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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Hey uhh I'm a random other kinda shy anon and I was just curious, with the way that the whole timeline has been shifted, how would Connor's village be doing? Would Charles still like force them off the land or what? Also keep going with this AU it's really addicting!

Ah Ben...corrupting the young'uns I see. :D

...ok, now I'm tempted to bring Ben into this story somehow. O.O

Fear not, anons, I shall throw off the shackles of my already in progress stories to write another! Hahaha!

also i hope you dont mind ziio/haytham ;a;

Thanks! Glad you're enjoying the story. :)

At this point in time, the new governing body has not yet been decided as of yet (though Charles is the likely candidate for head of the governing body whatever form that may take). Since it was Congress that forced the tribes from their lands in a bid to pay for the war (even if Hamilton-I think it was Hamilton, may have been one of the others-made it so that many of the soldiers were cheated out of their due), the village should still be there at the moment.

The new governing body will, likewise, need to decide how to settle their debts (or face another uprising as soldiers remain unpaid), but I haven't quite mapped that out yet.

Certainly, Charles is cognizant of Connor's ties with the village, and that should affect the ultimate decision for that particular clan of Mohawk, though not all the Native American tribes in the area.

Holy. Crap. I can't even... I just. Unf. I didn't even know I wanted that until I read it.

I adore this fic, keep it up!

Oh mai.
I am... struck and captivated, and cannot wait to see what happens next.
well done ser Anon. Well done.

When dessert arrives, Connor is so out of it that that the first three bites of trifle taste like saw-dust in his mouth. He quickly vacates the dining room, not wanting to deal with the inquisitive stares and hushed whispers from the servants. Charles might have been saved from the Assassin's wrath (thanks to this accursed bond), but the last thing Connor wanted was to take it out on innocent people, no matter how curtly they treated him.

He desperately wanted retribution against his husband for this recent offense... and the thought of letting the General's precious dogs out in the wilderness had crossed his mind. However his conscience and fondness for domestic animals quickly banished the idea. They did not deserve to fall prey to the many predators outside their home. It was of no fault of their own that their owner was a twisted monster.

The half-native turned his attention to Lee's unfeeling possessions, such as the furniture and decor. They were expensive, according to the head maid - most pieces had been imported from London. But unless they held some sentimental value, Charles could always replace whatever was broken or vandalized. The Templar certainly had quite the fortune now thanks to this marriage, Connor seethed before drawing a sharp breath and tried to focus on more important matters. Never mind the money, he needed to figure a way out of this hopeless situation.

His hands itched for the bow and tomahawk he had always carried on his person since the day he left his village six years ago. Back when he had been just Ratonhnhaké:ton, and not the leader of the Assassin Brotherhood. It felt incredibly strange to be without them for this long. At least when he was imprisoned in Bridewall, the half-native knew they must have been in storage somewhere close by, and could get to them once he broke out or was released.

So if he managed to acquire weapons from one of the guards outside, or was lucky to find some within the manor, then what? He still couldn't kill Lee or his servants... but maybe he could intimidate them enough to find out where the Commander was being held and rescue him. Still it was a heavy gamble... if he were to fail, George would pay the ultimate price.

George...

Oh, how foolish he was to have allowed sentimentality rule over his duties. He should have not gotten so intimately close to Washington without eliminating the remaining Templars first. There just wasn't time to take things slow. After the botched execution and when the mortal danger had past, they realized just how close they had come to losing one another.

George had proposed to him that very night... and stayed with him as Connor hesitantly explained to his beloved just what he was going to get himself into. He told him about the secret war between the Assassins and the Templars. Told him of his father - Haytham Kenway (he still remembers how those blue eyes widened in surprise) was the Templar Grandmaster of the Colonies and mentor of Charles Lee, and set them both up to die that day. The hardest to explain was his own ancestry, his unique bloodline and the gift of second sight.. and that any child from their union would most likely possess it.

By the time Connor had finished, he had talked himself hoarse and the pre-dawn light was filtering through the windows. Washington had been quiet throughout the explanation, and the silence had put the Assassin on edge. Finally, he asked the Commander if he still wanted him as his Omega.. and prepared for rejection. George had been surprised by the straightforward question and responded in kind, or rather with a kiss, banishing all of Connor's fears away, before proposing once again.

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes."

