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

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assassin's creed

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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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
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
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I'd like to assume he picked ruthlessness along the way being Haytham's second in command. Connor is most likely not the only Assassin he's had to torture, given his involvement with the first purge on the Brotherhood.

/HUGS LIL!HAYTHAM/

He's just too adorable.

I also love how grandpa Haytham finally gets involved (does he like have spies in the Lee household?) and makes Charles cry. Yeeesh where was daddy!Haytham when Charles was raping his son practically every day after their wedding?

Well, I do hope things get a little better in the Lee household, for Connor and Haytham's sakes

< http://milkdoggie.tumblr.com/post/44921527650/modern-au-altairxconnor-ishipit >

Ah hello. This kind artist created a bit of an Altair/Connor bug in me. Does anyone feel like well resolving this?

I've seen Ezio/Altair surely this can't be too far of a stretch and according to the artist this is a snippet from a modernau. Anon would be very grateful.

I will eagerly wait! Iz very patient OP. (Which other fills are you doing, writeanon?? OuO)

Thank you for understand. :) Current fills are Leonardo/Ezio afterlife!romance, Shaun/Des omega!verse, Au Ezio/Cesare where Cesare is an assassin under Ezio, AU where Ezio stops his family from being hung and man-of-the-house modern AU where Des is a big brother to fem!Altair and fem!Ezio.

So yeah, I swap around a lot. Trying to get the longer ones done first, since I tend to put more effort into the things I write more of.

*slips into camp bearing offering of chocolate-chip muse-cookies*

Makes a lot of sense. Though I imagine he tortured the other Assassins in a very...different...way.

Grandpa Haytham, I think, has strange ideas. Like many in those times, he looked upon the husbands who beat their wives with disdain. Also like many others in those times, he had no concept of spousal rape.

But yes, Haytham would definitely have spies. :D He's too paranoid not to. :)

Desmond's ancestor from ACIII isn't one of the Kenways, but Thomas Hickey.

Cue Desmond being uncomfortable in Hickey's body. Bleeding Effect!Hickey. Troubles trying to get to the target memory or stay synchronized.

Hell maybe make Hickey Shaun or Rebecca's ancestor.

....wait I'm not the only one who ships this?

Seconding with all my heart.

“Bullshit.”

Malik snorted at Vidic, his face twisted in a mask of disbelieve. Vidic beckoned at him, inviting him to come closer but Malik refused. Disgust settled like thick liquid metal in his stomach, hot and burning him from the inside. He watched the woman, Stillman, walking around the table and crouching down next to the man's side, her fingers brushing over his bound wrists in an almost loving gesture. The sight sickened him and his anger grew as he watched her touching him like something close to a lover and he knew it wasn't right, wasn't right for her to touch him like that as she held no right when she did so much wrong to him.

“You know this man, don't you?” Vidic smiled at him and Malik shook his head, his chest heaving underneath rising rage. “You know his name and you remember his face, but you just don't know why.” It made Malik realize just how sick the man really was for believing Malik already had lived a life, reincarnated a few hundred years later only for fate to come back crushing down on him, finishing something which started in the late 11th century. He laughed at Vidic, dry and short like the bark of a dog. “'course I know him. Met him on my way back home the other day. He's just another face I meet when riding the train”, he told him nonchalantly though he could tell Vidic looked right through his act. His words had made sense in a strange way but he yet refused to believe them.

“Sir, he's-”

“Let him”, Vidic cut through Stillman's words. “Mr. al-Sayf here will tell him that everything is alright. He will tell him that he's working for us. Isn't that correct?”, he smiled at Malik and it made him just the more angry.

“And why would I do that?”

Now Vidic shook his head in a manner of pity. “Because we'll kill him otherwise”, he said and the way how his voice sounded made Malik realize he wasn't kidding, wasn't kidding at all. It wasn't all though and he braced himself for what has yet to come.

“You'd kill him?”, he pondered and his eyebrows met the line of his hair. “He's quite valuable, isn't he? And you'd just kill him? I don't think so.”

“Ah, aren't you a clever young man”, Vidic chuckled and he walked towards Malik until he was just an arm's length away from him. “We would drug him further, keep him in the Animus for a couple of weeks more, learning what we want to learn and then kill him. He's like a wild dog, Mr. al-Sayf and wild dogs need to be put down.”

“So it's just that easy for you? Then what do you need me for?” It sounded like as if they would get whatever they wanted no matter what Malik would or wouldn't do so... Vidic keeping him here didn't make sense at all.

“No”, Vidic smiled still and Malik knew he walked right into his trap. “You're right, we don't need you for that and it would be indeed a pity to kill somebody as talented and skilled as him. You're going to tame him of course”, he concluded.

“What you did is called kidnapping”, Malik told him in a low voice while his eyes narrowed. “You have no right keeping me here, you have no right doing... that to him him.” He gestured towards Altair and Stillman.

Altair groaned again and he pulled at his bindings, Stillman's fingers flying over his wrists to untie him. Maybe she was suicidal for doing so.

