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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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Same here actually, was busy today to write.

Finding Connor

Chapter 19

Charles spared a glance towards his counterpart at that last suggestion. The man seemed unfazed.

“A wife's duty is to see to his or her husband's needs,” he stated casually.

Doctor White sneered at him.

“I am afraid that even our stubborn countrymen might disagree with you in this case. Your wife shows no sign of consciousness, and that you force yourself on him still does not reflect well on you.”

The other Charles shook his head.

“Unless I am damaging him by doing so—and I highly doubt that—I am afraid I would have to disagree with you.”

“And who is to say you are not?”

To his credit, Charles's counterpart paused at that. Then he scoffed at the idea.

“You are a credible doctor? And you believe that marital congress can damage a man? Please tell me this is some poor joke.”

Charles wanted to say something. Because it was clear, looking at that limp form still lying upon the bed that there was something to what the good doctor was suggesting.

It turned out the good doctor could speak for himself, because the next thing out of his mouth was startlingly clever.

“I think that when a man's wife is obviously dying that that man learn to take precautions and scrutinize his own actions. Whether or not your callous disregard for your wife led to this sorry state is unknown, but that your wife is dying is a fact.”

The other Charles, too, looked shocked at such a statement. He turned narrowed eyes to the bed, where the still body of his wife lay.

“You do not know what you are asking me to give up.” Then, he turned to the other doctor in the room.

“Your opinion, Doctor Davies?”

The Alpha doctor cleared his throat nervously.

“Well, I can't say for certain what is or isn't causing your wife's state. He ought to have healed from his miscarriage months ago. That he still lingers in this state does give credence to Doctor White's theories, as unlikely as it may seem.”

Then, seeing the man's face darken, Doctor Davies hastened to amend his reply. “While Doctor White's suggestion is certainly...interesting, I myself suggest a trial. For a period of a month or two, abstain from sexual congress with your wife. If he does not improve, then do as you will.”

Charles wondered what his counterpart would think. If the man was anything like him, then he would loathe the idea of abstaining from his wife. Connor was...

Well, that was neither here nor there. His Connor was dead and his counterpart's Connor was...dying. And if Charles was in his place, he would do anything to save him.

“You both would deny me my wife?”

Clearly, the other Charles was nothing like him. He was really wondering how it could be possible that they were the same people, separated only by a single incident.

Surely there must be something that marked him as different than this man. Surely he could not be someone this odious bar a single event.

“Perhaps not deny—“

“Yes.”

The blunt answer was from Doctor White, and Charles turned wide eyes to the man. He put so much effort into keeping him alive and getting them all to this point. If his counterpart decided to kill him, then...

“You are bold.”

“I speak as a doctor for his patient.”

Charles counterpart looked at him, eyes hard as ice.

“You mean you speak as a man for his friend. Or,” he looked at the doctor in suspicion, “is he more than that to you?”

And so very jealous. Of Doctor White. And even if the man were not married to Ellen in this world, the man was clearly displaying the concern of a friend and not of a potential love interest.

Charles could not recall being quite so bad as this.

“It says quite a bit about you that the only thought you have towards someone displaying concern for your wife is an accusation of lust. I wonder if it must reflect back on your own considerations for him.”

The other Charles purpled in rage.

“He is not merely some toy to me—“

Charles felt it necessary to join the conversation. If only to prevent bloodshed.

“I am sure,” he said, placing a placating hand on his double's arm, “that the good doctor means no such thing. He is merely making a suggestion to help his friend...”

“A bad choice considering the circumstances,” Davies muttered.

Charles shot him a glare.

“But I am sure he means nothing untoward by it...“

Wisely, Doctor White kept his mouth shut this time, and Charles was able to calm his counterpart.

Somewhat.

“My child grows in my wife's belly, and I would do nothing to harm him.”

Doctor White looked unimpressed.

“My professional recommendation is as follows. Give him fresh air and sunlight. Increase his food uptake with a larger array of nutrients than simple broth.”

And here, he cast a scathing look upon Doctor Davies, who simply shrugged it off.