The Assassin is jolted by the sound of his own voice, realizing he had spoken out loud. Fortunately, the hallway he has chose to pace in, is empty. So no one will think he's gone insane... yet. Swallowing hard, Connor can't help but trace a finger over his mouth, thinking of George's lips against them. He misses them terribly. Misses the warmth and affection. His heart aches.

'Wait for me, I will find you.'

A/N: Wry, I'm an evil, evil person... and just tear my own heart out listening to this while I was writing:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv6VW4tMZbE

Do I get the title of slowest updater on the meme yet? 8(

I know I already apologized for the late update with the last chapter, but I just wanted to say sorry again. This past week has been really rough on me, and it probably didn't help that I struggled with writing this chapter as well, ahahah. Anyway, thank you for your continued patience with me, and as always, you have all my love for reading and commenting! Here's to hoping that the next chapter is less of a headache to write and that I can update sooner. ♥;;

PS - This story is now officially the longest thing I've ever written. We have passed the 30k words mark. \8D/

***

Day One Hundred and Thirty-Nine
Dawn’s first light found Haytham with another person in his bed. It was a practice that, in all truth and honesty, did not happen all that often, as he was the sort of individual who often had his partners leave immediately after the act, if he himself was not the one departing the scene. Staying the night suggested intimacy and closeness--two items that Haytham had often shied away from.

They suggested a certain degree of willingness to open up to others, to trust--something Haytham found most difficult to do.

He wondered now, though, whether he had lost out on a great many opportunities in the past, as he could not help but think Connor a beautiful sight in the morning--so very at ease and without a single hint of tension in his body. The boy slept on his belly with his arms tucked beneath his pillow, long hair spilling over his shoulders; his skin was peppered with the signs of their reunion the night before: bruises, scratches, bite marks. Haytham allowed himself a faint smile before reaching over, trailing his fingertips over a particularly savage red streak down the boy’s side.

His son roused easily, cracking open one dark eye, before pushing himself up onto his elbows with a slow and sleepy exhale. He regarded his father with a drowsy look, and even after he scrubbed his face with his hand, Connor appeared no more awake than before. “Good morning, father.”

“You awaken later than I remember. Gotten lazy in my absence, have you?”

A frown pulled at the boy’s lips, like he was displeased with being chided like a child. “I have not,” he replied, twisting into a seated position. Try as he might to avoid it, Haytham couldn’t stop himself from sweeping his eyes down Connor’s front; his son didn’t seem to notice. “It is not as if you woke much earlier than I. Why must you be so disagreeable?”

“Were you expecting some sort of special treatment because of what happened last night? Come now, Connor. Surely you know me better than that,” Haytham answered as he shifted to crawl out of bed. Truth be told, the idea of lingering a while longer was very tempting (as was the thought of showing the boy just what sort of special treatment he was willing to put out), but there were Templar matters to be handled--namely, the rebuilding of his own influence as Grand Master; the longer he waited, the less influence he would retain. While his son now appeared to be an ally, Haytham rather doubted that this extended to matters of the Order.

In this regard, the burden was still his to bear.

Before his feet could even touch the floor, though, a hand closed around his forearm, yanking him back against the mattress with a huff, and then Connor was hovering above him, every last trace of sleepiness gone from his expression, the set of his body. Haytham arched a brow at him, unsure of whether this was going to lead to something very pleasant or very unpleasant. “Yes?”

“Why must you leave so quickly?” he asked, not releasing his hold on Haytham’s arm; his expression was surprisingly soft--wanting. “We did not have time to converse yesterday.”

“We exchanged a few words, if I remember correctly, or are you dissatisfied with what we did? You seemed more than a little eager last night.”

“I--” His face flushed, but Connor shook his head. “That is not what I meant,” the boy continued, his grip tightening. The look on his face shifted into one of concern, and it was at that moment that Haytham knew that this conversation was not going to go where he wanted it to. “Where have you been? What have you been doing? Have you not thought of the worry you caused us? Your servants? Myself? We thought you hurt--dead.”

“You forget who I am, boy,” Haytham replied flippantly, even if he could sense Connor’s growing agitation. He tried to feign indifference, the tilt of his chin arrogant. Maybe he had been foolish to think that he could avoid talking about this, but the previous night had given him hope. After all, Connor hadn’t asked about his travels yesterday. That said, Haytham didn’t exactly give him the opportunity... “I’ve survived this long. I won’t be taken down so easily.”

