.

Altair scowled, more bothered by the heavy weight straddling his chest. “Get off-“ but Malik was already doing so and he did not bother to offer Altair a hand up, which suited Altair just fine. He’d rather have Malik’s thoughts elsewhere than on the fact that the other novice had just won their sparring match, distraction or no.

“The trees,” Malik began, sounding unusually confused for a moment before he swatted Altair’s arm, snapping, “Look, Altair.”

Altair stood up, taking the time to brush the dust from his robes to annoy Malik further. He was making quite a show of it too, until he noticed the shadow of leaves that fell across his arm and the cool air that blew against his damp skin—strange, for he remembered the sun being unforgivably hot and bright while they fought. Looking up, he was surprised to see leafy, overhanging branches above him.

“Where are we?” he asked, bewildered. As far as he knew, they had not ventured outside the fighting ring, and even if they had, Altair was sure he would have at least remembered vaulting over the barricade to chase down Malik—and it would have been to chase Malik, who had been retreating before he had taken advantage of the strange golden flash to knock Altair to the ground.

“Idiot. We haven’t moved,” Malik said, but his hesitant tone suggested that he had been thinking the same thing. He turned, observing their surroundings with a fixed expression. “The trees have grown,” he muttered, putting a hand to his left temple to rub the spot viciously.

And it was true. Altair could recognize the courtyard easily enough—the layout, the buildings that surrounded it—but everything appeared to be just a little bit off. The trees, as Malik had pointed out, were still at the outer edge of the courtyard, but had suddenly grown to provide shade that reached all the way to the sparring ring. The area smelled of fresh hay and grass instead of rusting metal and sweat, and even the grey cobblestones beneath Altair’s feet felt different, softer, more worn and cleaner too, devoid of muddy boot prints and old bloodstains. It was strange, almost overwhelming, to see the whole place in a different light—and a much warmer one, though Altair was not going to admit it.

“Malik,” he said, annoyed, “What did you do?”

Malik whirled around, incredulous. “What did I do? I am flattered, Altair, that you think I am capable of such sorcery that would clean the entire courtyard and make the very trees grow bigger, and not to mention-”

Malik’s rising voice had drawn the attention of an Assassin, possibly one of the instructors, though Altair could not identify him through the hood and mask.

“What are you two doing out?” the man called as he approached them. He did not sound angry, and his good-natured tone struck an odd note of familiarity. “Students should be inside the library, studying. Latin, I believe.”

Tomorrow Was Not Dull [2/?]

(Anonymous) 2011-08-06 04:27 am (UTC)(link)
Beside him, Malik had gone quiet and still, but Altair stepped forward, meeting the stranger with a sharp gaze that made the instructor pause.

“We have permission to be out,” Altair said, only stopping when Malik murmured something under his breath that made him tense.

Master Rauf, if you would be so kind as to humor me,” said the older man, overhearing. He stared at them with a puzzled look, but Malik had grabbed on to Altair’s arm and begun pulling him away as realization slowly dawned on them both.

“Apologies, master, we were just heading to the library,” Malik said, and they both hurried away, even as they looked over their shoulders to gawk at Rauf—who should have been shorter than either of them, with a higher-pitched voice, and certainly not wearing the robes of higher-ranking white.

But his eyes, Altair thought as he followed Malik up the curved stairs to the library, his eyes had not changed. They were still friendly and bright, and he absently wondered why Rauf had not gotten himself killed yet because of it.

The library’s tables were occupied with novices and teachers, most of them strangers to Altair, though there were a couple of faces that stirred the back of his mind. Malik did not say a word, though his steps faltered once when his gaze turned upwards for one quick moment, somewhere at the second floor where Al Mualim’s desk should be, before he pulled up his hood and continued walking. No one paid them any attention, but Altair did the same, smoothing the cowl over his head, grateful for the excuse to look around without seeming to. It was clear that Malik intended to go to the garden sanctuary, one of the few areas within the busy fortress that hardly anyone frequented. Why he wanted to go there was beyond Altair—they would certainly find no help within the bushes and weeds—but Malik’s hand was tight around his arm, threatening to drag him like an unruly child if he did not keep up.

He was panicking, Altair realized, in his own silent way, and it was only because Altair himself was so unsettled that he allowed Malik to pull him to the gardens.

They stumbled across the grassy field and Malik veered off the main path, into a junction where a corner of the fortress met with the cliff’s edge, hidden from view and hard to find even without the wild tangle of leaves and vines that crept up the stone wall. This, Malik regarded with irritation, wrinkling his nose at the thick smell of jasmine. He let go of Altair’s arm and sat down, lips moving without a sound, but Altair heard the Creed nevertheless: nothing is true, everything is permitted. Everything is permitted.