“Allow him near items, people or animals with which he has good association. Give him a reason to get well.”

Charles's counterpart relaxed.

“Is that all?”

“No. There is more. Leave him be at night and let him heal from all that you've done to him since the wedding.”

Charles looked nervously at the other Charles, who had gone still.

The doctor's voice softened, then.

“What you've been doing so far isn't working. Isn't it time to try something new? For the child in Connor's belly, if not for him.”

Silence.

The other Charles stared wordlessly at Doctor White.

Then, “I will have the servants feed him better and let him outside. Those are not a problem. However.”

He paused and cleared at each of them in turn.

“It is out of the question that I deprive myself of the company of my own wife, and I will thank you to not mention it again.”

And Charles let out a disappointed sigh.

His counterpart was getting to be a real problem.

Heh, I knew Moth!Charles would not give up slaking his lusts upon his wife. In the original timeline, it had taken so much to convince to finally force himself to... not force himself on Connor. But oh wow, I should have known he would question Doctor White's intentions, just like he had with Clipper - who I hope will make it into the story as well.

Had a freaky dream a few nights back, of what if Moth!Connor's mind had actually drifted off, or he had died during the miscarriage and FW!Connor's mind had taken his place. Meaning, Moth!Charles was raping FW!Charles' wife without knowing it. Sorry, I have a twisted mind...

Next update might be a little late - was feeling really sick today to get any writing done.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASSSEE FOR THE LOVE OF HAYTHAM'S HAT CONTINUE THIS WRITER ANON! For once something that catches my eye, I really want to read more but sadly, there isn't. I sure hope you'll still continue this, us anons are grateful for such a good read!

Is there anything more specific that you might want?

I might have a go but it'll be rather silly... (I can't help, I have to poke fun at Alty and Ezio.)

"Catch the fork right above you!"
"I'd like to see you try, idiota! I'm too short!"
"Really Ezio, you climb on walls when when it's raining and you can't climb a tree?"
"Trees are NOT made to climb on!"

/this anon runs away to hide

However, if silly crack is not what you'd like, OP, just tell me. ^^

Writeranon, I have to say that you are an awesome person. Really.

I have had a problem with Charles for quite a while - as in, I cannot stomach the guy, I just want to maul him. (Hum, at least, after his trying to kill Connor. *whacks Charles on the head for that*)

That being said... you reconciled me with that pairing.

*pats Charles* We know how hard it must be on you... but kudos for not fangirling all over the place.

Also, you wrote it very nicely, anon. I mean, it's because I could have a glimpse of Charles's thoughts that I could change my mind. You reminded me about how much of a pup he could be around Haytham.

And Haytham... gods, don't tease people like that, it's evil! Like, downright mean! *flails*

'I wanna do bad things with you...' /walks away, singing (Actually this song mihgt fit them... /faints)

You are brilliant writeranon! *huggles*

Captcha asked what colour is black butter... really... /facepalm

Anons, I know it's an old prompt but whenever I have time, I'll be on it.

I am just a tea addict myself, so I can only relate.

(Might also wander with an AU - on top of the normal fill, just to have Haytham freaking out at someone using teabags instead of proper loose leaves.)

I'll get back at you as soon as I can. (When real life will leave me alooooooooooone. /flails)

Goodness OP, I don't know, the way you phrased your prompt just makes me giggle like an absolute fool.

Well, we know Ezio cannot help himself. He's Italian - he does have a reputation... *still throws him in the canal, just to cool him down*

I second this!

Please someone fill this! (Connor is just too adorable, the sweetness might make my teeth rot, I care not!) *rolls on the floor in happiness*

OMG Anon, you broke my head!

This is just plain awesome!!!! I adore Connor's reaction... it's just... when he's clinging to Haytham... Oh my bad.

(Man, who would have guessed Charles would have such a booty? ... I didn't say that. TwT)

You have a great style, anon. *keeps staring*

Haytham, that was just MEAN!

Also, I had no idea what daisy dukes were... now I know... oh gods.

Writer!Anon, you made my day! Like, really!

