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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I need this in my life

Charles Lee is paranoid. And possibly reads fanfic.

Master of the House

Chapter 7 - the First Battle

“Master Lee,” the maid bowed to the man respectfully.

Charles Lee stared at Clipper, a dark, suspicious look in his eyes. Carefully, he gestured a dismissal to the maid.

“Mary, please see to the cook. James has left a list of foods that our guest is allergic to, and it would be unfortunate if any of them appear at our dinner.” His eyes never left Clipper’s form as he spoke.

Mary curtsied gracefully, “At once, Master Lee,” and then swiftly exited.

Clipper was left alone with the man he abhorred.

For a moment, neither man said anything, merely stared at each other in mutual suspicion and dislike.

Finally, Lee broke the silence.

“You are my guest here, and James seems to trust you to some degree. However,” he paused. “However, it would be unwise to conduct any affairs against me or mine while you stay in this house.”

Clipper felt a rush of anger at the words, but wisely swallowed the words that came to mind. Connor was locked behind the walls of this house somewhere, and Charles Lee held the key. For his dear, dear mentor, he could ignore his disgust for Lee.

“I want to see him now.” Then, grudgingly, “please.”

Lee almost looked disappointed that he had not baited Clipper into an argument.

“Very well. I will take you to him—”

Clipper interrupted him. “I want to see him alone.”

Lee glanced sharply at him, temper clearly rising at his words.

“No! Absolutely not! Do you think me a fool that I will allow you access to him unsupervised? That you may spirit him off and—“

“With all due respect,” Clipper omitted the ‘sir’, “there is nowhere for me to go, nowhere for him to disappear. Not with your current popularity amongst the people.”

Lee ground his teeth, unclearly uncomfortable with the prospect but recognizing the truth behind the words.

“There is still no reason for you to visit Connor unsupervised. You may not make off with him as you say, but I’ve seen the way you looked at him at our wedding. You and those blasted brothers of yours.”

Clipped blinked and, for a moment, was stunned into shock by the wild accusation. He found his voice scant seconds later.

“We are friends! Colleagues, comrades, brothers-in-arms, friends, mentor and students!” he cried.

“Really?” Lee sounded doubtful. “You have never dreamt about him? About his smooth tan skin, about his fine features and long limbs. About holding him down as you enter his tight heat...”

“No!” Clipper was scandalized. Lee was—Lee was crazy! No wonder Mary the maid was so worried.

“No,” he repeated. “We never—he’s our respected mentor!. And I am an Omega.”

Lee snorted. “Mentorship is not a barrier,” (and did Clipper hear a vague bitter quality to his voice?). “And Omegas have been known to pair off with Omegas in the past, provided an offspring is viable.”

Crazy...

“I am not interested in him in that way. I am bonded to James,” he stressed his mate’s name, hoping that this, at least, would lend some logic to the man in front of him.

“Ah, but you are away from James right now.”

The attempt had clearly failed. And Clipper was out of arguments.

“Then have one of your servants supervise, if you cannot trust the chasteness of the feelings I have for my friend.”

Lee shook his head. “There is no need to waste my servants time on this task when they have many chores to perform.”

Clipper felt himself shake at the description.

“Is that all he is to you? A waste?

Lee stayed silent, eyes bitter and mouth curled into a sneer.

Poor Connor, Clipper thought. He had known that Lee was a vile, vile man, but that he would tear Clipper’s mentor away from his loved one, force a marriage on him and then declare it all a ‘waste’...

“One wonders why you went to so much trouble to acquire him, then, if he is a waste. One wonders why you desire help in treating him, in helping him, if he is a waste.”

Lee looked away at that. Clipper had the sense that he was seeing something that wasn’t there.

Clipper gritted his teeth. He would not let Connor’s first sight of him again be of him and Lee, of all people. He would do his utmost to protect his mentor from his tormentor.

“You must not come with me to see to Connor.”

“Out of the question—“

“I cannot do anything if you are there.”

Lee snapped his mouth shut and turned upon Clipper again, glaring at him.