“Why are we here?” Altair asked, recognizing the spot as one of Malik’s haunts, though without the overgrowth of jasmine the last time he came. He had discovered it some time ago, just as Malik had discovered his secluded awning on top of one of Masyaf’s towers, both secret and treasured places to be alone in peace. He wondered then if his awning had fallen into ruin like Malik’s hideaway, filled with dust or broken wooden planks and nothing to be remembered by in the years to come.

“Because I need to think,” Malik hissed, livid for no reason Altair could see, except that, somehow, they had ended up in the near future, which Altair thought would be less angering and more mystifying—and that was especially telling, given his equally volatile temper.

He knelt down, not caring if he was disturbing Malik—and what was there to think, anyway, in this situation?—and prodded his shoulder. “I saw you looking at something in the library. What was it?”

It was like he had a talent for exposing the sources of Malik’s fury—even those that were not of his own doing. Malik stiffened, even going so far as to grab onto his left shoulder where Altair had touched him, mouth curled into a bitter smile.

“Back there, I thought saw myself,” Malik said, “but I do not think it was me.”

“Really?” Altair prompted when Malik fell silent. “And what are you so furious about? Robes still grey?”

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Courting with Danger, Caring for Death 1

(Anonymous) 2011-08-18 04:05 am (UTC)(link)
This prompt: forkinsocket. livejournal. com/16841. html?thread=763081#t763081

I've seen Prototype/Assassin's Creed crossover a couple of times, in artwork and fics. Usually the pairing is Alex MercerxDesmond, or Alex and Ezio.

Now here's a crazy idea.....how about someone trying out AlexMercerxLeonardo? 8D
Author!anon admits to not knowing much about Renaissance-era vampires, so I apologize ahead of time for any factual errors.


Leonardo was walking merrily along the streets of Venice, his new paints securely in his arms. He inhaled deeply: it was beautiful outside, and he could hear birds chirping and feel the sun shining. It was wonderful out. He padded along the streets to get to his studio, humming a hymn to himself. He paused when he thought he felt something trying to sneak up behind him, and he smiled: Ezio must be trying to take him by surprise again. He chuckled and hurried along to his studio, and when he felt the shadow fall over him, he spun and shouted, “Ezio!”

He looked the man over. He wasn’t anything special, and the man looked slightly taken aback. “My apologies: I have a friend who often does just that. How can I help you?”

The man blinked, then scowled and backed off. Leonardo tilted his head.

“Can I… Can I help you? I won’t hurt you: I promise.”

He blinked, and the man vanished into the crowd. He frowned and turned back. When Ezio actually did arrive, he had all ready forgotten, and he was sitting in his chair, nursing a cup of wine with him in front of the fireplace, laughing as the Master Assassin told him of his recruits’ latest missteps. When there was a knock at the door, he rose.

“Excuse me, Ezio.”

“No problem, Leonardo.”

He padded to the door and unbolted it to find a young woman standing there, a serious look on her face.

“We need to talk.”

“Excuse me? Ah, here, come in.”

He stepped aside and let the lady in.

“My apologies, but I do not remember you. Did I not do a satisfactory—”

“I was told you’re a man of science, Leonardo da Vinci.”

Leonardo puffed up a little bit with pride. She was gazing at him as Ezio often did when he was serious. He closed the door and bolted it, ushering her into his empty chair and dashing off to get her a glass. He offered her the wine as he came back, and she took it with a small nod. He looked her over, his lips pursed. She was unusual, to say the least. She didn’t hold herself like a woman—but more like a man. He noticed Ezio giving her a onceover as well, but with an entirely different expression.

“What area of Italy do you—”

“I don’t come from Italy.”

“Oh?”

“I need your help getting back to where I came from.”

Leonardo furrowed his brow, then scratched his chin.

“I can get you there, ma’am,” Ezio said, with that purr that made Leonardo wish it were directed at him.

The woman shot him the dirtiest look possible, and Leonardo covered his mouth to stifle his laugh. She looked back at him, and Leonardo smiled softly. “He can protect—”

“I need answers,” she growled, and his eyes widened as he watched her transform before his eyes.

He staggered back, trembling, and he watched Ezio rise, ready to fight. He gripped the edge of the table, utterly horrified. He had invited a monster into his house. He was going to die. The monster had blue legs—blue!—and a brown torso, with white frills peeking out from underneath. He looked terrifying.

“I-I—”

He was going to die. The monster looked ready to eat him. It must have been a vampire—the skin on its face was so pale, and he was here at night. He had waited for an invitation to come in. Leonardo knew that he was going to die.

