Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 4

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Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.4

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Part 1
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The Hunchback of Notre Dame pt2

[(Anonymous)]

And as he pulled the hood further over his face, he was dumbfounded. He had been outside once, during the fire, and this was nothing like then. He watched the people mill around, bustling and hurrying, and he decided now was as good as ever. He limped off, standing up straight as he tried to take in everything. From down here, everything looked so much different. He could see the bright yellows and purples in the flags flying, tents selling all kinds of things. He could read most of the signs: flowers, clothes, sweets, and so much more that he was almost overloaded. There were so many smells he didn’t know existed, and the beautiful horses with guards on them were astounding. He found himself wandering over to where one horse was, a hand outstretched. He didn’t hear the guard telling him to back off, but when the horse butted against his hand, he laughed and petted it gently.

When he looked up again, the guard looked amazed. He waved and limped off, going through the crowds streets and marveling at all the life all around him. He gaped at the colors, the smells, and he wandered around, keeping his profile low, until he found another person with a cloak around them and the hood pulled down over their eyes. He squatted there awkwardly, trying to peek at the person, and he jumped when the person looked up and there was a pigeon sitting in the hood. His eyes grew wide, and he watched an actual head appeared. He blinked, still amazed, and watched the head appeared to chuckle. The man had a scar over his lips and beautiful golden eyes. He stepped back, suddenly feeling woefully ugly next to this man, and he squawked in protest when a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

He was going to die. The man had probably seen his face and thought he was a monster, and now he was going to die. He felt something be pressed into his hand, and he blinked as the person gathered the pouch from the ground he hadn’t noticed and vanished into the crowd, the pigeon flew away. He looked at his hand to find a gold coin, and his eyes widened. He patted his tunic, still feeling the pouch and his doll there, and he smiled warmly. He had been given his first gift not from his master.

He limped his way into the main square, holding onto the coin tightly as he looked around for something to eat. He watched a person pay another with a gold coin to get some sort of meat-and-pastry thing, and he squirmed, tucking his coin into the pocket in his tunic so he could get some later—after he rung the bells as midday. He wandered around a bit more, reveling in all the things going on around him, and even tried his hand at a game that they had set up. He had won, some sort of sweet, and he ended up sharing it with a little girl dressed in rags. She had seemed so excited, bouncing off when her mother came, and he could see her telling her all about the treat. He limped off, climbing back up the tower at midday and rang the bells, then scurried down for what he actually wanted to see.

He weaseled his way through the crowds to see people dressed up in the funny clothes, and a man in a hooded orange outfit threw his hands in the air and said, “Come one, come all!”

He squirmed as they drew closer, and he could have sworn the man with purple eyes was staring at him.

“Close the churches and the schools, it’s the day for breaking rules! Come and join—”

He couldn’t read the man’s lips after that, but he knew what was said. He watched with excitement as the funny-dressed people seemed to explode in a cloud of smoke to make all kinds of people. There were people rolling and people on stilts, people swinging on poles and people leaping about, and people that flipped upside-down to be a different person. He was entranced as confetti seemed to litter the skies, and he watched all the clowning around. There were all kinds of hideous and ugly masks, he felt much better about his own appearance.

He jumped when he felt an arm wrap around his shoulders, and saw the man in the orange say, “It’s the day the devil in us gets released—”

He jerked away when he felt him try to pull down his hood, and he fled from the man in the orange as fast as he could, over to a stall and stood there, watching the goofy people horse around as he smiled and laughed. He clapped his hands gleefully, watching, and yelped when the man in orange appeared again, twirling him around and throwing him into the crowd, where he stumbled, bumping into someone. They laughed and pushed him away, and he tumbled again, wishing his leg wasn’t bad so he could steady himself as he tripped and rolled, crashing head-first into a tent.

He fumbled with the sheet that came down around his head. When he finally pulled it off, he scrambled to pull his hood up and hunched over, noticing several sets of feet there, and he pulled to his hands and feet to start crawling off, only to be stopped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He stopped, realizing that he had gotten into bad things, and he couldn’t even hear them talk.