“Do you mean to renege on your promise to me? To James?” Lee’s nostrils flared with anger.

Clipper shook his head.

“I mean that recovery will not be possible.”

“I fail to see how—“

Clipper interrupted him again. “Do you agree that it is you who have caused him to be in such a state?”

Lee looked sullen at this, but did not deny it.

“Then you must see that your presence would be detrimental to Connor. And to the child he carries.”

Lee swallowed thickly, and Clipper began to hope that the man who leave him alone, would allow him to be by Connor in peace.

To see Connor again. To be by his beloved mentor and make the man whole and well again...

“Do you give your word?” Lee began softly. “Do you give your word that you will not try anything to cause him to lose the child? That you will do whatever it is in your power to bring him back, to make him well enough to birth the child?”

Clipper didn’t want to. He would not hurt the child, but if Connor was whole and sound of mind and truly did not want to give birth to his hated enemy’s child, then Clipper did not want to be the one to stop him.

But Clipper wanted to see him again so very, very much. Wanted him healthy and whole and utterly unlike that stunned man who had been forced upon in that church one year ago...

“Yes,” he whispered. Then, when Lee made no move, when he gave no indication of having been heard, he repeated himself with a stronger voice. “Yes. I promise. Please let me see to him.”

Lee looked away. “I will give instructions to my servants that you be allowed to see him for one hour unsupervised every day.”

Then, when Clipper opened his mouth to protest, he added, “You will spend the rest of your time with him accompanied by Mary or Matthew, who has been Connor’s doctor since we discovered his first pregnancy.”

Clipper slowly closed his mouth. It was not a great offer, but it was acceptable.

Mutely, he watched as Lee called for his maids and gave them their new instructions. He doubted that all such struggles against the man would go as smoothly as this one did.

Cannonfire surrounded him, leaving gaping holes in buildings and forming craters in the ground. The air filled with ash and smoke, and despite the pounding of blood in his ears, Connor thought he could hear the screams of men fleeing the scene. His heart hammered in his chest, and he ran and ran and--

--ran. Ratonhnhaké:ton had to find his mother, had to get to their home, had to save her.

The village was on fire, and he was screaming, shouting, begging for the man to release him from his grasp. His mother was still inside their home; he couldn’t bear the thought of letting her burn alive, couldn’t bear the thought of living without her. It didn’t seem to matter how much he beat at the arms that held him, Ratonhnhaké:ton was powerless to escape his captor’s embrace.

He was saying something, his accent strange, but Ratonhnhaké:ton did not need to comprehend the words being uttered to understand that the expression he wore was one of loss and unspoken--

--Pain forced Connor to his knees and blurred his vision. He grunted and slammed his fist into the ground, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. The world wavered before him, but Connor forced himself to his feet. More than one man had called him a reckless fool for ordering such an attack, and as the cannonballs fell ever closer, he could not deny the truth of their warnings.

Connor staggered onwards toward the fort, his feet--

--flew across the rooftops as he chased after his father. Ratonhnhaké:ton always thought the city of London was much more beautiful from up above, and more than anything, he enjoyed these excursions high above the streets that left him feeling freer than a bird.

Ratonhnhaké:ton would share muffled laughter and mischievous smiles with Haytham when they outran the local law enforcement, and when they would inevitably find themselves sitting atop the tallest building in the vicinity, his father would tell him about the Templars. Ratonhnhaké:ton listened raptly, eyes wide with admiration, for Haytham was nothing if not the most brilliant storyteller he had ever known, and the best part, he thought, was that everything was true. More than anything, Ratonhnhaké:ton hoped that one day he could be like his father and support the Order as a Knight Templar.

Order. Direction. Purpose. These ideals would bring about peace, and chaos--

--reigned in the streets and in the fort itself. Connor shouted, his voice hoarse, for that bastard Lee to show himself, but no one came. He continued to stumble about, leaning heavily on anything he could get his hands on, and then he heard it: a voice he had once come to associate with gentleness and affection--a voice that still made his throat tighten and his heart clench with sorrow.

