Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 4

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Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.4

Welcome to Constantinople

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

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

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

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

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

‡ Have a question? Feel free to PM me.

‡ Last, but not least: HAVE FUN!

List of Kinks
Kink Meme Masterlist
New Kink Meme Masterlist
(Livejorunal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
#2 (Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 5
Fills Only
Discussion

Comments

Does it feel like a trial?

[(Anonymous)]

Something based on the song 'Exile Vilify' by the National: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G-Vg2YS-sFE

Anybody and anything is welcome, but anon feels that either Desmond or Subject 16 work best...

Re: Does it feel like a trial?

[(Anonymous)]

Woah what are these odd little feels.

I LOVE that song.

Madgod 1/1

[(Anonymous)]

how's this?

He’s come to realize that he’s all alone in the world. It’s a cold fact that he’s had to learn the hard way. He muses on it and reflects on it. He lets his depression spiral out of control. He supposed he was asking for too much, but all he wanted was someone special, someone to care about him—like him for him, and not for the dead guys in his DNA. Sure, he “saved the world,” but that was old hat now. No one cares: no one knows, because he is all alone.

Lucy’s dead.

Rebecca and Shaun are married.

His father only hurts him more.

So he’s started working. He’s started working hard, carving holes in his memory and setting up a world more fantastical than Clay’s Animus world. He spends hours working on carving out this world, and he lets himself sink further and further. Clay taught him how.

No one cares: no one knows. He is all alone.

It’s like Multiple Personality Disorder. He’s got an elaborate set up for the other personalities. He’s heard some have castles, some have houses.

He has an entire damn world carved out in that head of his.

And he wants to show someone. He wants to let someone into his world and show them. It’s a happy place. There’s the outer world, the world where Ezio, Altair, and Connor live. Then, from the outer world, one can find their way into a long and convoluted series of tunnels, full of monsters that may resemble historical figures, but monsters nonetheless. They protect the entrance to the world of his own. At the farthest end of these tunnels, nestled securely in the rock, is a door—a hidden door. Only those who know what they’re looking for can find it. It’s designed to keep people out.

But no one cares: no one knows. He is all alone.

And if they did get through the door, if he did have someone to show it all to, they’d enter a beautiful world. There’s a path, a nice cobblestone path, that leads all the way to the capital of his world, where he lives in the castle. Along the path, phosphorescent molds grow. Bright greens fill the cracks between the stones, and deep blues are woven in veins. There’s weeping willows that have soft lavender strains in the leaves and blow gently in the fresh breeze. The willows are every so often along the path, and some times in the rest of the lands. There’s full, green trees that form forests and golden fields where sometimes children can be seen playing from nearby villages. There are seemingly endless sprawls of bright fields with daisies and tulips and all kinds of bright flowers making it fields of colors. There’s fire ivy that climbs up trees, glowing orange and red to give it its name, and crystal-clear lakes with brightly colored fish to catch. There’s bumblebees and butterflies, and the occasional other bug or a praying mantis. There’re deer, antelopes, horses, zebras, and even unicorns. There’s all kinds of animals. Millions of different birds: every kind different, and big, thick volumes fill birdwatchers’ shelves. There’s more than ten thousand different kinds of plants, and he knows every one.

But no one cares, and no one knows. He is alone.

The people that fill his world are all kind, all sweet, all eager to help out in a pinch. They can’t fight, no, not unless they’re a guard, but that’s fine, because that’s their job.

Although perhaps there’s the tangible feel of madness lurking.

People can feel it, hiding, waiting. It rests under their skin, waiting to be let out, waiting to enter into a manic sort of happiness, a scary sort of glee that isn’t normal. It comes from the capitol, from the man who gave them birth, who carved out the world on his own. And he is happy that way.

If travelers pass through, they’ll be well met and taken care of, helped along their way in any way possible. They’ll dress them in something less formal than a uniform, sharpen their tomahawk, or their hidden blade, or their sword. They’ll give them a horse to ease their aching feet from the long journey behind and ahead and patch them up from the deep wounds that they suffered from all the monsters that the villagers knew were waiting outside their realm. They’ll be well taken care of: he had made sure of that.

But no one knows, and no one cares. He is alone.

And they’ll undertake the five-month journey to the capitol, passing along villages that get nicer and nicer the closer they get to distract them from the death that awaits them. When they get that close to see the walls, they also smell the death.

There is no one in the lands surrounding the castle. It’s just the castle and the people inhabiting it.

For several miles surrounding the castle, it’s raining. The trails are flooded, the plants are drowned, and the animals—well, there are none. None in the wild at least. There’s sink holes and fallen trees, and monsters dwell in the muddy rainwater lakes. They rise up out of the water as silent as night (which doesn’t exist this close to the castle, it’s always dark and gloomy) and sneak behind their prey, striking them down. If the travelers aren’t quick to learn, they die.

And he laughs, because no one will know, and no one will care since he is all alone.

If they make it to the gates, the gates are opened by mysterious, beautiful women, with silky black hair and pale skin. Their eyes are all golden, their lips all a wondrous shade of red. They’re there to take in whatever travelers survive, giving the dry clothes and warm food. No horse ever lives through the dead lands around the castle. Once they’re full and warm, they’re offered a bed, and if they choose not to sleep, they can wander the castle. More of these women wander the halls, offering advice and directions. Servants bustle about in gay moods, birds chirp and sing in the rafters of the tall ceilings. Beautiful tapestries line the walls, carpets on the floor. No shoes are allowed past the gatekeepers’ rooms. There’re gorgeous urns and bowls filled with the best-looking food someone could ever try, not all of it familiar to people in the outside realm. But the halls are warm and cozy, the rooms are, too, and they don’t reflect the outside of the castle at all.

When they enter the throne room, they’re greeted with a huge throne, plush and comfortable. And in the throne sits a man, upside down, grinning like a fool. His golden eyes are trained upon them, looking just like the eyes of the women who live there but not the servants, and he claps.

“Welcome to the realm of the Madgod,” he says with an overly-happy voice, just before he starts giggling sadistically. “And know that you are all alone. No one will know you are here. And no one will care.”

And the castle gates shut them in forever, and they can’t escape because he won’t be alone any more, and he’ll drag whoever he can into madness with him. He’ll infect whoever sets foot in here with the destructive isolation he’s felt, the unloved monster that grew in his skin and took over his mind. Here, he’s wanted. The villagers need him to keep them alive, to keep their world intact. He’s wanted, and he’s needed, and he goes out every so often to let them worship him and make him feel loved.

But he’ll keep the travelers there, the ones from the outside realm if any dare come in, because they have everything. They have love and affection from real people, and they have warmth and giddiness. There is no madness there.

But he’ll make sure there is because he doesn’t want to be alone anymore. He wants the company and the laughter, and that’s why the other servants are there. The women are all the same, all different, but all the same, and if he wants, he can turn them into a goat, or a puddle, or even just a bad idea, but he won’t because they love him. This is his world, and he’s willing to share it with anyone who comes through those castle gates.

But no one knows, and no one cares, because he is alone, and there’s nobody to miss him since he’s vanished.