asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed [Fills]

Entry tags:

assassin's creed

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.

List of Kinks
(Livejorunal) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Discussion

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Guh, hot! Another driveby!anon approves of this x100000!

That was amazing anon! I am trying so hard not to laugh out loud (so I don't wake up the entire house). Bookmarking!

Original Prompt: There's no way that being an assassin can be good for your mental health, whether it's because they believe they are damned, or never clean again, maybe phobias, etc. I would love to see one of our dear assassins having to deal with all that. I would prefer Desmond, but Ezio or Altair is good too. No pairings, just by themselves, trying to deal. (http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/16841.html?thread=889289#t889289)

Authoranon here. Finished filling this ages ago, not realizing part 1 had been closed, like, eons ago. Derp derp.

Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad does not think often about religion.

But sometimes, he cannot escape the fact that he is damned.

He is not a man of faith, nor has he ever been. Religion is occasionally interesting, and some of the moral teachings are things that he can agree with, but overall, he finds that religion is no different than any other myths or fairytales or cults that are present in any society, though it is admittedly far more widespread. Altair does, however, acknowledge that everybody must believe in something- in a set of rules, in a moral code.

Because he hadn’t believed. Not when he was a child, alone and learning to fend for himself, not when he was an adolescent, training days without break, and not when he was a master assassin, full of pride at the skill of his blade. He had thought that he only had to follow the rules he wanted to, and that the only thing he needed was his blade. A small part of him wants to excuse this foolish way of thinking- it was how he was raised, he didn’t know any other way- but Altair knows that this is nothing more than self-justification, a remnant of that damning pride that had lost him a friend and nearly his life.

Now. Now he believes in the Creed. It is far from ideal, and coming to accept it fully was a struggle, but he finds it an acceptable code of morals and guide to his actions.

It at least seems a far less ridiculous method than offering up praise to an invisible, omnipotent presence in the sky who watches over everyone. But he does not disdain the people who do. He accepts that it is not his place to judge others of their beliefs. He reserves his condescension for those fools who kill senselessly in the name of religions that supposedly practice peace, because that is a special kind of hypocrisy that is unforgivable, no matter what you believe.

He is mostly sure about all of this. Mostly.

But there are times, occasional, infrequent times, that the world seems to stand still and Altair finds himself on the highest rooftop he can find, staring up into the sky. And then he allows himself the freedom to question himself. He killed those who killed in the name of their religion. Was he not the same as them, then? Did his Creed exempt him from these deaths? Sometimes, the doubt clouds his mind and his heart grows heavy with questions that have no answer and he can see the appeal of talking to Allah or God and simply letting them handle everything.

Altair senses vaguely that there is something treacherous about these thoughts, but he cannot place his finger on it and that makes him uncomfortable. Almost every religion that he has learned teaches of a place of paradise for those who do good, and alternatively, a place of damnation and suffering for those who commit evils. And he wonders, where would he be sent?

He is mostly sure he knows the answer. Mostly.

And because that is that and he doesn’t see how he can change his fate, or whether he even would if he was given the opportunity to, Altair does not think often about religion.

Mostly.

Ezio Auditore da Firenze sometimes likes to play God.

It is not something he thinks about consciously. He just tends finds himself crouched on crafted tile rooftops, obscured by shadows, vaguely amused by the idea that he could watch people go about their lives without their knowing. It reminds him, a little, of the games that he would play with his brothers. Perhaps it is the last vestiges of a childhood that ended not long ago.

So Ezio sits and observes. To say that the people on the street looked like insects would be an exaggeration. But they don’t seem like people either. From here, from his height, he is reminded of the way a river flows, all whirls and eddies, fast and slow, no underlying pattern to discover. That doesn’t stop him from trying though. It is a fairly pleasant way to pass the time for someone normally so active, so always in motion. Just small moments of watching, fingers absently brushing the leather that encases his wrists.

The hidden blade. The creation that changed him from banker’s son to seasoned killer. Such a small thing. Such a powerful thing. Any of these people below him, they wouldn’t, couldn’t suspect that their life rested on such a thin, carefully sharpened edge. Slipped between the ribs, the vertebrae, through tendon and tissue, they would be dead before they even knew he was there.

Most of the time, when he catches himself thinking like this, a rush of shame rinses him cold and no matter which way he flees across the city, he invariably ends up at Leonardo’s, where his friend is always gentle and kind but also unafraid to knock sense into him, should he need it.

Most of the time, this is what happens. And that is almost okay.

Except that he never does tell Leonardo about his lapses on the rooftops. That single fact betrays him. Because if he was truly ashamed, if there wasn’t something that he enjoyed about his voyeuristic forays, he would tell Leonardo, and the artist would point out the flaws in his arguments and reasoning, and Ezio would let himself be talked out of… whatever he was doing. But he doesn’t.

Because there have been a few times that he lingers on the roof until a guard spots him and gives chase. Ezio runs, but not always as hard or fast as he can, letting the guard come just close enough to make both of their hearts pound. And that’s like a game too, until Ezio turns and drops down from the sky like the fist of God, and just like that, the guard dies.

It always brings a terrifying rush. That man no longer exists. He’s out of the stream. And it took but the tiniest flick of his wrist and the whirr of concealed springs. It’s easy, too easy, so easy that it hurts.

The shame tries to come, but it won’t begin to bother him until later. For now, Ezio Auditore is safe among justification and rationalization. He was being chased (it wasn’t like he forced that guard to follow him), he had the right to defend himself (not that he’d given the guard an equal chance), he was avenging his family (by attacking someone that probably had nothing to do with their deaths anyway).

