asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

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assassin's creed

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
Fill Only

Join or Die

✩ 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!

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(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Fills Only
Discussion

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Actually picture Birch wanting to work with Haytham to recruit Connor for the same reason he wanted Haytham (which I believe was to end the Assassin Kenway line and claim their Eagle Vision abilities for the Templars)

Oh my god, that is perfect. If a potential writer!anon is looking through this than I'd be very happy with either something similar to my original prompt or what the anon here has just suggested.

That would be awesome.

We've had the other way around, so now I want one where Haytham and Connor are doing the deed (who tops and bottoms is anon's decision, but it would be the icing on the cake if Charles saw Haytham bottoming for Connor) and Charles happens upon them. He probably gets turned on by it, but is incredibly pissed off about it at the same time, since he's clearly had the hots for Haytham since the beginning of the game.

Aw, this was adorable! That last scene, especially, was so charming.

Oh wow, this is really nice, and exactly the kind of comfort that I wanted for Connor after finishing the game. Really looking forward to the rest!

It's so devastating, Haytham's father getting a glimpse of the man his son becomes in another life.

It's a wonderful contrast that you've painted, Edward's memories of the forgiving child and the cold and calculating man Haytham has become, and Edward questioning how they wound up in that position.

//sobs//

Going to get burned so bad for this but... want a fill using this:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/stepho_bombo/439109274/

Haytham and his Templars are once again enraged/annoyed by Connor's constant meddling in their affairs. So Haytham being a sadistic/evil!bastard purchases the pleasure chair ~~invented by Benjamin Franklin~~ to discipline the unruly young Assassin.

Picture Connor strapped into the chair (dressed in only his outer Assassin Robes) and Haytham does give Connor the chance to 'redeem' himself; but the boy stubbornly refuses. Haytham nods to Lee, who gleefully activates the crank, making the phallic part rise from beneath the chair to slowly and forcefully penetrate Connor.

Lee and Hickey take turns controlling the chair while Haytham walks around the Assassin's bound and writhing form and whispers lewd and dark promises into Connor's ear.

Whether Connor breaks down or remains stubborn until the end is up to the writer!anon. Bonus: would like to see Haytham getting jealous of the chair

Lol drivebyanon asks is this by any chance inspired by the other fill higher up on this page that has umar and faheem? :P

(It's frustrating how little information there is on the internet about many of the places and dates and people included in this fic, so I've done the best I can. Please correct me if I've made any egregious errors.
The homes of many of the aristocrats were called Hotel de (insertfamilynamehere).

Late Winter 1785, Paris

Connor stared out of the coach as it made its way through the streets of Paris. In layout they were much like the streets of Boston or New York, crowded with people jostling and talking and generally going about life. But the people were a far cry from the relatively well-fed populace of the cities in the United States. Many looked to be starving, their eyes gleaming desperate and hungry in the wan winter sun. Stick-thin children ran among the crowd, begging and no doubt stealing what they could.

There was an air of animosity, of desperation in the air, the same that he had felt in Boston all those years before. As Achilles had said then, the crowd was a powder keg, reading for the sparks that would ignite the whole thing into a deadly blaze. The Marquis was right. A revolution was brewing.

“The harvests have been poor,” Lafayette said. He was sitting opposite to Connor, looking out the same window. “And the government is bankrupt. Largely due to the war in America.” He smiled wryly. “It is fitting that the liberty of our American brethren will lead to our own. The King and Queen have not cut back on their excesses, to better fit their empty coffers. Instead they remain oblivious to the situation.”

“Would a rebellion fix things?” Connor asked, as they passed a group of scantily-clad women gathered on one streets corner. It was obvious from their clothes and the thick paste of makeup on their faces what they were selling. “A rebellion will not make the crops grow, or fix the economy.”

The American government was still struggling to pay its debts, as evidenced by the bankruptcy of France, its main benefactor in the war, and had not yet managed to piece together and enforce a system of taxes anyone would agree on. So far the American government had persevered, but in France where it seemed things could get very omp;icated very fast, with the long-established monarchy and the many relatives of the King who Connor understood all had some claim to the throne, it seemed unlikely such a revolution could survive.

“You’re right, Connor,” Lafayette said. “But as in America, it is not merely the starvation and taxes that must be changed. They are only symptoms of a greater infection, one that has corrupted France for many generations.” He glanced outside again, and grimaced. “The poor are considered a different species, with virtually no rights, at least none that can hold a candle to any opposition by a noble. Something akin to the basic rights of the people in American must be adopted in France.”

