asscreedkinkmeme ([personal profile] asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-10-29 11:35 pm
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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
Fill Only


Join or Die

✩ Comment anonymously with a character/pairing and a kink/prompt.

✩ Comment is filled by another anonymous with fanfiction/art/or any other appropriate medium.

✩ One request per post, but fill the request as much as you want.

✩ The fill/request doesn't necessarily need to be smut.

✩ Don't flame, if you have nothing good to say, don't say anything.

✩ Have a question? Feel free to PM me.

✩ Last, but not least: HAVE FUN!

List of Kinks
Kink Meme Masterlist
New Kink Meme Masterlist
(Livejorunal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
#2 (Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Fills Only
Discussion

On the matter of Connor's personal hygene

(Anonymous) 2012-12-20 11:50 pm (UTC)(link)
Ok, this is weird:

Anyone/Connor

Connor doesn't smell very clean but his partner doesn't mind. In fact, he/she is turned on by the smell of his transpiration.

Re: On the matter of Connor's personal hygene

(Anonymous) 2012-12-25 07:13 am (UTC)(link)
This is actually one of my kinks... So I am totally claiming this! Op, I know you said anyone but do you have any person you like? Het? Slash? Anything off limits?

Re: On the matter of Connor's personal hygene

(Anonymous) - 2012-12-25 11:06 (UTC) - Expand

Re: On the matter of Connor's personal hygene

(Anonymous) - 2012-12-25 23:46 (UTC) - Expand

"Subject" sex

(Anonymous) 2012-12-21 01:40 am (UTC)(link)
Subjects 4, 16, and 17 together. It doesn't even have to be smutty, I just want Daniel, Clay, and Desmond interacting with each other in some way. AU, pre-Abstergo, even afterlife.

They didn't deserve what they ultimately ended up with. (;△;)

Re: "Subject" sex

(Anonymous) 2012-12-21 06:16 am (UTC)(link)
Damn right, for all of them. Poor guys.

Re: "Subject" sex

(Anonymous) - 2012-12-21 06:27 (UTC) - Expand

Re: "Subject" sex

(Anonymous) - 2012-12-29 15:38 (UTC) - Expand

Re: "Subject" sex

(Anonymous) - 2012-12-30 06:07 (UTC) - Expand

Re: "Subject" sex

(Anonymous) - 2012-12-30 06:41 (UTC) - Expand

Passerby anon

(Anonymous) - 2012-12-30 17:45 (UTC) - Expand

Connor and Kanen'tó:kon, friendship, hurt/comfort, slightly AU

(Anonymous) 2012-12-21 01:15 pm (UTC)(link)
In an AU Connor met his father before he kills the first high ranked templars and daddy does his best to make his son see reason and rethink his path in live. The words start to sink into Connor and he begins to doubt some points in Achilles teachings, also he starts to grow attached to his father. Ergo Connor gets to a point from which he doesn't know how to go on anymore. Also he doesn't feel like he could go to Achilles or his recruits or to anyone else in the homestead to talk about the situation and his feelings. So he decides to visit his village, to clear his head out. Kanen'tó:kon notices something is wrong with his friend and keeps asking him what is bothering him and how he could help him. In the end Connor tells him everything.

I'd love to see Kanen'tó:kon comforting his friend with kind words and probably a hug.
And a super double bonus if you make Connor crying at some point in front of Kanen'tó:kon. úvù

(Anonymous) 2012-12-21 08:02 pm (UTC)(link)
After the end, William brings Desmond home.

He just wishes he didn't bring him home in a casket.

It Never Rains (But When it Pours, I Feel it in My Soul)

(Anonymous) 2012-12-22 12:30 am (UTC)(link)
It wasn’t more than a pine box, a few blankets and pillows to make it more comfortable. Not that the occupant could feel anything.

The body had been laid in it with as much ceremony as they could give it. Which wasn’t much. The Temple had a sinister air to it now, the cold temperatures biting into any exposed flesh. They hadn’t even nailed the lid of the casket shut.

Bill knew that it was a false hope. That he was still alive, that at any second he would wake up with a joke, asking them why he was in a box. But he let Rebecca and Shaun hold onto it. They had already buried one friend. He didn’t know if they could bury another.

Of course, he thought, setting his tablet down, their cell had been luckier than most, even with a Templar spy. Lucy had been buried with honor. (If he was being honest with himself, it was also recompense. For leaving her there. For not allowing her back when she had first told him her fears. For every other Assassin who never received a final resting place.)

With a sigh, he set his tablet on the seat. Rebecca and Shaun had fallen asleep hours ago, curled up in the front seat. He should do the same. Should, but wouldn’t. Cells around the world were still checking in, asking what had happened, if they had succeeded. He had sent the all clear to these, that one of their own had saved them all.

There was a message that he hadn’t responded to, sitting in the top of his inbox. Asking him if they had succeeded. When they were coming home. When their little boy would be with them again. When they would be a family again.

He couldn’t tell her. He had told her when their son was held by Abstergo, had held her back when she had gone for her weapons. And when he told her that he was going to meet his cell, to make sure that their mission was completed, she had told him to protect him. To make sure he came home.

They were almost there, back to the Farm, one of the only Assassin complexes that could be considered safe. The home his son had escaped from, the one the Templars had thought they had destroyed. They hadn’t, only driven it underground, away from prying eyes. Another day or two and they would be at the gates, where his wife would be waiting for them.

Slowly, Bill moved to kneel at the side of the casket. He moved the lid, opening it to view its occupant. The body wasn’t in the best of conditions, one of the arms little more than blackened skin. Whatever power had flowed through him had even burned out his eyes, leaving nothing more than cinders. If they had removed his clothes, Bill had no doubt that a tracery of black lines covered his body, following veins and arteries.

He didn’t look like someone who had saved the world. Perhaps he hadn’t, releasing one of Those Who Came Before, Juno, into the world. But he had stopped the cataclysm, stopped the world from burning at the cost of his life.

Bill took his hand, the one that still looked like it had skin. It was cold, the tissue under his nails white. Bringing his other hand up, he tried to warm it, to make it seem alive. To let him live under the illusion that he was in another coma, that he would wake up soon. (That he would sit up and punch him in the jaw. Ask him why he looked like he cared. Anger was preferable to lying in a box. Was preferable to anything if he would just wake up.)

