asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 4

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assassin's creed

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 4

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.4

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Part 1
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Antonia and Rinaldo stared at the tiny bundle, sitting on the doorstep of the base.

Both were returning from a mission, bloodied and weary, and wanted nothing more than sleep and perhaps a bath. The trip from Florence has been long, and they had nearly killed their horses running from a few persistent cavalrymen who had been tailing them.

Neither were in the mood to deal with this squalling, fleshy thing left on the doorstep. They just stared at it stupidly.

"How the hell..." Antonia began.

Rinaldo chuckled. "You know of Maestro Auditore's tastes." The chuckle turned into full-blown laughter.

Antonia shoved him, in no mood for humor. She wanted to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible. "Yes, but what woman in her right mind would leave a child here, even if it was Ezio's?"

"A desperate one," Rinaldo sniggered. "Take your pick. Ezio seems to have the whole female population in his thrall."

"Right," she regarded the baby. It had quieted, watching them with large blue eyes. She scowled- she hated babies, and was fairly sure the feeling was mutual. She had tried to watch her neighbor's children for an afternoon when she was ten. The resulting incident led, in a roundabout way, to the family's chicken coop being set on fire, and weeks of disgrace for Antonia.

"You take it, Rinaldo," she swept past him and into the base before he could protest. "We can hardly leave it out here to starve."

She could feel Rinaldo's scowl without turning around, but there was a rustle of cloth and the other assassin appeared at her side, awkwardly cradling the baby in his muscles arms. "What do we do with it?" As if on cue the creature scrunched up its face and began to wail.

She turned away, trying to think.

The wailing got louder. "What do I do with it?" Rinaldo sounded slightly panicked. It was Antonia's turn to laugh- her fellow assassin could face down a Brute guard without so much as trembling.

"You take it," Rinaldo thrust the crying infant at her.

She held up her hands. "Brother, I am terrible with children."

"You are a woman, you must have some power over it," Rinaldo protested.

"Merde, where did you get that idea?" she grimaced. "You are the one with younger siblings."

"My sisters always cared for them," Rinaldo was holding the baby so tightly Antonia feared he might crushed it.

"Put it down," she said quickly. While he looked around frantically for something to function as a makeshift crib, Antonia hurried off to find someone that outranked her to offload the child onto. Hopefully Ezio, if it really was his child.

The master assassin was nowhere to be found, but she did find Machiavelli conferring with a novice and another man, one that Antonia didn't know, clad in a long brown cloak and face hidden by a cowl.

"Maestro Machiavelli," she called.

The tall assassin leader glanced up, looking mildly annoyed. "Antonia. Did you and Rinaldo complete your mission?"

"Yes, yes," she skidded to a stop beside him. "But someone left a baby on our doorstep!"

He blinked. "A... child?"

The man he had been speaking with chuckled. "No doubt it shares Ezio's blood."

Machiavelli sighed. "That man and his dalliances... What did you do with it?"

"Rinaldo has is, maestro," she said. "We don't know what to do with it."

"Perhaps its mother left it here to be trained?" the novice spoke up.

"Rather early to start," the cowled man observed.

"We aren't an orphanage!" Antonia exclaimed, just in case her higher-ups got ideas.

Thank you! I am flattered :D
Yay! Cookies!
Haha if you got the idea for this prompt from a fill a few pages ago, I be the same authornon ;)
I have no prompts out at the moment, but thank you so much for the offer.

I have an idea for a fill. I will try to start writing it tomorrow.

It starts as an intense admiration for the one armed man – nothing more, nothing less. It's innocent enough, not shameful at all, unless one considers admiring one's father's best friend more than his own father shameful. He can't help it, though. When he walks in on his father and Malik sparring - or finishing, rather - and sees the final blow which sends his father to the floor, blade just inches from his throat, he can't help but to admire the man who made taking down the Grand Master look so easy. The final move, the only one he saw, was so graceful, so effortless, so strong, so surprising that it doesn't take much else to inspire such strong feelings in him. For anyone else, the missing limb would have been a major hindrance, world have prevented them from continuing on with this lifestyle, but it is not so for Malik. No, the man seems to only have gotten stronger as the years pass - though he wouldn't really know much about the first few years, the years before his birth. Briefly, Darim wonders if it should have been Malik, not his father, who took the title of Grand Master. Clearly he is able to best his father in a match, and he has clearly overcome more hardship in his life than his father has. Perhaps it's wrong to think that way, but it seems to him that it is his father who should have been the second in command, not Malik.

When he returns to the room he shares with his brother, he's eager to tell of what he saw. He recounts the story exactly as he remembers it, but his brother doesn't share his enthusiasm. Sef doesn't say it, but he does a terrible job of hiding his disappointment at the end of it. He doesn't want to hear a story of their father losing against Malik; he wants to hear one of his victory. A small pout forms on Darim's face when he thinks of his brother's less than enthusiastic reaction; it was not the response he’d been hoping for. Perhaps Sef would have had to see it to understand why he was so impressed with Malik's victory. The subject isn't brought up again and the night ends shortly after, the only other words exchanged are goodnights and wishes for the other to sleep well.

That night he dreams of the fight he saw between the two men. He dreams of the grace, the focus, the skill that Malik has in battle, and what it might be like if he had even some semblance of that type of ability. His father is good, clearly, but Malik is different. In his mind, Malik is better. The dream leaves him with an odd feeling when he wakes, he's excited, almost giddy, and he can't wait for the day's training to begin, can't wait for a chance to come just a little closer to the skill level of the dai he admires so much. He dresses quickly, eats quickly, time isn't moving fast enough for him and he isn't quite sure why a dream of one man he's known his whole life would leave him with such energy. Something in him has apparently changed in the time since his viewing of his father and Malik.

He throws a quick glance to the mirror, no physical change of which to speak other than his freshly cleaned clothes. Not a spot of dirt on them as there was the day before, but still that same dull gray that all novices are required to wear. It's an offending color, he thinks. A color that he can't imagine Malik ever wearing - not with his current skill. He can't imagine the older man ever being on such a low level. He sweeps his eyes over the rest of his reflection, moving on from his clothes. His lips are very visibly dry and cracked, probably as a result of his constant biting at them when he's nervous. He runs his tongue over the chapped skin, lingering for a moment on the right side, where a very distinctive scar would be if he were his father. He wonders if he had a scar there, would it make Malik pay him any more attention than he currently does? It’s a strange thought, but Darim thinks he would like to look a little more like his father if it would earn him more time with his father’s friend. Thinking about it, there really wouldn’t be much to change. In terms of his appearance, there could be no doubt that he is truly his father’s son.

Sef enters the room and barely even look in his direction. He watches for a moment as his brother nearly falls over while putting his pants on, clearly still wanting to be in bed. Apparently his dreams did not leave him as energized as Darim’s did.

“If you do not hurry, you’ll be late for training.”

Sef only gives him a tired look in response and continues to struggle with dressing himself.

"Since when do you care about that?"

Darim just shrugs and walks out of the room to where all of the novices are supposed to meet. In truth, he doesn't care about being late to training so much as he does about possibly seeing Malik before he leaves for Jerusalem as he does every once in a while. It has been a long time since he has actually been assigned there, but he had set up an order when he was and he does what he can to make sure that order remains.