With time, the doubts multiply to assertion and Ezio is ashamed and dismayed as he realizes what he’s become. With time, his reaction to the power thrust into his hands (strapped to his forearms) becomes tempered with age and experience. With time, Ezio learns that just because he has the power to end lives at will doesn’t mean that he should.

But that time is a long time coming, and until then, Ezio is an omnipresent force crouched on the rooftops.

Desmond Miles is losing his mind.

It is happening slowly, every second of every day, in the Animus or out. He knows it’s happening, and maybe that is the worst part about it all. Knowing. Knowing that Altair doubted himself more than anyone could truly guess. Knowing that Ezio was almost taken over by his sudden rise in power. Because now he knows these things in a way that he barely understands, and he finds himself wanting to climb to the rooftops and wondering about heaven and hell or simply watch people pass beneath him.

But then he becomes confused, because he also knows that nothing is true, none of it is true.

Not the phantom Templars that run at him with eyes full of hate and swords and spears to run him through, and not the shadow-black horses that come crashing through the walls, screaming, with rolling eyes and foaming mouths and sharps hooves ready to run him over and crush him into the ground. If he didn’t know he was going crazy, then he would throw himself to the side to avoid the apparitions and that would be so much more satisfying than having to stand still, every muscle locked in fear while his instincts scream at him to run move dodge before you get trampled impaled-

He sees enemies everywhere. And the most frightening thing to him is when they aren’t in his mind anymore. When Lucy tells him to get in the Animus, her aura flashes red because her goal is to pick more out of his brain and Desmond’s goal is to keep from getting crazier and these things are no longer compatible.

They want him to lose is mind.

They want to use him. To kill him.

Desmond has to remind himself (frequently, tugging his hood over his hood to hide the frantic whispering movement of his lips) that Lucy and Rebecca and Shaun are the reason he is still alive. They saved him, his paranoia is irrational. So he hides it; he smiles and laughs and shows Shaun how to properly mix a martini, and sometimes just acting normal makes him feel normal, and for a few seconds or minutes or hours he can pretend that he is normal and hasn’t gone batshit quite yet.

But then he slips. A shadow dances in the corner of his mind and he jumps, instinct triggering his eagle vision, and then there is red all around and sweat on his brow and his hands shake with adrenaline. Or Rebecca will punch him playfully in the shoulder and he bites his tongue and curls his fingers into fists and has to strive against everything he is not to sweep her legs out from under her. Or Lucy steadies him as he climbs out of the Animus, weak and tired and lost, and he moves to drive the heel of his palm into her chest before he remembers suddenly that there is no hidden blade on his wrist and he changes the motion into an awkward-thankful pat on her shoulder or arm.

And sometimes they notice and that’s the worst of all- when they look at him like that, like they’re doing right now, with eyes full of confused pity. They don’t understand. He doesn’t want their pity, he doesn’t deserve it. They’re red, but he knows that’s a lie and it’s not them that’s wrong, it’s him, and they are all better people than subject seventeen is.

He doubts himself. He feels dirty and bloody.

He feels like Templars are stabbing him and horses are screaming.

He isn’t losing his mind. He’s already lost it. He just doesn’t know it yet.

—

Malik came home to a surprise on Friday. Altair was there on the couch, not unusual, but his clothes were different and he wore a hooded sweatshirt. Malik had no idea where he’d gotten it. “Ah, you’re home,” Altair said looking behind him and got up from the couch.

Malik looked him over with a raised brow, “Going somewhere?” he asked noting Altair’s sneakers. He didn’t know where those had come from either.

“Maybe,” Altair smirked.

“Maybe isn’t an answer,” Malik informed him.

“It is for me.”

Malik sighed and rolled his eyes, “Just tell me what you’re doing.”

“Running.”

Well that sounded pretty simple and… boring. Altair didn’t do things that were boring, ever. “You mean free running,” Malik said. Altair nodded smugly. “You still have your stitches-

“Not anymore,” Altair continued smugly.

Malik blinked at him, “You took them out?”

“Yep, all by myself,” and Altair raised up part of his sweater and shirt to show where he had had stitches. The scar was pretty much healed over by now and Malik’s not so great stitching had left a bit of a jagged line on the skin. “Wanna come with?” Malik opened his mouth to say no, he was tired, “C’mon,” Altair said giving him his most pleading look that just made Malik annoyed because it was one of those looks he couldn’t say no to.

“Fine,” he said.

“Yes,” Altair beamed, “Go change,” and he pushed Malik towards his bedroom.

“You are so up to something,” Malik called over his shoulder, “Don’t think I don’t know!”

“I have nooooo idea what you’re talking about,” Altair said and when Malik glanced back over to him he saw Altair leaning against the front door, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Malik closed the door behind him pointedly and he heard Altair laugh.

Allowing himself a secret smile once the door was between him and the Syrian, he pulled off his work clothes, throwing them into the hamper and pulled on some more comfortable clothes that he could run in including sneakers which he rarely wore, if only because it was easier to just wear slip-ons. But real shoes were required for this sort of activity.

Altair was still waiting against the door when he came back out, his dark hood pulled up, “Ready,” Malik said. “Though you sure you want to go before dinner?”

“Work up an appetite,” Altair said looking up so Malik could see his grin and they way his eyes passed over Malik he wondered just what Altair meant for a moment. Malik felt a bit of heat rise up in his cheeks even as Altair turned away and opened the door. Malik followed after, locking the door and was in time to watch Altair jump off the stairs seven steps up, do a twist, and land facing him with his arms spread.

“Very clever, show off,” Malik said trying to sound unimpressed but failing. He walked down the steps normally after Altair who grabbed his hand and hauled him out the door and into the cold Boston evening.

