Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed [Fills]

[asscreedkinkmeme]

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

Comments

Re: Clipped (21i/21)

[(Anonymous)]

omg aren't we done yet???
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He’d been to young to be anything when they’d been taken from the desert and couldn’t remember what it was like there except in dreams he sometimes had or when he brothers spoke of it. The desert and Masyaf they always went on about was something he didn’t understand, a memory he’d forgotten to help cope with a world he equally didn’t understand and who didn’t understand him. He could distantly remember getting his tattoo when he was eight, but it had been so long ago, it had hurt and he’d cried, it was why he remembered it, he remembered the pain. It soon became all the things he did remember, every time someone who’d bought him hurt him, or hurt his brothers. Pain had been easier to deal with, because you could become numb to it and it helped him get over the brutality the Templars had wrecked upon his family. Happiness wasn’t something he’d wanted from that life out in the desert because it hurt, it hurt so much, more than any pain he’d had as a pet.

The Borgia had changed his mind a bit. He hadn’t been aware someone could be so cruel, so twisted. That sort of treatment had stained him, finally breaking through the numbness he’d built up to cope in that world. He’d wanted to die in that place, especially once his brothers were gone, he would just sit and pray to God to be smited or to be killed, anything to end the torture or the pain of being forced to see and try to translate what he saw into words, all the while the threat of a knife cutting into his skin loomed over him if he did not perform.

He’d been happy to see Altair when he’d appeared in that cellar, but also afraid. Afraid he’d been just a hallucination, a wish of a tired and broken mind as finally he broke under the pressure of forcing the sight without a medium. He hadn’t though, he’d been real, and that was somehow just as heart breaking because now he’d have to live through the pain, try to piece himself back together again when he’d just wanted to fall apart. Desmond hadn’t trusted anyone after the Borgia, not at first, he’d been hurt to badly to just trust anyone. Eventually he’d trust Leo, but never as much as the man probably wanted him to, but it was all he could do.

Salai though was different. He was like Desmond, he’d been broken, but he could function perfectly well regardless. The first time he’d really met Salai had been when he’d brought Desmond dinner, about the fifth day he’d been there and during one of the few times he’d been lucid enough to recognize the people around him since he was half delirious with a fever and whatever pain medication Leo had put him on. His brothers had both not been there, he wasn’t exactly sure where and at the time hadn’t cared because he’d been starving (figuratively, not literally as he had at the hands of the Borgia) and like sort of weird fairy god mother Salai had appeared with food.

From then on Salai always brought him his meals and was happy to see Desmond eating because really he would eat anything if it was put in front of him, a trait he had to this day. They didn’t talk, they couldn’t, Salai was a mute and Desmond had trouble forming full sentences in a language the other man could understand. It was frustrating since unlike anyone else Salai didn’t want anything from Desmond. Even if it was something small everyone wanted something from him, Salai didn’t want any of that except that Desmond was happy. In frustration one day when he’d still been bed ridden, though was now permanently lucid and not on as strong drugs, he’d shared with Salai. He hated the language barrier because the one person he wanted to talk to he couldn’t so he fixed it so they could understand each other. It had hurt without the Animus, but he’d gladly be hurt again to talk to a friend, to someone who understood him.

After that they’d been close, it was hard not to after such an event like that and Desmond knew he liked the red head. He was easy to talk to and smiled a lot, and when he did he meant it, he also blushed at anything which Desmond thought was cute. He would have been happy if they never went home, because then he could stay with his friend.