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

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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✩ 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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Part 1
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Petruccio wants to learn how to kiss someone, so he goes to one of his brothers for help (or one of the olders brothers decide to teach Petruccio)

I prefer Ezio, but feel free to use Federico. And please, NO further than kissing.

/BLUUUUUSH/ I wish I was Keto...

Please yesssss (I have this biggest kink for Connor using his position as captain as an excuse to boss Haytham around (especially in bed))

Unf. Yes.

Aww, this is so charming! The bit where she attempts to fix Connor's clothing is too cute.

I think I just orgasmed from reading the prompt, OP! I hope someone fills soon.

This is brilliant. Thank you so much writer!anon for writing this even though you've so many other prompts to fill. You're amazing, and I can die happy now.

OMG, yes. I need this.

Yes. Seconded. Give me the angst.

Whoa, someone fill this prompt please? I'll love you forever.

D damn rhrirkwrjlvekacqrgj iasdfghjkl cute. Damnit. Damn you. Damn Haytham. DAMNIT KETO, YOU ARE ADORABLE!

What if Haytham had become an Assassin and Connor a Templar? Picture when Haytham arrives in Boston, he strengthens the Brotherhood alongside Achilles and hunted down the remaining Templars. During this time, he married Ziio and they had children. Though one fateful day, his eldest son is killed in a fire but actually kidnapped and raised by Charles Lee and the remaining Templars.

Because Haytham's life isn't tragic enough, Ziio falls ill and he is left to care for his two young sons (Edward and Jim?) as a single parent. Not sure if he carries on family tradition, training them to become Assassins - or just decides to retire and leave the Brotherhood in Achilles and Connor Davenport's care... until that fateful day when the Templars rise from the ashes to resume control over the colonies.

Anon is a big HaythCon shipper - so imagine Templar!Connor seducing Haytham, because he enjoys messing with his head and trying to control the master assassin in his own way... and Haytham is probably horrified (and enraged that Lee is using his son in such a way) but struggles to resist ^^;

Umf. Anon is struck braindead by amazingness of this prompt. Second!

Anon, I cannot tell you how many of my favorite things are in this prompt; it's almost as if someone invaded my brain and put this thing up here for me. If I weren't already in the middle of a giant multi-chapter fic, I would start writing something right now.

THAT SAID, if someone else doesn't pick this up by the time I'm done, I will be taking this on myself. 8|b

Connor stared over at Adrienne. “How many are there, here?”

“Others like us?” she smiled wanly. “Far too few, and plenty of those that are in it for only tradition or politics. But you did not answer my question.” She gestured at the unconscious man. “What prompted you to intervene?”

Connor considered. “Such injustice should not be left to happen. It is the duty of the Assassins to right such wrong, or so I was taught.”

She laughed lightly. “That’s how I was taught- but I’m afraid you may find some amon us in France who would disagree with you.” She froze, then stood and pulling him further into the alley, flattening them both against the wall behind some stacked crates.

Footsteps echoed down the alley, footsteps which Connor had heard too late. He cursed himself for being distracted by the foreign city- it was no different, ultimately, from Boston or New York and he had to remain vigilant.

The other interceder, the short man, had returned with another man in tow, dressed in a manner similar to the garb of doctors in the colonies. The second man knelt by the unconscious speaker, while the interceder scanned the alley, a strange look in his eyes. Something seemed to catch his attention, and he approached the stack of crates they were hiding behind cautiously, before stepping out in front of Adrienne and Connor.

Adrienne tensed, and there was a metallic sound as a blade slide from her right brace with a flick of her fingers. “Monsieur Robespierre.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, though he made no move to reach for any weapon in response to her hostility. He calmly regarded Connor, seeming to seek to understand the essence of his character. It unnerved Connor, the intensity of his gaze.

“Marquise de Lafayette,” Robespierre said, barely audibly. “What could possess you to stray this far from your gilded cage?”