“I’m sorry,” Bill said, placing the hand back in the pine box. He covered his son’s body, moving the blanket up to his chin. With his arm covered and his eyes shut, he almost looked like he was sleeping. Bill shook his head, refusing to let the lie take root in his head. If he let it get to him, he was compromised. If he was compromised, the Brotherhood could fall. So he wouldn’t think about it. He would shut off his emotions and lead, be the one that the Brotherhood needed.

“You okay, Bill?” Rebecca asked, her voice thick with sleep. She peeked over the seat, and Bill closed the casket before she could realize what he had been doing.

“I’m fine, Rebecca,” he said, moving back to his seat. He picked his tablet back up and ignored the new message icon.

“You should get some sleep,” she said, rapidly gaining consciousness.

“Not yet.”

She shifted, moving Shaun to rest against the passenger’s side window. Twisting her body, she moved into the back of the van and dropped into the seat next to him. “We still need you,” she said, wrapping her arms around his and putting her head on his shoulder. He allowed it, knowing from past experience that she was a tactile person. “He wouldn’t have wanted you to do this to yourself.”

“He shouldn’t have died, then,” Bill said, regretting the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. Rebecca tightened her arms around his.

“He shouldn’t have,” she agreed. Bill looked down at the top of her head, surprised at her words. “But he did what he had to do. What any of us would have done in his place.”

“A right bloody martyr,” Shaun muttered from the cab, “but a good man.”

“Get some sleep, Bill,” Rebecca said, squeezing his arm one last time before returning to Shaun. He heard him say something to her, and her whispered response.

Bill rubbed his eyes, resolving to shut his eyes as soon as he checked his e-mail. The message from his wife still sat in his inbox, a new one above it. The address, mailerdaemon@hephaestusnetwork.net, made him look at the casket. He debated opening the e-mail for a moment, before clicking it.

Thank you, it said. Nothing is true, everything is permitted. I don’t think this is what they had in mind, but I don’t think it matters. I’ll be in touch. Tell Mom I love her. - Desmond.

Bill didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. He looked at the casket, and opened up a window to reply.

Drunken Hickey shenanigans

(Anonymous) 2012-12-21 10:14 pm (UTC)(link)
As we all know, Hickey likes to drink. A lot. He's sober when he needs to be but unless something serious happens, there is probably a 99% chance of him having a drink in his hand.

What I'd love to see are some drunken Hickey shenanigans. Is he a cuddly drunk? Does he just giggle a lot and let his mouth get him into all sorts of trouble? Does he steal the other Templars' clothes and put them on, utterly confused in the morning as to why he's wearing them and no one will tell him why and just give him a withering look? Does he drunkenly seduce his Templar buddies (and the rest of Boston)? How much bail money do his colleagues have to pay whenever Hickey gets drunk and he offends someone terribly?

Pairings are optional and up to AuthorAnon, I pretty much ship him with everyone.

Re: Drunken Hickey shenanigans

(Anonymous) 2012-12-22 04:13 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh please, someone fill this ;u;

Connor/?, Haytham, OCs. Slight AU: When Connor Got Married

(Anonymous) 2012-12-21 10:49 pm (UTC)(link)
Slight AU: Connor gets married at some point in-game.

Haytham's reaction when he discovers that his son is married, and he now has a daughter-in-law.

Bonus: Haytham's reaction when he learns that he's a GRANDFATHER.
Ultra Bonus: The kid loves 'grandpa' Haytham.

A Family Affair

(Anonymous) 2012-12-23 05:08 am (UTC)(link)

Haytham hated boats. Having been informed by his son that it would be another day before they could leave, he had asked what he should do in that time. Connor had shrugged and wandered off.

Haytham followed him, of course. New York was an interesting sort of place, one that the Order was keen on preserving. However, the leaders that they had sent to watch over the main districts had fallen silent in the past few months. Which almost directly corresponded to the time frame in which his son had arrived. If he could track his son back to some hideout, some place that the Assassin’s had commandeered to use, he could alert some allies in the city. Destroying an Assassin’s den would hurt the relationship he had hoped to foster with his son, but it was obvious that their ideals were too different to work together, much as he hated to admit it.

He thought Connor might have spotted him when they passed through a marketplace. His son had paused at a stand, purchasing a selection of fruits and vegetables. But he had not, apparently, and continued on his way. Soon they arrived at a small farmhouse near the outskirts of the city. Haytham watched from across the way as Connor walked up to the door and knocked.

The woman who answered looked to be a few years older than him. As soon as she had recognized him, however, she had thrown her arms around him, and buried her head in his chest. A few of the people standing around him noticed the sight, the women letting out contented sighs.

“Guess he surprised her,” one of the men said. “Must have been off at sea for what, five months?” he asked his compatriot.

“Something like that,” his friend replied. “Nice to see them together again. She missed him something terrible, or at least that’s what the wife heard.”

Haytham excused himself from the group when Connor entered the house. The things in front of him added up, but not to what he had expected. He went to the front gate, but stopped before he could pass it. Turning around, he came face to face with his son.

“Connor,” he said, “how nice to see you.”

“Father,” Connor acknowledged. “Why are you here?”

“I was simply passing through the area-,” Haytham began.

“Do not lie to me,” Connor interrupted. “Why have you come here?”

“I followed you,” Haytham admitted. “And the fact that you did not realize it means that your training must have been truly terrible.”

“I was aware of your presence,” Connor told him. Some amount of surprise must have shown on his face, for Connor’s lips turned up slightly. “You weren’t as subtle as you would care to think.”

“Apparently,” Haytham said.

“And Dobby saw you across the street.”

If Haytham weren’t already sure of it, he would have thought Connor was mocking him.

“Is that her name?” Haytham asked. When Connor did not answer, he shrugged and walked past.

“Papa!” a little boy shouted, running out of the house. Haytham turned sharply in time to see a young child run into Connor’s arms. Connor looked over the boy’s shoulder, his eyes meeting Haytham’s. With a small amount of shock, he realized that the damnable hood that his son always wore was down.