Until now, I always thought of Erudito as Shaun being himself. Headcanon, that.

But right there, I just have to bow and call you Master. I did not expect it, at all, and it's just great. I am a sucker for Ezio being the awesome Grand Master he is.

It was well-written, also. No really, nothing to say aside from that fact that your fill is awesome! *glomps anon*

Seconded! omg OP, that's just... squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

This anon hope that OP will like it... I apologize if it was not exactly what you had in mind. I just had to run away with it.
It's a bit of an AU - all the assassins in one place at the same time, I wonder how Ragnarok has not started yet.

...

“So... this is how you trained your son? Congratulation on the sloppy job you did.”

“Coming from the one who certainly managed to have a certain master assassin go about an assassination so stealthily, I have to take it as a compliment.”

How did it come to this? How on earth did it come to this? Allah, why did you have to do that to him after all these years? Why? Altaïr only wanted one thing: to run away full pelt, out of the country and on another continent altogether. One glance at Connor told him that he was not alone in his plight.

“Do they really have to do it?”

Connor's voice was so low, Altaïr nearly missed what he said. “Do you want me to answer that?”

The look that was sent his way made him sigh. Well, the boy certainly did not hang around his father as much as he had to suffer through Malik's rants. “Alright. They both want to argue with someone. Since I never reply to his remarks, Malik found someone else to... train.”

“Train?”

“In snarkdom.” He would have shrugged. He really would have if both Malik AND Haytham were not glaring daggers at him. He was screwed.

“Novice, don't you have anything better to do?” Forget that, he was skewered! But again, Malik asked a question and he was worse than a bulldog... Better not to give him any reason to destroy anything.

“Not really.” Oh, he should find something, and fast. No way he was staying here.

“Good to see you also taught him about subtlety. Working wonders, as I can see.”

When Malik whirled to face Haytham, Altaïr suddenly felt fear. Like, actual fear. Malik does not take criticism well – no better than he does himself. If Haytham keeps that up, there'll be blood.

“Oh well, we can't all graduate in A-parenting.” There, right there. The dismissive gesture of the hand. No, Malik, don't be a twat, don't provoke the guy any further, don't!

Unbeknownst to Altaïr, Connor had gotten closer and now stood partly behind him. Pretty useless, the kid was taller than he was. Not that he was small but- Okay, back to the problem at hand.

“Connor, when I step forward, we get the door. If they block it, aim for the second window to the right.” He said it softly enough so that the two compulsive snarkers would not hear him. Hopefully.

“They look like they are up to something.” Oh, snap! Haytham, stop being perceptive, damn you!

“Probably going to slink off.” Malik took a look at Altaïr. Which made Altaïr understand that not only he'll get hell later, but also, that Malik knew. Things could not get worse.

“It has to be a habit of them, trying to evade the problems, looking all innocent and what not.”

“Haytham, that's the pot calling the kettle black. Something to do with an opera stunt, I'm sure you know which one.”
“At least I got away unnoticed. Unlike some.”

“What can I say? I was working with an arrogant fool. Whom you remind me of greatly, I might add.” That was the full-blown snark tone. People, fasten your seatbelts and forget the lifejacket, we're going to die!

“Malik-”

“I am not talking to you, novice. Now, unless you have something better to do elsewhere, I'll consider having you doing chores for the upcoming year.”

“Good idea. Connor, why don't you scram as well? Just so we can get some work done in here.”

“But dad, we're in the kitchen.”

“And?”

“You don't know how to cook.”

Altaïr noticeably sweatdropped at that. He didn't say that, did he? Oh, the murderous intent was there. The idiot, he had said it. They had to run. NOW!

Just when Altaïr thought they'd get butchered, the door slammed open. Maria Auditore swept in, the empress in her realm – which was actually the case. She had Federico and Ezio in tow, each loaded like mules with food. Oh right, market day it was. She paid them no attention, not until everything was set on the table in front of her.

“Signori, I suggest you find a way to occupy yourselves out of this kitchen. Lunch is not going to cook itself.” She stared at them with the imperious air of the Italian mother ready to transform anyone not listening into some ragù.