Slowly, Connor turned, and there stood his father, the man who had raised him and guided him through the most troubling years of his life, who--

--was making the gravest mistake in judgement.

Ratonhnhaké:ton could not believe that he was (and had been) allying himself to this individual who had killed his mother. Haytham swore up and down that it was not Lee but Washington who had slain the most important woman in both of their lives, but he would not have it. He had seen Lee there that day, had seen the angry glint in his eyes; his father would understand if he had just been there, if he only knew what sort of man Lee truly was.

No, this individual who greeted them at Boston Harbor was the source of all their problems. They argued out there in the middle of the street, voices raised and expressions dark with anger, and this was the first time Ratonhnhaké:ton thought his father a fool.

All the same, he could not bring himself to hate Haytham. No, his loathing was solely for--

--Charles Lee was not here.

His father had sent him away out of fear for his life, out of fear for what would become of the Order if he died. Connor had once admired that sort of self-sacrifice, that sort of devotion to the Templar cause, and in a way, he still did. He could still remember when his father had talked to him about finding a purpose, one that he would gladly give up everything for, but sadly, their paths had diverged: one a Templar, the other an Assassin.

Over and over again, they would try to bring the other to their side, but the gap, it seemed, was just too large to bridge. The time had passed them, and their relationship--

--never recovered.

They had continued under the pretense of good relations, and to all those around them, their ploy had worked well. In private, though, the strain between them was immense--tension thick enough to cut and silence so loud that it could drive a man crazy. Haytham still cared for his son and vice versa, but when it came to their values, something had changed when they returned to the Americas--when Ratonhnhaké:ton had at last realized what the men his father had spoken so often of actually were: liars, arsonists, and murderers.

Days turned into weeks into months, and Ratonhnhaké:ton could not stand it any longer. It pained him that his father would not listen to his words of reason, but it could not compare to the emotions he felt when he removed the Templar ring from his finger and stepped out of Haytham’s life, abandoning all that he had known.

The look upon his father’s face--

--spoke volumes, spoke more than the quietly uttered words that slipped past his lips.

It was an apology and a final plea that they end this, but there was no going back now, no retreat that could save them. Connor did not want this; his father did not want this. What had happened to the peace and tranquility that they had known? What had happened to those afternoons spent crisscrossing the London rooftops?

When had they become so embroiled in this war? Their men had put them upon pedestals, spat upon the relationship that they had once shared, and propelled them toward the end at which they stood now. The Templars and the Assassins--they wanted blood, and they wanted the head of the opposing faction’s leader. Compromise was for the weak and the unfaithful, and so Connor had allowed his hatred for the Templars to grow.

He wondered if his father had gone through the same.

His hand closed around the handle of his tomahawk, and he shouted as he ran, arm raised. Vision blurred, Connor wanted to think it from the wounds he’d already sustained, but he knew all too well that there were tears--

--were never shed in the presence of Achilles Davenport.

Ratonhnhaké:ton had maintained a tight-lipped frown when his Assassin mentor told him that his father must die, and all he had done was dip his head--neither an argument for or against the idea. The other Templars he had no fondness for, no feelings of kindredship toward, but Haytham...

His nights were sleepless after that. Ratonhnhaké:ton had sought peace, sought a way to help his people and the other downtrodden, and when the ideals of the Order had failed him, he had looked for another way. Now he could only wonder if the Creed was any better, if this was his purpose--if this was something he would gladly give up his life for.

Over and over again his brothers would tell him that this was for the best, but Ratonhnhaké:ton continued to wonder if killing Lee would be enough. He had no quarrel with his father, had no desire to see him--

--dying in his arms.

His father had always seemed so unconquerable--an indomitable spirit. How could he--his idol, the man he’d always looked up to--fall so easily? When Haytham’s lips quirked weakly into a smile, Connor knew then, knew that his father had been unable to kill him, not for lack of talent or skill, but because of the bonds of family that still held them together. A bloodied hand came to touch his cheek in a final act of fatherly affection, and then it fell away, limp on the ground.