“Then what of these bandages?” His son grabbed his injured shoulder with his free hand and squeezed, forcing a grimace onto Haytham’s face and a hiss past his lips. “Did your conversations with Lee result in this? Has your relationship with me caused your brethren to turn their backs on you?” Connor let go, planting his hand beside his father’s head instead. “I have done all that you bid of me,” he said, and then there was a break in his voice--a certain desperation that made Haytham’s heart clench. “Why do you not trust me? What more must I do?

“How much more must I give so that you will be open with me?”

“Connor, I...” The words died on his lips, and Haytham sighed. It was as if the boy was actively trying to ruin the mood. He would have been more than willing to kill a few more hours in the privacy of his bedchambers given the proper incentive, but as it stood, Haytham wanted to leave all the more. It didn’t help that with his son confronting him now, it was becoming more difficult to discern whether or not Connor had obliged him last night because of mutual desire or if it was simply an effort to appease him.

“Are you sure you wish to know?” he finally asked, his tone thoroughly reflecting his souring mood. It would have been all too easy to lie, but now that he had been cornered like this, he had a feeling that no good would come from him not telling the truth. This was a risk he had to take, much as it pained him; Haytham merely hoped that his choice would not cause him greater regret in the future.

“Tell me.” His son’s voice still carried a touch of hurt, like he knew all too well what he was asking, but beneath that, there was no threat, no real aggression. When Haytham remained silent, Connor gently pressed a kiss to his father’s lips--an action he didn’t fight. “Please.”

And so, Haytham started to talk.

At first, he spoke haltingly, clearly harassed, but when Connor did nothing save for listen quietly, his words came more easily. He related the news of Zenger’s capture and his interrogation. Haytham discussed how he’d spotted an Assassin one day and of the raid that followed; he commented on the consequences--on how only two of Connor’s allies remained free and able-bodied. He touched on his own recovery and how it’d delayed his return. Haytham made no mention of his damaged relationship with Charles or the worry and anxiety he’d felt when he had thought that Connor had rejoined his brothers.

Once or twice, his son stopped him for clarification, his voice quiet, and Haytham obliged. He was keenly aware of every little twitch of muscle in the boy’s face, realized that a single word that spilled past his lips could result in a fist to his face or fingers curled tight around his throat, but as the minutes ticked by, nothing changed--an uncomfortable peace continued to reign.

The decided lack of violence by the end of his monologue was so stunning that his finish felt, admittedly, quite lame. Haytham’s mind had been filling with arguments and counter-arguments to justify his actions, but not once did he have to use them; Connor simply rolled off to the side and stared at the ceiling, apparently lost in his own thoughts.

Haytham wondered if the boy was devising plans on how to best rescue his allies.

Not sure whether to be pleased or disgruntled that their one-sided conversation had ended this way, Haytham curled into a sitting position, legs dangling off the side of the bed. Behind him, he could feel the mattress dip, and his body tensed; this was it--this was the inevitable result of his actions. Haytham twisted to confront his son, his voice sharp and his tone unrepentantly bitter. “Do not expect me to apologize for what I have done.”

“You should have let me come with you,” was the only answer he got; Connor’s expression remained calm--almost infuriatingly so. There was no heat, no anger in his gaze, and this only fueled his own irritation all the more; he much preferred it when the situation was reversed. Frowning, Haytham narrowed his eyes at the boy.

That statement didn’t make any sense. What good could Connor have done him in New York City? They had already discussed this before his departure. In fact, the boy had uttered those exact words the night before he had left, hadn’t he? He counted his son an ally now--still did despite the words that had just transpired between them--but to strike down his own brethren? Haytham scoffed at the idea, a scathing look of reproach crossing his features. “And what would you have done, Connor? Stayed our blades? Called for peace? A truce between our opposing factions?”

Haytham seemed to be all too talented at ruining his own plans. He was going to lose his son all over again; he could tell by the way the boy’s gaze dropped toward his hands, by the way he kept silent. First, it had been the incident with Washington, and now? Now there was this. He was provoking Connor, goading him, reminding him all too cruelly of how fragile their relationship was--how easily it could be broken.

“Your idealism is heartwarming, but it will not work on the battlefield,” he continued. “Such emotions will not stop a blade or shield an individual from a blow.”