“No, what I did is called necessary for saving what's left of this pitiful world. This is just the end of a war which should have been over a very long time ago.”

“He's waking-”, she started but Vidic lifted his hand, hushing her. “There's not much time left, Mr. al-Sayf. I'm afraid you have no real saying in this anyway”, and now Vidic was finally cutting to the chase.

Malik saw the movement from the corner of his eyes before he heard Stillman's surprised gasp. Altair's hands moved, fingers curling around the woman's wrist as he reached for her before his eyes flew open. She watched in horror while Vidic smiled still, walking around the desk and opening a drawer. He pulled something out which looked like a gun but Malik knew it didn't held deadly bullets as it was a tranquilizer gun. So he was prepared after all.

“This could get ugly”, Vidic told him and his smile didn't fit the situation at all as Altair woke. Within the blink of an eye he was up and jumping off the table, pulling the woman down to the ground with him. He knelt there for a whole of two seconds, eyes dilated and blown wide searching the room and his gaze settled on Malik before it flickered over to Vidic. “Easy there”, the Doctor told him as if he was talking to a wild animal and maybe Altair really was. He kept staring at Vidic while the woman slowly came back to life, pushing herself off the ground and crawling away from Altair, seeking cover behind the table as she probably knew better what would happen within the next seconds. Maybe she wasn't suicidal after all.

Vidic took small steps closer to Altair, aiming the gun at him. “Now... this must seem very confusing but I believe your friend here will explain everything. Isn't that right Mr. al-Sayf?” His voice was bitter sweet, like venom eating its way through Malik's veins right down to his bones. Altair snarled at him, gritting his teeth and Vidic was almost close enough to reach for him. It was the moment Malik stepped into action, acting on instincts not knowing why the words came to his mind he was about to say. He didn't want him to do anything stupid, thought it was better for him to first understand what was going on. They could figure a way out of this mess later but he feared if Altair would act like the trapped animal he currently was it would end in his doom.

“Safety and peace, Brother”, he said slowly, his hand coming up and he held it in front of his body and Altair blinked, some of the confusion inside his eyes melting.

“That's right boy”, Vidic whispered and licked over his lips, walking closer still. “Everything's alright-”

Altair shot up, his shoulder meeting Vidic's outstretched arm, the gun falling from his fingers and landing in a loud clatter on the ground. His forehead met Vidic's, knocking him down within a second and Altair was crossing the small distance separating him from Malik with long steps, almost throwing him to the ground when he pulled Malik behind the desk, crouching down and seeking cover as they heard Stillman cursing, shifting and reaching for the gun. There was blood on Altair's brow and Malik peered up from the desk, watching Vidic laying on the ground with blood coming from his nose. He saw the woman's blond hair sticking out from behind the table when she was taking cover.

“What is this?”, Altair whispered with his back pressed against the furniture, his fingers curled tightly around Malik's bicep and he sounded breathless. He was speaking Arabic, old, ancient Arabic of which Malik hardly understood a word. He hadn't spoken it for too long and the accent was thick.

“What's going on?”, Altair roared and Malik just looked at him, witnessing the madness unleashed, whirling in dark clouds behind Altair's eyes. “Malik! Novice!”

It was the lost key setting things back into motion. Malik blinked and old faded memories returned in bright colors, long lost ghosts hunting him, taunting him. A lost arm, brother, title... Altair, the bitter taste of betrayal making him almost gag. He remembered an old church, a market place and the sharp pain of steel cutting through his finger, screams piercing his soul and pain collapsing over his body like a wave, dark eyes forcing their way into his vision, a face -Abbas- the last he saw before the blade came rushing down, cutting through skin, muscles and bones -

Malik gasped as if he was drowning, finally breaking through the surface of thick black memories, taking deep inhales of much needed air. “Templars”, he whispered at Altair and he felt another personality inside of him, fingers pushing against his mind trying to throw him down in order to take over. Malik resisted and held his place, fighting to stay in charge. He watched panic crawling over Altair's face before it was replaced by something else, by something much more frightening, terrifying. Altair searched his eyes and held Malik's gaze, his fingers squeezing the man's arm as grim determination settled in, bringing calmness as well. Apparently Altair had understood the word and he knew Malik's face, remembered him and while he didn't understand what the fuck was going on at least the looked into the familiar eyes of the man he trusted with his life.

“We're going. Now”, Altair told him and he looked upwards, Malik following his gaze and he saw the small opening in the ceiling Altair was looking at, nodding.

“Mr. al-Sayf, please!” It was the woman and he heard her fumbling with the gun, re-loading it. “They won't let you leave just,... please, let me explain?”

Malik placed his arm over Altair's chest, holding him back and pushing him down to the ground again. He locked his eyes with Altair's telling him in a silent way to just wait a few seconds longer. When none of them answered, when none of them moved, she kept on going.