Lafayette fairly glowed with enthusiasm as he spoke these words, the same driving force that had granted him so much success in the American Revolution. He seemed to know one direction, forward, and would figure out how to maneuver around obstacles once he got that far. It had been Connor’s approach towards the Templars, and he still regretted it. Not taking the time to learn more of the circumstances, not pausing to think his actions through…

The goal had been accomplished, and for now the United States were free of the Templar influence, but if Connor had been less bloodthirsty, less driven, then perhaps…

No. It was not the time for regrets. He only hoped he could help here. For liberty, and equality, not for any political party or man or group.
He was yanked out his thoughts by the coach jerking to a halt. Unbeknownst to him they had made their way into the wealthier part of Paris, and Lafayette announced as he climbed out that the hotel they were stopped outside of as Hotel de Lafayette, the residence of Lafayette and his family.

Connor followed Lafayette outside, into the cold winter air. The paving stones were slick with ice, and the breath of the servants who hurried to unload the luggage from the top of the coach formed white clouds in the air. Lafayette paused, turning to Connor.

“I apologize for not remembering to ask this earlier,” Lafayette said. “However, what name will go you under in France? And what title?” Connor had only given Lafayette a vague idea of his job, making it clear he served a higher cause, but not elaborating more than to say that causes like the revolutions were supported by it, and men like Charles Lee condemned to die.

Connor hesitated. “Connor Davenport,” he said after a moment. He did not wish to draw unnecessary attention to himself by using his real name, which would probably cause the French even more consternation than it did the Americans, or Kenway, which might attract the attention of any Templars in the country. “I am merely a fellow soldier. An officer under Washington with you.”

The marquis nodded. “Very well,” he said, his attention clearly elsewhere as he looked up at the impressive façade of the Hotel de Lafayette, happiness and impatience warring for dominance in his expression. He walked up the stairs, Connor and the men carrying luggage in tow, and the doors were pulled open by a stout servant.

Another servant took Lafayette and Connor’s hats and coats, with which Connor parted reluctantly. He was so used to wearing his assassin’s robes, with their convenient hood, that he felt exposed without them.

Connor had no time to take in the splendor of the front room before Lafayette put a hand on his shoulder and steered him towards the sitting room, off to the side.

A woman practically launched herself from the coach she had been sitting on to embrace Lafayette, talking so fast in French that Connor couldn’t understand a word. Lafayette laughed and embraced her back, kissing her on both cheeks and on her lips.

This woman could only be Adrienne, Marquise de Lafayette, Lafayette’s wife. Connor stood awkwardly at the edge of the room, watching the two exclaim their affections to each other in words too rapid for Connor to catch. Madame Lafayette was a plain woman, with large doe-like eyes and a kind smile. As soon as she had properly greeted her husband she turned her attention to Connor.

“And who are you, monsieur?” she asked, looking Connor over curiously. He was wearing the clothes he usually reserved for sea journeys, not wanting to arrive in Paris in a uniform that might mark him as a target immediately.

Lafayette smiled. “This is my friend and fellow revolutionary, Connor Davenport.”

Recognition dawned in Adrienne’s eyes. “Ah, yes, Monsieur Davenport. Gilbert has told me much about you,” she said. “He has gone on at length about how you saved General Washington from an assassination scheme.” Her eyes sparkled, and she covered an impish little smile with a wave of her fan. The design caught his eyes- the fan was a cream color, matching her drew, with a splash of red. But at the angle he was looking from, towering over her, he couldn’t see what the design was. Something nagged at the back of his mind.

Connor inclined his head, not particularly wanting to discuss that episode in his misguided service under Washington and not quite sure how he was supposed to address the Marquise. “I have heard much about you as well,” he settled for.

Lafayette laughed. “Connor is a man of few words, but those he speaks have weight.” He eyed Adrienne, a look of anxiety flashing across his features. “How are the children?”

Adrienne smiled. “They’re doing fine.”

As if on cue, a small voice behind Connor said “Papa?” Connor spun around, to see a little girl standing in the doorway. A moment later a harried-looking governess appeared, along with another little girl and a little boy. The first girl, the eldest, stared up at Connor, edging past him before running to her father.

“Anastasie!” Lafayette swept her up in his arms, laughing. “You've grown a foot since I last saw you!”