Adrienne kept her expression as neutral as his. Connor moved to step forward, but she stopped him with a hand. “Merely out for a walk,” she replied. “I couldn’t help but notice your friend in some trouble. It seemed to take you quite a time to decide to give aid.”

Robespierre smiled coldly. “I see your kind’s predilections are finally beginning to taint your rational thinking. Your lot always is eager to join a fight. If merely because you often have no other cause to follow.” His eyes flickered over to Connor. “However, I do find myself in your comrade’s… debt.” His lips twisted in distaste. “So I will forgive your trespass. Do not let this one stray into our territory again.”

She raised her chin, haughtily returning his stare. “I will gladly be rid of your presence. However, you owe my friend much more than his life, for saving your friend’s.” The insult to the man’s courage was clearly implied.

Robespierre’s expression was icy. “That remains to be seen,” he replied, turning on his heel and walking back towards to fallen man and the doctor. Connor just barely caught the words he threw over his shoulder “Do not let me catch you here again.”

Adrienne muttered a decidedly unladylike curse, and strode down the alley, away from the odd exchange and the commotion. Connor followed, still trying to decipher what exactly had just taken place, and what the conversation between Adrienne and Robespierre had implied.

“You should not have gone looking for trouble,” Adrienne said, turning to one of the brick walls bordering the mouth of the alley and beginning to climb up it, finding handholds and foothold in the crumbling mortar. Her small body was lithe and muscular, and it took her little more effort than Connor to scale the distance.

“Would you have had me let that man be trampled to death?” Connor asked, stung. It was true he didn’t know much about the Templars and Assassins in France yet, nor the politics in general. But the Creed did not vary from Brotherhood to Brotherhood, that much Achilles had always made clear. Whether the Assassin was from Italy or Istanbul or Masyaf, it mattered not. They followed the Creed laid down centuries before, and to suggest otherwise was a travesty.

“Robespierre came to his aid eventually,” Adrienne replied, balancing on the roof.

“I did not know that would happen,” Connor replied. “Waiting in such matters often just results in people being killed.”

Adrienne sighed. “I know. However… please don’t venture out again without knowing where it is safe to be seen in the uniform you are wearing, or your stay in France could be… much shorter than you intended.” She grimaced.

This was the downside of being in a new country. He was no longer the master of such things, and it rankled. But he would submit to her judgment. To do otherwise would be foolish, and he had no desire to get killed. “Who was that man?” he asked, and they began to make their way across the rooftops, towards the Hotel de Lafayette.

“Robespierre?” Adrienne asked. When he nodded, she said “Maximilien de Robespierre. He’s a lawyer, and advocate of the poor, and shares many causes with my husband. He’s also a Templar, and a high-ranking one, at least from what little I know of the Order in this country.”

Connor glanced back the direction they had come. “And the man I saved? Is he one as well?”

“I don’t know. I know him vaguely, but only by sight, and by his association with Robespierre,” Adrienne replied. She laughed, though it was a bitter little sound. “If I am honest, here the Templars support me and Gilbert’s cause far more than the few scattered Brotherhood who remain. I don’t blame you for saving that man today, even if he is a Templar. They may be misguided, but they have spoken the minds of the people of late.”

“Why don’t the Assassins embrace the coming uprising as well?” Connor asked.

“Most of our lines are too mired in aristocracy, in frivolity and ceremony. Pretending to be of great importance, and pretending to hold the fate of the world in our hands as we once did,” she shook her head. Her eyes were hidden by the shadow cast by her hood, but her lips were turned down in a from. Her step was sure on the slanted rooftops, without so much as a downward glance. “The Templars suffered worse from the purge of both the Order and the Brotherhood’s ranks a few generations ago. They were forced to recruit many new members, and thus are closer to the country’s pulse than the remaining Assassins.” She paused at the edge of the rooftop next to the roof of the Hotel de Lafayette. “But there will be time to discuss this later. We will already have a time of explaining our lateness to Gilbert.” She jumped and landed lightly on the roof of her home, before disappearing through the windows to what Connor assumed were her chambers.