He does see Malik for a short few seconds. They are too far away to exchange any sort of words and he seems to be too occupied with whatever his father is saying to even look over in his direction and he feels an unreasonable jealousy rise up in him because of it. He tries not to linger on that feeling because it really is just that - unreasonable. Malik is his father's best friend, his father's -- and this truly is a terrible phrase to use in describing Malik of all people, but it is true nonetheless -- right hand man, of course his attention is going to be on his father.

The moment training actually begins is one he’s thankful for. It seems his father has taken a moment away from his conversation to watch them and when Darim looks over he gives a small nod in greeting. Darim returns it, but he’s more interested in watching Malik, who has also turned his attention to the novices. This is a good day for them to watch, he thinks; they would be training with crossbows today and what better way to show his ability than with the weapon he’s most skilled with? Not for the first time today, he’s thankful for his good luck at the way things are turning out today. He would be the first one up today, and it seems this is enough to distract the two men from whatever it is they were going to do before. From the corner of his eye he can see them watching him, waiting to see how he would do. He does not watch them for long, though. He can’t afford to watch their reactions if he wants his performance to be his best – and it is.

He is most certainly his father’s son – in both looks and ability. Not one of his arrows misses its target and not one of them hits anywhere other than the dead center. He feels a surge of pride swell up in his chest for his accomplishment, but refrains from letting it show on his face. He is still very aware of his father and Malik watching him and the last thing he wants is to come across as arrogant. When he turns to them again, they have turned away and have started speaking again. He wonders what they're saying, wonders if it has to do with him and gets his answer when they turn to look at him again. His father looks thoughtful, as though he's considering something, but that's all he can tell before both of them turn and walk away. He frowns a bit at the lack of response towards his performance, but does nothing more than that. They saw what he is capable of and that would be enough for now.

Later that day, when training has ended he and a few other novices are instructed to go to his father's office, though they are not told the reason behind it. They are only told that it is important and they should not keep the Grand master waiting. He is at his desk when they get there, looking at a few papers resting there. It's strange to see his father in such a formal setting. It's not the first time he's been in here, of course, but the feeling doesn't change no matter how many times he finds himself staring at his father, not as a father, but as the leader of their Order. When Altair, because in moments like these it's hard for Darim to really acknowledge him as his father, finally looks up his expression is serious, almost intimidating and for the other two who aren't as familiar with him, it probably is. There would be a mission for them in Jerusalem. Someone influential to the Templar order would be there and it would be beneficial to their own Order if they could get any information available out of him - and the obvious assassination of the man. It sounds like an easy enough task, probably would be if they really tried hard enough, but it seems unusual to Darim that his father would be sending them alone to do it. Typically his father would send at least one higher ranked assassin to go with the novices on a mission like this. When the other two leave, he stays behind.

"Father, why are you sending us on this mission? Isn't this something you would usually send someone else to do."

There's a pause before his father answers, and Darim wonders if he shouldn't have asked.

"If you are successful in this mission, I think it is time you took the Leap."

His breath catches in his throat and he has no response other than a nod and a widening of his eyes. Was this what his father had been discussing with Malik? Was Malik in on the decision to make him a full fledged assassin? His heart rate picks up at this thought and he can't help but to feel extremely proud of himself for this. Had he really impressed his father that much? Impressed Malik? That thought makes him undeniable happy and he leaves his father's office with a small smile on his face. He would have to make sure his performance on this mission was equally as impressive, especially if they were to be in Jerusalem. Their time there would correspond with Malik's and he would hate to have to report back to him with a less than impressive story of his less than impressive performance.

They leave immediately and arrive in Jerusalem that night. It's cold and when they reach the bureau he is grateful for the warmth it provides. It is decided that it is late enough that they might as well stay the night and carry out their mission in the morning. Malik informs them of the spare room in the back, tells them that there are blankets and pillows in the closet there, but doesn't look up from his map. Darim takes that moment to look over the man. He is far from unattractive, not the best looking man ever, but far from unattractive, especially for someone of his age. Darim licks his lips a bit when he thinks this, a nervous habit he developed at some point in his life. He trails his eyes over to Malik's one arm, admiring the muscles there that developed from so many years of having to take over for the missing one. He is brought out of his thoughts shortly after that one. Malik has finally looked up, a slightly annoyed expression on his face.

"What is it, novice?"

Darim mumbles and apology for staring and retreats to the room without another word. He's embarrassed that he'd been caught staring, but more than that be's disappointed at the title. If Malik is still calling him a novice, then did he not really agree with the decision to make them real assassins? That causes him more pain than it should. He'd been hoping that Malik had actually been impressed with his ability and when he thinks back on every other thought he'd had today, he begins to think that maybe the intense admiration is a bit more than that.

They leave early the next morning and split up to try and see if they can't get information about their target around the city. Darim does find someone, someone who is apparently close to the Templar and he gets the necessary information out of him easily before making sure he'd never be able to say a word about this to anyone. They meet back at the bureau to come up with a plan and after explaining it to Malik, receive their white feather signifying his satisfaction with their idea. The plan was largely Darim's idea and the apparent satisfaction of the dai makes some of the lost pride from last night come back to him.

When they leave it's already midday, and not for the first time in his life he wishes the traditional assassin garb wasn't so heavy. It made everything so much harder and the hood hardly did much to keep the sun's heat from getting to him despite the rays not hitting him quite as hard. They find their target easily enough, infiltrate the building, and listen in on the conversation. There is talk of a letter being sent elsewhere, and containing the information that they'd been sent to retrieve. One of his companions goes off after the courier and Darim decides that he would be the one to take care of the assassination. The remaining group member would cover him.

He doesn't manage to sneak up on him as discreetly as he would have liked and at the very last moment, when Darim's blade is about to plunge into his back he turns and counters. The ensuing fight is short, though it isn't entirely easy, least of all when an archer on the rooftops manages to get an arrow in his thigh just before one of the other novices takes him out. He accomplishes his goal despite this, thankfully, and they get out of there as quickly as possible. The way back to the bureau is hard thanks to his wound and never has he been more grateful for something than he is when they finally do make it back - pain from the drop in aside.

That night his two companions ride back to Masyaf without him. They are uninjured, but the wound at his leg is enough to make riding too uncomfortable to be worth it when he is at no shortage of time. Malik changes his bandages, grumbling about having to take care of the result of a novice's careless mistake once again after so long. The location of the wound means that Malik's hand is dangerously close to his crotch and he is thankful that his body does not seem to be working against him by showing any sort of physical reaction. He swallows in an attempt to relieve some of his tension, but it is a sad attempt. It does nothing for him and even when Malik has finished and gone back to his maps and Darim has retreated to the spare room he can feel the heat of Malik's hand on his skin. He feels it long after and Malik's warm breath that hits his neck thanks to the close proximity as he grumbles on. Eventually, the memories of those sensations turn into other, far more erotic thoughts. They are thoughts of Malik's hand touching the area only slightly higher than his hand actually was, thoughts of their clothes discarded on the floor somewhere, and mouths pressed together -- hot, rough, hungry. These thoughts elicit a physical response.

