asscreedkinkmeme ([personal profile] asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-10-29 11:35 pm
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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
Fill Only


Join or Die

✩ 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!

List of Kinks
Kink Meme Masterlist
New Kink Meme Masterlist
(Livejorunal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
#2 (Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Fills Only
Discussion

Fill: Every hour God sends, the REAL part 3 :)

(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 05:46 pm (UTC)(link)
A/N: Oh my GOD thank you so much every one for your wonderful feedback, I feel so blessed! :) I am so happy you are all enjoying this, and so thrilled that I am not the only freak that has played every single asscreed game, including the facebook one, and who understands the ERUDITO references. As for posting this elsewhere, when I have more of it done and cleaned up (it's pretty raw as I am posting, I keep going back and cringing at misspellings, i.e. son instead of sun in the prologue. I will for sure put a link to this story when I have it up elsewhere :)

“He that will not work shall not eat.” – Captain John Smith

~ ~ ~

It is early evening when the Clan Mother summons them. She holds a wooden box in front of her, which Desmond knows contains an apple. Ezio appears to recognize the box as well, as his eyes widen just a fracture before he manages to school them into neutrality.

Three young women carry various food items and water jugs. Desmond can smell the stew from where he sits, and while he had never been a fan of game meat – he likes his burgers and fries, thank you very much – his mouth is already salivating. According to Ezio, he hasn't eaten for three days, and while he did not wake up hungry, the presence of the food has reminded his stomach that meal time is long past due.

“Sit. Eat. And then we will speak,” the Clan Mother speaks in heavily accented English. Desmond can get down with that, and by the rumble coming from Ezio's stomach, he is pretty sure that his companion agrees with this plan.

One of the women hands him a cup of water and a wooden bowl filled with stew. He places them down in front of him, accepts the wooden spoon and flatbread that is handed to him next, and without preamble, digs right in. The stew is thick with what seems to be pieces of venison, some root vegetables, and bits of squash. It is a little gamey, but warm and thick and filling. He dips the flatbread in the stew, and that is like the best thing ever.

Ezio makes no qualms about showing his appreciation for the meal either, as the Italian smacks his lips loudly with every bite, and proceeds to lick any dribbles off of his fingers. Desmond can only watch him eat for a moment, before his cheeks burn and he turns away. It shouldn't be erotic – he should most definitely not be having erotic thoughts about his own ancestor, so he tells his brain that he is just not having them. Period.

He lowers his head for good measure, and starts shoveling the stew in his mouth rapidly, just to be done with it. Ezio notices this and quirks an eyebrow at him, until he has Desmond's attention again. Then he smirks, and smacks his lips even louder, kissing the tips of his fingers and letting out an audible hum of appreciation.

“Delicious,” he says, and that's it, Desmond is going straight to hell and can't look back at the man for the rest of the meal.

Eventually, he is saved from his self-imposed pit of embarrassment and isolation by the Clan Mother clearing her throat. She opens the box, and the apple flickers very brightly for one brief moment before waning into a steady glow. Desmond tries to school his face into an expression of curiosity, but he is the only one who manages to do so. Ezio's eyes are cold and hard and completely focused on the apple.

“We have used this tool for many generations to speak with those who have lived on this land before. But their voices have gone quiet.”

She lifts the apple out of the box and holds it in front of Desmond.

“For generations, it has been our duty to protect the secrets of the cave of the ancestors. The cave is no more, but the cave has given us you. It seems to be the will of the spirits, then, that we offer our protection to you. There is power in this tool, for those who are able to wield it. Our Ratonhnhaké:ton was gifted with such an ability, but the spirits have already sent him on his journey. So perhaps this tool is meant for one of you.”

Desmond carefully takes the apple from her hand. The apple glows briefly, yet bright enough to make the early evening appear as if it were the middle of the day again, before fading entirely. Desmond nods, and hands the apple to Ezio, where it reacts similarly before winking out once again.

The Clan Mother nods in satisfaction, and motions for them to keep it.