“You misunderstand me.” Those three words were said quickly, as if Connor was in a hurry to correct Haytham’s mistake. Even with the rush, thought, there was a surprising amount of emotion, of warmth, behind those words, and Haytham cocked his head, momentarily puzzled by such a response. With the way he spoke now, it would almost seem as if his son understood his distress and sought to relieve him of his troubles.

“Is it so unreasonable for me to care for you as I care for my brothers? While I do not approve of what you have done to them, it is not only their well-being that I worry about.” A strong hand settled on his bad shoulder, but this time, the touch was gentle. “You may be a Templar, but you are my father as well.”

Connor was meeting his gaze again, and this time, it was he who faltered and had to look away; Haytham couldn’t handle the brutal honesty he found in the boy’s eyes. The expression he found there spoke of gratitude, of thanks. Had his openness been something so desired to warrant such a look? “I thought my worry was evident to you already.”

At that, the boy looked a touch embarrassed, his gaze drifting sidewards as a faint flush crossed his cheeks. Stunned, Haytham could not quite believe his good fortune at how well this conversation resolved itself, and at last, he allowed a faint smile to pull at his lips. His son still spoke of the Assassins, still worried about them, but that he would be thought of as highly as them after all that had happened... Well, this was pleasant news indeed.

Haytham proceeded to reach over and fist Connor’s hair, dragging him over for a brief kiss--one that had his son’s eyes fluttering in surprise; it would be the first time he had initiated such an action after all. The boy parted his lips immediately, reciprocating the kiss with enthusiasm, and before long, he was leaning against his father, their fingers locking against the sheets.

“I could’ve done with a dozen or more letters,” he murmured against soft lips, his teasing tone returning now that the perceived threat had passed. “Considering your poor compositional skills, I found it difficult to discern the message behind your correspondences.

“It would seem my work with you is not yet complete.”

“Your poor teaching is to blame,” Connor replied, and Haytham scoffed at the thought.

“Nonsense. I have no doubts that your education has completely and utterly stalled in my absence.”

The boy’s lips twisted into a smile, and it would not be until later that Haytham would discover why Connor seemed to think his comment so amusing.

Huh how interesting. Forgot about the whole debts due to the whole war front. Derp.

Do you think that Kanen (not gonna attempt spelling out his full name) would ever make an appearance? My mind has been like running around making silly mini-stories like having Connor arranging things for Haytham Lee to be taught hunting via his old friend and etc.

And also that Connor taught his son his native tongue and they have conversations all the time in Kanien’kéha when it's only the two of them...

...if I had the ability to write I would write out these ridiculous ideas of mine but ahh... *hides self*

so of all the colonial templars, it seems like Pitcairn is forgotten about most of the time. so what this anon would like to see is a fic involving the rest of the ac3 templars giving him the attention he doesn't usually get. don't get me wrong, I love all the others, but I just feel so bad for Pitcairn. he doesn't even get a lot of attention in the game so now I want to see a fic where he's the center of attention.

it doesn't necessarily have to be smutty, but smutty would be preferable.

/MELTS/ Haytham's fear of losing his son again was really touching, glad he was honest about Jacob and the fight with the Assassins, and surprise - Connor did not threaten to kill him. I wonder what's going to happen now, especially Connor knows two of his friends are in prison.

Managed to get this out before I leave in the morning. Will try to work on next chapter during travels.

And yes, Clipper makes an appearance here. :) Also, Anon knows nothing about classic architecture so if drawing rooms were not typically at the top of staircases, Anon apologizes.

Master of the House

Chapter 3 - Unexpected Partners

Unlike many of the other newly-inducted members of the Inner Circle, James Collins was of more modest means, and it showed in his living arrangements. Rather than keeping a townhouse for work purposes and a suitable manor elsewhere, James spent all of his time in his single abode in the heart of Boston. His was a small apartment, identical to the many other little brick apartments next to it, only large enough to comfortably suit three people. There was only a single maid.

While Charles could never live like that himself, as used as he was to his little luxuries, he had to admit that Master Kenway had chosen well in James. While from a poor family and rather too self-deprecating for Charles, the man made a brilliant lawyer and was utterly devoted to the Order. Perhaps it was just as well that he was from simple roots: his worth to the Order as a lawyer working closely with the people far outweighed any worth he could have had had his family been well off and he a judge.