Haytham dipped his chin in ackowledgement and literally fled the kitchen. Who knew a woman would send him on his way? Malik greeted Maria and went away as well, but not before – silently – promising Altaïr the worst possible retribution ever.

“What did I do, again?” He muttered.

“Altaïr, Connor.” Glancing at Maria, Altaïr found that she was looking at them with the near-sympathetic air of a mother. A mother who understood them. “You can stay here, but I would need your help. We have to get started now.” Altaïr did not miss Ezio frantically signalling at them to refuse. After all, he knew how much of a tyrant his mother was in the kitchen. Still, it was better to do what Maria asks without having Malik and Haytham having one of their random snark battles.

“Anything.” Connor looked marginally better when he said so, Altaïr simply nodding.

“Good. So, I'd need one of you to chop the onions, and the other, if you could mince the meat. I think a ragù is in order.” The smile she gave them was enough to momentarily forget the snarkers in the other room. Much to Ezio's chagrin.

“Do they ever stop?” He asked Desmond, pointing at Malik and Haytham.

“Take a look at Altaïr and Connor, and take a wild guess.”
“Dio mio.” Ezio sunk back in his armchair, as though he wished it would swallow him whole.

“It's a default setting. Shaun is the exact same thing.” He froze. “He heard me?” When Ezio nodded, Desmond could feel Shaun staring at his neck. He was so dead...

I went with Altaïr and the sword polishing... I am also very sorry for Malik on this one. *huggles OP* I hope that you like it! Altaïr + subtlety = incompatible. Lame puns are lame.

..

Sandstorms in Jerusalem were not a joke. In all fairness, Altaïr despised them. No matter that his relationship with Malik has progressively mended, and that he no longer felt like the Dai was going to kill him if he just toed an invisible line. He still hated to be trapped in the bureau, knowing he could not get out.

“Altaïr, your pacing is going to make me want to claw your eyes out, very soon. Just clean your weapons or something but stop pacing.”

And stop, Altaïr did. He knew that Malik hated it when he roamed the bureau for no reason. He knew the Dai resented anyone who would disrupt the peace of the area. And so, Altaïr did the next best thing: he plopped down on a cushion, laid his weapons by his side and started to clean them all.

Malik was grateful that Altaïr stopped wandering like a caged animal. It was not that he was making any sound when he did but the constant movement distracted him to no end. He could have used this as a pretext to stop working, but there was no way around it and this map had to be finished the day after-tomorrow – and he just got started. Idiots who gave him outdated maps to work with. It made him want to scream.

After a while and some metaphorical hair-pulling, Malik looked at Altaïr. The assassin was so concentrated that he did not seem to notice, allowing Malik to stay like that, his elbow propped on the counter, chin on his palm. The figure of thoughtfulness, no matter that his thoughts were running about. He had to admit, the care with which Altaïr handled his blades bespoke his training, and his eye for detail. Malik had seen men who cared so little for their blades that their sword would be rust-bitten, slowly losing their brightness and instead, becoming the surest way to get infected wounds. Not Altaïr. The knives were carefully laid together in two neat, even rows, blades as good as knew. He had taken his hidden blade, dismantling the mechanism, to ease the cleaning. The way he handled the sharp blade, with gentle touches, made it look as though he were caressing it. A loving touch. First, swipe the blade and the attaches, to make sure no dried blood stayed to eventually cause the mechanism to snag. Long strokes, from the handle to the tip of the blade, as though to smooth the steel out. Dim light of the lamps reflecting on it, catching the eye. Unbeknownst to him, his mind came to a screeching halt, before his thoughts ran into a very different direction, causing his breath to catch.