“I need answers,” it growled, and Leonardo shrunk down.

Courting with Danger, Caring for Death 2

(Anonymous) 2011-08-18 04:08 am (UTC)(link)
“Leave him alone,” he heard Ezio say, and Leonardo made the sign of the cross as he fell to his knees.

“G-Great F-Father in Heaven, looking down on us on Earth,” he began. He clutched the silver-charmed rosary the Church had given him as a gift. He never believed he would see a vampire. “P-please, save us from this monster I unwittingly l-let inside my house. Oh, G-Great Father—”

“I don’t want to hurt you. I want your help.”

He looked up, shaking, and even Ezio was now by his side.

“I’ve been told you are the most intelligent man. You will help me, or I will kill you.”

“You’ll do no such thing, monster!” Ezio roared, and Leonardo took his hand, pressing the silver into it.

“W-ward it off,” he stuttered, hiding behind the man.

The monster rose and started walking toward them. “I don’t want to harm you.”

“Then step no further!” Ezio snarled, holding out the silver.

Silver warded off evil. Silver was pure. Evil couldn’t be around pure. He whimpered when the monster took the rosary from Ezio’s hand and tossed it aside—then pushed Ezio aside, into the wall as if he were a ragdoll. He could see the cloud of dust from where he smashed into the wooden wall.

“G-Great Father, ruler of all you have c-created—”

He made a high-pitched whining sound when the monster cornered him.

“P-please p-protect your-r sh-shee-eep!”

He shuddered and squeaked when he felt fingers grip his chin.

“Leonardo, I need you to tell me about the Apple of Eden.”

His eyes flew open and inhaled sharply, all fear forgotten as he stared into the light blue eyes. Of course a creature like this wouldn’t have gotten here all on its own. The Apple—he damned Ezio. He had told the man to let him study it more, but no, he had to take it for himself. He could’ve all ready figured out a way to have the man back home, but here he was, with a monster gazing into his eyes, and the Apple at the source of the trouble.

He grew serious, gathering himself as he reached up and tugged the hood down. The monster flinched, and Leonardo batted his hand away. He grabbed his chin, looking at the human face. He had curly brown hair, and he seemed to be peering into him.

“Fascinating,” Leonardo murmured, tugging on a lock of hair and touching the skin. “You have blue pants, do you not?”

The man blinked, then blinked again, then looked down at his legs. “Yes.”

“Fascinating. You are from the future, no? Incredible. To think we have come such a long way. Ezio… Ezio?”

He looked to his friend, and he rose, walking over to find Ezio rubbing his head. There was an indent in the wall where the wood had splintered from impact, and Leonardo squatted, cupping Ezio’s face. He was alert in no time.

“Ezio, I need the Apple. Fetch it for me, no?”

Ezio blinked, then gazed at the man behind him.

“He is a man of the future! He needs to get home, but he needs—”

“Fucking Apple,” Ezio growled, and he stood shakily. “I will be off first thing in the morning.”

He smiled, helping Ezio to his seat before turning the new man. He took him in again, now as a man instead of a monster.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, giving him a good onceover and gesturing to his seat. “How interesting… Tell me all about your world! We have some time to spare until Ezio can fetch us the Apple.”

The man raised an eyebrow, and he smiled. “Please, have a seat. I wish to know all about you, all about your world and how you have advanced to such complex design, and how you knew of the Apple!”

The man sat down, and Leonardo could feel the protective waves rolling off Ezio. It warmed his heart slightly as he drew up a chair and his notebook, sitting and fully prepared to take notes. The man looked between them, then took a long sip from the glass of wine he had previously offered him. When he set it down, he looked Leonardo in the eyes.

“I first came in contact with it when I was hired by a business called Abstergo to eliminate some targets of theirs. I work as a contract killer.”

Re: Courting with Danger, Caring for Death 2

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Love Is War (Altair/Malik/Maria)

(Anonymous) 2011-09-03 03:49 am (UTC)(link)
This is a placeholder! The rest of the story will be posted in this thread. Eventually.

The original prompt: "Maria's married to Altair, but both her and Malik just have to put up with each other. In the end, they gang up on Altair."

Parts 1-14 can be found here: http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/16841.html?thread=415177#t415177

Re: Love Is War (Altair/Malik/Maria)

(Anonymous) 2011-11-09 02:53 am (UTC)(link)
YAAAY you are going to continue this! I will wait patiently for the continuation of one of the BEST FILLS in this kink meme anon!

Re: Love Is War (Altair/Malik/Maria)

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