She giggled. “It hasn’t been that long, Papa.” But as she embraced him back her eyes were shining with unshed tears. The other two children ran to Lafayette, and Connor watched the Marquis reunited with his family. He felt a pang of some incomprehensible emotion. A little jealousy, a little sadness. Family was… not something that had gone well for Connor, and the thought of trying to start one seemed so imposing. Never mind he had had little time to be interested in women, or actively seek them out. But now seeing Lafayette with his family… It made him long for something he hadn’t even known he had been missing.

“Who’s that, Papa?” piped up the little boy, staring at Connor with wide eyes.

“That’s Monsieur Davenport,” Lafayette replied. “He’s from America.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “That’s where you were!”

Lafayette smiled. “Yes, I brought Connor back so he might see France.” He turned to Connor. “This inquisitive little fellow is my son Georges, and these are my daughters, Virginie and Anastasie.” The youngest girl, Virginie, hide behind her mother’s skirts, her little hands clasped together in front of her dress.

Connor smiled, and nodded to the children. “It’s very good to meet you,” he said.

“I’m going to go to America one day!” exclaimed Georges. “I’m going to chase out the British once and for all, so no lobsters will ever set foot there again!”

Lafayette laughed. “I’m sure you will,” he said.

“Children, I’m sure your father and Monsieur Davenport would like to rest after their long journey,” Adrienne said, beginning the herd the children towards the door with the expertise of one who had been handling little sons and daughters for years. The governess helped her, picking up Virginie and leading the others out of the room. Connor heard the sound of several pairs of little feet running up the stairs, and grinned.

“I’ll see you at dinner, Monsieur Davenport?” Adrienne said, fluttering her fan about her face again. “Armand will show you to your room. Your trunk has already been delivered there.”

She seemed eager to be alone with her husband, so Connor nodded and walked towards the door, intending to head up to his rooms to unpack and the explore. He was far from tired, after the days of relative inactivity on the ships, and the hours traveling in the coach.

“Monsieur Davenport,” he paused at the sound of his name, turning to look at Adrienne. She raised the fan to her lips again, and now he could see the design on it clearly. Swirling, stylized and interwoven with other symbols, but unmistakably the insignia the spirit had painted in his mind when he first started out on the path that had led him where he was today.

The symbol of the Assassins.

“I do hope you’ll find our home to your liking,” she said, her eyes unreadable over the blood-red sign of the Brotherhood.

(I'm hoping I'm not doing Adrienne a dreadful disservice by casting her as an assassin, she was quite a remarkable woman by all accounts, but probably not prone to running around rooftops. But I thought this would be interesting, and if Ubisoft can do it to Machiavelli...)

Can be shippy if anon wants, but definitely not necessary!

Connor and Haytham sitting by a fire/setting up camp during the father & son sequences, conversation starts and haytham ends up talking about the kenway line of assassins. Since i dont think connor realizes that he's actually from a long line of them!!

bonus points if it takes an angsty turn and haytham regrets becoming a templar because it was all for naught and the rest of the kenways will continue to be assassins, then like connor comforting him or something??

What in the hell invention is that...

I demand for this fic as well! Give it to me! I didn't know I wanted something like this, and now I need it like burning.

OMG it's in the game!
http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mebpptNZxo1qc5p3ko1_1280.jpg

OMGWTF?? *the noise I made wasn't human* I haven't had a chance to play the game yet, but I'm definitely wanting to see this written!

~~It looks like a guitar spawned into the chair...?~~

This. Yes. Gimme gimme.

I had no idea that even existed, but I now have a burning need for this fic. This sounds so promising!

So I was replaying the Haytham missions the other day, and noticed again that in the sequence where Haytham finds Ziio, and goes about sneaking into the fort to find where Edward Braddock is, he wanders around in some pretty brutal weather. And because this anon always takes the shortest path to the next objective, I managed to plow through the rovers quite a number of time.

If you actually tried to swim through that water in a blizzard, especially Haytham with all his cloaks and heavy coat, well, it wouldn't turn out too well to say the least.

Anon thinks a fic where for some reason while working with Ziio Haytham is forced to swim the river in freezing weather (to escape some guards or hide?) and just manages to drag himself out/to Ziio or she finds him half-frozen. Slightly distrustful h/c ensues.

...and Audincest

So, Anon wants fem!Federico(Federica?)/fem!Ezio(Eva? Ezia?)