He returned to his own room through the window, and changed out of his Assassin uniform, and into the fresh civilian clothes he had packed. He let his hair down from the messy ponytail it had been tied up in for the last day or two, combed through it, and tied it up again before washing the dirt from his face and hands with water from the washbasin. All the while his thoughts were elsewhere, replaying the events of the last hour.

Confident he was at least semi-presentable, he set out to attempt to navigate his way to the dining room.

~*~*~

“And so, I replied to the instructor, that surely the perfect horse would be one who would have none of the rider’s nonsense with the whip, and toss him off immediately,” Lafayette finished his story, grinning. “I confess at the time I only wished to show up my instructor, but the sentiment of the statement has rung true through my life thus far.”

Connor smiled at the Marquis’s tale. Lafayette was nothing if not constant, and it seemed he had possessed that quality even in adolescence.

They had chatted over stories of America and its war for independence over the fine dinner Lafayette’s servants laid before them. Lafayette had prompted Connor to recount his pursuit of Benjamin Church to Adrienne and the children, and he had with some reluctance. Storytelling was far from his forte, and he lacked the versatility in the French language needed to describe things well. But Adrienne and the children were captivated nonetheless. Connor received many queries from young Georges on the specifics of his boarding of Church’s ship, and he saw Adrienne mouthing the name Haytham Kenway to herself, as if trying to remember where she had heard it before.

Connor was given little time to eat between the questions put to him by Lafayette’s family, but French meals were so enormous and multilayered it hardly mattered. He was stuffed by the time the servants cleared away the last dishes, and the governess collected the children for their lessons.

That was when conversation turned at last to the matters of the morning. Over glasses of wine, Adrienne and Connor recounted what had happened. To Connor’s surprise Lafayette seemed unfazed by all of this, though concerned for both of their safety. When Connor asked if he knew of his wife’s work, he looked sheepish.

“I confess I have not been entirely honest. Though I haven’t lied to you, I haven’t told all I know. I know of the Assassins, and their Creed, and have ever since I married Adrienne.” He smiled warmly at his wife. “I had no idea they still existed in America when I made the crossing to help the Revolution there, I believed like everyone that they had been all wiped out by the Templars, but I pieced together that was what you were.”

Connor stared at him. “Why did you never tell me?”

“I didn’t wish to risk calling others’ attention to it,” Lafayette replied. “And I knew we supported the same cause, the same goals. That was enough for me to trust you, without risking dragging you into the politics of the Continental Army, or entangling myself in a conflict I don’t fully understand. There were eyes and ears everywhere, for the British, for the dissidents like General Gates and Thomas Mifflin, and for the Templars.”

Lafayette had been quick to aid Connor after his break with Washington, helping him earn the favor of the French navy and helping him and his recruits in the infiltration of Fort George. Even before that he had been unquestioningly friendly and open with Connor, something Connor had just taken as an aspect of his gregarious personality. Now all of that made sense, the pieces falling neatly in place.

It wasn’t worth being angry over. “I see,” Connor said, looking between Adrienne and Lafayette.

“Gilbert never put your position as an Assassin to paper,” Adrienne said. “So I didn’t know about you until he returned to petition the government for money for the American cause.” She smiled. “Ever since then I have been eager to meet you. The first of the new order of American Assassins.”

(I really hope I didn't mess anything up too badly in terms of who was when where and what they looked like and what they were like etc etc please correct me if you spot any errors! Thank you for all the awesome feedback so far! And the fanart piece an anon posted on the last part is amazing go check it out!)

This was originally going to be longer and have a second part with Haytham going home, but sadly, I am currently getting punched in the face with a project deadline for work. XD; So! This is a bit shorter than my earlier offerings, but I promise Connor will return with the next update. (And you all know what that means. ;D )

Also, OP, I'm glad you enjoyed the fight scene! XD I feel like I rarely get the opportunity to write them out, so I was especially happy that I got to do so! And to all the other reader!anons, thank you, as always, for your lovely, lovely comments. I know I'm starting to sound like a broken record here, but I genuinely do appreciate them. ♥!!