Stuttering breaths passed his Connor’s lips as he held Haytham, fists curled tight in the man’s blood-soaked clothing. The tears came freely now, came in a way they had not since the death of his mother, and already, he missed him, missed his father, missed the individual who had raised him from child to man.

That person was now dead by his hands.

Cannonfire continued to rain down from the sky, painting the world red with the blood of the fallen and the fires that ravaged the earth--there was so much death today. Connor closed his eyes, wondering: would it matter if there was one more body to bury? The ground shook as shrapnel filled the air, and he decided that no, no, it would not matter if there was.

SOMEONE PLEASE FILL OMG.

There is SO MUCH COnHayth and not enough Templar loving! NEED MORE TEMPLAR LOVINGS.

Wow, two updates in one day - I feel spoiled, anon. Heh, you're right - Charles must have read that Clipper/Connor fill on the kinkmeme, cause he's all suspicious of Clipper's motives. I do love paranoid-perverted-bastard!Charles.

Finally Clipper is going to get to see his mentor, but it's hardly going to be a reunion since Connor is out of it. BTW, does Clipper know what became of Stephane, Deborah, or the Homesteaders? Or has he been kept in isolation? Also, was there a reason why Charles gave Clipper to James? Did Connor do something to upset him?

so, in my opinion, the final scene with Charles and Connor was kind of extremely intimate and not exactly what i was expecting. Charles has pretty much completely given up, both are tired and just ready for this to end, but maybe things don't happen the way they originally planned. what if Connor sees how Charles has given up hope and that Charles is just as tired as he is. what if, right as Connor is about to kill Charles, he changes his mind?

what if he were to take Charles back to the Homestead so he can keep an eye on him while training him to lead a normal life and to be less hateful of everything that isn't Haytham. and what if it works? what if Connor manages to teach Charles how to be a genuine human being and they end up forming a functional relationship that, because this is a kinkmeme, involves sex.

Charles obviously has the potential to be a good guy. for all his attempts to get Washington fired, Washington still named a fort after him and really respected the guy. so what if Connor starts to see a little of what Washington once saw in him and forces Charles to be that guy instead of the racist douchebag Connor knows him as. and then maybe Charles can start to see Connor the way he saw Haytham.

you have no idea how happy that makes me. you really, really don't.

Ahahahaa, this update was so cute! I have never truly experienced snow to its fullest, since I reside in the Southeast, but i can imagine! Poor Connor, get some clothes on baby!!

Much love on this <3

Thank you! <3 This prompt is really fun to play with. I hope Clay isn't too soft. It seemed to me like he was a pretty decent person, but I don't want to take away his edge.

Happy you like it. :3

Thank you! Happy OP loved it. Sorry for the wait and thanks for the great prompt again. :3

Yey, someone but me remembers this song! xD

I would love to see this. Enemies reconciling is my biggest kink.

i ADORE this omfg
they're both just SO spot-on!! it's just darling how you're writing them, i absolutely cannot wait for more. keep up the great work!! d ( ' v ' d)

No one was quite sure how to bring it up. After all, what was one supposed to say to the man that was quit literally the living sacrifice for the world? It was easy to tell that Desmond's stress levels were already high, dangerously so - neither Shaun, Lucy or Rebecca wanted to be the one to push him across the boundary line between madness and sanity anymore than he was.

But it was just so /odd/.

And mice of all things, why mice? Rebecca joked it showed just how charming Desmond really was. Lucy speculated that maybe it was just because they were the only living creatures around the temple. Shaun suggested it was because they were like Desmond - small and easy to kill, and yet they had a mean bite when riled.

"That's rats, Shaun."

"Eh, rats, mice, same thing as far as I'm concerned. What I bloody well want to know is who is going to tell him?"

All eyes looked to Desmond, curled up in a corner of the room, a family of mice already nesting on top of his back, and more still coming out to join them. Desmond didn't wake as they climbed on him, nudged his arms aside to make room for more, and curled up before falling asleep.

Rebecca popped her gum. "You know, there's accounts of Altair being followed by cats during his hunts."

"Really?" Shaun raised an eyebrow. Rebecca nodded.