“Who’s that, Papa?” the boy asked as Connor sat him back on his feet.

“My name is Haytham Kenway,” Haytham introduced himself. He moved to kneel in front of the boy, surprised when Connor did not stop him. “What is your name?”

“Clement Dayanand Kenway,” the boy said. He thought for a moment before speaking again. “We have the same name.”

“Yes, we do,” Haytham said, ruffling the boy’s hair. He stood and looked to Connor, who turned his head slightly in reply. “I am your grandfather.”

“Connor!” Dobby, Connor’s wife (a fact that still confused Haytham if he was being honest), called from the doorway. “Dinner is almost ready.”

“Will grandpa coming to dinner?” Clement asked.

“Am I invited?” Haytham asked Connor. The boy looked up at his father, and Connor sighed.

“Go tell your mother to set another place at the table,” he told Clement. The boy dashed back to the house, leaving the two grown men alone.

Haytham looked at his son, then back to the house. “You’re married?” he asked, his eyebrow rising of its own accord. Connor nodded, judging his father’s expression. “You have a son?”

“Yes,” Connor said.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Haytham said. “If I had known, I would have sent a gift.”

“You were not supposed to know,” Connor replied. “I would not place them in danger.”

“Danger?” Haytham scoffed.

“If any were to know of them, they could be harmed,” Connor said. “Dobby could stand against them, but I won’t let my son live without his mother.”

“I would never order harm to a mother or child,” Haytham said, his voice low.

“Can you say the same of your allies?” Connor asked. “You may be an honorable man, but those you trust would not share in your altruism.”

“I have no desire to argue with you when your wife has supper on the table,” Haytham said, waving his hand in the air. “Shall we go in?”

Connor shrugged, and walked up to the front of the house. Haytham looked behind himself, trying to pick out the ones who had given him away. He saw no one, but if they had managed to identify him and get that knowledge to Connor without his knowledge, he doubted that they would give themselves away with his cursory sweep.

Haytham took off his hat when he entered the house. Connor took it from his hands and hung it on a stand, and motioned him to take his cloak off as well. When he didn’t, Connor mimed it, taking off his overcoat. Haytham rolled his eyes and slung the coat off, hanging it next to Connor’s. His son gestured for him to move further into the house.

It was brightly lit, a few lanterns hanging at random intervals. Clement was already sitting at the table. His grin looked like it would split his face when Haytham walked in. A nice turkey sat on the table, along with some of the vegetables Connor had bought in the market. It smelled rather nice, better than what he might have eaten at one of the taverns.

“This smells delicious,” Haytham said as Dobby entered the room.

“Thank you,” Dobby said, setting a loaf of bread on the table. “Please, have a seat. Connor, could you help me to get the pitchers?”

Haytham knew that tone from when he had been a child. He smirked and took a seat next to Clement. The boy looked up at him shyly as his parents went into the next room.

“Grandpa?” Clement asked. Haytham looked at his grandson. He could see a bit of himself in the boy, in his jawline and hair color.

“Yes, Clement?” he replied.

“You work with Papa?” the boy asked. Haytham sighed inwardly, unsure of how to answer without lying or pissing off his son.

“We have similar interests,” he finally said. “We are working together currently. For how long, I know not.”

The words were clearly over the boy’s head, as evidenced by his furrowed brow. Before he could ask another question, Connor and Dobby came back into the room, setting a pitcher of milk and glasses on the table. They did not say any sort of grace, and Haytham followed their example, serving himself. It was a quiet dinner, something that Haytham doubted was normal. Clement seemed to have been signaled by his mother to remain silent, and when the meal was done, he got up and went to the second story, most likely to his bedroom.

Connor and Dobby remained sitting across from him. His son’s wife glared at him, her hand reaching towards a knife. Connor grabbed her hand, moving it below the table.

“You have a lovely son,” Haytham said, trying to make conversation.

“I like to think so,” Dobby replied coolly.

“I apologize for not thinking to call ahead,” Haytham said. “I was not planning on intruding. I know that you have not seen your husband since he was at sea.”

“I see my husband more often than people believe,” Dobby said.

Connor sighed, but clued his father in. “Dobby follows the Creed, father.”

“Oh,” Haytham said. “A pity.”

Dobby glared at him, her hand going for the knife again. Connor again grabbed her hand, but this time intertwined their fingers.

“He meant nothing by it,” Connor said. “My father said much the same to me.”

“I believe I called you naive,” Haytham corrected him. “But you continue to follow the words of old men, no matter how far they lead you astray. There is some honor in doing so. I rather wish that you had seen it another way. In any case, I believe I have overstayed my welcome.”

They all rose, Connor following him to the coat stand. He put his cloak back on, adjusting it until it fell as he liked it. Connor handed him his hat, which Haytham took with a nod.

“Is grandpa leaving?” Clement asked, poking his head around the corner.

“I’m afraid so,” Haytham told the boy. “It was my great pleasure to meet you, Clement.”

The boy nodded. Connor’s lips quirked up again. Haytham left the house, Connor again on his heels.

“You have a beautiful family,” Haytham said, setting his hat on his head.

“I am lucky to have them,” Connor replied.

“No one else shall know of them,” Haytham promised him. “I can assure you of that much.”

“Why?”

“Foolish sentiment,” Haytham said.

Re: A Family Affair

(Anonymous) - 2012-12-23 11:11 (UTC) - Expand

Connor's First Christmas!

(Anonymous) 2012-12-22 03:17 am (UTC)(link)
This Anon would love a story about, you guessed it, Connor's first Christmas. I haven't been feeling my usual festive self and i really think this would help. I'd love to see the folks from the homestead there too, perhaps Maryum and Ellen are arguing about who can cook better. Maybe Terry and Godfrey have a little to much to drink and start singing or fighting and most importantly Connor has no idea what is going on and has to be told: A) the Christmas story or B) the meaning of Christmas! C) or both >u>

Just general holiday fun and randomness!