He could feel someone crawling around, and he looked up to find a set of bright blue eyes looking at him. They closed as the man smiled at him, and he shrunk back as he watched the man say, “Hello! Who are you?”

He blinked, then realized he wouldn’t get punished for accidentally falling in, and he sat back, signing, “Quasimodo.”

He watched the young man blink, straightening up. Then, the young man took a board of slate and something else from another man who looked like he could be his brother. He took the offered objects and scrawled his name.

“Quasimodo? Like the Sunday? What a horrible name!”

He blinked, pulling back as the other man turned to yell at someone behind him before sitting beside the man. He watched the younger boy say, “What if we called you ‘Desmond?’”

He tilted his head, and the young man took the board, erased his name, and wrote the other name.

“It’s a much nicer name,” he saw the man say. “It means something like ‘man of the earth’ in a foreign language.”

He blinked, then nodded. He liked the name. The boy beamed.

“Good! I’m Kadar, and this is my brother, Malik!”

The other man nodded at him, and he nodded back.

“And this is Adha, and this is—”

He jerked when he saw the golden-eyed man from earlier come around and extend a hand, helping him up. He jerked back when he saw him reach for the hood, and he slapped his hands to face to try to keep himself hidden.

Until a pair of female hands slowly pulled them away from his face.

He tried to shrink back, because the women in front of him was gorgeous, and his master had made sure he knew that he was ugly, and that ugliness was a crime. But the lady simply smiled at him and said, “Hello, Desmond. Welcome to our tent.”

He blinked, surprised that they weren’t flinching away from him—as the people in the sanctuary had done, screaming and pulling away from him. There were four of them, the man from earlier, who gave him the coin, the pretty lady, the two brothers.

“You’re deaf, aren’t you?” the woman said, and he nodded, his eyes concentrating on her lips.

“How’d he get deaf?” he saw Kadar say when he looked at him next.

“The bells,” he murmured, looking down.

He avoided the man’s gaze when he felt a finger under his chin push his face back up. He gasped when he felt a pair of lips on each cheek, and then the people were guiding him out of the tent and saying, “We’ll see you in a bit. Take care.”

They pulled his hood back up for him. He watched Kadar peek through again and grin. “Great mask!”

He blinked, and suddenly, he wanted to keep his gold coin forever. Although, the feeling was short-lived as he felt the man in orange approach, turning to see him look straight at him but not actually come over to him, just gesturing as if to summon him forward.

“Come one, come all! Hurry, hurry, here’s your chance—see the mystery and romance—”

He didn’t hear the rest of it as he limped over to the stage, noticing his master sitting at the far end and waving, noticing the soft smile he got in return. His master looked rather haggard with the remnants of soft squishy foods all over him, but his master was still smiling at him, and that was what’s important. And then, all of a sudden, the man in orange was in front of him, and he exploded into purple smoke.

Then where were two people on the stage, dancing. The same two who had kissed his cheeks in the tent.

And the pigeon took up perch on his shoulder.

He was completely entranced by their dancing, watching them. They were so pretty, and he felt a pang of jealousy that they were so beautiful. All the others around him seemed to be cheering and hollering. They needed to learn that this was something to be treasured. He was going to hold this memory near to him for the rest of his life.

And then the man winked at him, and the lady gave his master her shimmery scarf. Maybe his master would let him use it to make a doll of her.

He smiled and clapped when it was over, not even realizing they had been dancing for so long, and the man in orange appeared on stage with them as they bowed. He thought the man had vanished completely. Maybe it was that magic stuff his master had talked about that was bad for his soul. Still, he watched them pull people onto the stage, wondering what was going on, until the man came over to him and pulled him onto the stage.

“You’ll do great: I’m sure,” he saw him say, and he drew the hood tighter around his face.