There isn't much thought put into his next actions. Not the removal of his clothes, not the placement of his hand on his cock, not the hard, rough strokes he gives himself, or the bucking of his hips upwards into his hand. It's just something he does, and he doesn't feel much in the way of regret for starting this. He imagines his hand is the Dai's, that the callouses on his hand are the callouses on Malik's, and the image of the older man touching him like that makes this feel ten times better. He is slow at first - he doesn't want to finish too soon - and it takes all he has to keep himself quite, to swallow the moans that threaten to escape. His pace is torturous and he is torn between loving it and needing more. He bucks his hips up, jerking in such a way that would bring even a little more friction. He runs a thumb over the head, fails to keep a whine of pleasure quite, but pays no mind to it. His pumps get faster now, faster and faster and faster and oh god it's never fast enough, never enough friction, but god does it feel good. He squeezes, once softly, the next time harder and it's the latter that gets a loud, throaty moan out of him. It isn't much longer until he's done, his climax hitting hard, his hand urging it on with a few more strokes and a jerk of his hips upward into it in a desperate attempt to get all the sensation he can.

His fingers are sticky with his own seed, but he can't be bothered to clean it up right away, can't be bothered to move, or open his eyes that had been squeezed shut as he rode out his orgasm. He simply lies there, shameless, with his legs spread, and - without even realizing it - whispering the name of the man he'd been imagining as he worked - a man who does not happen to be deaf. Malik hears the moans, the sound of his name on Darim's lips, but he does not approach the room. He is not stupid and he can tell what the Grand Master's son was doing, but decides not to say anything until the next morning. The boy had already been embarrassed enough tonight at having been the only one in his group to come back with an injury, Malik would spare him further embarrassment for now.

The next morning is relatively uneventful, with few words being spoken until Darim is ready to leave.

"I will be going back to Masyaf now. Thank you for helping me last night."

"Are you referring to your wound or for providing something for you to fantasize about?"

Darim freezes where he stood, his face heating up and becoming noticeably flushed. In the moment he hadn't realized that the sounds he hadn't managed to keep to himself were loud enough for Malik to hear, and he certainly hadn't realized that Malik had heard him say his name. He's glad to be facing away from the man, though he knows that he probably isn't facing him, either. He stands there for what feels like years, but must have only been seconds before Malik speaks again. He's grateful for the continued talking at least, for he has no answer to the previous comments and perhaps this will be about something unrelated, something much less embarrassing.

"Since your mission was a success, you will no longer be a novice, will you?" Darim almost breathes a sigh of relief - this isn't about what he'd been doing last night, he won't have to think about it any more - but his reason for thinking that way doesn't last long. Not with the following words. "You will want to work being more discreet. If your moaning was any indication, it is no wonder that your target heard you before you were able to stick your blade through his throat."

He swallows hard, clenching and unclenching his fists, and his feet still frozen in their spot. If it were really possible, he is inclined to believe his death would be one of embarrassment rather than old age or a mission gone wrong.

"Well? I thought you were going back. If you are hoping for me to teach you how to keep yourself quiet it will have to wait. I am busy at the moment."

Darim nearly falls over when Malik says that.

"W-what?"

Malik is looking at him with a quirked eyebrow, but other than that his face lacks any telling expression. Darim prays that he is telling some sort of terrible joke.

"Did I stutter? Now go on. Altair will be waiting for you. I will be returning to Masyaf tomorrow."

He nearly trips over his own feet on his way out. Apparently it was not a joke.

---------

This hasn't been beta'd so it isn't the best it can be, but I hope it's liked by whoever reads it.

I just posted it for you, anon! :) It's actually my first time writing for AC so I hope it turned out well.

Anon, I can honestly say I love you. XD I loved everything about it, and I only wish there was a sequel.

Darim's reaction to Malik's last few lines was great! XD I loved how he was just so oblivious, and Malik couldn't help but take a few jabs at him before making his offer. I loved it!

And I loved how you had the gradual increase in his affections that started with the finishing blow. :) That made me smile. That was perfect.

(And who cares if it's unbetaed? I'm not looking for mistakes. I think you did fine. XD)

.IV.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he nearly purrs, more for his own benefit than giving Altair any insight since his intentions have been clear for quite some time now. Just to hear the declaration out loud, to know that this is actually happening to himself instead of flicking through thousands of collected memories, has Alex’s hands clenching impatiently on Altair’s hips and pulling him up to stuff a pillow beneath.

The muscles in Altair’s arms and back strain as he fights against the relentless tendrils. He heaves under Alex, dropping back down like a brick when the runner grinds against his ass and bears down his whole weight, sliding his tongue up from the middle to top of the beautiful, strong dip of his spine. Alex emits a dark chuckle and repeats the motion of his hips, rocking against the inviting heat just waiting for him to sink inside.

Altair grunts. It only takes a minute before he is pushing back, restless and becoming aroused once more. Alex breathes out a pleased hum and drags fingers shivering between human and biomass-changed claws down the assassin’s side, scratching four red lines through the skin and watching with hungry eyes as the cuts bloom with thin trails of blood shortly after.

The tendrils wrapped mercilessly around Altair’s wrists and forearms slide away, caressing over his sides to the swell of his ass and upper thighs. Alex shifts back on his knees and presses a grin below the sharp jut of a shoulder blade.

“Stay still,” he murmurs. Altair tips his head so that narrowed, suspicious eyes can lock onto Alex. In the next instant, his lips draw back over bared teeth as tendrils trace his entrance before pushing right through. Before any other reaction can surface, however, the tendrils thicken to about the girth of two fingers, steadily getting larger and stroking Altair from the inside out. The assassin pushes himself up with his hands and judders helplessly, taken completely by surprise as if he had forgotten that the man behind him truly isn’t a man at all. The initial sting of being entered by something so foreign intensifies enough to pull a grunt of pain from him, but nothing more. Not yet.

Alex smiles. Once he feels the man is properly stretched, the tendrils retreat with sensual teasing of sensitive, slick muscles. Altair shivers.

He growls something against the damp skin of Altair’s back, what, he’s not too sure, just that something needed to be said to help release the suffocating tension swelling under his skin. He feels Altair tremble, and it is too much like the movement of a frightened, cornered animal that Alex groans and jerks his hips forward, thrusting into the assassin with an ease that feels all too easy and welcoming.

“Bastard!” Altair shouts, though Alex is almost sure the word was yelled in Arabic and not English.

The wave of pleasure and heat that barrels into Alex leaves him dazed and starving for more, demanding he move. So he does. Suddenly, he is pulling almost completely out of the scorching, wet heat only slam back inside again and again, hard enough to jolt the assassin beneath him and punch out groans that morph into shouts of rage and pleasure, bouncing off the stone walls to come back and slam into Alex’s ears, making them ring like a thousand voices in one.