—

It was much later when they finally stopped for the night. The air was sharp and cold against their skin, though they’d both ditched their longer clothes as they built up a sweat. The cold air felt good on Malik’s skin even if it sucked away his body heat and made him shiver a bit as he leaned against Altair. Though he shivered he wasn’t totally cold, his body was still running hot from their run and final climb up to the top of the building they’d found themselves on. He was pretty sure they were in the North End, as he could see the river in front of them and off to their right he could make out the distant lights of Logan International.

Altair had his fingers tangled in Malik’s as they sat there. They didn’t talk, simply enjoyed the silence between them and the occasional passer-by or car that rolled down the narrow one-way street. Then Altair leaned forward and looked down when a car pulled up in front of the building. “I’ll be right back,” he said and stood up. Malik frowned and almost tugged him back down, already missing his added warmth up on the roof, but it was too late, he already had crossed the roof entrance and was gone. Malik tried not to pout as he waited and looked down at the car, which looked like it was a delivery for something or another. Thinking about it made his stomach growl a little, he hadn’t eaten anything since lunch.

He watched the delivery driver get back into his car and drive away. A minute later the roof door opened again. Malik turned around where he sat and saw Altair walking towards him with a few small boxes balanced on top of a large pizza box. He sat down next to Malik without dropping anything.

“You bought pizza,” Malik said staring at the food, his stomach liking the way it smelled very much.

“You’re very clever you know that,” Altair said setting the box on his lap. Malik refrained from shoving because Altair was holding the food and sitting on a ledge. Malik turned to face him, throwing one leg over the other side of the ledge so he straddled it. “I also got some other stuff,” and he handed Malik a styrofoam container. Malik opened it and just about drooled. mozzarella sticks. He stole one and found it was still crispy, it was so hard to get crispy mottz sticks on a delivery, they always were soggy it seemed. But not these. No these were crispy and fresh. The other two containers contained jalapeno poppers and french fries, both as crispy and hot as the mottz sticks. Malik’s stomach growled loudly. Altair laughed at him. “Want a slice?” and Altair opened the big pizza box.

“Who did you ask?” was all Malik said as he picked out a slice of vegetarian with (of all things) shrimp and garlic on it. One half was his favorite (that) and the other was just cheese with mushrooms and jalapenos on it.

“Kadar,” Altair said smugly. Malik hummed and bit into the pizza. It burned a bit but he didn’t care, he was starving. Altair helped himself to some french fries before attacking his own half of the pizza.

“Well for once I approve of him telling people my weird taste in food,” Malik said and Altair snorted. Malik let the pizza slice cool in the cold air for a moment or two before taking another bite. This time it was just cool enough and he groaned when he tore into the slice. He heard Altair cough and smack his chest, but was too focused on his food to pay much attention. “This is fucking delicious,” he added.

“Good,” Altair said approvingly, “Apparently it’s the best pizza in the neighborhood,” he’d already polished off his first slice and was moving in on the poppers. Malik quickly grabbed several and put them in his lap since he didn’t have any illusions that if he didn’t watch them they’d be gone before he got any. He’d learned Altair liked spicy foods since he’d started living on his couch, and after Malik introduced him to sriracha Altair put it on everything. So Altair ate the poppers like they were candy while Malik finished his slice.

They ate in silence, both pushing as much food into their mouths as quickly as possible. One because they were both hungry, and two to eat before it got cold. Once they’d emptied the smaller boxes of all the food and the pizza box of most of it’s contents and had pulled their coats back on, now able to feel the chill, they returned to just relaxing on the roof.

“What are you- oh,” Malik started as Altair moved away from him on the roof only to face away from him and lay his head right on Malik’s lap. Altair grinned up at him from where he was. Malik didn’t say anything, instead he reached out to brush his fingers through Altair’s dark brown hair. Altair closed his eyes, a content look on his face. Malik asked something he didn’t want to ask but needed to because he refused to be caught by surprise again, “When are you leaving again?”

Oh babu I love this. <3 The pizza sounds weirdly delicious...

Altair’s eyes snapped open, though he didn’t sit up, and turned his head a bit to watch Malik better. “It depends,” he said slowly.

“On?”

“You.”

“About?”

“Do you want me to stay?”

Malik was silent for several seconds, “Yes,” he finally breathed. He sometimes hated that Altair could affect him so much, that he could become such a mess when the man was around. But on the other hand he had missed the thrill of it, the sense of adventure he’d only just been allowed a single swallow of during the spring. It had lit a fire back in him he’d forgotten he’d had, reminded him who he was. He didn’t want to go back to being that guy he’d been last year. He wanted to stay like how he was now, not fall back into that.

“Then I don’t plan on going anywhere,” he said firmly.

“Huh?” Malik was honestly surprised by that.

“I talked with my uncle before I left home for this assignment. He said if I wanted he’d talk to my father, convince him to transfer me to America permanently,” he said.

Malik tried not to think too hard about what he’d just said, transfer and what that had to mean, that whatever Altair was a part of was bigger than he probably wanted to understand. “He could do that?”

“My uncle and father get along very well,” Altair said, “same coin, opposite sides,” the wording for the analogy was off but Malik understood. “He will say he needs someone skilled over here to keep things secure, someone like me, and since I am already here he won’t have to send someone else. My father will argue, say I should be there with him and then Giovanni will say it would be good if I learned how his side of the business was run too. My father will consent to a point,” he smirked a little. “And even if they can’t, well,” he chuckled here, “Aunt Maria and her sister will make him see reason.” In that moment Malik felt pity for Altair’s father, who he’d only met once. But it was enough. He’d married Maria’s sister who was every bit of the fiery Italian her older sister was. If they started to work on someone he doubted they’d last very long. Maria he knew had a way with words and he could only imagine her sister was the same way.