I don't care if you make this modern AU or what not...~~or if the execution never happened~~

+5 points - other people genderswapped
+10 points - complete genderswap of the ENTIRE CAST
~~+50 point - explaining periods to Petruccio~~
_{_{_{_{I'd think of points, but I can't}}}}

*and now to go to hell while I wait for my AC kink cherry to be popped*

8D *drool* this is just too perfect! Anon, I truely can not express how much I want this!

*puppy eyes* please, may I have some more?

This is my first fiction attempt, I really hope it is okay ('specially since English isn't my first language.)
Anyway, enjoy :)

Days had passed. DAYS! Days in which his poor precious dog was all alone out there somewhere! Since that day Charles Lee returned to his house and noticed that there only where eight of his lovely comrades to greet him. First he thought number nine just slept somewhere and would come out later that day. Then hours passed and there was no sign of his beloved boy! He searched everywhere, his servants searched everywhere! In the evening he noticed a little hole in his back door. That couldn't be! That couldn't be!!!! The servants fled from their raging master and Lee stormed out of the big house. It started raining.
At that time the local master assassin just finished his buisness when it started raining. He hurried to get to the stables where he bound his horse and was just about to climb on the saddle when he heard the saddest whine he ever heard. And the owner of the stables cursing. "Stupid big rat get out of my stables!" An even louder whine, the man must have kicked the animal and Connor turned around to look at what made that noise. A dog with the most fluffy (and wet) fur he has ever seen fled in his direction. The assassin quickly grabbed the furball when it tried to run past him. It was trembling in fear and tried to free itself.
"Is that your dog?" Connor shook his head no.
The man cursed even more about stupid people and even more stupid dogs and when he said that Connor should hand him the dog so he could drown it the assassin was shocked.
"I will take the dog with me and search for its owner!" Drowning the poor thing? Only over his dead body!
Days later Lee had a lot of trouble keeping is face straight and his thoughts on his buisness. What happened to his little sweetheart? Was he even still alive? Where was he?
After a rather stressful meeting with Washington he strolled through the streets of Boston.
"Don't worry, I will find you.", he said quietly to himself.
He was so lost in his mind about the whereabouts of his dog that he missed the poster what was nailed to a wall.
"Pomeranian found [...]"

Achilles hadn't been fond of the furball Connor brought home days ago but they were past arguing about it. Weeks had passed since Connor let print the posters about the dog. No one came. He sat outside with the dog lying next to him. A lovely warm day the assassin could spent in peace at the homestead for a change. He glanced down at the little guy and patted his fur, in respond he rolled onto his back. The animal seemed to love the attention it got from Connor (and Achilles but the old man denied it.). The older assassin had explained how this breed of dog normally acts and both are surprised that the little critter isn't nonestop barking right now. The owner must have trained it very well, also it deals very good with the absence of his real master. But it sure loved playing and running around as much as all the other dogs Connor came across.
Haytham had sent him away. He had sent him away! Not permanently. But still! He should clear his mind so he could go back to do his work correctly. Charles was now even more upset then he had been before. "See the bright side, now you have more time for the search." He thought. But where should he keep searching? He already searched everywhere in the city. So his precious baby must be somewhere outside of the city. How was he supposed to find him? No one even respond to the posters and the announcements in the newspaper he had printed. With dark circles under his eyes he walked the streets of Boston again.
"Do you think we can put this posters down finally?" "I dunno. What is even written on them?" "Pomeranian found. A pet dog for rich snobs you know. The writing says some guy in Davenport Homestead found it and the owner should go there to retrieve it."
Charles Lee who had stopped dead at the word 'Pomeranian' started running. His dog was in Davenport, someone had found him!
He arrived there in the late afternoon and asked the first person he met about the whereabouts of the Pomeranian. "I am sorry sir, I don't know any-.. wait, I have seen Connor with a dog lately, you should go talk to him."
Connor? The Connor? That savage had HIS dog? He kept his face neutral and asked where he could find him and the person told him the directions. Not much later he stand in front of the mansion. He knocked at the door and waited with as much patience he could bring up. But then the door swung open.
"YOU!", Charles yelled by the sight of the assassin and pushed inside the building, throwing the door shut behind him without looking. "YOU SAVAGE STOLE MY DOG!"
Meanwhile Connor recovered from the first shock of seeing the templar in his homestead, blades were drawn by both men. But they didn't got to the point of attacking each other. Charles Pomeranian came into the hallway, barking like mad and snapping at Charles leg. They stopped dead, swords in hand, watching the little thing trying to bark, jump around and killing Charles leg all at the same time.
For Charles it was a punsh right in the face. Why was his precious little boy attacking him and not the filthy savage? Eventually the dog would calm down enough to stop attacking and Connor quickly picked him up with one hand.
Templar and assassin stared at each other in pure hate again.
Charles had looked through the plan of that arrogant assassin and if he thought he would be an easy kill he was wrong! But then. Connor had been surprised to see him at his door. He didn't even knew that the Pomeranian belonged to him, otherwise he would've send a letter directly to his mansion.
Charles let out a sigh and slowly and wary of the other he put his sword back. Connor was surprised once again. "So now I am here, give him back." Charles stated reaching out a hand.
The assassin hesitated. Even though he didn't wanted to admit it: He grew fond of the fluffball. The thought of giving him in the hands of this monster in front of him was painfull.
Charles pressed further. "This is my dog you savage. You even had posters printed telling the owner, ME, that you've found him!" Connor clenched his teeth together but finally, slowly he reached the Pom to his owner. Both men somehow expected the fluffball to growl at Lee like before but he kept quiet. When he was in the arms of his owner he expressed happiness, licking at Charles' cheek and the man's expression softened. For the first time Connor saw a human beeing in Charles. Connor opened the door for the templar so he would leave.