Distantly, he feels Altair collapse beneath him. Feels himself fall after him, the two of them writhing and twisting, undeterred by the painful drop. Through his cloudy vision, Alex can see Altair’s fingers clenching hard enough into the gaudy pillows that his knuckles turn bone-white and tremble, his shouts and curses and rumbling noises of pleasure muffled by the blood roaring in Alex’s ears. The sun…the sun is a computer generated version of light filtering through the high stained glass, nothing but a memory recorded by the Piece of Eden, but he can see dust motes dancing in the yellow light. It all feels and looks so real, this place. Until it doesn’t.

The first shock blows over them in a rippling, blinding line of pale golden light. The jarring crash of heat and sheer desperation floods Alex’s system and he snarls, the rhythm of the two predators not even broken. If anything, the simulations from the Apple spur on the heated fuck to the point that Alex is shaking like a leaf, can feel everything – Altair, his sweat, his blood, their pulse – pressing against the back of his eyeballs and rushing through his veins.

Altair vibrates against him and shoves back, meeting thrust for thrust with the kind of conviction and animosity only a hunter can possess, never the hunted. The second shock hits them with white-hot intensity, slamming against Alex until he is molded against Altair’s back, panting against his neck. The assassin pushes from the ground, seemingly grateful for the arm Alex wraps around his stomach to haul him up further until they are both on their knees, back to chest, moving, fucking, snarling and blind.

Alex feels out of control. Biomass writhes and snaps with each impact of Altair and the memory of a life crashing around them, leaving nothing but white in its wake. His eyes are wide shut. His teeth are bared, fingers twisted into Altair’s hair and clenched around his middle. He can feel something slipping…slipping…infecting. The third and final blow is catastrophic – sucking all noise out like a vacuum before blasting it right back out in a deafening collision. The world heaves a shiver in tune with their tumult of release and confusion, sending them reeling and clutching to one another to stop from drowning, suffocating with the weight of nothing pressing down on their chests.

Alex knows the exact moment it all changes, knows it’s because of him and that there is no reversing what has been done. Altair’s eyes fly open.

In their depths, a smoldering fever burns with a second chance among the living. He opens his mouth on a silent scream as the virus scorches through his exhausted limbs and the power of the Apple rips the both of them back out into reality.

.IV.

IDEK. I tried to get as close to the prompt as I could with this entire thing, so yeah. Sorry it took so long, working with the public tends to send one into constant bouts of rage and writer's block.

Enjoy? :'D

Aha! It's you! :-D

*more cookies*

Any time if there's a fill you'd like me to do, just say it.

Anon...

That....

That was really hot. I'm...

That was brilliant. I loved how defiant Altair was through the entire damn thing, and how Alex just couldn't help himself.

Anon, don't stop writing for this kinkmeme, please.

Do whatever you want, write!anon!
Do both! At the same time! Or separately! Follow your muses!

This prompt ran away from me! It might be long! I'm sorry!

Assassin's Preschool

"...smond...? ...time to get up...!"

Daddy's calling, Desmond thought to himself, barely able to grasp the concept through the thick fog of sleep, Daddy...

"Desmond..."

A hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him.

"Desmond, it's time to get up..."

"Mmn...!" the little tyke brushed the hand away and rolled over, trying to fall back into slumber. But it was too late; he was awake. Reluctantly, the boy opened his eyes to see his father's face before him.

"C'mon, little guy. Wake up! Don't you remember what day it is?"

What day, indeed? Desmond frowned, first at his father, then in thought. What day, what day? Slowly, a smile spread across his face, when memory finally set in.

"School!" he exclaimed triumphantly, raising his arms over his head, suddenly, almost socking his father in the process.

"That's right!" the man laughed lightly, pulling the covers down from around his son, "Your first day of preschool! Let's get you dressed!"

--

The Auditore Child Care Center was a family-run business, established about 20 years before. They were a community-based business, specialized in helping single-parent or welfare families. Clay had fallen in the former category; when his wife had died during childbirth, he had been at a loss with what to do with his inquisitive, fast-growing son, Desmond. The manager of the ACCC (or, as the patrons had nicknamed it, the AC3) had found Clay in a nearby department store, staring blankly at the huge, colourful section that was the diaper aisle. Maria had taken one look at the confused-looking young man, and his mewling baby that was securely strapped in front of him in a baby backpack carrier, and had taken them under her very capable wing.

Maria had been a great support to Clay, answering all his baby questions, giving him advice, teaching him all the necessary skills for washing and feeding a baby, even to the point of patiently taking his calls at 4 o'clock in the morning, and calmly assuring him that yes, that sound Desmond was making was baby snoring, and not a breathing irregularity. Her husband, Giovanni, had often teased her that Desmond was her fifth child, but he wasn't far from wrong; Desmond's second word, right after "Dada," was "Mawawa," which they all knew was his baby way of saying, "Maria."

Now, Desmond was old enough to attend the family's preschool. He thought that made him quite big in the world, and surely he would be very popular at school. He could count all his fingers, and half of his toes, and he knew what the first five and last two letters in the alphabet were. He was very smart, and once he was done impressing everyone with his vast knowledge, he was going to be friends with everyone. He was going to make his Daddy proud, he thought to himself, as he and his father passed through the glass front doors of the AC3.

"Morning, Claudia," Clay greeted the teenager at the front desk, "Don't you have school, or something, today?"

"Buon giorno, Mr. Kaczmarek!" the girl gave her friend a little finger wave, then grimaced, "And no, you know I'm homeschooled. Hey, Desmond!"

"I thought your dad said you could start attending public school when you hit high school. Like your brothers," Clay said, as Desmond half hid behind Clay's leg and waved shyly to Claudia. At 10 years his senior, while he was familiar with her, Claudia was a very big girl in Desmond's eyes, and he was a little in awe of her.

"Ah, but Claudia is his precious flower!" a young man's voice came from the room behind the receptionist's desk, "Father is protecting her virtue! Oh, hey; what up, Desmond?"

A handsome young man, perhaps two years older than Claudia, joined them in the daycare's lobby. Crouching down, he held his hand out, palm upward, and Desmond grinned as he slapped his friend a low-five.

"Papa isn't fair! This idiota, he lets go to school, and he doesn't even attend half of his classes," Claudia pouted, throwing her older brother an irritated look, "If I went to school, I'd make a use of it."

"Hey, I attend my classes!" Ezio protested, rising to lean against the desk, "I go to Gym. And, uh...the class with all the cooking..."

"Home Ec, you boor!" the girl exclaimed, swatting her brother with the morning's paper, "Go to school; you're going to be late!"

Clay sighed a little and shook his head at his son, who only smiled back in reply. Desmond thought it was funny how all the Auditores argued and were so loud with each other; it was so different when compared to their own, quiet home.

In search of an escape from the siblings' bickering, Clay saw that Maria was in the next room; the Animus room, where all the four-year-old were cared for. Picking Desmond up with one arm, the young father left Claudia and Ezio to sort things out themselves, and walked to meet with the daycare's manager, who was sorting through boxes with another one of her sons.

"Good morning, Maria," Clay said quietly, and nodded to the boy, "Hey, Petrucchio."

"Ah, buon giorno, Clay!" Maria greeted happily, enveloping her friend in a warm embrace.

"'Morning, Mr. Kaczmarek!" the youngest Auditore grinned.

"And how are you, today, tesoro mio?" Maria asked Desmond.