Malik chuckled and ruffled his hair, “I can’t imagine anyone denying Maria or her sister anything,” he said.

“Nope,” Altair grinned smugly. “So I won’t leave again… well,” he made a bit of a face, “Other than work related times and-

They both looked at Malik’s pocket when his phone started to ring. Malik cursed and Altair frowned as he fished it from his pocket. “Hello?” he asked not even glancing at who it was from.

“I’m going to take that phone apart one day since it always goes off at the worst time,” Altair said and Malik shushed him with an irritant look on his face.

“Is this Malik?”

Malik blinked, “Ezio?” he asked, “Of course this is Malik,” he frowned.

“Thank goodness. You wouldn’t beleive how hard it is to get in touch with you when you don’t have anyone else’s-

“Hey!” Malik yelped when Altair sat up and snatched the phone from him. “Altair what are you doing-” he shut up at the look Altair gave him, unable to continue at the dark glance.

“Ezio,” Altair said lowly and turned away, then he said something in Italian and Malik really couldn’t follow. He sighed then Altair hung up the phone.

“Going to tell me what that was about?” Malik asked, hand out for his phone.

“No,” he said and handed it back, “He just knows better.”

Malik rolled his eyes, “I haven’t talked to him in almost two weeks,” he said.

“Good, maybe he’s not such an idiot anymore,” Altair grumbled.

Malik stared at him a moment, “What did you do?” he knew Altair had done something.

Altair gave him a slightly wary look, “I don’t think you want to know,” he was told.

“Altair-

“Really Malik, I didn’t do anything as bad as Ezio did,” he interuppted. “And I don’t want to tell you because you don’t deserve to know that my cousin is a bigger dick than you think,” he said lowly.

“You have something to do with why no one has talked to Ezio in a few weeks?”

“I… maybe sort of deleted all the contacts from his phone,” Altair said innocently. Malik pressed his hand to his face with a sigh.
--
am I don't yet? Uuuuuhg. I'm ready to put this story to bed, just so I can say it's over.

Just kidding, I'll take under a week to redo this chapter instead of next day (fuckthat.jpg). OTL sorry it's late ;; Next part should be up soon. (lol here's hoping)...
----------

Even assassins, he noted, had their weak moments.

The idea to put the false noose around this... so called “Grand Master” guy’s neck had just been a random idea that his partner, Michaello, had thought up on a whim. At the time, of course, it had sounded so incredibly stupid, but when they saw him tense, heard the subtly intake of air, they knew it struck deep.

That, really, was all he needed. Still, they didn’t understand why that odd man, some Borgia messenger, had been sent to them. Hell if they cared – getting paid a pretty penny for a job like this wasn’t something he was going to complain about.

Glancing outside, Nichols stood up from the card game Michaello, Luccio, and he had been playing. He walked (read: stalked) into the room where the “Grand Master” was sitting, tied up.

Stepping behind him, he grabbed the noose and tugged it, bringing forth a cracked and tired scream. With a smirk, he walked over to a table, picking up the small dagger, running his finger over it observantly.

“How do you fair, assassino?” He asked, taunting and conversational. “Are you willing to answer my question now?”

I will die first. Ezio hissed in his head.

Nichols smirked, walking around him in a predatory circle. He thought of where to cut: perhaps his collar bone? Or his back? Of course it wouldn’t be a deep cut – just something to send a point. When he finally decided to make two small incisions over his collar bones, he stood off to Ezio’s right. He took one step, when he heard something slam from outside.

There were a couple of gasps, which were quickly followed by a different kind of gasp. Not one of surprise, or disgust; no, they were gasps for air. He stared at the door, till all went quiet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man's head tilt to the side...

He heard something.
The door slammed opened with a force Nichols couldn’t fathom. His hands became shaky, and he took a step back, staring ahead, utterly horrified.

Two assassins stood there in the grey robes of novices, but blood was splattered across each of their chests. Their cuffs, too, were stained with fresh blood.

“Get. Away. From him. Now.” One spoke, breathing heavily with obvious rage and exertion.

Both of the hooded figures lifted their heads to allow Nichols a look to what was underneath; all he could see was rage. Pure, unpolluted, unadulterated rage.

He didn’t even get a chance to open his mouth before a throwing knife dug itself into his throat. With him gone, the novices hurried to Ezio’s side.

“It’s alright, maestro...” Luciano said softly, untying the blindfold and throwing it to the ground. “We’re here – we will take you home.”

Cirino began cutting the ropes around Ezio’s wrists and ankles. Luciano quickly removed the noose, and, to Ezio’s surprise, he let out a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding in.

His cracked his eyes open, slowly, letting them get used to the light and re-focus. After a minute or two, he was greeted by the relieved, but heavily concerned, faces of his eldest novices. Ezio was too relieved and too tired to care about the pain in his back and legs when they lifted him from the chair. Each put an arm around their shoulder, and carefully walked him outside.

The chilly night air stung at the cuts on the assassin’s back, making him hiss. He did his best to hide the pain in his face by biting his lip. One of them, he wasn’t sure, quickly yanked a blanket out from the saddle bag of one of the horses, wrapping it around Ezio.

Getting him onto the horse was a feat. One of them knelt down, offering his hand and knee for Ezio to use as a step up. The other aided him in the same way, swinging his leg over the saddle. Again, the assassin hissed, biting his lip. His legs – hell, his entire body was sore from lack of use. The muscles on his back cried in agony when he moved, and the blanket they brought had bits of rough fabric fluff that rubbed against them painfully.