"Yep. And apparently Ezio picked up a number of feral strays during his stay in the villa and made them love him. Every time he got close they came running. They started calling the dog 'Auditore's Pack'. Even made jokes that Ezio was part dog."

"Oh ha-ha, that's blood brilliant."

"No need for the sarcasm, Shaun, I'm just saying."

"So what, our precious little treasure has a way with animals? As far as I know, such an event is not hereditary."

"Yeah, well neither is the ability to save the world from going boom, now is it jackass? And yet here we are!"

"Rebecca, I swear one of these days, I'm going to strangle you in your sleep."

"Right back at ya, Shaun. Right back at ya."

And Desmond snorted and rolled over, all fifty something mice following suit.

Ow! Ow, my heart. I think you broke it, anon.

Still, you broke my heart beautifully and gracefully and utterly wonderfully, and for that I salute you.

...I'm going to go get a box of tissues.

There will be assassins in the next bit! Thank you for all your lovely comments! <3

"No, wait," Haytham said, following Charles as he trotted through to the dining room. "I still have no idea what's happening. Neither of you are making any sense at all!"

"That's the point, Haytham," Charles sighed, picking up a bottle from a shelf in the dining room, and setting it on the table. "This doesn't make any sense. It shouldn't be happening. But somehow it is."

Charles set a pair of glasses on the table, and sat down in a chair. Haytham took the chair opposite, and Connor took the seat at the head of the table. Charles poured a very generous amount of alcohol into one glass, pushing it toward Haytham, and poured himself a rather scant measure. Haytham hesitated before drinking. This could still be a trap, after all.

The moment of paranoia passed, and Haytham half-drained the glass, wincing as the alcohol burnt its way down his gullet. He was far too sober to be able to deal with this sort of paradigm shift. He finished the rest of the glass when the burning sensation subsided.

"Well?" Haytham demanded, when he could feel a pleasant mist descend upon his mind.

"Well what?" Charles asked.

"What I asked earlier. Why have the killings only started recently?"

"We do not know," Connor said. "We have thus far guessed two possible scenarios: firstly, that somehow it was always here, and has merely woken up. Secondly, it was somehow brought over here, or only began existing recently."

"It's hard to tell whether the first or second scenario is more likely, sir," Charles said. "There is a distinct possibility that, with the way we Colonists are treating the land, we may have woken something up. However, the attacks are extremely widespread. The first victim that we know of was found in Philadelphia, but the next was in New Orleans. One victim was of the northern French colonies. Several Native victims have been reported, but none verified. In other words--"

"--We don't know what's happening," Haytham finished. Charles nodded, solemnly. Haytham sighed. This wasn't fair, damn it! He shouldn't even be in this damned country any more. He should be…

Haytham found he could not finish that thought. In all honesty, when he had been in London, he had been unsure as to exactly what he wanted to do next. After Birch's betrayal, he had been pondering recreating the British Order, and leaving the Colonies in Charles' capable hands. However, it would incorrect to say he had any real enthusiasm for furthering the Order's ideals. Those ideals had, after all, lost him Ziio.

Ziio… To think that she was dead, had been dead all this time. It was a horrible thought, and one that reminded him too much of his own mortality.

"--m?" Charles' voice filtered into his mind. "Haytham? Are you all right?"

"Yes," he muttered, staring into his glass. "It's just a lot to think about."

Charles nodded in understanding, and leant forward over the table, giving him a steady, honest gaze.

"It's all right," he said. "I know how you're feeling. You were in something of a bad way when you returned to the Colonies. You've lost a lot, for little reward. And now, to be told such horrific tales, and asked to believe the impossible… well, it's a lot to ask of a person. But fear not, Haytham. You're a very resilient sort. It's natural for you to be so sorrowful. You overcame such sadness once, and I'm sure you will overcome it again."

Haytham wasn't entirely sure what to say to that. Charles' behaviour wasn't exactly strange, but it was certainly different. It was disconcerting, to see someone who had once been so worshipful suddenly act so familiar.

"Hmm," he said, after a moment. Then, he turned to Connor, though did not meet his gaze. "How did she die? Ziio, I mean."