"Va bene, Mawawa," was his charming reply.

"Maria, I keep telling you, he's going to be more fluent in Italian than English when he grows up," Clay chided, not completely seriously.

"That is the point," was her reply, with complete solemnity.

"Are you ready for preschool, Des?" Petrucchio asked, taking Desmond from his father's arms.

"School!" Desmond exclaimed, raising his arms above his head triumphantly.

Yes. Yes, he was.

---

Preschool.

The newest, most exciting, and perhaps the scariest adventure that had ever been placed before Desmond.

There were three other kids in his 'class': two girls, and one other boy, all his age. And they were all just as clever as he was. Even more, so. His confidence wavered as the day went by.

Rebecca was the more rambunctious girl; she was always the loudest, the first to run to something, the first to speak, and the last to sit down. And she was as smart as she was bold. Rebecca had already managed to sneak out of the room twice, even under Claudia and Petrucchio's watchful eyes; the first time, Rebecca had made it to the sidewalk, and would have gotten further had Federico not have just left home and driven by, on his way to a late-morning college class. The eldest Auditore (whose family lived right next to the daycare) had scooped up the tiny brunette and carried her back inside, and had almost gotten bitten for his pains. Desmond was a little scared of her, but he liked her; she made the best music on the room's mini xylophone set.

Shaun was a freckled, bespectacled red-head who spoke with an accent that made Claudia coo and Rebecca giggle. He had walked into the daycare hand-in-hand with his mother, with an almost condescending air as he observed his new playmates. He sat up very straight, kept his 'work area' (as he'd called it) very tidy as he drew and coloured, and never spoke to any adult unless he was first spoken to. Shaun seemed to be very particular about his clothes; Rebecca would often tug on his sleeve or sweater-vest to get his attention, and he was constantly smoothing it back out, scolding her whenever she did so. Not that she paid him any attention; if anything, she loved bothering him.

And there was the little blonde girl with big, blue, curious eyes. Lucy. She was the prettiest thing Desmond thought he had ever seen. And she was smart, too; she could write her own name down! She was good at everything; she could jump rope, stalk the blocks into towers until they were as tall as she was, without any of it falling down, and she knew which colours to mix together to make new ones! She was perfect.

For the first couple hours upon meeting them, Desmond kept to himself and observed them; while not exactly shy, he was certainly wary of new people. Maria had figured it was because he and Clay lived mostly alone; they had no family to speak of, and only ever visited the Auditore family for company. So, despite Claudia hovering over him and trying to coax him into playing with the others, Desmond built his own little block fort and played alone with a toy he had brought from home: a doll in a white hood and an eternal chocolate stain across the right corner of its mouth. The other three children, however, warmed up to each other instantly; Rebecca would be the catalyst who suggested what they should play next, Shaun was the stick-in-the-mud who wanted to stay clean and not in trouble, and Lucy would coax Shaun into joining them in the less dangerous things (for instance, painting pictures instead of escaping the playroom). Their chatter and the childish insights that they shared with one another were enough to keep Petrucchio amused as he watched over them.

When snack time rolled around, it was Ezio who brought in a tray of cheese and crackers, and a pitcher of juice, for both toddlers and caregivers to share.

"Come and get it, ankle-biters!"

"Yaaaay!"

Ezio grinned as three children clamoured about him, jumping around his legs and trying to reach the tray. Instead of indulging them, he raised the food higher, well out of their reach.

"What grabby little munchkins you are," he laughed, as Lucy and Shaun gave him puppy eyes while Rebecca only tried jumping higher.

"YOU'RE a munchkin!" Rebecca shrieked, "Gimmiegimmiegimmie!"

"C'mon, guys, sit around the table," Petrucchio chuckled, grabbing Rebecca in midair and placing her firmly into a kiddie chair.

"Desmond, you too," Claudia called softly, to the boy who hung back a couple paces; obediently, Desmond took a seat across from Shaun, his doll clutched tightly against his chest.

"We want food! We want food!" Rebecca chanted, banging her cup against the table.

"Settle down!" Claudia exclaimed, grabbing the offending cup and confiscating Lucy's, as well, when she saw that the blonde was going to join the chant.

Waiting with a mock stern look on his face for the four children to calm themselves, Ezio treated them all to his award-winning smile as he set the tray down before them. Instantly, the noise resumed, this time with the sounds of chewing and plastic rustling added to the usual baby-talk.

"Where is Mama?" Petrucchio asked, opening a cheese-string package for Desmond before sitting on a nearby worktable, "She usually brings the food."

"She's helping Paola in the other room with the 5-year-olds," Ezio shrugged, tossing his younger brother a snack, "You guys were lucky to have such a small class, this year."

"Dio mio," Claudia put a hand to her forehead, leaning on a bookshelf as she remembered the 20-something children she had needed to take care of, the year before, "That's right! They all graduated, didn't they?"

Ezio nodded, taking a seat with the four toddlers and helping himself to some crackers. As he continued to gossip with his siblings, Rebecca and Lucy had a contest to see who could make the thinnest cheese string; after all, the thinner the string, the better the taste. Shaun had opted for placing the sliced up pieces of cheese onto crackers, which he arranged neatly on a plate before eating daintily, having tucked a napkin into his collar, of course. Claudia subtly pointed out to her brothers how he tried to keep his pinky in the air. The boy was a tiny gentleman.

Desmond, however, held his cheese strings in one fist, and held crackers in the other, alternating which hand he took food from between bites. First, he would offer the cheese to the doll in his lap, as if feeding him, then Desmond would take a bite. Then he would do the same with the crackers, then back to the cheese, and so on.

"Is Altair getting enough to eat, Des?" Ezio asked around a mouthful of crackers, already familiar with what Desmond had named his doll.

"Mm-hm!" the boy nodded once, a little self-conscious that the spotlight was now on him.

"Is that a dolly?" Rebecca asked, rather loudly but not unkindly.

"He's Altair," Desmond said by way of answering, "He's a hero."

"Really? Does he have s-super..superpowers?" Rebecca asked, stumbling over the big word.

"He sees things," Desmond said, "Hiding things."

"That's boring," Shaun sniffed. Desmond scowled at him.

"Shaun, use nice words," Claudia said in a warning tone.

"...it's true..." the red-head muttered, so softly that only people sitting at the table could hear. Desmond scowled darker, but let it go when Ezio poked his forehead.

"What does Alteer too?" Lucy asked curiously, as if Shaun hadn't spoken.

"He's an Assassin," Desmond said proudly, holding the doll in question up.

"Oo!" Lucy clapped appreciatively. He looked very impressive and important, posing like that.

"Assassii...asasa...aaaaassassaa..." Rebecca tried to pronounce the word.

"That's dumb," Shaun grumbled, giving Desmond a frown.

"No, it's not!" Desmond protested.

"Assassins are bad guys!" Shaun snapped.

"No, they're not!" Desmond yelled.

"Easy, Desmond," Petrucchio said, placing a hand on the boy's arm.

"Assassins kill and murder people, and they break the law!" Shaun yelled back as Desmond shook off Petrucchio.

"That's not true! You're wrong! Altair's a hero!" Desmond insisted.