(Gonna kill this character limit i swear)

With the two recruits riding very closely, they made the slow journey back to Tiber Island. They were given a few looks, but not many. The moon, whistfully floating high above them, cast it’s ominous light over the hooded novices, shrouded their faces further. Every few moments (read: seconds) they looked to Ezio, making sure he was alright. He leaned forward slightly, holding himself up over the pommel of his saddle by his forearms. By God did this hurt!

Eventually, they stopped at the miniature stable across from the entrance of the hideout. The novices dropped first, herding the horses to a corner, save Ezio’s. Cirino ran inside, shouting for the others to come.

Tired, beaten, and about to just give up and fall over into unconsciousness, Ezio was vaguely aware of the now five sets of hands helping him down, and ushering him to the door. However, when they reached the stairs, Cirino growled, moved in front of Ezio, and hoisted up his legs like a dead man. The others guarded on all sides; since Cirino and Luciano were the biggest, it was easier for them to carry the master themselves.
In his pain-enduced stupor, Ezio could hear the muffled words of someone shouting incredulously.

“What in God’s name! What happened to –”

“Out! We will tend to him!”

“Are you mad, boy? He needs a doctor!”

“We will see to it. Now, go!”

The assassin couldn’t be pressed to care who it was they were shouting at. He was just aware of being carried up more stairs, till, finally, he was laid on his stomach in his own bed.

And, it smelled of a few things.

Leather, metal, the faint waft of soap, but mostly, home.

(captcha: enraged wledoph ... ok it sort of fits??)

goddammit html who even asked you anyway

Desmond Miles is losing his mind.

It is happening slowly, every second of every day, in the Animus or out. He knows it’s happening, and maybe that is the worst part about it all. Knowing. Knowing that Altair doubted himself more than anyone could truly guess. Knowing that Ezio was almost taken over by his sudden rise in power. Because now he knows these things in a way that he barely understands, and he finds himself wanting to climb to the rooftops and wondering about heaven and hell or simply watch people pass beneath him.

But then he becomes confused, because he also knows that nothing is true, none of it is true.

Not the phantom Templars that run at him with eyes full of hate and swords and spears to run him through, and not the shadow-black horses that come crashing through the walls, screaming, with rolling eyes and foaming mouths and sharps hooves ready to run him over and crush him into the ground. If he didn’t know he was going crazy, then he would throw himself to the side to avoid the apparitions and that would be so much more satisfying than having to stand still, every muscle locked in fear while his instincts scream at him to run move dodge before you get trampled impaled-

He sees enemies everywhere. And the most frightening thing to him is when they aren’t in his mind anymore. When Lucy tells him to get in the Animus, her aura flashes red because her goal is to pick more out of his brain and Desmond’s goal is to keep from getting crazier and these things are no longer compatible.

They want him to lose is mind.

They want to use him. To kill him.

Desmond has to remind himself (frequently, tugging his hood over his hood to hide the frantic whispering movement of his lips) that Lucy and Rebecca and Shaun are the reason he is still alive. They saved him, his paranoia is irrational. So he hides it; he smiles and laughs and shows Shaun how to properly mix a martini, and sometimes just acting normal makes him feel normal, and for a few seconds or minutes or hours he can pretend that he is normal and hasn’t gone batshit quite yet.

But then he slips. A shadow dances in the corner of his mind and he jumps, instinct triggering his eagle vision, and then there is red all around and sweat on his brow and his hands shake with adrenaline. Or Rebecca will punch him playfully in the shoulder and he bites his tongue and curls his fingers into fists and has to strive against everything he is not to sweep her legs out from under her. Or Lucy steadies him as he climbs out of the Animus, weak and tired and lost, and he moves to drive the heel of his palm into her chest before he remembers suddenly that there is no hidden blade on his wrist and he changes the motion into an awkward-thankful pat on her shoulder or arm.

And sometimes they notice and that’s the worst of all- when they look at him like that, like they’re doing right now, with eyes full of confused pity. They don’t understand. He doesn’t want their pity, he doesn’t deserve it. They’re red, but he knows that’s a lie and it’s not them that’s wrong, it’s him, and they are all better people than subject seventeen is.

He doubts himself. He feels dirty and bloody.

He feels like Templars are stabbing him and horses are screaming.

He isn’t losing his mind. He’s already lost it. He just doesn’t know it yet.

I'm so glad I was checking this fill everyday ;u;
Awesome chapter writer-anon! I would love to see more <3

sdghasjdgkh I sighed in relief when the recruits arrived!
And and and their protectiveness, I can't even describe my feelings right now!
Can't wait for more 8D!

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!

Anon is going on an archive binge and stumbled on this, and ohhh man this might be my favorite fill on the entire meme. Thank you very much for this! ...Is it still a WIP or has it been abandoned?

I know it's been almost two months since the last comment on this thread but I really couldn't resist asking, haha.

“I see,” he said as though pained.

“He’ll get them back, obviously,” and Altair was sitting right in front of him again.

“I know but did you have to do that? He practically lives on his phone.”

“I thought it was adequate punishment,” Altair said firmly. “Besides, it got me two weeks of you all to myself,” and he leaned forward, kissing him, and Malik didn’t stop him. He forgot what it was really like to be kissed like this, fully and without the hesitation Ezio had, or the brief moments they’d kissed while Altair had lived on his couch. He parted his lips when Altair pressed his tongue forward and groaned a little as he licked his way inside his mouth. They just stayed there for a good while, and Malik didn’t worry about what Altair had or hadn’t done to Ezio because he couldn’t think about it with Altair’s mouth against him and the taste of greasy pizzeria food on his tongue.