“There is not much power left in this apple,” Ezio comments as he hands the apple back to Desmond. Desmond carefully tucks the apple in his hoodie pocket with the iphone, and zips it closed. The noise of the zipper generates some interest from Ezio, and Desmond makes a mental note to show him all his fun and futuristic gizmos when he gets an opportunity.

“You must use it wisely, and only at great need,” Ezio continues. “Perhaps we won't need to use it at all. That would be best.”

Considering how much trouble precursor technology has already landed them in, Desmond can only agree.

~ ~ ~

In the morning, after a breakfast of eggs and cornbread – Kana'tarokhón:we, according to Desmond's young friend – they are given some basic provisions by the Clan Mother and sent on their way. Knowing that they seek an audience with Ratonhnhaké:ton, she points them in the direction of the Davenport homestead, and instructs them to seek out the old man who shares their symbol. It will be a good two days journey by foot, she says.

They thank her, Desmond taking an extra moment to ruffle the hair of his young friend, and then the two of them are off. It is a beautiful country, one of which Ezio is most eager to explore, but they aren't out of the village for an hour before Desmond complains loudly about the state of his body and his clothing. Ezio cocks his head to the side; although sleeping in his clothes for three days has rumpled the cloth some, the strange jacket his companion is wearing is the whitest fabric Ezio has ever seen; it is certainly does not warrant a cleaning at this time. Nor does Desmond exude a particular strong odor, and he tells him so.

“You complain much my friend, but smell like roses. We have bigger concerns.”

This works well enough; the younger man lets out an odd sound, changes color again – he seems to do that a lot when Ezio speaks to him – then continues on foot, head down. Ezio smirks and follows, alert to the dangers of the forest.

When he hears a noise from the brush, a low growl, he grabs Desmond's arm and presses his finger against his lips when the man turns, the question on his lips immediately muted. The other assassin is instantly alert, and releases his hidden blade just moments before the strange cat is upon them. Desmond is quick to bury his hidden blade into its heart as it pounces, killing it instantly.

“Yuck,” Desmond says as he pushes the dead cat off of his blade. “Bobcat blood.” He carefully cleans his blade off in the grass the best he can before retracting it back into his sleeve.

Ezio pulls a dagger from his pouch and starts skinning the cat, much to the disgust of Desmond.

“Dude – what are you doing? We don't have to do that.”

“It can be traded for currency in this time, no? At least, that is what I gathered from the memories I received from you. I don't know how many opportunities we are going to have to rob any of the locals, I am fairly sure that my florins are not going to purchase either good wine or good women, and any currency you have on you is useless.”

“Whatever. I am not skinning cats, just saying. I am sure there is a patrol or two we can gank between here and Davenport. They have to have a few pounds on them, plus maybe some, I dunno, less conspicuous clothing?”

Ezio regards Desmond with a critical eye.

“Your manner of speech is crude and confusing, but you raise a good point. I imagine we must look very out of place to the people of this time. We shall have to remedy that before we make ourselves known to the assassin.”

“Yeah, about that, now that you mention it,” Desmond interjects, as Ezio carefully rolls the skin and ties it with some bits of twine given to them by the Clan Mother. “I'm not sure it's in our best interest to just approach him directly. I mean, c'mon, what are we gonna say? Hello, we're your relatives from the future and the past, and where here to make sure you make nice with your daddy, so we can save the future world from burning from massive space rays? I think we'd both end up with an arrow in our chest before we could shake his hand.”

Ezio nods thoughtfully.

“I have been giving that some consideration myself,” he says, securing the rolled up bobcat skin to his belt. He debates taking some of the meat to cook up later, but although he has lived off of the land before, he has never eaten any sort of cat and doesn't find it even remotely appetizing, especially when the land seems to be rife with plenty of deer and birds of prey. He decides to leave it.

“This Connor, he is creating a village, no?”

“Yeah... the Davenport homestead. He's pretty proud of it, actually.”