He leaned forward, watching as the lady pulled the mask off the first person, and when the whole crowd seemed to react negatively, the man pushed him off the stage, laughing. This continued down the line, the pile of men on the ground getting bigger and bigger, until they reached him and his hood was pushed off. He jerked backward when the lady grabbed at his ears, then staggered back, reviled. He shrank down as the people began to react like his master had said they would, as they had in the sanctuary. He stepped back as they began to say things, and he could see his master get up from the chair he was in, the woman in armor by his side donning her helmet visor to step in, but then he felt a set of hands on his shoulders, and he looked to see the man in orange smirking.

“Ladies and gentleman, don’t panic! We asked for the ugliest face in Paris, and here he is! Congratulations! You’re the king of fools!”

He blinked when he felt a crown drop onto his head, and he looked to see the bells dangling around, the crowd cheering, and all of a sudden, he was being lifted into a decorated seat by the man and the lady. He had a death grip on the chair arms as the chair was lifted into the air, and he saw them approach a platform, where he was set down, and then the lady pulled him up, draped him in a fur cape, and even gave him a scepter, and he was wide-eyed as the people all cheered around him.

And then he felt something smack him in the face. He reached up and wiped his face, seeing a tomato and having just enough time to register it before another smacked him. He blinked and tried to duck when another was thrown, but ended up slipping. He scrambled to get up as he felt another tomato hit him—and then something that wasn’t all that soft smacked him in the side, and he felt a rope around his leg, and another around his neck when he tried to turn to get it off, and he choked as he felt it pull him back, and he struggled as hard as he could as he tried to curl up to stop the things being thrown at him because they hurt, and they weren’t soft at all, and he couldn’t get them to stop as he closed his eye and tried to pull the rope on his wrists off. He squirmed, refusing to open his eye and glad he couldn’t hear anything as he tried to get loose as something hard smacked his side. He cried out for help.

And then it all stopped.

He was ready to cry. This is what he got for stepping outside of his bell tower. He was never leaving again. It had been so much fun, but this wasn’t worth it. He refused to open his eye, and when he felt the ropes loosen, he curled up into a ball, covering his head. He whimpered when he felt a hand on him, then something soft caress his cheek. He cracked open his eye to see the lady from before gently wiping off his face. He pulled back, crawling to the edge of the platform to get away and not even checking as he limped away as fast as he could, through the square and through the gates to his home and into the church. He didn’t ever want to leave here ever again. He didn’t want to leave the comfort of his bed, of his covers, and he didn’t want to do anything ever again that would involve pulling them down from over his face.

He didn’t want to look at his master when he felt him sit. He had shamed him. He had disgraced him. He was so thoroughly embarrassed he wasn’t ever going to leave his tower ever again. Even though his master was rubbing his back, he just wanted to cry. He was going to throw away the cape and burn his little Paris town. Nobody that mean deserved a spot in Heaven. His master had even told him that people had to behave nicely to get there, and he had done his best.

He wasn’t sure how, but his master slowly lured him into sitting up and leaning into his arms as a hand gently cradled the side of his face. He hugged him back slightly, listening to his stomach growl, and he watched as his master stood up.

“Would you like me to get you something to eat, Quasimodo?” he signed.

He looked at his lap, then signed in response, “They called me ‘Desmond.’”

“Who? The gypsies?”

He nodded, and he watched his master kneel in front of him with a soft smile.

“Is that what you want me to call you? I will admit: I’m not the most creative. My pets on the streets were named ‘kitty’ and ‘puppy.’”

He offered a soft smile and nodded minutely. His master chuckled.

“Very well.”

He perked up, then hugged his master. He let his master take the cape and fold it over his arm before pulling out the shimmery scarf from earlier.

“Did you at least make some good memories?”

He nodded, and his master smiled gently.

“And here, you may have this to make her clothes.”

He took the scarf gently, reveling in the cloth as he looked at his master with wide eyes. “For me to use? Really?”

His master nodded. “As an apology for today. I’ll go fetch you food, Quasi—Desmond.”