How would these hands feel on his skin? Let's face it, the blade in Altaïr's hands was a dead giveaway and while Malik resented himself for these thoughts, he could not shake them away. The callused fingers, that he knew could be the lightest- he mentally shook himself. Maybe recalling a moment when Altaïr was the one taking care of his wounds was not a good idea after all. Lost in his thoughts, Malik missed the moment when Altaïr laid his hidden blade aside and started to work on his sword. This was a new one, Malik noticed. The blade slightly curved, making stabbing moves a bit less straightforward, designed for sweeping arches – to slice through joints and bones. And still, this careful, caressing touch that swept from the hilt, along the entire length of the sword. His breath caught again somewhere between his lungs and his throat. The intent expression of Altaïr, that of a man so engrossed in his task that he forgot the outside world. An oiled rag replacing the dried one, guarding the metal from water, and providing a temporary protection against the bite of the sand. The sword shone in the light, just as the hidden blade did. Malik tilted his head to the side – Altaïr was staring at something on the blade, possibly a nick. However, as soon as Malik shifted his weight to the right to get a better look, he froze with a hiss. He did not look down. He would not look down. Just as he was considering curling in on himself – or thanking this desk for shield him from view, Altaïr looked at him. Malik just wanted to die right now... Heat set his face aflame, and he hoped against hope that Altaïr would not notice. Because Altaïr was bound to see it. He brusquely tried to straighten himself – and nearly let out a noise that he was never supposed to make. Damned shelves. He's going to die...
Altaïr saw the discomfort on Malik's face, and he frowned. What now? He made too much noise or what not? However, when Malik moved, he suspected something else altogether. His frown vanished, replaced by the tiniest smile. He would not make fun of Malik. Not really. Instead, he stared pointedly at Malik, before look back his his sword. Back and forth. Back and forth.

“Novice, stop doing that!”

To anyone, Malik's voice was normal. To Altaïr, however, it was clear that the Dai was having a hard time to keep it all together. His smile widened.

“Whatever you mean, Dai?”

“Get out of here, you are a nuisance.”

Altaïr thought it would be best to comply. But not before making things even worse for Malik. After all, for once he had the upper hand. He'd be damned if he didn't take advantage of it.

“Sorry, Malik.” He gathered his weapons, keeping his sword in hand. When cast a last glance at it, he noticed Malik's gaze following. Oh, this was so much fun. Leaning across the counter, he added: “I didn't mean to rub it in.” And with that he was gone.

Malik was not sure if he should kill Altaïr now or wait. Probably later. He wanted to beat himself on the head. Really, Malik, whatever your mind is doing? Polishing a sword, can't you be a bit more subtle, damnit? He would have screamed. When he tried to shove from the counter on which he was leaning, he nearly doubled over. Heavy Dai coat or not, the pressure had sent a jolt across him. Damn this idiot novice.

In the courtyard, out of Malik's sight, Altaïr was grinning like a cat that just got the canary. Really, had he known that cleaning his blades would force a boner out of Malik... he'd have done it sooner. Ah, blackmail material, what would he do without it!

I just did not think about changing the subject bit. Sorry about that. /hides in a corner

Lol anon, you have the most interesting of dreams. :D Poor FW! Connor. He'd be so traumatized. ):

A/N: Finally part 22 of the First Word series. I actually haven't wrote an outline for this part, so no idea how many segments it will have; but it might be longer than the last installments.

Both Ronald and Mary had been hesitant when Connor had announced that he would be leaving for the frontier in the next few days. They were only mollified by Haytham's insistence, Doctor White's examination, and the knowledge that he would be heading to Valley Forge where his husband was. However, what he neglected to tell was the detour he planned to make along the way.

"You know none of the men Master Kenway had sent to apprehend Church and his son ever returned."

Connor glanced up from the pistol he was loading.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" an anxious Noah Binns asked him as he watched Connor rummage through his trunks. Pulling out items he had stored away and left un touched since his return to Boston all those months ago. "I know the Grandmaster was pressuring you to go on this trip. But if you don't feel ready for it, then you ought to say so. I'm certain your father would understand."

The Templar spy master was correct. If Connor decided at the last minute, that he was still unwell - still waking up in the middle of the night to check up on son that did not exist - to leave the manor, he knew that without a doubt, his father would to push. But it wasn't appeasing the Grandmaster that had motivated the Omega to leave his new home.

It was the hunt.