His character was, likewise, suited to his role and profession. He was sympathetic, knowledgeable and kind, all traits that endeared him to his clients and advanced the Templar cause. He was also shrewd, and, as Charles rapped sharply against the door, he wondered if he should be glad of that fact…or worried.

A scant few minutes later, Charles made out the sound of footsteps descending a flight of stairs and the heavy bolt being drawn open. Soon, the man himself appeared within the doorway.

“Charles!” the man smiled pleasantly upon seeing him. “You should have told me earlier you’d call. I’d have had tea ready for you. But do come in. Come in.”

Charles clasped his hands behind his back and nodded his greeting to the man. “Thank you, James.”

He stepped into the apartment, leaving the brisk Autumn air behind him. The two men began climbing the narrow staircase, and Charles briefly wondered about the stability of the creaky steps.

James must have noticed his consternation, for his next words were— “Sorry about that, Charles. I’ve been meaning to renovate, but there have been so much excitement in the past couple of months that it must have slipped my mind.”

“Not at all,” Charles smiled weakly, looking askance at the old wood beneath his fine leather gloves.

James laughed. “You don’t fool anyone with that expression…but I promise to have this fixed next time you drop by unannounced.”

Beyond the door at the top of the staircase lay the drawing room and as they settled themselves into the velvet covered chairs, James turned towards Charles.

“You don’t usually come to see me without a reason,” James inquired, mild curiosity in his brown eyes.

Charles crossed his fingers in thought. The maid entered balancing a tray of one medium-sized teapot and two cups. They were, Charles noted, of exquisite china and finely made.

He stayed silent as the maid set the two cups in front of himself and James and poured them each some tea. Quietly, she set aside the tray and departed the room. He waited until her soft footfalls faded away before he spoke.

“It concerns your Omega.”

James looked up mid-sip. “Oh?”

“I may have need of him.”

James calmly set down his cup and waited. The intensity of the brown gaze compelled Charles to continue.

“He may be the solution of a—“ Charles hesitated, aware of the delicateness of the situation, “—a small difficulty—I’ve been facing.”

James stayed silent for a moment longer, then…

“Is this about your Omega?”

Charles bristled, uncomfortable with how much the man knew. Briefly, he wondered if his marital woes were common knowledge among the Order and then promptly banished the thought. He would deal with it later if necessary.

“I merely think it would do him good to remind him of what I hold, what we,” he amended, seeing James’s eyes darken, “hold.”

James stared at him in contemplation, gaze once again mild. “And do you truly believe that more threats will give you your heir?”

A sharp crack and Charles’s hands were suddenly bleeding, sharp jagged shards of porcelain embedded into his palm and tea spilling all over his lap.

He did not notice.

“What are you implying, James?” he whispered, eyes intent on the solemn man in front of him.

Said man called for the maid, and the girl swiftly entered the room with a clean handkerchief and tweezers. The room silenced once again as she cleaned Charles’s wound and bowed out of the room, accepting James’s call of gratitude with an expert curtsy.

Sighing, James once again picked up his own cup.

“Peace, Charles, I meant no offense.”

Charles did not relax, and James began to look mildly discomfited.

Finally, “what do you know?”

James took a sip of his tea.

“Did you know that I’m visited by many of our brethren as well as the good folk of Boston? They often come to seek my advice on many matters. Of law. Of ordinary everyday affairs. Of domestic affairs.”

Charles did not see what this had to with anything and opened his mouth to suggest that James get a move on.

“A month ago, Matthew of the lower order inquired after my relationship with Clipper.”

Charles snapped his mouth shut, and he stared at the man in shock.

“He seemed quite puzzled at our relationship and particularly at how healthy and content Clipper is.”

James took another sip and then set down his cup, meeting Charles’s eyes earnestly.

“Brother, you are to be our new leader, and your success is our success and the Order’s glory. None of us wish to see either your line nor that of Master Kenway’s disappear.”

He approached Charles and took one of his bandaged hands in his own.

“Please, sir, allow me to help.”

Charles gazed into the man’s eyes seeking any sign of treachery, any indication of ulterior motives and hidden designs. Silently, he lamented the fact that he did not have Master Kenway’s remarkable eyes and could only rely on his lamentably mortal skills.