Bonus points if:

- Achilles just wants everyone out of his house, or so he says, but every so often makes jokes and sings along to Christmas chorals.
- Connor gets presents but doesn't understand why and he's just awkward and typical Connor about it.
- Washington shows up unannounced to bring Connor a gift.
- Haytham shows up unannounced as well with an even better gift than Washington and spends the night rubbing it in the man's face.
- Washington and Connor accidentally get stuck under the mistletoe. Haytham is not impressed.
- Washington and Haytham sassing each other.


^_^ I would really love it if someone filled this, it doesn't really need any of the above mentioned things those are just ideas ^-^u Don't mind me, I'm crazy. Thanks guys!

Truth is murky

(Anonymous) 2012-12-22 10:51 am (UTC)(link)
Read some snippets of Forsaken and heard about the Washington betrayal (haven't gotten there in game yet) and even though there is a very strong implication that Washington did order the burning of Connor's village, I'd like to request a fic that explores the possibility that a) Haytham is lying/made up the information or b) Charles Lee lied to Haytham in Forsaken when he said that Washington burned down the village.

It's quite interesting to me that, knowing just how much a propensity to lie when it suits their needs both Haytham and Charles Lee have, there is very little questioning going on that not everything is as it is seems (or maybe it's just made very clear, and I haven't seen the correct snippets?).

Actually, it'd be very cool if someone decided to go with the second option from Haytham's POV towards the end. He seems so adamant (again, from online snippets) that Charles Lee is good for the Order and necessary, but if Charles actually lied about burning down Connor's village, he, in effect, created Connor the Assassin. Ergo, Charles Lee would have done a shitload of harm to the order for absolutely no reason other than his own personal contempt for Native Americans and his dislike of Haytham's fondness for Ziio (that's how I read it as he always seems so uncomfortable when it comes to her).

Re: Truth is murky

(Anonymous) 2012-12-28 10:29 pm (UTC)(link)
Seconding!!

This might contain some spoilers for Forsaken. I'll do my best to be non-specific, but if you don't want spoiled, you might want to stop reading.

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The way I saw it in Forsaken, about halfway through I think, Haytham has pretty much lost the only people he felt he could ever trust (Ziio, and someone else I won't mention for spoilers' sake) and it seems like he gives up on everything and just starts going through the motions... until he meets Connor. Then something kind of sparks back to life in him, though at that point he's pretty bitter and callous.

I get the impression that he doesn't really like Charles Lee, and you get hints of this right after Charles is brought into the order, at least in the book. It's like after being inducted, Charles' attitude changes. He's done sucking up to Haytham, and almost seems to want to take Haytham's place as Grand Master.

Creating a better future for your children by sacrificing them...

(Anonymous) 2012-12-22 11:04 am (UTC)(link)
Not sure if I need to put up a spoiler warning for the Forsaken tidbits, but can't hurt to be safe. :)

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You know how William punched Desmond and told him he's doing everything for Desmond's future? And, in Forsaken anyways, Haytham bought the Templar line hook and sinker because of what happened to his father and sister (and how he tries hard to convert Connor)?

And then, of course, Desmond sacrificed himself. For humanity's future. And Haytham joined the group of people who were directly responsible for his sister's kidnapping and his father's death. Not to mention...he nearly succeeded in strangling Connor. Anons, I'd love a fic that explores the irony in pursuing a goal for the good of the future of your children and family...and ending up sacrificing that family/children on the altar of achieving that goal.

Do-over

(Anonymous) 2012-12-22 11:29 am (UTC)(link)
I've seen a fic request for Connor living through multiple lives and making different decisions. How about Haytham waking up after he dies, back in the body of his earlier (up to anon! author how old) self. What would he do differently? What would he do the same?

Fill: Again (part 1)

(Anonymous) 2013-01-04 04:57 am (UTC)(link)
Haytham prided himself on his ability to stay calm even in the direst of circumstances. It was essential in his line of the work, where the slightest distraction might jeopardize the mission and get him killed. So when he woke up in the middle of the night and realized he was no longer in his quarters at Fort George, but in his room at Queen Anne’s Square, he did not panic. When he noticed something was wrong with his body and found a child staring back at him in the mirror, he managed not to make a sound and even had the presence of mind to change out of his nightshirt before leaving his room.

The slience in the hallway made him tense, as well as the unacustomed weightlessness around his forearms. His second sight, however, assured him that there was no enemies nearby. Cautiously, he lit up a candle and walked down the stairs to the entrance hall, taking in the familiar sight. The place - his childhood home - was exactly as he remembered it, down to the cracks and scratches on the walls and wooden floor. It was as if the fire had never happened.

He walked across the entrance hall to the games room and let himself in. Bookshelves lined the walls of the room with a covered billiard table at the centre. This was where he had first been trained in swordsmanship, oblivious to the decades of slaughter awaiting him in the future.

He found the King James Bible easily enough, though he hesitated before triggering the switch. The books slided aside to reveal a secret compartment. The journal with the Assassin insignia was in there, but it was not what he had come for. He pulled out the box next to the journal and opened it. Inside the box was a short sword and as soon as his hand closed around its handle, he knew it was the sword his father gave him on his eighth birthday, the same sword he lost in Corsica when he was twenty-eight.

It had not happened yet.

The weight of this particular sword in his hand brought home the fact that this was not a dream. He was indeed a child again and all that had happened in his life had not yet come to pass.

How could it be?

The last things he remembered were fighting his son at Fort George and dying, but that was not all. He remembered seeing a young man with the strangest taste in fashion. The clothes he wore bear a distant resemblance to the white robe of an Assassin, though it was much plainer with barely any place for concealing weapons. The poor excuse of a hood, instead of masking his face, made him look even more ridiculous. Tried as he might, Haytham could not recall what the young man had said to him. All he knew was that when he woke up again, he was back in London. No, he was back in time itself, it would seem.

“Interesting,” he murmured, then winced at how high-pitched his voice sounded.

Somehow, the clock had been turned back. He had no idea why, but as far as he knew, the only ones who could achieve such a feat were Those Who Came Before - the precursors who had always been tauntingly out of reach. He wondered if everyone had retained their memories of the future or if he was one of the few, and how this would affect the events to come.

“Hmm. Very interesting.”