Altair kissed his lower lip when they came up for air and Malik felt warmer than he had been before. He could probably do this all night, and he didn’t have work in the morning… but the T would stop running soon. He tipped his head down to avoid Altair’s persistent lips to say, “We should probably be getting home,” he said.

“Mhmm,” was all Altair said and Malik wondered when Altair’s arm had found it’s way around his waist, he honestly could say he couldn’t remember.

“Really,” Malik implored, “The T is going to stop running, and I don’t feel like walking—” he was cut off briefly when Altair kissed him again, “walking all the way back to Cambridge,” he blurted out the rest once he was free of Altair’s mouth.

Altair pulled away, “Okay,” he sighed and Malik would be the first to admit he hadn’t wanted to stop, not really. Still it was cold out and the weathermen had been threatening the entire river basin with snow since Wednesday. They got off the ledge and Altair picked up the half empty pizza box and they walked down from the roof. Altair left the box with the garbage on the curb and Malik pulled him towards Haymarket station.

When they got there Altair just jumped right over the automatic barriers even while Malik snapped at him about it and paid his own fare. Altair just grinned back at him and waited till he’d gotten to the proper side of the barriers. He snatched up Malik’s hand as they walked to the platform and waited for the train. A train ride and an experience through Park station (that station was always a bit of a mess to navigate, even for natives) they were on their way to Cambridge. Their train was practically empty except for some college kids bundled up against the cold and they got off at the Harvard stop. Altair had his head against Malik’s shoulder as they rode, both their hands in his lap, so tangled up it was difficult to distinguish one set of fingers from the other’s.

They got off at the Porter stop and walked the few blocks from the T station to Malik’s apartment on Cedar during which Malik asked Altair how he knew where they’d be for the pizza guy to deliver since he never saw Altair actually take out his phone. Altair just claimed it was his secret assassin mojo and that made Malik laugh.

There was a familiar car in front of Malik’s building as they neared it. Malik frowned at it in confusion and Altair’s grip on his hand tightened to almost painful. That was Ezio’s car. What was Ezio doing here this late at night? Maybe not totally unfamiliar, as Ezio often showed up at all hours of the waking day, but he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the man since their break up.

The outer door opened and the familiar sight of Ezio in his thick wool coat that hung down by his knees was framed in the doorway. “Malik!” he cried and jumped down from the stoop, Malik did his best not to wince, remembering how Kadar had broken his arm doing that when there was snow on the ground.

“Hey,” Malik said as Ezio came up to them and he caught the tight tension between the cousins instantly as they both seemed to refuse to ackoweledge each other’s existence. He was surprised by this, but also by Ezio’s attitude, he expected the Italian to be more stand-offish or grouchy about what had happened.

“Can I talk to you?” Ezio asked.
“Sure,” Malik said easily.

Finally Ezio seemed to at least show he knew Altair was there, his eyes flicking to him for an instant, “Alone?”

“Yeah, of course,” and he pulled his hand out of Altair’s, “I’ll see you upstairs,” he told Altair, who just nodded mutely. He was caught off guard when Altair kissed him suddenly, a swift thing that made his heart jump into his throat. Then it was gone, as quickly as it came, and Altair was walking up the stairs to the door. When he focused back on Ezio he saw the man glaring after his cousin. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

“You could say,” Ezio said, turning away and looking at Malik. He looked… hurt. Malik refused to feel bad though, just refused, since he’d been hurt plenty in his friendship with Ezio as well as dating him where he thought even his fantasies were betraying him. “Look Malik, I’m sorry,” he said, “What happened on Halloween-

Malik waved him away, “I wrote it off,” he said, frankly with Altair showing up that same night he’d sort of forgotten about their fight and the party. That night belonged to Altair and his stupid fucking gunshot wound.

“Oh,” Ezio frowned. There was a strange silence that Malik recognized as Ezio working up to whatever he really was here to say, and Malik was content to just wait him out. “So then you aren’t mad at me?”

“No,” Malik said and put his hand in his pocket, he was cold out here now that he wasn’t moving around. “Are you?”

“…No,” Ezio admitted, “But just… you rebounded pretty quick,” he said sadly. Malik was about to explain himself, he didn’t even know how he was going to do that, when Ezio spoke up again, “I wanted to know though, if you knew.”

“Knew?” Malik rose a brow at him.

“About what Altair does.”

“I do,” Malik said calmly.

Ezio seemed shocked by that, “He told you?” Malik nodded. “He told you, and you’re still with him?” now he seemed… maybe not disgusted, but grossly surprised.

“It’s no worse than what I’ve done,” Malik said.

“Malik, I don’t think you understand. Altair enjoys it,” Ezio said in practically a hiss and that actually stopped whatever Malik would have said there. “I bet he didn’t tell you that. I told you, way back in spring, my family is crazy. I meant it,” he said seriously. “Malik?” he asked when Malik didn’t answer or move for a long time, just stared at him.

Malik had just stopped at that comment. That Altair might actually enjoy his work, and from the way Ezio had said it, enjoyed it like enjoyed killing people. Malik wasn’t going to hold a lofty, peaceful, desire over Altair’s head since he couldn’t throw stones. He was ex-military, he’d shot people, he’d killed people, and animals. Hell he’d destroyed buildings and had seen entire villages go up in fire because an incompetent officer had called in a pair of zoomies to bomb it to kingdom come. He couldn’t and wouldn’t fault Altair for doing his job, because that’s what it was, a job, and if he was good at it so what? Malik had been good at his job too. But he idea that Altair could enjoy his blood work hadn’t even occurred to him.

He flinched when Ezio touched him and jerked away as though burned. “Malik?” Ezio asked again.