“And that is how we will present ourselves, then. We are two travelers seeking a place to call home. I am a minstrel by trade, but alas we were set upon by thieves, and my lute has gone missing. If he would but obtain another one for me, I would be most grateful, and provide my musical services to the people of Davenport.”

Desmond looks thoughtful for a moment.

“That... actually might work.”

Ezio grins brilliantly, claps his hand on Desmond's shoulder.

“See, my friend? No worries, as you say.”

They continue on for a few more moments until Desmond turns to Ezio again, a question in his eyes.

“What am I going to do in Davenport?”

Ezio grins, showing way too many teeth, and can see the wariness in Desmond's eyes as he backs away, frowning.

“Isn't it obvious? You will be my young, completely infatuated lover.”

Desmond chokes, pulls away, mumbles something about 'tending bar at the inn instead', and Ezio laughs heartily, feeling free and himself for the first time since landing in this strange and new country.

Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, part 3

(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 05:55 pm (UTC)(link)
OMG thank you so much for this awesome review, it gives me tingles... and made me go back and autoreplace Shawn with Shaun in my office copy (*blushes*). It's a damn simple name, why do they have to have three ways of spelling it? Shaun, Sean, Shawn... *sigh*

I am so glad you like Desmond; I am trying really hard to keep his POV modern and current; I don't want him losing who he is and where he comes from just because he is thrown back in an unfamiliar time. And I am also thrilled you picked up on the Erudito stuff -- actually, that anagram is on the asscreed wiki, which is what gave me the idea in the first place... that and the apple scene with Minerva in Asscreed 2. I mean, she asks for the apple, does some handwavery, and gives it back to Ezio as if nothing happened? What was that all about, ubisoft? Loose end, much? (good for fanfiction though).

Thank you so much for your review :)

Re: FILL 7/?

(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 06:13 pm (UTC)(link)
YES! Another speedy update! I love manipulative bastard Haytham. You have me on the edge of my seat here, and I'm scared for Connor and what Lee and Hickey plan on doing to him, but also anticipating more Haytham/Connor, and of course the discovery of their blood relation.

Re: FILL 7/?

(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 06:44 pm (UTC)(link)
I get the feeling a lot of what Haytham is telling Connor to undermine his faith in the Assassins is what Reginald Birch told teenie!Haytham.

I really love this fill. Four for you, author!anon ♥

Writer Anon sez:

(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 06:52 pm (UTC)(link)
I'm a EU PC gamer so it'll take a few days for me to get far enough in the game, but don't worry, I've got all sorts of ideas for this, and a base done :]

Will be WashCon.

gen, Aquila's crew and Haytham

(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 07:38 pm (UTC)(link)
The entire crew takes offense when Haytham keeps putting Connor down with his snide remarks. Cue the crew coming to Connor's defense and maybe making Haytham's stay on the ship a little more difficult than it needs to be.

Connor is really touched by this, though he tries to keep a straight face and ignores Haytham whenever his father complains about his "undisciplined" crew.

OP here!

(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 07:54 pm (UTC)(link)
Thank you for filling this! I absolutely love it! I could practically hear Haytham's voice with all of the snark he was throwing at poor Connor, I feel you pain bro cursive is a bitch to write.

Re: Jealous Haytham

(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 08:06 pm (UTC)(link)
OP here, I also wouldn't mind if Achilles notices and just does stuff to annoy Haytham.

Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, the REAL part 3 :)

(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 08:16 pm (UTC)(link)
oh this is

this is amazing and you're a fantastic writer! I'm loving all the details you throw in, and Ezio and Desmond's interactions (I can practically hear the going back and forth) and the hints you're dropping about possible future events.

keep up the wonderful work! I'll just be over here eagerly reading and re-reading all these chapters and cooing over them. :>

Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, the REAL part 3 :)

(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 09:43 pm (UTC)(link)
Anon, don't take this the wrong way, but I'm seriously considering starting a cult in your honor. This is *good*. Very, very good. Ezio and Desmond are just - so much the Odd Couple at the moment, and it's great! I think they're both slightly in shock - being deposited in an unfamiliar time, meeting their ancestor/descendant, but it's great to see them tentatively starting to get to know one another.