"Des, he's kind of got a point-" Ezio started.

"No! No, no, NO! SHUT UP, STUPID!" Desmond screamed, scrunching his eyes tight as emotion overcame him.

There was a stunned silence. Desmond was usually very well-behaved; the Auditores had never heard him scream so. And the other children were simply shocked that the quiet boy in the room could get so loud.

Of course, it was Rebecca that broke the silence.

"...Desmond said a bad word!" Rebecca crowed, pointing accusingly at the culprit while Lucy gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth.

Desmond paled at that, knowing that his father would hear about the scene he had just made, and with a loud scrape, the boy pushed his chair back from the table, hurried across the floor, and before anybody could say any more, he retreated with Altair into the quiet solitude of his block fortress.

---

THERE WILL BE MORE.
Screw Bill; Subject 16 is Desmond's Dad!
Screw canon; this is my AU and all the Auditore family is alive and thriving.
Screw the drama; I have ridiculous fluff planned out for when all the kids are friends.

(> ; A;)>

C'mere, Dessie! Altair *is* cool, and a hero, and don't listen to Shaun. *cuddles*

This is so very fluffy and adorable, writeanon! *hugs* I love that you made Clay to be Desmond's dad. And the Auditore's with a daycare! <3 I love the shortened version of their daycare name.

It's my understanding that if you do a fill you are entitled to getting on your knees and begging other anons to fill one of your own prompts. So here's mine!

Generation Kill anyone? I desperately need a fill with our assassin's as soldiers. Like burning. Anyone can be involved, but I'm wanting Altair/Malik, naturally. Can't help but think of them every time I think of Nate and Brad lawl.

And hello, Sibrand = Captain America, Am I right?

I will be indebted to whoever takes this up. The fill I did is on page 9: Pillars of Sand, an Alex/Altair fill. I will give anyone sex if they do mine D:

I think I'm going to cry, anon. That was so adorable and cute.

I LOVE YOU, DESMOND. I know Altair is a hero. Don't be upset. Please?

I don't care about the cannon, either. Otherwise, they wouldn't have requested this prompt. >:) That's what AU is for!

People are replying to something I posted? Is this the real life? (O.O)
I didn't like how Desmond was sad, so I fixed it.
---

Nothing anybody could say or do would coax Desmond from his hiding place for the rest of that day; Claudia ended up bringing Desmond his lunch and afternoon snack to eat there, on the carpet, alone in his hidey-hole.

At the end of the day, Petrucchio and Claudia helped the children pack the day's artwork into their tiny backpacks, and as a small troupe they marched out to wait for their parents in the lobby's seating area. As Claudia herded the four toddlers onto the couch there (which Desmond avoided, in favour of a single-seated chair), Petrucchio joined Ezio, who was watching YouTube videos on the receptionist's computer.

"Hey, have you seen Tobuscus' new video?" the younger Auditore asked, leaning against the counter.

"Yes. Hilarious!" Ezio chuckled, turning the swivel chair so he faced his brother, "That guy is terrible at games."

"I like when he sings," Petrucchio admitted, nodding a little, "Or makes up weird stories about the characters."

They both laughed. Off to the side, Rebecca was still struggling with her new word.

"Aaaassasasaaaaa...asiiiiiini...ass, ass, ass..."

"Don't say 'ass', Rebecca," Claudia said, facepalming as she tried not to laugh.

"Why not?" the girl asked, putting her hands on her hips defiantly.

"It's not a good word to say. Your uncle won't like it."

"My cousin says it all the time!" Rebecca insisted.

"Oh, that's true! I miss her; how is she?" Claudia asked, taking the opportunity to both change the subject and make Ezio cringe.

"She lets me sing Rock Band!" Rebecca replied, smiling happily, "I know aaaaall the words!"

"Rock Band sounds like fun," Lucy said shyly; she'd never played it.

"Rock Band is dumb," Shaun replied, staring out the lobby's glass walls to the outside, then adding, "A car is coming!" before anybody could disagree with him.

At the news of a car, all four children scrambled to stand on the sofa, hands on the back of it so that they could see over the sofa's back and out the window. Sure enough, a beat-up sedan pulled up; one that seemed like it had hundreds of bumper stickers of Italian flags and rock band logos.
Seeing the car's owner step out and walk up to the doors, Ezio swore under his breath and ducked out of the room.

"Oh, look who came to pick up her cousin," Claudia said loudly, and Petrucchio chuckled to himself.

"What up in the house, sons of...ah..." the teenager caught herself when she remembered she was in a daycare, "...sons of...parents?"

"Rosa!" Rebecca shrieked happily, running over to grab her cousin's knees.

"Hey, you!" Claudia smiled, also embracing her friend.

"Group hug!" Petrucchio exclaimed, and he and Lucy piled on, too. Shaun and Desmond stayed where they were; one looked bored, the other watched interestedly. Rosa threw her head back and laughed; her family and the Auditore family had been friends for years.

"How are you guys?" she grinned toothily, but still glancing around the room for intruders.

"He's not here," Petrucchio said, knowing who she was looking for.

"He ran when he saw you," Claudia said at the same time, sharing the grin.

"Good. He'd better run," Rosa smirked, "That cheating ba..." she glanced at the kids, "...aaaad guy."

"Nice save," Petrucchio nodded, earning a punch in the shoulder, "Ow...I thought we agreed not to do that when you were wearing rings."

"Oh! My bad."

"Ezio's not a bad guy," Rebecca said, adding thoughtfully, "He can reach stuff on the top shelf."

"I'm sure he can," Rosa sighed, picking up her little cousin and balancing her on her hip.

"Why doesn't he sleep over, anymore, Rosa?" Rebecca wondered.

"That's enough questions!" Rosa exclaimed, flashing a panicked look at her friends before grinning at and rubbing noses with her cousin, "C'mon, you little munchkin. Your uncle's waiting for us; there's no food in the house, so we're all eating out!"

"Yay!" Rebecca cheered, "Bye, Lucy! Bye-bye Shaun!"

"'Bye!" Lucy and Shaun said at the same time, with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

"Can we have pizza?"

"Pizza again?"

"I love pizza!"

"You only want pizza because it's the only thing you can say..."

They all watched as Rosa strapped Rebecca into a car seat, then drove her smog-raising tin can away. The car was beat-up, old, and sometimes bits fell off, but it ran, it had a tape deck so Rosa could attach her mP3 player to it, and she had bought it with her own money. That was what mattered.

"They're gonna die," Claudia muttered, watching them sputter away.

"In a car crash, or from heart disease?" Petrucchio asked, knowing that the family always ate out, then added, "...or from a car crash caused by heart disease?"

"A heart crash cause by car dizzy?" Lucy piped up, adding her 10cents worth.

"You may have something, there," Petrucchio nodding at her; she smiled back, then skipped over to the couch, happy she had helped.

--

By the time Clay arrived, Shaun had already been picked up by his father; Claudia couldn't help but note that they both wore sweater vests, had the same glasses frames, and even walked in synchronization. That family freaks me out, sometimes, she thought to herself, They don't talk to anybody, don't crack jokes...they just come and go.