“It's true what Dr. Vidic said, you are your ancestor's reincarnation, you are him. Just like Altair. Altair was inside the Animus, his memories of his time as an assassin got triggered and erased the ones he has from his modern life. He probably won't remember anything of this world and it will leave him very confused, making him a very dangerous man. Your own memories, Mr. al-Sayf, will return soon and you will see all of this is going to make some sort of strange sense. There's no need to fight, please. You can't make it out by your own, but you can make it out when you let me help you.”

Altair tried to get up again but Malik held him back once more and stood up himself. He felt Altair's eyes burning into his back, hot rage radiating in waves off his body. “You fool! She's tricking us, don't you see?”

Malik slowly turned towards her, saw her crouching behind the table with her back pressed against it and the gun tight in her hands. “You want to help us?”, he asked her softly and she turned her head, her eyes meeting Malik's. She nodded.

“My name's Lucy Stillman. I'm working undercover, I'm no Templar.”

Malik's shoulders tensed. “I don't believe you one word”, he said as he watched her slowly standing up, the gun loosely between her fingers now, pointing down to the ground.

“I can understand, I don't judge you. But you don't have a chance in hell without me. You can't trust me but you also don't have a choice here.” Vidic groaned to her feet, his leg twitching and Lucy's eyes bore back into Malik's when she looked up again. “I can show you the way out”, she told him, her look hard and determined.

Altair's fingers found Malik's wrist and he pulled him slightly down, his lips close to his ear. “Don't trust her”, he hissed, “she's one of them.”

“I don't”, Malik told him as he looked down on Altair, “but she's right”, and he pulled his arm free from his grasp. He nodded at her. “Alright. We'll go with you.”

“Malik!”, Altair hissed again but Malik ignored him and instead whirled him back to his feet by grabbing him underneath the arm. He stood close to Altair, their eyes almost on the same level. “You don't trust her, alright, but you trust me”, he told him through gritted teeth. “And I say we go with her.” He turned towards Lucy again.

“Let's go.”

xxx

“Alright”, Lucy told them once they reached the end of the tunnel they've been followingthe last ten minutes and her voice was low. They were in the basement of the building, in the maintenance tunnels, big tubes hanging low from the ceiling and the air was hot and moist. “This is it. Go through that door and you're on your own... I can only point you in the right direction but my fate's sealed with Abstergos Industries.” She handed Malik a small cell phone. “I will contact you in three days. I hope you two are smart enough to get as far away as possible. I won't be able to distract them longer than that.”

Altair stood close by, his hand already pushing down the handle. He hadn't spoken a word ever since Lucy had showed them the way down, making sure to avoid guards as they were making their way out of the building.

Malik nodded, fingers curling around the phone as he put it into his pocket. “Now, go!”, and Lucy pushed between his shoulder blades while Altair was already into motion, opening the door and a second later, they were both out in the open, the sky black with rain pouring down on them, thunder tearing through the sky and they were soon soaked to the bones.

The storm was loud, wind ripping at their clothes and yet Malik felt calm, the rain against his skin making him feel alive again. He took a moment to sort his thoughts, the door falling shut behind him again and it was like as if he'd just stepped into a new life, a new life he knew all too well, a life which future lay unknown in front of him and yet it was familiar, the memories terrifying and comforting at once. It felt like as if he was choking on the events which just happened and he swallowed thickly around the lump forming in his throat.

Altair just stared at him, chest heaving heavily underneath his erratic breaths, his heart beating wildly with blood pumping loudly through his veins. He watched raindrops rolling down Malik's jaw and nose and it took him a moment longer to realize it wasn't rain but tears, his eyes red and puffy and fingers curled into tight fists as he looked at Altair, trembling. Altair took one step forward and started crossing the distance between them, Malik moved as well.

He ducked underneath Malik's fist as he saw it coming, grabbing his wrist and whirling the man around until his back met the cold wall of the alley. It happened within the blink of an eye, Malik snarling at him as he tried to kick him between the legs but Altair just stepped closer, pressing himself with his full body weight against him and kept him in place. He pinned Malik's hand against the wall right next to his head and they both looked at each with intense eyes, staring into each other souls. Malik was trembling as well as Altair, it was cold, heavily raining and they both just barely escaped with their lives, still high on adrenaline.

It was Altair though who moved first. Malik groaning, protesting but Altair swallowed his words as his lips moved over those of the man, kissing him. It'd been too long now, decades, centuries and dear god, a kiss wasn't enough to make up for the lost time.

Malik's hand pushed against Altair's chest, pushed him away and Altair blinked down then looked back up at Malik.

“We need to go”, Malik told him, voice raspy and just as cold as the weather. “We need a place to hide.”

“Hide?”, Altair practically mouthed the word and it was the first time he was speaking since Lucy led them out the building. “Like cowards? No.” His English was flawless and it made Malik tumble for one second but he found his balance once more quickly.

“Yes!” Malik shoved at him again, holding one finger up and into Altair's face. “Right now we do have to hide, we can't rush into things. Did you forget everything which happened, did they fuck up your brain? If anything of what Lucy told us is true, you should remember what happened at Solomon's Temple – you of all people should know that no good comes from making rush decisions. We hide. For now.”