***

Day One Hundred and Six
Haytham had been told that the worst was over, and while his body still ached from the injuries inflicted upon him and the ravages of the disease--pneumonia, the doctor had said--still plagued him, he felt a new sense of invigoration having challenged death and winning. This was not the first time (and likely not the last) that he would be faced with his own mortality, and now, Haytham sought to make it so that he would have no regrets when his end finally came.

Still, he remained bedridden at this time, and while his mind had already decided what to do next, his body was not quite up to the challenge. It left Haytham feeling a touch disgruntled, but perhaps it was for the best. This way, he’d have time to digest the happenings of that night, the repercussions it held for the Order, and to formulate the best plan to accomplish his goals.

Zenger had been freed during the raid, which had left the safe house ablaze, but now all the Assassins would think that their beloved leader was dead. The Brotherhood of old would not have suffered so greatly from such a loss, as Achilles, while a key figure, had made sure to instill a certain sort of independence in his men. Connor, on the other hand, was an effective leader, but beyond the little group he had personally collected, they had not grown--a sign that they still relied all too heavily on the one individual. The thought that Davenport might still try to raise the Brotherhood did cross his mind, but what could a crippled old man like him do? Haytham wouldn’t be surprised if he was on his deathbed, if not gone from this world already...

Really, it was just Connor’s presence as a leader that was important. And with him effectively gone? Well, it was only a matter of time before they collapsed in on themselves. All he had to do was nudge them in the right direction.

To add to his satisfaction, Haytham had received reports that Duncan Little, the man whom he could blame for the stinging pain in his shoulder, had also been badly wounded, even if he’d managed to flee the scene. Two others, Colley and Chapheau, had been thrown into Bridewell Prison for arson, and if he remembered correctly, that meant the Assassins were down to two able-bodied members now.

With their numbers dwindling, Haytham wondered what acts of desperation would they resort to, if any at all. Achilles had surrendered quietly enough, and while he did occasionally wonder if his benevolence had hurt the Order in the long run, allowing the old Assassin to live had never particularly troubled him. Perhaps this new generation would follow in the man’s footsteps; there wasn’t an actual need for more bloodshed, even if others would argue differently.

Others being Charles for the most part.

It was Charles who had saved him that night; it was Charles who had personally seen to transporting him from the ruins of the safe house to their new quarters; it was Charles who watched over him when the doctor was away. For all the things that he had done and continued to do, though, Haytham could no longer say that he felt that he was sitting in the presence of a friend.

The atmosphere that surrounded them had taken on a most frigid nature, and for all intensive purposes, the general felt like a prison warden to him, keeping an eye on his prisoner so that he would not escape--not that Haytham would even be capable of it at this point. It was unpleasant, and any chances he took to strike up a conversation were ended with curt answers and a cold look.

He could barely take solace in the fact that Charles’ aura remained a calm and quiet blue.

Strangely, though, the general had also been the one to deliver him his letters, even if he looked as if he’d rather be shoveling manure than handling the pieces of paper. Haytham could only assume that because Charles was still, technically speaking, his right-hand man that people assumed his mail should be delivered through him, but such a practice only strained their relationship further. It took no imagination at all to figure out whom these letters were from, and by this point, it was all too easy to tell that Charles loathed to think of his son being on anything remotely close to on good terms with his father.

Delivery issues aside, though, Haytham liked the fact that he’d been written to. Delayed though the missives were now, Mrs. Langley had replied to his correspondence some time ago, but it was quite a bit longer before Haytham had been in any state to read the blasted things. She had talked about such inane items like the weather and gossip between the staff, and, of course, she’d also mentioned how the boy was quite keen on writing him in return.

--Which had been the start of a series of notes (they were too short to really be counted as proper letters) from Connor. The first lambasted his apparent inability to write to him, instead of through the maid. The second? There was but a single line demanding to know when he would be back. The third, fourth, and fifth were of the same ilk, though they did grow increasingly agitated as time wore on.