When Desmond saw his father arrive, he met him right at the lobby doors, arms raised up and ready to be carried away. Lucy stayed standing on the couch, staring hard down the street she knew her father would drive up in.

"Hey, buddy! How was your first day?" Clay asked, scooping his son up and planting a kiss on his forehead, "...hey, why the long face? Didn't you like school?"

The man looked to Claudia for answers, concern all over his face.

"There was a bit of an incident in the playroom," Claudia sighed, "One of the other boys made fun of Altair."

"Is that so?" Clay looked at Desmond, who nodded miserably before burying his face in his father's neck.

"Maybe you could keep Altair at home?" Claudia suggested.

"No!" was Desmond's muffled reply, never moving his face.

Clay and the Auditores shared knowing looks; Desmond never went anywhere without Altair.

"...I'll see what I can do," Clay sighed, "Were there any other problems?"

"No, no! He was really good, today," Petrucchio answered, "He drew you a picture."

"Ah. I see," Clay gave the Auditore's a nod, "In that case, I'll see you tomorrow."

"'Bye, Desmond!" Claudia said softly, but the boy only waved half-heartedly; the two siblings kept waving to their friend, but he kept his face buried in his father's neck, "Aw..."

"Poor guy," Petrucchio grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck, "He thinks all the other kids hate him."

He and his sister went back to browsing internet videos at the computer. Neither of them noticed a soft voice at the sofa.

"...I don' hate Desmun..."

--

"...I'm scared, Daddy," Desmond said quietly, wriggling his legs in his car seat.

They had just arrived for his second day of preschool. Having parked the car, Clay was helping Desmond unbuckle from his seat.

"You're going to be fine, Desmond," the father sighed, hauling his son up with one arm and grabbing his small backpack with the other, "They don't hate you."

"...they said Assassins are bad guys," Desmond muttered, hugging his father tight.

"Well, they don't know the real story," Clay replied, patting his son's back, "They just don't know."

"I wish they knew," Desmond grumbled.

"Well, it's up to you to tell them the real stories. Without, you know, calling anybody stupid," Clay said affably, as they walked into the lobby, "Ok?"

"...ok, Daddy," Desmond nodded solemnly. He wanted to make his father proud.

"Buon giorno, Mr. Kaczmarek!" a young man greeted them at the front desk, "Hey, Desmond!"

"Ezio, seriously? Go to school!" Clay laughed, putting his son down on the floor.

Seeing that the door into the Animus room was open, Desmond gave his father's leg a squeeze before entering the room himself. Nobody seemed to be there, yet; as he put his backpack up on a hook by the door (underneath the name that started 'D-E'), he saw that his was the only backpack. Unzipping the bag, he pulled out Altair, his faithful friend.

"We gotta make today better than yesterday," he whispered to the Assassin, then clutched him to his chest and walked to the play carpet, always looking around for Maria, Claudia, or anybody else.

But nobody was around; Desmond was the first in the room. As he rounded a corner, a smile spread across his face; his block fort was still up! Nobody had taken it down; he still had a safe place to hide.

"It's just us, Altair! You and me!" Desmond whispered to his doll, taking a seat on the floor, inside his fort.

Soon enough, Desmond and Altair were reliving the old stories that his father had told him, like how a Templar spy had betrayed the Order, and Altair needed to save his master. Maria noticed Desmond there when she came in, patted him on the head, then continued on her way. Shaun and Rebecca arrived at the AC3 around the same time; Desmond could hear them chattering as they put their bags up on their hooks, and eventually they found him in his fort.

"You still got that dumb Assassin?" Shaun asked, eying Desmond disapprovingly.

"You should stop sayin' stuff is dumb," Rebecca said thoughtfully, "Think of a new word!"

"Altair isn't dumb!" Desmond said, exasperated, "He's smart and wise!"

"How would you know?" Shaun snorted.

"I do! There are stories! Like, um..." Desmond thought for a moment. What was a particularly smart story about Altair? Nothing was coming to mind...

"Altair was a smarty-pants! He taught the Al-Sayf brothers how to hide!" a girl's voice exclaimed.

To everyone's surprise, Lucy was the one who had spoken up. Turning around, all three children saw that she held two similar dolls in her arms.

"Malik and Kadar were running from guards," Lucy exclaimed, using one of her toys to demonstrate running along the fort's wall, trying to escape a green T-rex toy, "And they didn't know how to escape, 'cause the fort was all locked down. So, Altair ran in to rescue them!"

"I remember! I remember!" Desmond exclaimed, raising his own toy up as if Altair had run in to save Kadar, "He said, 'Follow me!' and then they ran to the edge of the walls," he and Lucy brought their toys to the corner of the fort, "And then they jumped down...whooossssh!!"

Desmond and Lucy made Altair and Kadar swan dive from the building's walltops.

"Aaaah, so scary!" Lucy made Kadar's arms wave.

"Don't worry, I got this!" Desmond said, speaking for Altair, "And then they landed in a wagon of hay!"

"Waitwaitwait!"

Rebecca ran off for a moment, and the three children heard a crash, followed by, "Rebecca get back here!" Then, Rebecca hurried back with a plastic, yellow basket in her hands, and Claudia in tow. Quickly, the preschooler put the basket on the floor beside the fort.

"Ok! Go!" Rebecca exclaimed, waving her arms.

"Rebecca, you made a mess! What are you...?" Claudia's voice trailed off when she saw the Altair and Kadar dolls fall into the yellow basket.

"And then Altair and Kadar-" Desmond started.

"And Malik!" Lucy added, throwing her one-armed doll into the basket.

"And Malik, they hid in the hay until nightfall, and the guards never found them," Desmond said theatrically, while he made the dinosaur pace around the basket a couple times before going back into the fort, "And then they escaped!"

"And that's how Altair rescued the Al-Sayf brothers! Because he was so smart!" Lucy said to Shaun, "See?"

"Altair isn't dumb at all!" Rebecca said, wonderingly, then intentionally crinkled Shaun's shirt, "You were wrong, Shauny!"

The tiny Englishman frowned darkly, crossing his arms, but still he had to nod his agreement. In a huff, he went off to draw more pictures, and with a hurried apology, Rebecca rushed off to get a xylophone so she could play for him.

"I win!" Desmond grinned, sharing a smile with Altair, "Thank you, Lucy."

"You're welcome, Desmun," Lucy smiled sunnily.

"You know the old Assassin stories, too, Lucy?" Claudia asked, crouching down on the carpet so she could better speak to the other two children.

"My mommy tells them to me when I visit her," the girl replied softly, cradling Kadar in her arms, "Father used to tell them, too, but then he stopped when the army got him all busy."

"My dad tells me the stories all the time," Desmond said, picking up Altair from the basket, "He says they're part of our family."

"Really? Mine, too!" Lucy smiled, then added shyly, "And I think Claudia's family, too! All of you have famous Assassin names."

"That's right," Claudia smiled, "You're very smart, Lucy."

The girl blushed and Desmond couldn't help but stare; maybe it was the blushing, or maybe it was how she had helped him, but somehow, she'd gotten even prettier overnight. Ezio noticed his small friend's gaze as he walked in to check on the children; Petrucchio had a dentist appointment and couldn't help out, that day.