He shoved Altair aside and made his way down the alley and towards New York's busy streets.

NOM NOM NOM goes WriterAnon.

You know, I'm going to be so horrible to these characters, I think I'm going to give myself the additional challenge of somehow finagling a happy ending.

(This prompt contains some very minor spoilers for The Infamy!)

So, the premise of TOKW is that Washington got his hands on the Sceptre of Eden, and went mad with power. However, in the DLC there are a few hints that an Apple of Eden is the real cause of this nightmare, and that the scenario is not entirely real. What if the DLC is all a hallucination of Connor's?

Somehow, he wakes up, back in the normal version of reality, only to find himself sprawled on the floor with his recruits and several Homesteaders and Aquila crew-members pointing various sharp, deadly weapons at him, and treating him as though he is some sort of serious threat. He is, of course, utterly bewildered, and asks what on earth is going on. Surely they know he would never intentionally harm them, and could not forgive himself if he did?

It turns out that TOKW was all in his head, and in his attempts to stop King Washington (really, George is sane and pretty fucking scared of his ex-friend right now), he's been wreaking chaos and mayhem across the Frontier, generally putting people's lives in danger and killing a shit ton of regular soldiers (and probably also some civilians) because of his delusions. The Brotherhood teamed up with everybody they could find to stop Connor's rampage, and succeeded.

The only question is... what do they do now? That's a pretty big mess to clear up...

Me too me too! Someone, please fill this!!

A/N: This prompt kept haunting me so I had to take a shot at it. I think it’s mostly going to be from Washington’s POV, but I’m going to try to have maybe some interludes from Charles’s POV because lovey, brainwashed Charles sounds crazy fun to write. Maybe this is just funny to me but I never imagined in history class when I learned about these guys that I’d be so excited to write gay fanfiction about them haha

Comments and suggestions are adored! This first part is mostly backstory, apologies in advance!

No one denied the king. Men reshaped themselves to follow his word. No inch of the land was beyond his influence and no lord was too powerful to resist his command. Not that anyone had a bad word to say about him – and those who did knew better than to speak it. Former enemies united to be brothers under his reign and everywhere he went he was revered, adored, praised for bringing together the colonies. He was so charismatic, so capable, far superior to King James. Even the uneducated who knew little about his military record or his political policies would always call him wonderful, positively wonderful, even if they hadn’t had a clue why.

Some still fell through the cracks, or were simply too stupid to follow the herd. Rebellions had whipped up around the country when King Washington crowned himself, but upon actually meeting the king, they found themselves quickly appeased. Now and then there were reports of discontented men that would rant in the streets or throw stones at the king’s soldiers. The king had become bored of dealing with these rabble-rousers personally and thus they were always shot or run through with bayonets where they stood. The townspeople always had to step around the corpse, leaving it to be collected by an embarrassed family.

Certain rebellions had put up a bigger fight than others. The Order of the Templars, he recalled smugly, was one of those that went down kicking and shouting. It amazed him how many individuals he had known belonged to this Order – a cult that he now likened to group of schoolchildren squabbling over a matter that was above them.

He’d discovered the Order of the Templars through a lieutenant colonel. No secrets were to be kept from the king and King Washington was thusly regaled with tales of an underground order that sought to create some sort of perfect world. He’d dismissed them as a small group of radicals, but then the brand “Templar” began springing up all over. Veterans of the British army, distinguished politicians, prominent scholars –Templars. The Order of the Templars had even gnawed its way into his own Continental Army. They were like parasites that took root and pretended to fight against their British brothers, but it was all a play, their loyalty was elsewhere.

Clearly this was a matter that required more attention.

As the king began to hack off the Order’s appendages, he’d learned that the Templars were governed by an individual named Haytham Kenway, a man whom he did not know well, and his second-in-command Charles Lee, a man who the king knew... much better.

It had shocked him to hear that his major-general had essentially been a snitch, unfaithful and undermining his orders for reasons that were now clear. Initially Washington had been disbelieving. He may not know Charles Lee as intimately as he thought, but his former major-general was not involved in some cult’s working. Then he’d felt betrayed. Years of reading about Charles’s hatred of him and wondering if there was something he could have done to better facilitate their relationship, and it all came down to the fact that Washington had accidentally gotten in the way of strengthening their Order. He had trusted Charles. Charles was dignified, powerful, intelligent – and his loyalties belonged to someone else.

King Washington realized that he hated Charles Lee.

The American Templars would be eradicated and Charles would realize that he had followed the wrong side.

When King Washington finally tracked down Haytham Kenway, the stubborn man had revealed nothing. He would not list other members of the Order and he would not say where Charles Lee was. The king had found him to be very posh, and furthermore he had the gall to criticize the king even when death stared him in the face. King Washington refused to respect him and thus he killed him with a raise of his staff. The king had long become accustomed to how quickly and suddenly men died, but with Haytham Kenway the feeling was fresh again. Feeling disgusted, he had ordered his men to set fire to the building. And so Haytham Kenway had burned out of history beneath smoking lumber.