#

Acting like a child felt very much like an infiltration mission (and as an extra bonus, the thought that it was a ‘mission’ made the experience far less humiliating). His old journal was an excellent source of information, reminding him of how he used to act at this age. So far, he managed to avoid detection and fooled all those he came across (though he might have got a little too stiff when his mother hugged him and acted a little too indifferently to his sister’s bitter glare). But the hard part was not over; his father had yet to return home.

Given a few more days, Haytham knew he would be able to perfect his act. For now, though, it was far from flawless and his father was a perceptive man. If there was anyone who would notice something was wrong, it was him.

Haytham’s trepidation made him extra sensive to his surroundings, which was why, when he was poring over his old journal under the stairs and spotted a flash of red from the corner of his eyes, he had jumped to his feet before he realized what was happening. It was only because of the weeks he had spent working with Connor, who had remained stubbornly red throughout the ordeal, that he managed to stop himself from attacking his father.

They stood facing each other and for a moment neither of them moved. Haytham forced his tensed muscles to relax. This was not his enemy, he told himself, his chest tightening at the fact that he needed the reminder at all. This was his father, the man who trained him, who he had always looked up to. There was no need to fight. There was no need for anyone to die.

His own thoughts frustrated him. Just how much had he changed from the boy he used to be?

A lot, obviously, seeing as his father had never been anything but a comforting blue before.

He wondered how he appeared to the man now. Most likely still in blue, or at least white. The second sight relied on one’s own perceptions, after all, and was not infallible (or his father would have realized Reginald was a Templar long ago and prevented everything from going so wrong).

“Jumpy are we, Haytham?” said his father.

“Sorry, sir.”

“Ready for today’s training?”

Weaspons training, with his father blazing in red. Wonderful.

“Of course, sir.”

#

It was only when he was back in the safety of his room after dinner that he allowed himself to drop his guard. Whoever had turned back time and made him relive his life must have a cruel sense of humour. While many would see this as an opportunity to correct past mistakes, he happened to be quite satisfied with the life he had lived and would rather not do so again. There were regrets, of course, but he was never one to wonder what might have been. He had even said as much before he died, but apprently no one had listened.

And so here he was in the past, where he was still an innocent little boy in his mother’s eyes and a future Assassin in his father’s, but that could not be further from the truth. He was fifty-six, a man who had taken countless lives and a Templar Grand Master who firmly believed in his Order’s ideals despite the lies that made up his life.

But there was not point in being sentimental now. He was not about to think he could simply start over and be that little boy again. What he could do was to make the most of this unwelcoming opportunity, which meant there was planning to do.

It was too early to say for certain, but from what he had seen so far, he seemed to be the only one who had retained his memory of the future and he fully intended to take advantage of what he knew, changing the events to come to further his cause - the fact that he was not a part of the Order yet made little difference. But if he changed too much, he might risk altering the entire course of the future and rendering his knowledge irrelevant. He had to think this over carefully.

Part of him, however, had already come to an unpleasant realization.

His father’s death was the turning point in his life. It was what brought him away from home and from the Assassin Brotherhood. It was the reason he scoured Europe with Reginald, fought alongside Braddock in the Dutch Republic, and later, travelled to America. It was the beginning of everything, and the one event he could not afford to change.

There was no other way. In order to maintain some control over what was to come, he had to let his father die.

OP

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Fill: Again (part 2)

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OP is sooo amused

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Fill: Again (part 3)

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OP

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Fill: Again (part 4)

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OP is stabbed in the heart

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Fill: Again (part 5)

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OP

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Fill: Again (part 6)

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OP

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Fill: Again (part 7)

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OP

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Fill: Again (part 8)

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fill anon

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OP

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Fill: Again (part 9)

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OP

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Fill: Again (part 10)

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OP

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fill anon

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Fill: Again (part 11)

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OP

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Fill: Again (part 12)

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Washington/Charles Lee

(Anonymous) 2012-12-22 10:17 pm (UTC)(link)
Maybe they’re having hatesex before a battle ? Maybe Washington has no idea Charles hates him and nurses an unrequited crush ? Maybe they used to be together and had a nasty breakup ? Give me anything.

Clipper vs Charles Lee

(Anonymous) 2012-12-23 02:18 am (UTC)(link)
Just recruited Clipper and, omigod, he's like Charles Lee counterpart in the Assassins except that he's actually a nice and decent person.

...so I kind of have this dying desire to see him and Charles interact. Given their extremely...polar...views and respective adorations of their mentor/grandmaster, it'd be quite an...interesting...interaction.

Re: Clipper vs Charles Lee

(Anonymous) 2012-12-24 11:22 am (UTC)(link)
I would love to see this.
Seconding with a passion

And a Happy New Year!

(Anonymous) 2012-12-23 05:48 am (UTC)(link)
I'd love to see a new years story! Maybe Connor is in Boston, New York, home in Davenport, or even an AU. I'd just love to see a story where someone tells him the old "kiss someone on new years" (i.e: it is a custom for people to kiss at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve. Some hold the superstition that failing to kiss someone ensures a year of loneliness.)

Bonus points if:

- Washington (or someone) is dead set on kissing Connor.
- Haytham is dead set on NOT letting Washington (or someone) kiss Connor.
- Haytham being genuinely over-protective of his son in a fatherly way.
- Connor is amazed by the fireworks.
- Connor kisses someone unexpected by mistake and either gets snapped at for it or gets hit on and/or invited home by the person he kisses.

I'd love it if someone filled this, If not oh well, can't say I didn't try :P

William Johnson/Thomas Hickey, petplay

(Anonymous) 2012-12-23 09:13 am (UTC)(link)
No non-con or abuse, please! Just Thomas enjoying himself as Johnson's pet, collar, leash, and all.

Re: William Johnson/Thomas Hickey, petplay

(Anonymous) 2012-12-23 08:38 pm (UTC)(link)
I... need.... this! Seconded!

Re: William Johnson/Thomas Hickey, petplay

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Where is the Aveline love?

(Anonymous) 2012-12-23 06:51 pm (UTC)(link)
This anon has been playing Liberation and is incredibly disappointed at the lack of AC:L prompts.

SO.