And it was this that decided him. The chance to revive those eyes within the Order, the chance to hold a grandson, an Alpha of Master Kenway’s line and call him son…it was worth trusting in the sincerity of the man before him.

“Alright.”

-----

An hour later, he found himself face to face with a man he had not seen since he gave the order that the man be handed over to James. He was startled by the signs of health and, if not happiness, resigned content in the man’s face. Clipper Wilkinson may have stiffened as Charles entered his room, but he relaxed as soon as James came in after him. He gazed at James fondly as the man leaned to whisper in his ear.

Charles was mystified. Connor always remained stiff within his embrace and always endeavored to fix his eyes on anything but himself. Granted, he usually interacted with the boy when he desired to sate his lust, but it was certainly perplexing that two former enemies, an Alpha and an Omega no less, could be so easy in each other’s presence.

Clipper frowned suddenly and turned accusing eyes on him.

“You want me to help Connor heal only for you to break him again?”

Charles briefly contemplated striking the man for his impertinence but then decided that it wouldn’t do to alienate James.

“Control your Omega, James.”

James immediately grabbed the man before he could leap at him (hah, as if an Assassin recruit who could do nothing as his comrades were murdered and his mentor forced to wed against his will could do anything to him) and began placating the man with soothing murmurs.

Clearly, whatever he said seemed to have worked as the man calmed, though he looked no less disgusted by Charles.

“It wouldn’t work anyways,” he spat, daggers in his eyes as he stared at Charles. “You can only offer him more suffering. There is absolutely no reason for him to cooperate with you anymore, and I won’t convince him otherwise.”

Charles’s lips tightened in anger but, remembering James’s earlier words (and the man clearly knew what he was doing with it came to taming Assassins), swallowed his pride.

“He is dying.”

The Omega let out a choked sob and tore his gaze away from Charles. James immediately wrapped comforting arms around him and held his trembling form.

“Oh, it will take many months yet, but he has, for all intents and purposes, given up.”

The man flinches as if struck.

“He lays in bed all day, gazing into nothing and wasting away. The maids tell me they don’t even think he registers their presence anymore. He has withdrawn into his mind and doesn’t react to anything,” not even fucking. “In his belly, he holds the seed of new life, of my child. Of our child.”

The trembling stops, the man silent and listening.

“But that seed is withering. With its Omega parent in such a state, it will neither grow nor thrive. And you’re right. If he dies, he will have escaped my control. He’ll have ended his suffering and gone past my grasp. But,” he watched the Omega carefully. “But so will our child. An innocent child, gone before it even takes its first breath.”

He waited, waiting the Omega wrapped in James arms. He plowed on. “The child won’t be the only casualty. So will any chance that Connor has to see peace and happiness again. So will any chance he might have had to have what you obviously have with James.”

And if there’s a touch of bitterness in his voice, a seed of resentment, Charles would never admit it.

“James is not like you,” the Omega whispered, voice somewhat muffled against his Alpha’s chest. “He gave me a choice, as much freedom as he possibly could, actual concern for my wellbeing, a willingness to treat me as if I were worthy of respect.”

James gazed down at the mop of brown hair in his eyes fondly. “You are worthy of respect, Clipper.”

Charles frowned at the words but soldiered on. He was close, he could feel it.

“Then help me be like James.”

Confused, angry brown eyes looked up at him sharply.

“Why should I trust you? Why do you even care?”

“Because I want our child to live and,” his voice softened, “we both want Connor to live.”

Awww...the WashCon feels!

//OP sobs//

Loving the WashCon feels sooo much. The way you phrased it is so tragic and beautiful. Loving the detail that Connor confessed all and that Washington proposed again. *_*

Absolutely loving the contrast between his interactions with Charles and his memories of Washington. The difference is very vivid and really nails in Connor's situation.

So tragic. //sniffs//

Damnit, why am I addicted to angst and tragedy?

Wow anon, you actually made me feel for Charles here after all the unforgivable shit he did to Connor. I do hope we'll see Granddaddy!Haytham in this.

Yeah the WashCon pulls at my heartstrings... btw, in your story sequel, does Charles ever confront Washington while he's imprisoned or before he's exiled somewhere? Give him the "Ha ha, I stole your position and Connor is going to have my kid instead of yours... and he's totally over you now..."?