The Order fell to Charles, then. Whatever was left of the Order; he didn’t leave Charles with much left to lead. The dockmasters were told to watch for him but Charles didn’t even attempt to leave the country. He was finally sighted in New York and detained until the king arrived. Once there, King Washington was presented with the delightful gift of a bound Charles Lee. The man looked like he had been to hell and back, so exhausted and ragged that King Washington felt pity spark in his chest. Still, there was no sweeter sight than his former general tied to a chair, leering at him and knowing that he had lost.

(Well, or so the king had thought at the time – he’d since seen much sweeter sights.)

He could have killed him. Should have, perhaps, that was debatable at the time. Charles Lee with all of his determination and his bright blue eyes made King Washington feel... human. Most likely Charles did not remember how they’d first met under Braddock and served for a short time period together during the French and Indian War. Washington did; he remembered how eager Charles had been and how capable he was and Washington listened to every stray word he said. When Charles came back from England to serve in the Continental Army, Washington remembered it all over again. They’d fought together and Washington learned that Charles was a quiet man of bottomless secrets: he someone who would run a man through the throat with a bayonet and then after the battle Washington would catch him smiling as he played with his Pomeranian.

And now that he’d hit the bottom of what he’d thought to be infinite, King Washington realized that he didn’t hate Charles Lee. He didn’t hate him; he wanted him. He knew as soon as he saw Charles that he wasn’t going to kill him. Charles Lee was his spoil of war: something that had eluded him for some long and now King Washington was free to take him as he pleased. He’d turned the man inside-out and here he was, glowering with determination and his blue eyes piercing. Charles Lee was a misguided man, King Washington thought. He had been wooed into fighting for this Order and the king had to admire how fiercely he stood at the head of it, teeth gritted, face pinched into a snarl, so ready to die for these beliefs and the orders of a dead man.

And so King Washington had spared him. He could be useful, he told his generals, not that they would ever disagree with him. Charles Lee was a magnificent general and a respected politician. Capturing him would bring security from those who followed Charles’s rants. Had his generals not been so deaf and blind, they would have seen right through his excuses and straight to his greed.

No one denied the king of what he wanted. Not even Charles Lee.

King Washington had taken him home like a lost dog and Charles had taken to his new master very quickly. He tried to resist at first, always jerking away from the king’s influence and demanding to know what fate had befallen “Master Kenway.” His devotion was grating and it brought the king great satisfaction to tell Charles that his grand master had been reduced to ash. After that, Charles’s resistance waned. He was tolerant, then complacent, and finally embraced his new role with appreciated enthusiasm.

Charles’s blue eyes doting and as the sole subject of his dedication, the king decided that despite his excuses, there were exactly two things he wanted with Charles Lee.

The first was a pet.

(The man had made a fool of him. It was quite fitting that he returned the favor. There was a part of him that was fiendishly delighted to see the once-proud man at the end of a leash. He’d pull as hard as he wanted and Charles would stumble as he tried to heel. His pet craved attention, but was never allowed to take.

“Don’t you dare touch yourself,” the king snarled as he caught sight of Charles’s free hand between his legs, desperately rubbing. He jerked the man’s leash for the sake of emphasis and a whine died in Charles’s throat but his hand obediently lifted, massaging against the king’s thigh. King Washington grunted, allowing the leash to slack.

He’d found something else that Charles was extremely capable at. A bit too capable for never having done this before, the king noted absentmindedly. He spurned away jealousy with the knowledge that no matter whom Charles had belonged to before, the man and his mouth were now all his. Charles’s eyes were half-lidded in pleasure and his breaths were coming out in noisy pants. One hand was curled around the base of the king’s member and he sucked dutifully, never disturbed by the guards walking past.

“Swallow it, Charles,” he said in a low voice. His hand holding the bundled leash lunged out, grabbing Charles’s black hair and yanking him forward, forcing himself down his throat. “Swallow it all.”

Charles moaned in compliance, his jaw stretching to accommodate the king’s length but he didn’t protest. With an animalistic groan, the king’s hips snapped forward against Charles’s lips and the former general moaned again, rutting against the air as he did indeed swallow it all. As the king’s hips stilled and his breathing steadied, he released the other man’s hair. Charles let the king’s flaccid member slip from his mouth and his bright blue gaze skirted up to King Washington’s face.

“Greedy,” King Washington purred, reaching down to catch Charles’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Charles’s brows pinched together in concern at the disapproval, but he leaned into the touch, both of his hands on the king’s knees. “You will not finish until I command. Do not look away.”

Charles grinned and wasted no time in freeing his erection, never looking away from the king’s face. King Washington released his chin, easing back in the throne. Charles ran a hand along his sensitive shaft, giving an unabashed moan and rolling his hips. His knees parted wider and with a glance downwards the king noted smugly how aroused his pet was just from being able to pleasure his master. As his hand quickened, Charles’s gaze slipped, his eyes focused on nothing. King Washington growled immediately, pulled on the leash. Charles’s breath hitched but he corrected his mistake, his eyes snapping open as he watched the king with reverence.