That's new, Ezio thought to himself, hiding a smile as he observed both Desmond's staring and Rebecca's clumsy attempts at wooing, This is going to be an interesting year.

---
Screw my teeth, everything's gonna be ridiculously sweet from now on.
Screw baby Shaun; everything is not dumb.
Also, apparently Ezio and Rosa had a bad breakup. And Rosa and Rebecca and Antonio are ALL IN THE SAME FAMILY.

I'll post more later.

Wait.
I accidentally the writing. Is this bad?
---

He had so little time alone with her, and he was determined to take advantage of it. Ezio had Sophia pressed up against a wall. She giggled as he nuzzled against her neck, murmuring sweet nothings to her in a low, purring voice. Every now and then, he would turn her face towards him, taking quick, intense tastes of her lips before trailing kisses back to her ear, taking a quick nibble, then moving down to the hollow of her throat. He smiled and grasped her tighter every time she gave a sigh. Her taste, her scent...the little sounds she made in the back of her throat...she was exquisite. And she was his. All his.

Unbeknownst to them, they had a tiny audience.

"What're they doing?" Shaun wondered, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose, perhaps to get a better view.

"I think he looooves her!" Rebecca cooed, her hands on the side of her face.

The fantastic foursome were spying on the two teens from around the daycare's corner; Rebecca had busted them out of the playroom, and they were adventuring around the AC3.

"What do you think he's sayin', Desmun?" Lucy asked, "You speak Italiam, right?"

"I only know a little, and a lot of it is weird, made-up words..." Desmond frowned to himself, then called out, "Ezio! You wanna do what to her what?"

"DIO MIO!" Ezio exclaimed, whirling around and standing in front of Sophia protectively, just as she gave a little gasp of mortification, "What the...Desmond? ...all FOUR of you?!" A strange mixture of rage and bemusement spread across his face.

"RUN!" Rebecca yelled, and with a flurry of shrieks and giggles, the four preschoolers ran back to the safety of the Animus Room.

---
What is this I don't even.

Holy Shit, someone fill this prompt already!
It's a demand of the ~~QUN~~ I mean, of the Fandom!!!!

In light of the Hunger Games premiere:

Assassin's Creed characters are tributes from each District.
One of them will be left standing. But who? WHO? (O_O)

Here are a few suggestions for each District (which do not necessarily need to be followed), as well as what each District specializes in. Now, in the books, it's says there's supposed to be one boy and one girl tribute. But there don't seem to be enough ladies to call on, so filler can mix and match and genderbend and stretch the rules as necessary. Also, assume that nobody really knows each other, unless they come from the same District. Then, you can go nuts with backstory.
Also, everyone is 12-17 years old.

District One: (luxury items/jewelry) Cesare and Lucrezia
District Two: (masonry, weapons, trains peacekeepers) Bartolomeo and Pantasilea
District Three: (technology) Leonardo and Rebecca
District Four: (seafood) Ezio (because FINNICK) and Rosa
District Five: (power, like electricity) Altair and Maria (Auditore or Thorpe, take your pick)
District Six: (transportation) Clay and Paola
District Seven: (lumber/paper) Malik and Sophia
District Eight: (textiles/fabrics) Harlequin and Hellequin
District Nine: (grain) Shaun and fem!Salai
District Ten: (livestock) Abbas and your favourite female recruit
District Eleven: (agriculture) Flavia and Petrucchio
District Twelve: (coal) Kadar and Lucy
District Thirteen?: (nuclear weapons) IDK. Yusuf explodes things. And Claudia.

For 6, 9, 10 and 12, I was just like, "...ok, what do I do, here?"

Ok, filler gets free reign from here on out! Add smut between scenes, even, if you want! ("We need sponsors." "I know! Let's make out!")
I just want:
2 people per District.
The people's jobs/personalities/abilities make sense according to their District, somehow.
1 (one) survivor.

Now, rip my heart out and tear it to shreds!

*Squeals loudly* YES! MOAR! PLEASE! :DDDDDDDDD DAAAAAAAAAW. This is so cute! :D Yay for sweet things! The world/this fandom needs lots of sweet things! Hopefully Shaun will come around too! XD

I love how Lucy jumped to his rescue with Malik and Kadar, that was just adorable. And of course Rebecca and Rosa would be related. XD I couldn't see it any other way.

ANON, GREAT JOB. I WILL WAIT FOR MORE. (and briefly think about how Rebecca reminds me of Tommy Pickles in the short with Ezio and Sophia.)

Drive-by anon is quite impressed at this first crazy-long story!
The story was actually quite interesting, and there was good flow throughout the whole plot.

As per friendly critique:
I have to say, some bits seemed a bit rushed. Specifically, character development/relationships. One moment, "Hi, what's your name?" Next moment, "I'm sittin' in yo' lap, eatin' all yo' face." In time, practice will slow that down until relationships seem more natural; just keep working on it!

The other thing I had a bit of a problem with is Desmond and Shaun's relationship. It felt like Shaun was Desmond's consolation prize. Even while Shaun's basically pouring his heart out to Desmond, the latter keeps thinking about Lucy and how he lost her. I think it might have been better had Desmond had some time to really get over Lucy, and then he'd start moving in on Shaun. It just felt too much like, "Welp. She's married, so imma bang this dude."

That said, good job! I was interested while reading the entire thing!

I wish I knew how to write smut. :( Otherwise I would totally fill this.

I love how "It is raining in Roma" can mean two different things. Great motif.

Anon I love you!

Have all the internets EVER and any internet babies I may make, like, ever, TO GO TO THE AUDITORE DAY CARE!!!!!! XD XD XD

I love serious wee!Shaun, and pretty!wee!Lucy, and Rebecca can has ALL the Pizza! And wee!Des is just the sweetest little dote! And lothario!Ezio FTW!

*is deeply enthusiastic*
*wild applause*
*standing ovation*

What will Leonardo do in this world?
*sits up and begs like a puppy with brown Ezio!eyes*

Rebecca is totally Tommy Pickles! And Shaun is Angelica *hides*

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 115 of 187

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 4

What Do We Do With This 1/?

Re: OP Re: Fill: Rain

Re: La Volpe/Claudia?

Fill: A Little More Than Admiration 1/?

Fill: A Little More Than Admiration 2/2

Re: Darim/Malik

Re: Fill: A Little More Than Admiration 2/2

Pillars of Sand 3/3

Re: OP Re: Fill: Rain

Re: Pillars of Sand 3/3

OP: GEN: OMG WHERE DID EVERYONE GO? Fill 2

Fill: Childhood [part1/???]

Re: Fill: Childhood [part1/???]

Sooo....Please? Generation Kill?

Re: Fill: Childhood [part1/???]

Fill: Childhood [part2/???]

Fill: Childhood [extra1/???]

Re: Shaun/Desmond - a rather twisted prompt

AU: Hunger Games

Re: Fill: Childhood [part2/???]

Re: Final Fantasy XXVII-23

Re: Shaun/Desmond - a rather twisted prompt

Re: Fill: Rain

Re: Fill: Childhood [extra1/???]

Re: Fill: Childhood [part2/???]