I would very much like to see someone showering Aveline with love naturally by love I mean sex. Preferably Élise or Gérald (or both). Make it happy sex, please anon? *beggy hands*

Re: Where is the Aveline love?

(Anonymous) 2012-12-24 01:21 am (UTC)(link)
Anon might be interested to know that there's a ton of love for Aveline over at AO3.

Re: Where is the Aveline love?

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Random request is random

(Anonymous) 2012-12-24 07:14 am (UTC)(link)
This might seem really weird but I'd like to see a story where Connor (or perhaps Altair) is checking his equipment or polishing a sword or checking the direction of the wind (ie: http://lolfunnypictures.net/how-to-be-a-pranklord-lol) and someone (doesn't really matter who) gets all hot and bothered by it. it could be art, a story anything really, just so long as it's funny and/or full of crack.

Random request is random....

and

Fail post is fail. >.> I'm gonna go back to my corner and hide now.

Re: Random request is random

(Anonymous) 2013-08-02 01:32 pm (UTC)(link)
I went with Altaïr and the sword polishing... I am also very sorry for Malik on this one. *huggles OP* I hope that you like it! Altaïr + subtlety = incompatible. Lame puns are lame.

..

Sandstorms in Jerusalem were not a joke. In all fairness, Altaïr despised them. No matter that his relationship with Malik has progressively mended, and that he no longer felt like the Dai was going to kill him if he just toed an invisible line. He still hated to be trapped in the bureau, knowing he could not get out.

“Altaïr, your pacing is going to make me want to claw your eyes out, very soon. Just clean your weapons or something but stop pacing.”

And stop, Altaïr did. He knew that Malik hated it when he roamed the bureau for no reason. He knew the Dai resented anyone who would disrupt the peace of the area. And so, Altaïr did the next best thing: he plopped down on a cushion, laid his weapons by his side and started to clean them all.

Malik was grateful that Altaïr stopped wandering like a caged animal. It was not that he was making any sound when he did but the constant movement distracted him to no end. He could have used this as a pretext to stop working, but there was no way around it and this map had to be finished the day after-tomorrow – and he just got started. Idiots who gave him outdated maps to work with. It made him want to scream.

After a while and some metaphorical hair-pulling, Malik looked at Altaïr. The assassin was so concentrated that he did not seem to notice, allowing Malik to stay like that, his elbow propped on the counter, chin on his palm. The figure of thoughtfulness, no matter that his thoughts were running about. He had to admit, the care with which Altaïr handled his blades bespoke his training, and his eye for detail. Malik had seen men who cared so little for their blades that their sword would be rust-bitten, slowly losing their brightness and instead, becoming the surest way to get infected wounds. Not Altaïr. The knives were carefully laid together in two neat, even rows, blades as good as knew. He had taken his hidden blade, dismantling the mechanism, to ease the cleaning. The way he handled the sharp blade, with gentle touches, made it look as though he were caressing it. A loving touch. First, swipe the blade and the attaches, to make sure no dried blood stayed to eventually cause the mechanism to snag. Long strokes, from the handle to the tip of the blade, as though to smooth the steel out. Dim light of the lamps reflecting on it, catching the eye. Unbeknownst to him, his mind came to a screeching halt, before his thoughts ran into a very different direction, causing his breath to catch.

How would these hands feel on his skin? Let's face it, the blade in Altaïr's hands was a dead giveaway and while Malik resented himself for these thoughts, he could not shake them away. The callused fingers, that he knew could be the lightest- he mentally shook himself. Maybe recalling a moment when Altaïr was the one taking care of his wounds was not a good idea after all. Lost in his thoughts, Malik missed the moment when Altaïr laid his hidden blade aside and started to work on his sword. This was a new one, Malik noticed. The blade slightly curved, making stabbing moves a bit less straightforward, designed for sweeping arches – to slice through joints and bones. And still, this careful, caressing touch that swept from the hilt, along the entire length of the sword. His breath caught again somewhere between his lungs and his throat. The intent expression of Altaïr, that of a man so engrossed in his task that he forgot the outside world. An oiled rag replacing the dried one, guarding the metal from water, and providing a temporary protection against the bite of the sand. The sword shone in the light, just as the hidden blade did. Malik tilted his head to the side – Altaïr was staring at something on the blade, possibly a nick. However, as soon as Malik shifted his weight to the right to get a better look, he froze with a hiss. He did not look down. He would not look down. Just as he was considering curling in on himself – or thanking this desk for shield him from view, Altaïr looked at him. Malik just wanted to die right now... Heat set his face aflame, and he hoped against hope that Altaïr would not notice. Because Altaïr was bound to see it. He brusquely tried to straighten himself – and nearly let out a noise that he was never supposed to make. Damned shelves. He's going to die...
Altaïr saw the discomfort on Malik's face, and he frowned. What now? He made too much noise or what not? However, when Malik moved, he suspected something else altogether. His frown vanished, replaced by the tiniest smile. He would not make fun of Malik. Not really. Instead, he stared pointedly at Malik, before look back his his sword. Back and forth. Back and forth.

“Novice, stop doing that!”

To anyone, Malik's voice was normal. To Altaïr, however, it was clear that the Dai was having a hard time to keep it all together. His smile widened.

“Whatever you mean, Dai?”

“Get out of here, you are a nuisance.”

Altaïr thought it would be best to comply. But not before making things even worse for Malik. After all, for once he had the upper hand. He'd be damned if he didn't take advantage of it.

“Sorry, Malik.” He gathered his weapons, keeping his sword in hand. When cast a last glance at it, he noticed Malik's gaze following. Oh, this was so much fun. Leaning across the counter, he added: “I didn't mean to rub it in.” And with that he was gone.

Malik was not sure if he should kill Altaïr now or wait. Probably later. He wanted to beat himself on the head. Really, Malik, whatever your mind is doing? Polishing a sword, can't you be a bit more subtle, damnit? He would have screamed. When he tried to shove from the counter on which he was leaning, he nearly doubled over. Heavy Dai coat or not, the pressure had sent a jolt across him. Damn this idiot novice.

In the courtyard, out of Malik's sight, Altaïr was grinning like a cat that just got the canary. Really, had he known that cleaning his blades would force a boner out of Malik... he'd have done it sooner. Ah, blackmail material, what would he do without it!