Haytham thought it was endearing--cute, almost--that the boy was becoming upset because of him and made it a clear point to not write back, even now that he physically could. After all, he certainly didn’t want Connor to stop writing these notes to him; the desperation in them was all too appealing.

Amusement factor aside, it really was a shame that these letters had not reached him sooner, for it was in the dates scribbled in the corners that Haytham found a great source of comfort. It didn’t matter if Connor’s scrawl was as hideous as they came, not when his notes told him that he’d still been at home when the raid on the safe house had occurred; Connor was not one of the instigators--he had not been one of the red silhouettes on the roofs that night.

It would be Charles, of course, to challenge him on this though.

The general came in to his quarters bright and early this morning and took a seat in his usual spot by the window, eyes scanning the street outside, as if he were waiting for something to happen. Charles had become increasingly worried--paranoid--since the attack, and it showed even now: his shoulders hunched a little, his gaze darted back and forth, his hands drummed against the armrest, and he worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

“That boy of yours is a liar,” he finally said when Haytham had tried for the millionth time to stop him from fretting. The general gestured at the small stack of letters on the bedside table, eyes narrowing at them as if they were dangerous. “It was he who plotted this. That Assassin may not have been here, but I know it was him.”

“Such distrust, Charles. I assure you, Connor is not behind all of this--”

“How do you know? How do you know that he has not pulled the wool over your eyes?”

“Now see here, Charles. That is an insult to me and--”

Again, Charles cut him off; he stood in his agitation and approached the bed. Unable to help himself, Haytham tensed. “You are besotted with him. Can you not see that? You allow yourself to be blinded by this new found family of yours, and he does as he pleases.

“I cannot stand for that, Haytham. I will not allow it.”

Haytham fell silent then, lips pressed into a thin, hard line. Even if Charles did not know the true nature of the relationship that he had with his son, the words that the man was spewing right now were completely and utterly inappropriate to be said to him, the Grand Master. When he spoke next, his voice was cold. “Charles, are you threatening me?”

“I am merely reminding you of your duties.”

“Then allow me to remind you that speaking to me in such a manner will not bode well for your future in the Order.”

The general’s expression did not change; such threats, apparently, had no effect on the man. “Do not think your title gives you protection from retribution.”

“Duly noted,” he bit out. Haytham felt thoroughly rankled now, but he had no intention of letting this individual push him around. Charles would have to do better than this to intimidate him--much better. And to think that this man once had been his most fervent and loyal supporter! “Now is there anything else you need from me, or do you intend to loom over me for the remainder of the day?”

“I’ve another letter for you. Nothing else.” The general produced a folded piece of paper from inside his coat, and Haytham took it, snatching it out of Charles’ hand.

“You have my thanks.”

“Of course.”

All sincerity was gone from their speech, and today, Charles would not stay with him. Indeed, today would mark the last day that the general would visit him here in New York City, but Haytham felt no sorrow for this loss. His top priority now was to become well enough to leave this place.

A storm was coming, and he needed to be ready.

fffff this makes me smile like a loon. I have the weirdest thing for consensual tentaclesex. Keto is such a sweetheart, and Haytham at the end, ahh, <3 forever!

Seconding hard. I love that guy.

I really, really hope you continue this.

So they have crazy, wild, damn good sex in the temple cave and fall asleep. When they wake up, they're not where they fell asleep, which is on the floor of a pristine cave. They wake up in our time, just as the modern assassins are rolling in, surrounded by crushed coke cans, cigarette butts and all sorts of rubbish.

What happens next is up to the author. Happy ending is preferred but will take sad ending as well.

Bonus feathers for:
* Ziio being upset by the graffiti in the cave
* Haytham also upset by the graffiti
* Juno taking an interest in Haytham's body to use as a host
* Connor is conceived on the animus

Altair waited.