He didn’t want to believe what Ezio said, in fact, he had no reason to in the first place seeing as how Ezio was suddenly just throwing this in his face. “I don’t believe you,” he said.

Ezio had a sort of dark look on his face then, “Maybe you should ask him,” he suggested.

“I will, right now,” and he shoved right past Ezio. He wasn’t surprised to see Altair was sitting at the top of the first set of stairs. He honestly hadn’t expected him to leave with the weird air that had been between the two earlier.

“Everything all right?” Altair asked and pulled his hood down as Malik walked up a few steps so he was eye level with Altair sitting at the top.

“I don’t care if you kill people,” Malik told him, “Just please don’t tell me you like it.”

Altair blinked slowly at him, surprised, and maybe confused by what he’d said. “I do what I have to and that’s it,” he said and now that there was that little worm of doubt Malik wondered if he was telling the truth.

“You wouldn’t lie to me,” it wasn’t a question.

“Malik, I have never lied to you,” Altair said standing and walking down the few steps till he stood just one above him.

“You’re serious?”

“Yes,” Altair said softly.

“So you don’t like it, killing I mean,” Malik said now feeling awkward he’d let what Ezio said effect him so much. He couldn’t help it, seeing as how he’d known Ezio for so long.

“I like the sneaking part maybe, getting close to a target. But killing? No,” he said, then his eyes grew hard, “Did Ezio tell you that?” Malik just nodded. Altair gently pushed Malik out of the way and walked out the building. Malik had a terrible feeling about this and followed after him as Altair quickly moved down the steps and he was just in time to see Altair hit Ezio so hard the younger man went down like a sack of bricks.

“You fucking psychopath!” Ezio yelled from the ground, hand clutching his face.

“I fucking warned you Ezio,” Altair spat at him, looming over his cousin angrily, his entire back tight with rage. “You are testing my patience on this. Give it up.”

Ezio glared defiantly at Altair and then caught sight of Malik standing on the stairs still, wide-eyed, shocked Altair would actually punch Ezio. The two might have seemed tense earlier, but they’d seemed to get along so well before. Somehow he knew he’d missed something. Altair saw where Ezio looked and turned to look at Malik as well. “See Malik, I told you,” and Ezio pointed at Altair furiously.

“Told him what? Another lie?” Altair snarled. “That’s all you do, Ezio, lie,” and he grabbed his cousin up by his lapels and hauled him to his feet. “You’re a petty lier who tries to break things when he doesn’t get what he wants,” and he shook Ezio a little. Malik was still too shocked to see either of them like this to stop them.

“Fuck you Altair,” and Malik’s eyes widened when Ezio sent a kick at Altair. His boot connected with Altair’s shin and the Syrian let him go. Ezio then tried to punch him. Perhaps not the smartest idea as Altair grabbed his fist and before Malik quite knew what was happening he had Ezio on the ground again, this time Ezio on his stomach, his arm wedged up against his back as Altair pinned him to the ground.

“Don’t ever do that again Ezio,” he growled and Ezio whimpered in pain as Altair bent his arm hard.

That snapped Malik out of his stunned state. Ezio was still his friend, a very old friend, and Altair was hurting him. He went right over to the two and shoved Altair off the younger man to the ground. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped at Altair, who seemed surprised Malik would do that.

“Ow, fuck,” Ezio groaned pathetically.

“Oh shut up Ezio, I did not hurt you that much,” Altair rolled his eyes at his cousin his accent slipping in more than usual, mangling his words up.

“What is wrong with you?” Malik asked Altair again, staring at him.

“What’s wrong with me? Ask Ezio that!”

“He’s not the one throwing punches-

“Did you not see that one just now?” Altair demanded.

“Unprovoked,” Malik finished.

“Oh I was plenty provoked,” Altair growled. “I can’t stand liars, and Ezio here has done nothing but that to you for a long ass time. He deserved that punch, and more,” he glared at his cousin.

Malik turned to Ezio, who was sitting up now and working his arm, an uncomfortable look on his face. “What’s he talking about?” he asked his friend.

“Beats me- hey!”

“Stop fucking lying,” Altair snarled after smacking Ezio, hard, on the shoulder. “If you want to be like me at least be man enough to tell the truth.”

“Ezio?”

Ezio said nothing, Altair made a disgusted huff and stood up. “Pathetic,” he said lowly.

“Then you tell me,” Malik turned to Altair.

“Nope. This is his own can of worms, he can open it and get it over with or sit and eat it himself. Not my fucking problem,” and Altair’s eyes narrowed with dislike. Malik frowned. He sent one last look at Ezio, said something in Italian, and stalked into the apartment building.

“Ezio?” Malik asked gently.

“It’s nothing,” Ezio said softly and looked away, looking defeated.

“You can tell me,” he said.

Ezio looked at him, “No, I can’t. You’d hate me,” he said in a strained way. “I don’t want you to hate me.”

Malik frowned, “I could never hate you Ezio,” Malik told him and Ezio got to his feet as well.

“Of course,” and Malik wasn’t sure that had even been the right thing to say. The words seemed to have… twisted something inside Ezio. Something fragile and Malik didn’t even know where to begin in trying to fix it. “Look, forget I said anything,” he said quietly. “I just… I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Everything,” he said and leaned over and kissed Malik on the cheek before going to his car and getting into the driver’s seat. Malik watched him drive away before, more than a little confused, went into his building. Altair was no where in sight when he went into his apartment but the hall bathroom door was closed and he could hear running water. He frowned and went into his own room, locking it and taking his own shower.

As he left the shower there was a soft knock on his door. He opened it and it was his brother. “Hey,” he said, standing in just his pajama pants.