FILLED in previous comment

(Anonymous) - 2013-08-02 13:33 (UTC) - Expand

Yusuf/Suleiman

(Anonymous) 2012-12-24 07:20 am (UTC)(link)
I can't be the only one that ships them, and the meme definitely needs more of this pairing. It can be anything at all, I'm not picky. Please, Anons? Satisfy my love for this obscure pairing?

Re: Yusuf/Suleiman

(Anonymous) 2012-12-24 10:56 pm (UTC)(link)
Wow, I never really thought about this pairing, but I admit I am intrigued. Hope someone will fill soon!

Altair/Maria

(Anonymous) 2012-12-24 05:08 pm (UTC)(link)
I'm in some mood for Altair/Maria... some fluff and smut would be enough to make me happy.^^

Glitch Fun Times

(Anonymous) 2012-12-25 03:23 am (UTC)(link)
After starting a new save file,I played it though till I got to play as Teen!Connor.Instead of heading to the Manor,I decided to hunt to get some pelts and meat to sell later.I looked at the map and noticed something....odd.The first time I played the game,I couldn't go on the Hunting Guild missions until I started training.I was on the Feline Feet mission when something odd happened again.In the creek,I saw one British soldier was fighting against three Patriot soldiers.That isn't right,I thought,the Boston Massacre hasn't even occurred yet.So,If It isn't two much trouble,could I get a small fic where The Apple sends three random Patriot soldiers to meet Teen!Connor and cause some trouble.
TL:DR
3 Patriot soldiers +The Apple+Teen!Connor= Confused everybody.
My first born if the soldiers are practically fanboys of Adult!Connor and decide to reward Teen!Connor with some smexy times for growing up to be so badass.Connor is confused at first but enjoys it.

Merry Christmas (Or Happy Holidays!)

(Anonymous) 2012-12-25 02:05 pm (UTC)(link)
Not a prompt, just a message of cheer from one assassin to another! Have a fun, happy, and safe holiday. I hope it's full of joy and delicious food, and that you get to spend some time with your loved ones.

Just wanted to share this

(Anonymous) 2012-12-26 02:49 am (UTC)(link)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?annotation_id=annotation_172848&feature=iv&src_vid=lSL1LMalPqE&v=dimAlx02o_4

(AC3 ending explained!)

Just wanted to point out that we have survived the false apocalyptic date (with style, of course) 12-21-12 IS considered the death(?) of our beloved Desmond Miles. Any condolences? or any dedications or last words to him?

Haytham jealous of Achilles

(Anonymous) 2012-12-26 11:58 am (UTC)(link)
...because Achilles basically has the "father" place in Connor's life.

Re: Haytham jealous of Achilles

(Anonymous) 2013-06-09 10:07 am (UTC)(link)
This was posted quite some time ago but I will DEFINITELY be filling this as soon as I can. Is there anything else you'd like in the fill? This prompt is great.

Haytham gets the Apple of Eden

(Anonymous) 2012-12-26 06:37 pm (UTC)(link)
Along with the Shard of Eden ring, Connor also finds an Apple of Eden among William Kidd's treasures. However, he's ambushed by the Templars at Oak Island - and easily defeated in his weakened state after escaping the collapsing cave death trap. Haytham now possesses 3 Pieces of Eden, but what does he do with the all powerful Apple from there?

Kinks for HayCon shippers (like myself):
- Haytham is ecstatic and decide to show his 'gratitude' to a restrained Connor with rounds of mind blowing sex
- Haytham uses the Apple to enslave Connor's mind and make him his pet.

General:
- Haytham enslaves the entire Assassin Brotherhood to work under the Templars

Re: Haytham gets the Apple of Eden

(Anonymous) 2012-12-26 08:37 pm (UTC)(link)
Seconded! a thousand times seconded! someone please fill this!

Re: Haytham gets the Apple of Eden

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Reginald Birch/Haytham Kenway, Templar equivalent/Connor

(Anonymous) 2012-12-27 12:03 am (UTC)(link)
Anon is wondering how Haytham turned to the Templars and why he doesn't use/order someone to use the same methods on Connor? This is, of course, disregarding Forsaken.

Re: Reginald Birch/Haytham Kenway, Templar equivalent/Connor

(Anonymous) 2012-12-27 04:12 am (UTC)(link)
Love you anon...disregard Forsaken please

This needs to be written! Seconded!

Taming Connor 1/? take two

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OP is ecstatic

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Re: Taming Connor 1/? take two

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Taming Connor 1/?

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Writer!Anon

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Where is Part 2...?

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Re: Where is Part 2...?

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OP is excited to hear the news :D

(Anonymous) - 2013-01-11 04:38 (UTC) - Expand

Taming Connor 2/?

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Writer!Anon notes

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Re: Writer!Anon notes

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Re: Writer!Anon here

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Re: Writer!Anon here

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OP

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driveby anon

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Re: Taming Connor 2/?

(Anonymous) - 2013-02-03 01:50 (UTC) - Expand

Writer!Anon here

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OP

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Re: Writer!Anon here

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Writer!Anon here

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OP

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Re: Writer!Anon here

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Crossover time?

(Anonymous) 2012-12-27 01:16 am (UTC)(link)
I would love to see some ass creed crossovers, don't care which fandoms really... Some, I think, are better suited than others... Mass effect maybe (first civ alien refugees from reaper devastated planet only to colonize planet with a tempermental star?) or stargate, or, I dunno, doctor who, big bang theory, dollhouse (hell, anything by whedon), dead like me... So many options. Drabbles or full on fics, bring on the crossovers!

a man he never knew (Doctor Who) 1/2

(Anonymous) 2012-12-27 08:57 pm (UTC)(link)
Slight Forsaken spoilers, and spoilers for the ending of the game.

Haytham's first memory of the box occurred when he was five. It was blue and tall, made of wood. "Police Public Call Box" was emblazoned above the doors, he would later recall, but at the time he was too young to be able to read.

It was, as usual, a rainy day, and he was playing soldiers indoors. He heard a strange noise, like a screaming monster, and ran toward it without a second thought because monsters were brilliant and Daddy would be pleased if he killed one.