He was looking between the large mirror to his left and the door in front of him, his hands resting on the cold metal table he sat at. This... didn't feel right. It didn't look like an office in which you sat when you were about to have a job interview. It looked more like an interrogation room. They had offered him coffee though which he'd accepted and it tasted like piss – nothing compared to Cem's coffee he enjoyed so much. A clock was hanging above the door showing him that it was in the early afternoon now. This was ridiculous – he has waited for an hour now! Just as he was about to get up the door opened, revealing a man in his early fifties and that woman, Lucy. She walked a little behind him and Altair had no doubt that he was the man she had been talking about, her boss.

"Mr. Ibn-la'Ahad. I'm so glad you could manage to follow our invitation. I'm Dr. Vidic." He held up his hand for Altair to shake but he simply stared at it and then back to his face, his ambers eyes reflecting in the man's glasses. Altair didn't move at all and his hand slowly sunk down.

"I would hardly call it invitation", he snorted and Lucy closed the door behind her as the man sat down in front of Altair at the other side of the table.

Vidic rested his elbows and arms on the table, his head hanging low between his shoulders and then he looked back up, a smile spreading around his lips. "Well you see, we're really interested in you and your skills", he smiled, his voice sounding warm and somehow fatherly. He held out one hand and Lucy quickly put a file in there and he opened it in front of him, turning a few pages. "You have a bright mind, Mr. Ibn-la'Ahad", and he looked up at him again, the file still in his hands and Altair craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse at the written words. "Why does an intelligent young man like you working for a security company and uh-", he looked back down onto the page, "a nightclub?"

Altair shrugged with his shoulders. "It's not bad money", he muttered and leaned back into his chair to bring a little distance between him and Vidic. He didn't like him.

"You speak four different languages among English. What were they again? Hebrew, Russian, Italian and... what was the last one?"

"German", Altair said softly and folded his hands in his lap.

Vidic spoke again, "You dropped out of school when you were seventeen. Why?"

Altair's eyes narrowed as he was flexing the muscles in his left hand. "If that file says so much about me then I'm sure you don't really need my answer. Just look it up."

Vidic's smile never died and he looked at Altair as if he had just solved some kind of riddle, all proud and delighted. Was this a test maybe? "You're right Mr. Ibn- or may I call you Altair- "No.", "-well, Altair. You dropped out of school after your parents died, isn't that right?"

He gritted his teeth, jaw working and his cheek's muscle was twitching. "Yes", he forced out between pressed lips.

"Car accident, mh?" Vidic picked something up, a photograph. The paper was thin enough for him to see what it showed on the other side and he looked away. Vidic clicked his tongue and for a moment his brow wrinkled in mild disgust. "Terrible, terrible", he said and shook his head, placing the photograph in front of him and as Altair glanced back up he was greeted by the sight of a destroyed car. It was hardly recognizable, completely wracked. Blood was covering the gray pavement, a piece of flesh showing in the cube of metal and he could only assume that it was a hand with all the bones showing, brain splattered on what had once been the windshield. He looked away again but said nothing.

"Your parents died near Munich. Hit by a ghost driver on the Autobahn going 180 km/h. They were both dead on impact."

"I know", Altair pressed the words out between his lips. "You don't have to tell me again."

"No", Vidic shook his head, smiling again and picked up the picture to place it back into the file. "You're probably right."

"Where did you get all of that? Are you working with the government?" Altair eyed him skeptical. If he learned one thing within the last few minutes, then that this wasn't a pharmaceutical company. Vidic chuckled again and pushed his glasses back on his nose. "I wouldn't call it like that but if that's what you want to believe I won't stop you."

Altair's patience was stretched like a string of bubblegum and it wouldn't take much longer before it'd tear. "Then who are you?"

He closed the file and leaned back in his chair, pulling off his glasses and cleaning them with the hem of his white coat. "Ah you see", he sighed and put them back on, "that's a good question. But I think the one you really want to ask is, who are you?"

"Who I am?"

"Exactly."

"I know very well who I am."