A very dangerous predator who had wounded him deeply was still out in the wild. Still a threat not only to the Order but to their country as well. According to the Grandmaster, the roots of Church's betrayal stretched back to even before he had poisoned the pregnant Omega.

Noah's spies had uncovered that he had been writing letters to correspondents within the British army. Giving away Patriots positions and traded secrets with the enemy, either out of misplaced loyalty for the Crown or to the currency they paid him with. Also, from what they had gotten out of Andre and Arnold, Church had been an ally, even if he had not have an active role at West Point.

Was that why that man sought Connor's death, as well as his and Charles child? Was it to punish him for the Omega's interference by ripping apart their family? Or was it out of revenge for the surgeon's wounded pride, that Connor had shown no interest in courting his equally disgusting son? Or for inadvertently turning the higher ranking Templars against him?

Connor did not care for the bastard's reasons.

He would see Church dead and at his own hands. Just like George Washington and those Slave traders who had destroyed the innocent child he had been. But his death would not be quick, the hunter vowed. Nor would he allow anyone else, not even his own father - whom he would be meeting up with him - take the deadly doctor's life.

The hunter's amber-brown eyes narrowed in determination as he laid out his weapons and gear upon the bed. "Thank you for your concern, but I have made up my mind."

Noah sighed but did not look at all surprised by the other Omega's response.

"Yeah, I should have known. I would advise you not to do anything reckless, but given this favor you just asked me..."

"Noah..."

The older Templar frowned at that warning tone and just huffed in exasperation. "Fine, I trust you know what you're doing. Just hope you don't have to deal with strangling two vipers instead of one."

Connor made a noncommittal grunt in response as he strapped on the newest weapons in his arsenal. Well, perhaps not "new" as he had been using a pair just like them for sometime. A few days before West Point, the lone Omega had encountered a blacksmith who fondly went by "Big Dave" who had - after Connor saved his life from a group of Redcoats - promised to repay him. But it was not money that the hunter had desired then.

His golden eyes admired the black vambrace worn on each of his arms. They were new and customized just for him. And without the symbol of the Assassin Brotherhood, their Order's ancient enemy, upon them.

"I still don't know why you had Mister Walston go through the trouble of making you a new set," Noah remarked as he watched Connor activate the hidden mechanism so he that he could admire the dark blades that not had a taste of blood yet. "What happened to you old pair?"

"That was the problem, Noah, they were never mine," he explained while testing the swivel of the hidden blades that became daggers with a mere flick of the wrist. "It's also high time, I returned them to their true owner."

Passerby anon here. I'll admit reading this story has given me a sort of bizarre dream where FW!Charles was singing (badly mind you) a lullaby to Connor while he was still unconcious and it was like a lullaby that his Connor used to sing to their son. And the lullaby was a song that Ziio used to sing to Connor when he was little.

lkwehflkwjaef these fanfics have consumed me.

-hides in corner-

FW!Writer-anon here, and OMG... I love the idea of Charles singing, and of course the reaction Connor would have. Also, it's good to know that there are more people out there who are suffering from fics taking over their dreams.

<3 this idea! :D You're really tempting me to incorporate it now...

Wow, the suspense! Must say, I am highly curious why Church actually went after Connor the way he did. Was it due to his son? Or another grudge he held all unknown?

And I love that he has his own hidden blades now. So awesome...

Is this ever going to be updated?:(

I want!!!!

FUCK I want this more than air

Short chapter this time. Sooo sleepy. zzz

Finding Connor

Chapter 20

It was the small things about the would-be corpse that Charles's counterpart insisted on bedding that turned him into someone real for Charles.

He was not truly, not at first. He simply laid in bed, eyes closed or vacant, and Charles would feel ill-at-ease looking upon him. The thought that this Connor was separated by his own Connor with only a single defining event...

Well, that was more frightening than Charles cared to admit.

This Connor, though, he was not real. He was an abstraction, an idea, and Charles was resolved to continue thinking of him in that way. Nothing good could come from his attachment to someone so wholly removed from his own world.

Except...