Satisfied, the king jerked his head towards him. “Come now, Charles.”

The man did so obediently, as he did all things. He came with a gasp, keening into the king’s legs and spilling himself into his hand.

“Clean yourself up,” the king told him, his voice always sharp and commanding.

“Yes, sir,” Charles murmured, having recovered his voice. He rested his cheek on the king’s lap, gazing up in sleepy contentment at the king as he licked his palm clean like a languid cat. He sighed as the king reached down to course a hand through his hair.

“Good boy,” King Washington said and Charles positively beamed at the praise.)

The second was a lover.

(The lines between pet and lover were thin, but the king tried to pretend they weren’t. He had trained Charles to act like a man when it was required: a charming, lovesick man who was still very underneath King Washington’s thumb. Typically it made the king feel secure to know that Charles was doing everything just to please him; the man didn’t care about his own pleasure, lest his pleasure please the king. But on occasion that feeling sickened him. This wasn’t the Charles Lee, the man that had ridden eagerly in the French and Indian War and had hollered commands at foot soldiers during the Revolutionary War and had died tied to a chair in New York. This was his Charles Lee, the one that loved him.

“You love me,” the king would murmur as his thumb circled the former general’s cheek. He never asked; despite the fact that he now trusted Charles to say what he wanted to hear, he still always told Charles that he loved him. Sometimes he didn’t want to give Charles the chance to be honest.

“Yes,” Charles breathed as he stared up at him with an adoring expression King Washington had never as a major-general seen on the man’s face.

“To whom does your allegiance belong?” the king would sometimes press.

“You, sir.” His voice was so soft, so sure of himself. He paused, probably just remembering that he wasn’t permitted to call the king “sir” when they were together like this. The king loved him enough to let it pass. “Only you.”

Then King Washington cupped Charles’s cheek and lean in to kiss him gently. Charles sighed and his eyelids fluttered and he kissed the king back softly and patiently like a lover should. His hands gripped clumps of the king’s robes and the king would feel himself becoming just Washington again. The king was always torn by discomfort and how good satisfying his Achilles heel felt.

To the public Charles would be his pet. No one would know how he acted out hungry boyhood fantasies with his blue-eyed general, not even Charles.

And on those nights he would require Charles to be a lover. He required him to sprawl on his back and part his thighs and call him George as he pressed one, two, three fingers inside of him. Charles had been taught that this was not the time to moan to the high heavens and ride against his fingers and plead for his master to use him. He would sigh and grip the blankets and the king would try to forget that that too was an act. When he entered him Charles would wrap his legs around his waist and the king would make love to him like they were in the frontier.

When Charles came, it was with a gasp and a choked “George!” and his shuddering body quickly brought the king to completion.

Afterwards Charles would twist eagerly beneath him, searching the king’s face for approval and any indication that he wished for Charles to become aroused again. The king would snort and roll Charles onto his side so that he couldn’t see his doting face.

“You did well,” he would say in a husky voice and Charles would shiver at the praise.)

And the king found that Charles satisfied both of his desires very, very well.

you know those things you don't know how much you need until you're made aware of them?

this is one of those things.

seconded!!

Yusuf likes to tease the Mentore about being old.
How about Ezio proving that he's not as old as all that?
by, of course, pounding Yusuf into a mattress untill he's nothing but jelly.

Properly aged wines, after all, are much more powerful.

Hey anon, please don't tell me this is going to stay unfinished? We need the end of this masterpiece!

Sorry for the wait! RL has been very hectic with work, and I caught a horrible stomach bug. I hope you enjoy!

Haytham wasted no time in packing away his belongings. It was more difficult than he'd anticipated, considering that he could only identify about a fifth of the things in the room as his own. Either he had left his previous location in a hurry, and had to buy new clothes and equipment here, or he only stayed here occasionally, and bought new items as and when was needed.

He could hear the murmuring of voices downstairs again, and he could feel the rage building up. How dare they speak about him behind his back like that? They were probably laughing about their stupid, stupid attempt at a joke.

He was examining an expensive-looking coat, wondering if it belonged to him or not, when he heard a soft knocking at the door.

"Haytham, it seems we need to talk," Charles said, from the other side of the wood.

Bastard, bastard, bastard! No, they did not need to talk. And even if he did need to speak with anybody, at the moment Charles would be the last person he would want to talk to. Clearly he was in on this blasted joke.

He didn't answer, and threw the coat over his arm. He glanced around- ah, that was his trusty pistol, and those were his good leather gloves. Was that his holster? He didn't remember the second ammunition pouch…

"Haytham?" Charles knocked again, and opened the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Haytham could see Charles hesitate, taking in the scene before him. "Haytham, what are you doing?"

"Packing," Haytham answered. "I'm going back to New York first thing in the morning. Didn't Connor say?"

"I thought he was exaggerating. You can't leave, Haytham."

"And why not?"