Connor seemed slightly taken aback at the question, but he dutifully answered anyway.

"There was a fire," he said. "Set by Washington's men. I was out, playing hide-and-seek. I returned home, to see our longhouse all but collapsing on Mother. I tried to lift the burning logs off her, but I was four years old. I succeeded only in burning my hands severely."

The man paused for a moment, then continued.

"I very vividly remember her telling me to leave her and live. She did not sob openly, nor was her voice fearful. She told me she loved me, and I was taken away by another villager seconds before the building collapsed."

Haytham was silent for a very long minute.

"She always was very brave," he said, softly.

"Indeed," Connor replied. "That is what you said last time I told you."

For a moment, Haytham considered apologising for making the boy recount an obviously traumatic experience. He decided against it- the boy could not have minded that much, if he had been willing to speak of it in the first place. It was best to do, then, what he was always awfully good at doing: changing the subject.

"So," he said. "What do we know about this creature?"

Charles poured a second round of Scotch, and began to speak.

"We know what it looks like. You've seen the pictures. Unfortunately, that information is largely useless. It seems that the only people who can see the damn thing directly are it's victims and descendants of Those Who Came Before."

"You said just before the reconnaissance mission that you thought it might be that the creature was such an abomination that it bled through our second sight, somehow. Or that it was a relic from their civilisation," Connor said.

Haytham nodded. Those ideas certainly made some degree of sense.

"How long have we known about it?"

"Around a year," Charles replied, sipping his alcohol. "We thought it was a serial killer. We kept a close eye on reports of children with disturbed behaviour and hallucinations- which was no easy task- and eventually one of our agents witnessed something supernatural at the killing of a child. That's when I sent a letter to you, asking you to return to the Colonies. By the time you arrived, it had become clear that the Brotherhood was also investigating."

"Regarding the 'something supernatural', one of my recruits, Duncan, also witnessed one of the killings," Connor explained. "He did not see the creature, but his sight and hearing distorted. He could make out the child giggling, and he could see wounds opening in her body, but not the creature itself. It was through sheer luck that we discovered ordinary people can see it through reflections."

"Long story short, Haytham, you and I managed to pinpoint the approximate time and place another killing might occur, and it so happened that Connor and several of his recruits were also there. Both groups kept their distance from the grisly scene," Charles continued. He paused, and Haytham took this opportunity to finish his glass.

"I assume that this was when we discovered that certain people could see it?"

"Yes, sir," Charles nodded. "It happened near a lake. We could see a reflection of this terrible thing, but we couldn't see it, and there was little we could to to save the child. The reflection itself was difficult to make out, being warped and distorted beyond all recognition thanks to the terrible storm brewing. However, you could see the monster, and so could Connor. It was afterwards, when we were trying to search the scene of the murder, that we encountered the assassins and put two and two together."

"Our first meeting was somewhat… lacking," Connor said. "We both were on the verge of nervous collapse. It took almost an hour for either of us to be able to speak in complete sentences. We agreed that neither group could take on such an abomination alone, and thus our alliance was born."

Haytham could certainly believe most of the story, in a purely theoretical way. He was sure, however, that he couldn't have suffered a near mental breakdown by the mere sight of a monster. He had been a soldier in one of the most horrific wars in Europe, after all. He was a Templar, and knew the evil things human beings would do to one another for sport. A fairy-tale villain, he was sure, would not have reduced him to a gibbering wreck, no matter what Charles and Connor insisted.

"What have we been doing since then?" Haytham asked, knowing he was not going to like the answer.

"We've been trying to discover what the creature is, and how to kill it or incapacitate it," Charles answered smoothly.

"And how has that gone?" Haytham asked, mildly. He would have been back in this country for… oh, nine months or so, then. And yet, they had still not discovered very much about the creature. Evidently, little progress had been made.

"It… it has been difficult," Charles said, less smoothly.

"So we've done nothing?" Haytham snapped. "I was nearly killed and lost a year and a half for nothing?"