Except Charles would watch over Doctor White as he looked over this Connor every day and notice that the same little scar on his own wife was on this Connor as well. Looking at that little scar, Charles had to wonder if this Connor also slipped off a tree when he was very young and gained it then?

Then there was the way that he seemed to, well, relax on the grass. The first time they set him there, Charles could have sworn that he seemed to breathe a little easier. His color seemed better at least, though that may only be due to the warming rays of the sun.

Still, there was a connection to his Connor and the way he would glow whenever they made love on the lush grass of Charles's lawns. There was something about being next to greenery and plants that Connor took very well to and it seemed probable that this Connor shared that trait.

They were startling similar in some ways, despite the differences that spawned them.

And Charles was intrigued despite himself.

Who would this Connor be if he came out of this dying state? Would he be like Charles's Connor? Mischievous and playful? Proper and resourceful? Or would he be more like that blasted Assassin, being one of their ilk?

Charles wasn't sure it really mattered all that much. He meant to return home as soon as possible, and it would soon cease to matter to him, but it was an interesting thought. A way to pass his time besides working with Doctor White to bring cognizance back to this Connor.

As if on cue, the good doctor turned to him.

"He has those bruises again."

Charles blanched, then grimaced.

Not only was his counterpart apparently incapable of acting unselfishly, he was also unable to abstain from sex for any length of time.

God only knew how he led the continental army without taking his wife with him.

"It is preposterous that he continues this travesty. His wife is dying and all he can think of are his own lusts?"

Charles winced. It was a rather apt description of the situation, and he was uncomfortably aware of how the man would have been him had a single event been different in his own life.

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it when Doctor White glared at him.

"Don't you dare say anything to defend him. I have never met someone who was so undeserving, and to think that he won his ambitions..."

It was galling indeed, Charles supposed, for a man in Doctor White's position. However, as Charles's eyes slid to the pliant figure on the bed, Charles privately thought that his counterpart may not have gotten all he wanted.

Certainly, his wife was not the obedient creature he had hoped to make him.

Charles felt a sense of vicious satisfaction at that.

The man had not ceased his ridiculousness, even as he held those who would help him in contempt. True, neither Doctor White nor Charles himself offered that help for the other Charles's sake. Charles rather thought that the good doctor would like to poison the man.

But there was manners to be had, and it seemed that his counterpart was quite lacking in them.

Or perhaps, a thought came to him, his Connor had impressed them upon him.

Charles reflected back and griamced to himself. It was true that several of his associates had remarked on his improved manner after little Connor had been found, particularly after his visits with Spado and the others. It could just as easily be Master Kenway's return to his life, but Charles somehow suspected differently.

And it was...disconcerting. That were it not for his Connor, he might have become this creature he was beginning to detest.

"How such an insufferable man is said to be the first king of our fair land is beyond me. It is quite disgusting."

Charles glanced at the scowling Omega.

"Politics," he began slowly, "is rarely aboveboard. I am certain that there were many influential people who stood to gain from his popularity."

Doctor White snorted in distaste. His hands remained still and steady as he examined this world's Connor.

"And you," Doctor White began. "Are you of high position in your world?"

Charles smiled. He supposed one may call it that.

"It sufficed to meet my ambitions."

And really, he already had what he really wanted. A wonderful wife, a true partner in every sense, a little Alpha boy, good reputation amongst the army...

The smile slipped.

And it was all taken away.

Just as this world's Charles sought to throw all he had away. And only for the sake of banal lust.

Charles's fist shook.

That such a man still had his wife while he lost his...that such a man might be expecting a child from that wife while Charles had no access to his beautiful little boy...

That was not justice.

"You are completely right," he whispered. "That man doesn't deserve all he has."

But Charles would give it to him anyways. Because he wanted to return home to his little boy, to what he had left.

Yeah, Connor has gotten too used to the hidden blades, so naturally had to give him a set of his own. Yeah I'm sure Big Dave is no Leonardo, but he's had more than enough time to figure out how to construct one for Connor

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Re: Finding Connor 19

Finding Connor 20

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Re: Finding Connor 20

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Finding Connor 21

Re: One-shot: Blood and Snow 1/?