"Well," Charles seemed thrown by the venom Haytham had put into that question, or possibly by the fact he'd even questioned him. "Well, for a start that thing is out there--"

"Ah, the monster you've shown me no evidence of? I don't necessarily disbelieve you, but I hardly think I'm in any dang--"

"--And we're meeting the others tomorrow," Charles interrupted Haytham's speech. "Johnson, Hickey, Pitcairn, Church. They're coming here, we agreed to meet after the reconnaissance mission. And besides, your New York residence is still being rebuilt--"

"Rebuilt? Why is it being rebuilt?" Haytham demanded.

"Because it burnt down," Charles said, as if that were obvious. "There's been a string of arson attacks in the city, we've got men working on finding the culprit."

"I'm homeless?" Haytham asked, in disbelief.

"Only temporarily," Charles replied. "Put down my coat, will you?"

Oh. He was still holding it, wasn't he? Haytham lay the garment on a nearby chair, and turned back to Charles.

"You forgot to mention that earlier," Haytham said. "And a number of other things, as well."

Charles grimaced.

"Look, we had a lot to discuss, it's been a somewhat eventful year and a half. There'd be no sense in overwhelming you with so much information at once. We thought it might be best to take things slowly. Ease you in."

"I'm not an invalid, and I detest being treated as such!" Haytham snapped.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't want to upset you," Charles said, in the kind of placating voice people reserve for lovers and family. Haytham gritted his teeth.

"Don't talk to me like that," he said. "You're my subordinate."

Charles looked like he'd just been slapped. He regained his composure remarkably quickly, and looked away. When he next spoke, his voice was quiet.

"Of course, sir. I didn't mean to offend you, sir."

Haytham nodded, and took a deep breath.

"I think I'd like to speak with Connor again."

"He's gone out hunting, sir. He'll be back in a few hours."

Haytham sighed. He was starting to feel a little guilty for being so rude to Charles. Only a little guilty, but guilty all the same. The man was obviously quite upset- and so he deserved to be, after that bloody joke he'd tried to pull. Still, Haytham could not help but feel his words were a little harsh.

"I, ah, apologise," he said, with difficulty. He did not have much practice in apologising, he was the one who tended to be apologised to. "I shouldn't've been so rude. It's been something of a bad day, you see."

He expected one of several reactions from Charles. A sombre nod, perhaps. A quiet "yes, sir". No answer at all. What he did not expect was a bitter laugh.

"A bad day? Well, that excuses everything, Haytham."

"Excuse me?" Haytham managed. Charles was not the type to snap back.

"Would you like to know how awful my day has been?" Charles demanded. He continued without waiting for an answer. "Imagine you loved someone. Adored them. Idolised them. No, don't you dare say a single word, Haytham--"

Haytham shut his mouth. He'd intended to stop Charles, argue with him, but clearly this was not an option.

"--Imagine this person was perfect. You'd die for them in a heartbeat. Do anything for them. But you can't act on your feelings, so you busy yourself with trying to make them happy in any way you can. You fool yourself into thinking that's more than enough, even though it's not. For some reason, they have to travel a lot, so for several years you hardly see them and you forget what it was like to have them there."

Charles paused for a moment, thinking about how to continue. His voice was shaky, but he spoke quickly nonetheless.

"They come back, and they're barely a shell of the person you knew, the person you loved. Even though they're snappish and moody and simply horrible, you persevere with helping them as best you can. And eventually your efforts pay off and you can start to see the person you loved in them. And, after quite some time, everything you dreamt of falls into place. Despite the horrible situation you both face, they love you right back. For the first time in a very long time, you're happy."

Haytham opened his mouth again, only to close it at the ferocious glare Charles shot at him. Surely the man couldn't be serious? Oh, but it took a more talented liar than even Charles and his silver tongue to tell such tall tales with such raw emotion.

"And then something happens. They're hurt. You stay by them every second you can until they wake up, and when you do, they're not your lover any more. They're not even the person you adored. They're just a ghost again. A shadow. Nothing. You can't let your heart break, you've got too much work to do, important work at that. So you keep calm and carry on and hope that what you had isn't gone forever. Believe me, Haytham, I've had a far worse day."

Charles stopped, finally, and took several deep breaths. Haytham, feeling some kind of contribution to the conversation, spoke.

"Charles, I… I don't know what to say--"

"There's nothing to say, Haytham!" Charles snarled, absolutely livid. "You're a ghost! You're not the real you, and it's not bloody fair!"

Haytham blinked. He'd never had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of Charles' infamous fiery temper.

Before he could open his mouth, there was a movement from the other side of the window, and a thud from the balcony outside. There was a rattling at the door before it opened, and Connor tumbled in, slamming his body against the door to shut it. The lad was hyperventilating, shaking. Before either Charles or Haytham could demand to know what was going on, Connor spoke, stuttering, sounding fearful.

"It is here!" the assassin managed. "The-- the Slender Man, it is here!"

When I first played through AC3, it didn't really click with me since I powered through the main missions and ignored the side quests. Connor came off a bit of a whiney, ragey, naive brat.