Connor walked behind Charles Lee. He just wanted to make sure the templar would leave without doing something stupid. Soon after they left the mansion the dog struggled. Connor never carried the animal after he brought it to Davenport. Charles had no choice but putting the dog back to the ground where it promptly turned around to walk next to Connor. Charles made a displeased noise and slowed down a bit so they were walking next to each other.
They were quiet for a while, then the templar cleared his throat.
"I honestly feared to find him in a poor condition when I heard that you found him." He looked down to his dog whoms fur looked as clean and tidy as ever. Connor didn't know what to response, this situation was just weird. "I did what I could." "Where did you even found him?"
Connor explained the situation at the stables when he picked the little animal up and Charles' expression was as shocked as Connors must have been that day.
Finally they arrived at the end of the Homestead where Charles had left his horse. While the templar mounted it the assassin picked up the dog do cuddle one last time with it before he handed him back to his owner.
"What is his name?"
Charles hesitated to answere and mumbled something.
"Pardon?" The templar sighted. "Haytham. His name is Haytham." With that he rode off leaving a snorting Connor behind.

So, I was just going back over all the prompts, making a list of ones I plan to fill and was wondering if OP prefers top or bottom Connoe with Haytham?

Charles Lee is head-over-heels for Haytham, who is straight as an arrow. Clipper Wilkinson absolutely adores Connor, who is about as asexual as they come. For some reason, they use each other as replacements for the men they can't have.

Cue lots of self-loathing and hatred for the enemy. Scratching, biting, throwing insults. Keeping their trysts a secret from their respective allies.

...so yeah. Please?

I admit, 'Haytham's father getting a glimpse of the man his son becomes' was actually one of the reasons I decided to fill this prompt. Then, of course, there is the part where Haytham defects... (I was hoping to see that in Forsaken, but since Haytham never even became an Assassin in the book... Well, I don't really like that book, to be honest, but Bowden's version of Haytham's past works quite well for this story, so I'm sticking to it, for now.)

I hope you don't mind the lack of Connor. I don't think he's going to appear to quite a while...

omfg I second this so hard... please, make it happen!

Sorry for the wait, and the shortness! And also for the cliffhanger... I know I'm evil... >_<

The dawn is grey and murky, but he catches Sam Adams before he gets into a coach headed for Philadelphia. Charles Lee is already in Philadelphia, but even if he was just travelling today, Connor would still refuse to go with him. He wants nothing to do with that monster.

"Samuel," he calls. "I need your help."

"Connor. It's been a long time," Samuel smiles. "Unfortunately, I can't stop to talk right now There's an important meeting in Philadelphia I have to be at this evening, and unless I leave now…"

"It is about the meeting in Philadelphia. Somebody is going to assassinate George Washington. I need you to get me into the building, so I can stop the killing."

Sam's eyes widen.

"get in," he says, holding the door open. "Tell me more on the way."

Connor does, and spends the long journey spinning careful lies. He does not like to twist the truth so much, but it is necessary.

"I only discovered the plot a few days ago. The Native population… they do not like Washington. Understandable given his policies toward us."

Samuel nods. He has heard rumours of Washington's less kind deeds.

"But--" he begins, presumably to mention certain villages supporting the British.

"He does not only target those that aid the Redcoats. Most of the villages he has razed have tried to stay out of the war, and those that remain turn against the Colonists because of his actions. I was planning to speak with the Commander about this."