Thank you for giving Clipper such a nice partner (I wonder what happened to Dobby and Stephane since they were both Alphas), he seems truly content even if James is a Templar. I do hope there's some Clipper and Connor interactions... especially since Clipper always respected Connor and maybe saw him as an older brother figure in his life (why do I suddenly picture Connor training the recruits on the Frontier, and the two go on hunting trips together to feed the others).

Capatcha: What is James' name?

Wow, even Capatcha likes James

AH FUCK I'VE FALLEN IN LOVE WITH THE TEMPLARS

FUCK
FUCK
FUCK

You're too good, writer!anon. Too damn good. The snark, the sex, the fleshing out of the characters and making them more believable. Sure, it was smut, but it said so much about the Templars. Perfection.

Dun dun DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN! Plot twist! OP speaking, and I'm just head-over-heels with the parallels of a new Templar mole. (Damnit Bill, you need to check your recruits for psychological damage better.)

So we've seen Charles/Connor in this universe with Charles as the alpha, but what if we were to change that so Charles' sincere, soft spoken Assassin equivalent were Connor's omega. How would that play out? How did they end up getting together?

Alternatively, Haytham/Charles, with Charles as Haytham's omega

asdfghjkl as much as I love all these angsty fills, we could really do with something this sugary-sweet. I would especially love to see both pairings somehow. :3

I want to write this so bad! Unfortunately I have literally three or four fills on the go, so I can't.

I really hope this gets filled, anon!

Hmm...not sure I'll do too many flashbacks from Charles's perspective (and Washington is unfortunately already dead). But feel free to add that into the Honeymoon. :D Sounds deliciously angsty.

Glad you like. :)

Trying hard to make Charles into a...well, not exactly sympathetic character, but one that is complex enough that people can relate to his nicer traits (and he does have nicer traits) even as they abhor the atrocities he's committed.

As for Haytham, don't worry, he'll make an appearance. Not anytime soon, but he'll come 'round.

Yay, people like James! :) I put him in there mostly as a foil to Charles and to contrast Clipper's situation with Connor's. There will most definitely be Clipper-Connor interactions (I heart Clipper).

In some ways, Dobby and Stephane are more dangerous to keep alive, so I haven't yet decided if they're alive or dead.

But yeah, head-canon totally has Clipper and Connor training together out in the frontier and perhaps a slightly closer relationship than most of the other Assassins (except Stephane). Hearts Clipper and Stephane.

Excellent request- the problem is that the whole concept of 'homosexual' was likely coined in the late 1860s by the Austro-Hungarian writer Karl Maria Kerbeny, and the english equivalent only appeared about twenty years later... "Homophobia" much later than that... So this whole concept of 'homosexuality' as we see it today in present time really did not exist in the time when Altair and Malik lived.

Really, there is a lot of "homoerotic" poetry linking back to that time period (such as poems of Rumi on his 'beloved' Shams), and there was nothing wrong with it until recently when we started viewing them through lens of "homosexual" and "hereosexual". Sexuality is a transient thing and it's been interpreted in hugely different ways by different cultures. Best example I can give is the ancient Greeks, who even had different words for love involving different people.

Gurh! Enough with the history lesson! This writer!anon will write this fill best she can for OP, mmkay? C:

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Re: Master of the House - part 3

Re: Master of the House - part 3

Re: Where's the mpreg at?

Re: Master of the House - part 3

Re: Aſſorted Obſervations on the Courtſhip Methods & Habits of the Common Inveterate Lout (2/2)

Re: Between a Rock and Hard Place (pun very much intended) 14

Re: Down The Rabbit Hole And Back Again Part 10/?

Second Fill - The Honey Moon - Part 7/?

Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 11 / ? ]

Re: Master of the House - part 3

Templars/Pitcairn

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 11 / ? ]

Master of the House - part 4

Re: Second Fill - The Honey Moon - Part 7/?

Re: Master of the House - part 4

Re: Second Fill - The Honey Moon - Part 7/?

Re: Master of the House - part 4

Re: Aſſorted Obſervations on the Courtſhip Methods & Habits of the Common Inveterate Lout (2/2)

Re: Farewell, Stars Part 8/?

Connor/Clipper, omegaverse

Re: Connor/Clipper, omegaverse

Re: Second Fill - The Honey Moon - Part 7/?

Re: Master of the House - part 4

Re: Master of the House - part 4

Hmmm