Now, I'm going through a second time and playing through every single side mission. And it's all clicking with me that Connor is an utter sweetheart when he deals with the settlers on the Homestead. He genuinely cares for them, and helps them out without question, barely taking in how much they appreciate him. The fact that he doesn't wear his hood while on the Homestead and doesn't flinch when they touch him in cutscenes speaks volumes about how safe and comfortable he feels around the settlers. Also, the order I'm playing it in means Connor is only 17 to 18 when he's gathering settlers and helping them out. Basically, he's a thoughtful, sweet teenager who's taken on the burden of running the place onto his shoulders mostly alone.

Anyway, I want something where the settlers show some appreciation for all he does. Maybe they plan a surprise birthday party for him, or throw a festival and invite him to come out and relax. And Connor is so genuinely touched by their efforts that he cries (manly tears) and/or has a mini breakdown because with being so stressed with his missions all the time, these are the first people who actually like for being just a good person. In the end, he's just a kid trying to do his best, which is above and beyond what most people can accomplish.

Bonus points if Achilles helps him pull himself together and comforts him.

His Mother’s Son

Journal of Haytham Lee, aged 11

I don’t think I like being 11. There are Omegas in court, and they look at me funny. They run off together and whisper and giggle and it’s very weird.

Mommy is an Omega, but he’s not weird. Why can’t the other Omegas be more like Mommy?

Father saw that the Omegas were acting weird around me today and asked Mr. Davies to come talk to me.

I don’t want Mr. Davies to ever come talk to me again.

Girl Omegas are strange. They don’t have a thing.

And boy Omegas are stranger.

...Do they really like that thing being put there?

Isn’t that unsanitary?

And Alphas are even stranger! Mr. Davies said that we’re supposed to really like putting that thing into, into an Omegas’s...

Gross.

Gross, gross, gross.

Mr. Davies laughed at me. He said that I’ll change my mind later, in a couple of years, and that I’ll come to appreshappreciate Omegas more. He said that I’m Daddy’s son and that, even though Daddy is ~~inxp~~ ~~inexplik~~ inexplicably loyal to his wife, he’s got a healthy appetite.

I asked Mr. Davies what does food had to do with this gross thing, but he just laughed at me again.

I don’t like Mr. Davies. He’s always laughing at me.

Mr. Edwards was even worse though.

Mr. Edwards was on guard duty, and he said that, that...

He said that it wasn’t a surprise that Daddy liked Mommy so much because Mommy was, was...

Mr. Collins taught me to use quotations when writing down what other people said so I’m going to try it here.

I don’t know what a “good fuck” or a “fine piece of arse” are, but Mommy’s Mommy. Mommy’s the best in the world and not a piece of anything! He’s Mommy!

Daddy got mad at me because I hit Mr. Edwards. He says that only ruffians hit people.

I don’t think that’s fair. Daddy’s not a ruffian but he’s hit people before. He even hit Mommy, and Mommy didn’t even do anything wrong.

I have to apologize to Mr. Edwards.

I don’t want to.

He’s a bad, bad man.

Daddy says I shouldn’t have hit Mr. Edwards, but I did and I’m not sorry.

He shouldn’t say bad things about Mommy.

OH YES PLEASE!

omg anon you have no idea how much I love you for this!! I thought my day was going to be miserable after a ten hour bus ride coming home from school, but this has seriously taken everything bad about my week, even, and made it all better! This is exactly what I was looking for when I requested the prompt and the fact that there's going to be more is so awesome! I already keep going back and rereading I love this so much. And the porn bits were so hot.

lmao I don't think anyone ever expected to want gay fanfiction of the people we learn about in grade school, but Assassin's Creed has brought the desire out in all of us :)

SCREAMING

SCREAMING

BARRICADING THE DOORS

PUTTING CHARLES UNDER A BLANKET

SMACKING HAYTHAM UPSIDE THE HEAD

SURROUNDING CONNOR WITH WEAPONS

STILL SCREAMING AND HIDING MYSELF IN THE CLOSET

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Re: Second Fill - The Honey Moon - Part 20b/?

Re: His Mother's Son 5

Altair/Connor -pic inspired prompt

Re: OP

Re: OP

Re: FILL ---------2 of ? -------Enthralled

Re: Second Fill - The Honey Moon - Part 20b/?

Re: His Mother's Son 5

Crack!Prompt

Re: Altair/Connor -pic inspired prompt

Re: Down The Rabbit Hole And Back Again Part 14a/?

Re: Down The Rabbit Hole And Back Again Part 14b/?

Re: FILL ---------2 of ? -------Enthralled

The DLC is Connor's delusion, aftermath

Re: DLC WashConHayth

Heel [1/?]

Re: Shaun/Desmond, D/s

Getting sick of 'old' jokes

Re: Fill [1/2]

He Lives In The Woods 6/?

Connor Appreciation from the Homesteaders

His Mother's Son 6

Re: OT4 TIME!!!

OP

Re: He Lives In The Woods 6/?