"And now there's a group of Natives trying to assassinate Washington?"

"Yes. I caught wind of this plot too late to be able to talk sense into the men involved. They are already in Philadelphia."

"Tell me what you know. I want to help stop this."

Connor leans back.

"There are five of them. Not my tribe. I do not know how they are entering the building, but they are going to strike during the meeting. Hopefully, I can find them and either talk sense into them or drive them away. It should not be too difficult."

"Does anybody else know?" Sam pressed. "Is it just you and me, then? Against these assassins?"

"I have a few allies who will be outside the building, ready to attack any assassins. In all honesty, the best thing for you to do would be to stay in the meeting. Keep an eye out. If nothing happens before the meeting ends, it's safe to assume I managed to stop the assassins."

Samuel does not look happy, but he nods. After all, plans made at such short notice are often somewhat lacking.

He escorts Connor past the guards at the wall, and they enter the entrance hall. Connor takes a few moments to gat his bearings, to memorise the layout.

"I shall check upstairs. Do not breathe a word to anybody about the plot. Things will become complicated."

Samuel agrees, and wishes him luck. Connor finds a small storeroom to change from his formal waistcoat and tricorn into something that looks generically Native- leggings, a long shirt and a pair of moccasins that he does not wear often. He ties and straps various weapons to his body- daggers and a stone tomahawk lie in plain sight, but he has small pouches containing poisoned darts, throwing knives, tranquilising darts and an eagle feather. He wraps heavy linen bandages around his face and hair, to conceal his features. He stuffs his 'civilised' clothes in the satchel he had taken with him, and hides the bag in a secluded corner outside.

He slips back inside, through a carelessly-open window, and hides himself in a dark, apparently mostly unused study.

He waits, and waits, and tries not to think about the fact that Charles Lee is just down the hall. He tries not to think about what this would look like to Achilles and the brotherhood. He tries to concentrate on why he is here.

George Washington killed his mother. If he had not been playing hide-and-seek with his friends, he would have died, too. And the man's genocide still continues.

After an eternity, he hears doors opening. Voices. He opens the door just a crack, and- yes- they have finished. There is Washington. He takes a deep breath and waits for the man to come a little closer.

Time seems to slow down.

He exits the room, grabbing Washington by the shoulders, hauling him a few steps further away from his companions who have paused in their leisurely stroll in shock. In a second, he has a dagger and feather in his fist, and the Commander's throat opens easily. The feather follows the blade as he draws his hand across, and he throws the dying man at the shocked people before him before turning tail and sprinting away.

It takes mere seconds. Less than ten.

He grabs his satchel from the bush he left it in, and runs through alleys and over rooftops. Soon, the screams and the few people who had kept enough wit to follow him are far behind him, so he drops into a small garden area, and redresses. He shoves the disguise and murder weapon back in the satchel, and dons his hat. He puts black cotton gloves on, his hands being covered in half-dried blood.

He pauses a moment, to catch his breath a little.

It's over, he realises. He is finally free.

He leaves the alley, hardly able to keep the smile off his face. He makes his way back to the building, constructing his story for Sam in his head. Most of his mission had gone well, but one assassin had led him on a goose chase around Philadelphia's rooftops He succeeded in killing him in the end, and came straight back. George'll be pleased when they tell him, won't he? What's the matter? Oh no...

He forces himself to look grim and stoic, as he approaches the gate. Everything has turned out brilliantly. It's over. He is free.

"You look pleased with yourself," Achilles' voice says from behind him, and his stomach drops.

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Page 144 of 385

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Re: The Old World Templars come to the Colonies

Re: The Old World Templars come to the Colonies

Connor/Haytham with Charles watching

Re: orison 2/2

Re: "Appreciation" - Chapter 2

OP is stabbed in the heart

The Pleasure Chair

lol unrelated comment

L'aigle et le révolutionnaire 2/?

Haytham and Connor fireside angst chat

Re: The Pleasure Chair

Re: The Pleasure Chair

Re: The Pleasure Chair

no subject

Re: The Pleasure Chair

Haytham/Ziio Hypothermia

Anon wants some genderswap

Re: The Pleasure Chair

Re: Fill: Out of Sight Part 1b of 3

Fill: Pom found....

Re: Sleepy sex?

Clipper/Lee, replacement for the real thing

Re: OP is stabbed in the heart

Re: Shaun/Desmond, accent kink

FILL 35/?