"Not nothing, sir!" Charles yelped. "We've been researching and following leads and--"

"--and come up with what?" Haytham gave Charles the best glare he could muster. "I shouldn't've bothered coming back to this bloody country."

The look on Charles' face once the words had left Haytham's mouth was one he had never seen on the man before. He looked utterly crushed.

Before he could dwell on Charles' curious behaviour however, Connor thumped the table with his fist, and started to speak again.

Clipper has a slightly better idea of what happened to Stephane and Deborah than Connor but not by much. It would have proven too dangerous to allow the Assassins to know of each other in case they manage to contact each other or cause difficulties for the Templars again.

James would've told Clipper that Stephane and Deborah are alive, but then begged off on any details. He is very loyal to the Templars.

Clipper actually does know what happened to the homesteaders. They are watched now and then, but the Templars don't really care too much about them. They're mostly harmless, true innocents that just happen to be Connor's friends but have nothing to do with the struggle between the Assassins and the Templars.

Charles gave Clipper to James mostly consolidate the Templar's power. When he captured the three Assassin recruits, there were only a few things he could do to make sure they could not cause future trouble. The first is to kill them. But since Connor would probably fight against him a lot more if he killed them, that was removed from consideration. The second is to leave them imprisoned indefinitely. That seemed like an inefficient method to Charles (you have to feed them, etc).

The second is to have them neutralized. That's effectively what he tried to do. He gave Clipper to James because he thought that James would be able to control Clipper and keep him from interfering with Templar business. He very probably had something done to both Deborah and Stephane so that they are not able to fight anymore, and then let them go.

In a way, I think he thought he was being merciful. His relationship with Connor is complex, full of lust and disgust at Connor's maternal heritage with a great deal of frustration/anger that Connor killed his brothers. But Stephane, Clipper and Deborah are more abstract concepts to him. Dangerous in theory because they're Assassins, but otherwise, he doesn't care too much about them except as Connor's recruits and friends.

Another update so soon! I feel so privileged! :)

This update is very intriguing. Haytham makes a good point in that he's fought in horrific wars before. I do wonder if he was really so affected by Slendy or perhaps it was a different reason...

Poor Charles though. It must be devastating for him. I do hope the Assassins are somewhat nice to him at least, now that they know he's not responsible for Connor's mother's death and all.

And poor Haytham. He's so bitter and almost exudes fatigue... It will be a long and painful journey for them all.

They are very, very cute together.

Loving the regretful thoughts Connor has over the wolf as well as his being very practical in using the carcass to lure the other wolves away.

It looks like they are even in the saving of lives department. :)

Question, does Connor have Eagle Vision through a different ancestor? Or just normal sight?

Whose point of view do you want the next part to be from, OP? Haytham's or his father's? Both should work, but I'm only doing one and I can't quite make up my mind...

Oh damn. The million dollar question. :)

...I would actually be slightly more partial to George's POV (but then I am a total sucker for angst). But kind of like both, lol...

Makes sense, I'm glad Charles didn't kill them off. I'm guessing, the other three recruits met their fate simply because they reacted faster to the attack. Well, I'm glad the Homestead residents are okay.

Anyway, can't read the next chapter. I'm nearly finished with part 12, and finally on day 2.

This, my friend, is amazing and cute in the same moment. I want to give Desmond a tight hug...! And Clay... how precious is he!

Ooo, can't wait to read part 12. And hurrah for finally being on a second day, lol.

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSS YES YES I CAN'T WAIT. 'Cause dat cliffhanger.

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

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Master of the House - part 8

Fill: And While Our Paths Have Diverged--

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Connor/Charles completely consensual on both sides

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OP

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Re: Clay/Desmond: Homecoming (3/?)

Re: OP here

Re: Connor/Charles completely consensual on both sides

Re: Clay/Desmond: Homecoming (3/?)

FILL: An Unconscious Ability 1/1

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he lives in the woods 3/?

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Re: OP

Re: OP

Re: Master of the House - part 8

Re: Clay/Desmond: Homecoming (3/?)

Re: Master of the House - part 8

Re: Fill!anon here :)