"No, you don't", and for the first time Vidic looked like as his aura felt for Altair, a flashing red light radiating danger. His eyes went cold and distant, almost greedy his face turning into an ugly mask of evil. "You're damaged, Altair. But we could fix you."

"Damaged?" Altair placed both his palms on the table, arms outstretched. "I wasn't in that accident you know?" His chin gestured towards the file laying next to Vidic's hands on the table. "No brain injury or anything."

It only earned him a sharp laugh and Altair looked up at Lucy but her face was as emotionless as it could get, almost as if she was nothing but a statue. "No, I'm not talking about that kind of damage. The problem is right here", and Vidic tapped his temple. Altair didn't understand.

"You see, I'm a scientist", Vidic told him and spread his arms to each side while he leaned heavily back, the chair's legs scratching over the floor in a loud screech and Altair cringed. "A researcher, you know? I assume you suffered from strange dreams? Nightmares?"

Altair nodded slowly though he was seriously considering to just leave. This just got more and more creepy and he wished for nothing more but sitting in Cem's coffee shop and sipping some mocha.

"It must be hard not knowing who you really are – everything feels empty, meaningless doesn't it?" Vidic sat a little more straight and his eyes narrowed, a shadow crawling across his face and Altair felt cold. It seemed the man was finally cutting to the chase. "Do you know Sigmund Freud?"

It wasn't what he'd expected and Altair blinked. "Course I do."

"Freud had a young and very talented apprentice. Carl Jung. Have you ever heard of animus and anima?"

Altair shook his head, no, he didn't.

Vidic sighed as if he was disappointed that he didn't understand and leaned his head to one side, folding his hands in front of him and looking down at them. "Jung believed that the anima and animus are the two primary archetypes of the unconscious mind. He described them as elements of the collective unconscious, a domain that transcends the personal psyche. You know, it is said that the key to controlling one's anima/animus is to recognize it when it manifests and exercise our ability to discern the anima/animus from reality."

He nodded with a frown.

"So basically... we're all acting on our ancestral memories. But there's more. We've designed a machine which lets you enter your ancestors memories and relive them. The Animus." Vidic was a little red in the face as if he was very excited and maybe he really was, some lunatic scientist who would scream any minute now 'It's alive!' and laugh like a maniac. Altair thought the picture of Frankstein's monster fit the situation perfectly – at least when it came to Vidic and that crazy look in his eyes.

And now Altair was lost. "What does this have to do with me?"

"You... you are special, Altair.", Vidic assured him and stood up, walking slowly back and forth. "Not only do you have a very old bloodline... but you actually are your ancestor. A reincarnation." He made a final gesture with his hand. "Your DNA is to 100% identical - as if you're ancestor never died. You actually share the same name!"

He didn't say anything because all of it was just downright ridiculous and he didn't know he'd be able to hold back his laughter. So he just sat there, staring up at Vidic with a complete straight face.

Vidic chose to ignore his look. "As I've told you, you're broken Altair. We can make you complete and you will get all the answers to your questions. How does that sound?"

Altair decided then to just go with it and he glanced shortly at Lucy, trying to read anything in her face but she just stared blankly back at him. "This sounds like something that doesn't come for free", he answered carefully and Vidic chuckled softly. "Why would you want to do this for me?" He didn't say that he didn't believe any of what he'd just been told.

"I'm looking for something, Altair and you know where I can find it."

Altair shook his head and scoffed, slowly getting up and standing behind the table. "No, no, no. I have enough of this. I don't know what kind of freaks you are." He looked between Vidic and Lucy. "Scientology, Mormons or whatever. But whatever it is you're believing in, I don't. Have a good day", and he made his way towards the door but Vidic stepped in front of him.

"I'm sorry Altair, but I fear I can't let you just go. You see, I've been looking for you for years."

"Too bad but it's not my problem." He tried to walk around him but again, the man stepped in front of him and placed one hand on Altair's shoulder, holding him back.