He was disappointed to only see the blue box. He patted it, to see if it was real, and, having decided it was just one of Daddy's many interesting things, went back to the room he had been playing soldiers in. He didn't see it again for several years, and he was sent to bed without supper for making up stories about blue boxes in hallway.

...

At Father's funeral, a dark-skinned man with his head shaved bare stood at the very back of the church, a man in a strange tie beside him. He couldn't clearly see their faces, being at the very front, eyes filled with tears, but his second sight showed them glowing a comforting blue, so it was okay.

The men were gone by the time they took the coffin to the graveyard, and the box was some way off, half-hidden by bushes and trees. It had vanished by the time Father had been buried.

...

For a long time, he saw it only from a distance, felt invisible eyes watching him when he didn't have time to investigate. He had hesitated once, when infiltrating a French camp, and came far too close to being discovered and killed. After that, he ignored it. It would appear again, he was sure, and perhaps one day in the future he could investigate it properly.

He did not know how he was so sure that he would see the box again. Something in him was convinced it was following him.

...

After leaving the opera, he realised that he'd seen a dark-skinned man with a bare-shaved head and a man with an odd-shaped tie, had brushed past them and muttered an insincere apology as he was leaving. For some reason, this realisation felt important. He climbed into his carriage, thinking hard.

Why was it so important?

And then, as the carriage went past an alley near Covent Garden, he caught a glimpse of a blue box and remembered a hazy memory of being small and sad and seeing blue.

He wished he had bothered to look at their faces.

...

For a while, he thought the box had been left in Europe. He did not know how to feel about that- relief at no longer being stalked by mysterious men, sadness at never investigating the box. And then he saw it, after liberating the Mohawk slaves, after the mysterious woman left with her people.

He ran, because he needed to know who they are and why they are here and what they want. He vaulted over the fortress walls and sprinted around people, leapt over fences and the little light at the top started flashing and the box started doing something impossible.

It faded right out of existence, deafening Haytham with the screeching sound he didn't know he remembered. He stood in the space it had occupied, breathing heavily, ignoring Charles and the others.

It must be an artifact from Those Who Came Before, he decided. Nothing else could be so impossible. It had been right here.

...

He thought about the box a lot, though most of his attention was taken by the alluring Ziio and the problems Braddock had caused them both. She was different from the simpering, primped and powdered women at home. She was headstrong, brash, and so completely different from Haytham himself.

He heard the screeching sound several times, caught glimpses of a bald Native in crowded places, but even his second sight did not help him find the box or the men. They were always gone before his sight could change, and the box was too well-hidden.

If they had meant him harm, he reasoned, then he would be long dead by now. He could interrogate them whenever they next appeared. There was no point wasting time and effort.

...

He walked with his head down. He wanted to weep. Ziio had been so angry. He had been unable to make her see reason. And now, the thing they had was gone. He would never be able to hold her again, and the only expression upon her face at the sight of him would be fierce rage-or worse, sadness.

He used his second sight to distance himself from the world. He didn't want to remember Ziio, and everything reminded him of what they had shared. And then he saw it. A flash of red.

He needed to release some of this pent-up rage, so he followed, and slammed the man against the wall of an alleyway. He wore a strange tie.

"Before you kill me, I'd just like to say 'please don't'. There are a lot of reasons you shouldn't kill me, in truth, but for now--"

"Shut up," Haytham snarled. "I'm not going to kill you."

"Oh?" The man fiddled with his necktie nervously. It was an awfully strange tie, terribly familiar. His mouth made the connection before his brain.

"You're wearing a very odd tie."

"Bow ties are cool!" the man protested. Haytham gave a bitter laugh and slammed him against the wall harder.

"What do you want from me? Why have you been following me? Who are you? What is that box? How do you still look the same?"

"That's a lot of questions," the man said, nervously. "Er, Co-- Eagle! Mayday! Any minute now!"

Haytham kneed him in the groin before someone choked him into unconsciousness. He woke up some minutes later to the sound of screeching.

...

During his brief visit back to the United Kingdom, while drifting in and out of hazy consciousness and fever thanks to the horrible wound in his side, he had a dream. Or perhaps it was no dream at all.

The bow-tie-man's voice was talking to another person. The other had a deep, slow voice, accented like Ziio's had been. A cold hand rested on his forehead, and he was too tired to open his eyes. His side hurt terribly.

"Fear not," the stranger's voice said. "This pain will be over soon."

He forced his eyes open, and managed a barely-human croak.

"Are you going to kill me?"

The man- the bald Native who was terribly blurry- laughed.

"No. No, I will not. We are going to help you."

The bow tie man put something that glowed near his injured side, and the burning stabs of pain started to cease. Haytham let out a small sigh of relief, and drifted into sleep without meaning to. Or perhaps he woke up.

...

He didn't see the box again until after he returned to the Colonies. A glimpse here and there, the two men seen only from a long distance. His second sight confirmed their identities as 'enemies', and he wondered why they had been blue when he was little.

He wondered if perhaps it had to do with his defection.

...

He was almost disappointed when nothing happened while he was investigating and journeying with Connor. No blue boxes. No bow ties. No bald Natives.

There was something comfortingly familiar about Connor's voice, and he decided it was because he spoke like Ziio. He had been horrified to learn of her death, deciding to be as good a father as a mortal enemy could be to his son, to bond, to be a better person.

Alas, his attempts failed.

...

He last saw the box on the day of his death. It sat between crates, conspicuous, and yet nobody seemed to notice it. Perhaps it was only his second sight that had allowed him to see that it existed.

It survived the assault pretty well, and he saw it later, as he was striding to meet his son for the final time. Only one of them could be allowed to walk out alive, and Connor was injured severely. A pity. He had always wanted children. Always wanted to leave behind something meaningful, worthwhile, a family. Now it would never happen. He would die a lonely old man.

It was only as Connor cradled him, as the blood seeped from his neck, that he realised. He chuckled, and Connor looked puzzled.

"I understand now," he said. "You haven't done it yet, have you?"

He knew little after that, and soon he knew nothing at all.

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