“Did something happen?” Kadar asked, still in his day clothes and unlike everyone Malik had ever met didn’t look at the scarring on his left arm. Of course not, Kadar was his brother.

“Why?”

“I heard something from the bathroom, it sounded like someone had punched a wall.”

Malik frowned, “It’s fine, Altair and Ezio just… had a stupid argument.”

“Oh,” that made Kadar’s brows furrow. “Bad?”

“Just stupid,” Malik shook his head.

“Okay,” Kadar said, “Well, that was all, g’night,” and he left to head to his own room as the bathroom door opened and Altair stepped out amid a small cloud of steam. His skin was bright red from the heat of the water and when he stepped out he looked over at Malik. Malik motioned to him and Altair came over.

“Everything all right?” he asked him the same thing Kadar had just wanted to know.

“Yes,” Altair said, he didn’t sound so tight as before. “I’m sorry about earlier. He just pisses me off,” Altair growled a little.

“Why?”

Altair bit the inside of his cheek, then sighed, “It’s his own problem. I don’t air other people’s dirty laundry,” he said.

“Oh,” Malik nodded, he could appreciate that. “I thought you two got along better than that.”

“Usually yes. But like I said, I hate liars,” Altair said, “when he mans up to what he did, I’ll forgive him.”

“Was what he did so bad?”

Altair looked strait at him, “Yes,” he said with such seriousness that Malik didn’t question him further. “Very much yes,” and he reached out and cupped Malik’s jaw. Malik swallowed just before Altair kissed him gently. He felt hot against Malik’s skin, still hot from his shower, and damp, like Malik was. Malik grabbed him by the front of his soft shirt and pulled him close.

“Would I forgive him for it?” he asked when they broke apart.

“Probably,” Altair admitted, “It’s just him being shallow.”

“Then I’m not going to worry too much about it,” Malik informed him. Altair nodded with a hum and kissed him again. “Bed?’ he asked.

“Yeah, I’m tired,” and Altair made to pull away.

“No, I mean, bed?” and Malik’s eyes flicked to his bed.

“Oh,” understanding dawned in Altair’s eyes. “Yes,” and he let Malik pull him into his bedroom. The door closed solidly behind them.

--

Welp, almost done. Not that it seems to matter. Fuck it's like I'm talking to myself here! This fandom totally knows how to make it's writers feel loved /only sort of bitter about lack of any sort of enthusiasm

NOOO DON'T FEEL ALONE.
8;u this story makes my day/week/life when it is updated!!!! Seriously!
I always read it on my phone and it is hard to capcha on iPhone DX
I really love this story and all your characterizations, your pacing is fantastic, and the mood feels personal, very pleasantly realistic. Something you never get in fics.

I would kill to have you as an rp partner!
I love your story and thank you muchly for sticking to it, I recently had back surgery and this helps me pass some of the time.
<3kzanon

The kink meme seems to have gotten quiet in terms of comments on fics. Especially on long fics.

I feel a little lost on actually commenting on this one, as this story is one of the ones I was gonna wait on and read all in one go - mostly because it didn't look like it was gonna end any time soon. I tend to do this for really long fics, just the way I read. Sorry. I have it bookmarked, and have just been keeping an eye on your segments for when it finishes. Sorry for not commenting earlier on the parts I have read, I prefer to do a full review at the end. I felt that you should at least know why I haven't said anything until now. Probably spoiled something for myself by reading these last segments, but you don't seem really happy about the lack of comments. Not that I blame you on that, I normally don't get any reviews on my fics.

It looks like Ezio is having some sort of crisis (and is jealous of Altair/Malik) while Altair and Malik have are getting used to each other and their quirks. (Is this right? IDEK anymore.)

Nooo, please don't feel abandoned by your readers!
Sorry for not commenting more on the updates, I love this fic dearly, but anything I can say just feels so inadequate compared to the amount of work and effort you put into writting this!

But I really like your straightforward Altair. And I can't even object to your characterization of Ezio as petty and revengeful, since he does possess many disagreeable qualities alongside his good ones. Selfishness, most of all.
And I love how thoroughly you've written the whole process of Malik sorting out his feelings. It really makes you feel for the character!

Reading this story is a real pleasure, so thank you for not abandoning it for one reason or another!

(It's archived now? Brilliant!)
I'm so glad that you've enjoyed it. You really don't know just how happy that comment made me. This is still a WIP, it's merely that life's an actual bitch. I'm currently swimming in coursework and my new meds have robbed me of a libido and made me incredibly lethargic, but hopefully I will soon be feeling up to writing again. I know where I'm going with this, just not how to write it down.
Oh jeez, that long? I feel bad now. But in all honesty if there's any way to get me back up and writing it's with comments like this. I love you, anon. I love you so so much.

Oh my god, this is so precious!
I love EVERYTHING about this crossover.
You're doing such a great job on the story, writeanon!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 20 of 27

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed [Fills]

Re: Desperate [2/2]

Re: Fill: Assassin and Thief [6/6]

A Perfect Circle [1/3]

A Perfect Circle [2/3]

A Perfect Circle [3/3]

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (78?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (79?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (79?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (80/?)

Recruits to the Rescue [1a/?]

Re: Recruits to the Rescue [1b/?]

A Perfect Circle [3/3] (fixed)

Re: Recruits to the Rescue [1b/?]

Re: Recruits to the Rescue [1b/?]

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

Re: 3; The soothe [5/?]

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (81/?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (82/?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (83/?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (83/?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (83/?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (83/?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (83/?)

Re: 3; The soothe [5/?]

Re: A Long Time in Coming- Men of Lore, The Myth Becomes 4/?