"Oh but yes it is", he nodded and there it was again, that smile of his which looked so fake. Vidic reached behind him and pressed the small button of an intercom. "Show him please."

New light spread into the room and to his left side Altair could see that the mirror vanished, replaced by a smooth window he could finally look through. He could see a room on the other side and there were two guards standing behind a chair with a man sitting in, a black hood covering his face and arms cuffed behind his back. Vidic noted to one of the guards and the man stepped forward, pulling away the black fabric and revealing his face. His black hair was tousled and he looked pale, blinking rapidly against the bright light.

Just... what the hell?

Vidic grasped his shoulder and stood close by, his lips almost brushing Altair's ear as he whispered into it, "He's like you and it was pure luck that we found him. You don't know it yet but he's very dear to you – I wish we didn't have to drag him into this but you left me no choice. Altair Ibn-la'Ahad meet Malik al-Sayf."

The memory collapsed above Altair like a wave, drowning him and pulling him deeper, deeper, deeper into the black abyss of his mind. He groaned and fell, hitting the ground hard with his knees and held his head as pain made it feel like as if it was ripped in two. Malik's name was ringing in his ears and he heard someone screaming but he couldn't breath any longer, gasping for air helplessly as sorrow threatened to crush his heart and smash it into thousand pieces.

"He's panicking", Lucy said and her voice sounded worried but Vidic just held her arm. "No, look", he said softly, smiling still. "I think we just triggered something."

Altair moaned with pain and held his head with both hands, looking back up and his eyes met Malik's who watched with horror. It was the last he saw before he lost consciousness, remembering a man staring at him holding a bloody arm with betrayal in his eyes.

Thought I'd add another omega verse prompt to the pile. I would love to see an already mated omega going into heat while their alpha is busy doing work or in a meeting but the omega can't wait for them to finish, so he barges in to the office/meeting demanding sex and they end up having sex on a desk/table. If it is a meeting I would be extra thrilled if the other people don't leave, their reactions I'll leave up to Anon same as the alphas initial reaction.

Bonus points:
- begging
- slutish behavior, omega just doesn't care that there are other people in the room
- knotting

I am sitting here rolling around in anticipation for the next update Ohmy go ddddd I love you writer!anon you portray Haytham and Lee so perfectly<3

I'm seconding this so hard because I love omegaverse so freaking much <3

~~Also, anyone else automatically think of Haytham/Connor and a meeting with the other Templars/Assassins?Nopejustme?Whathasthiskinkmemedonetome~~

This anon has been going through some pretty troublesome financial problems lately, so naturally I had to find something positive to counterbalance that situation.

Prompt goes like this: Semi-AU where Desmond is a normal bartender. Sadly, the bar he works for closes down and Desmond, being such a carefree person, has never cared much for saving money. While looking for another job, he runs out of money to pay the rent for his apartment and has to move out. He‘s too proud to return to his parents‘ farm, so he winds up wandering the streets alone.

Cue Clay finding him, and for some reason, he offers Desmond a place to stay. Desmond takes care of the house, cooks and naturally, mixes heavenly drinks for Clay. He eventurally finds another club to work on, but still needs a place to stay, so Clay lets him stay untill he has enough to go back to his old apartment.

As Desmond stays, their relationship begins to change.

Bonus:

*Desmond oh so subtly hints at paying Clay with sexual favors, which he outright refuses. Desmond is both relieved that he won‘t have to go there, and hurt that Clay seemed almost disgusted at the idea (leading him to believe Clay thinks HE is the problem, not WHAT he wanted to do).

*Desmond and Clay didn‘t know each other prior to living together.

*Clay doesn‘t want Desmond to leave in the end.

*While cleaning the house, Desmond finds some porn dvds. At least one of them consists of gay porn.

*Desmond keeps finding traces of one of his exes, a girl by the name Lucy. He‘s more curious about her and why it didn‘t work out (and why Clay still has so many things related to her treated with utmost care) than jealous per se.

*Clay is the first to fall in love.

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

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