Though I'm curious - how much does Animus training hold up in real-world applications? Will Ezio ever test out Desmond's skill level with a spar or something?

Just thinking about the casual irrelvance those two display - Poor Haytham. There's going to be a battle of the snark/casual trolling, isn't there? Though Desmond might have an advantage, he has been dealing with Shaun non-stop recently, and fandom has given Shaun the title of King of Snark... Sorry, just playing around with ideas!

Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, the REAL part 3 :)

(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 10:42 pm (UTC)(link)
personally, i think desmond is pretty bad ass by the end of asscreed 3. But, yeah, there will be some adjustments, I think, for both of them. Desmond's fighting style is a bit different then Ezio's, and has all the knowledge that Ezio does, but less practical application and muscle memory. I can't wait to put in some action scenes :)

Fill: A Dose of Seawater 1/1

(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 11:24 pm (UTC)(link)
Haytham Kenway was a man of great skill, tactic, and qlogic, and Connor begrudgingly respected him for that. However the man was infuriatingly critical, meddling in things he shouldn't, and believing that he knew best, on all subjects (whether he'd been educated on them or not), due to his superior age over Connor. So far, this had been true - and he'd tried his best to deflect the sass thrown his way. Connor had a thick skin. Words didn't mean much to him (after all, if verbal agreements and promises weren't good enough for the men trying to take his people's land, claiming that they did not own the proper deeds, then Connor would not make the same mistake that they had and took all promises with liberal skepticism).

Somehow, the presence of his father turned all of that on his head. Nothing was good enough for this man. Nothing. Even if he'd grown up under Haytham's thumb and become a Templar, even then he wouldn't have been good enough. Everything about Connor - his posture, fighting, climbing, eavesdropping, disguises, philosophy on life - displeased Haytham in some minute, irrelevant detail or another. Already he'd been smacked across the chest to correct his posture, told off for his legwork, sneered at for his speed while scaling a church, and had an hour long lecture on why the city was a better place to live than his comfortable homestead on the frontier. Connor had knocked out guards, pickpocketed keys, fetched boxes, delivered messages, and generally run around in circles until he couldn't run any longer and it was all for his unappreciative father.

Despite all of this, Connor still wanted to impress the man with something. Haytham was his father after all. There was a stupid sense of eagerness in him to please Haytham - sense that he could neither ignore nor explain. When the opportunity arose to take the Aquila to sea, it thrilled him - finally he could prove that he was better than Haytham in one skill area. As far as Connor knew, Haytham couldn't sail.

The day started well enough. With Mr Faulkner on watch, all of their supplies had been securely stowed away in the hold, fresh biscuits, chickens, rum, and water being welcomed by the crew most readily. Lime juice had also been added to their inventory, to ward off scurvy. Her pretty white sails were sheeted home smoothly, the royals set, and they were coming along at a beautiful pace. The wind was constant, the men were content after a few weeks on land, and the Aquila's hull had been scraped of debris, cutting her line smoothly through the ocean. Connor gave the wheel a loving pat as he took it from Faulkner.

"Rocks ahead!" called one of his men and the stampeding of feet signalled that the crew were ready to adjust their speed accordingly.

"Shouldn't someone with more experience take the wheel?"

Connor did his best not to let his shoulders sloop. Of course this wouldn't be any different.

"I am the captain," he said, "and Mr Faulkner will not fail us in spotting foul weather."

"Yes, well, you are the Master and Commander, not Captain. You know they only call you 'captain' because it's easier?" asked Haytham.

Yes, undermine my authority in front of the men. Excellent way for their discipline to waver when Connor needed it the most. Faulkner shot Connor a look - should we put him below deck - but Connor shook his head. They needed Haytham to identify their targets.

"I am aware," replied Connor.

"After the taking of several Loyalist prizes last month, the captain has been recognised for his efforts," said Faulkner idly. "The Admiral has been watching our boy here for some time."

"Oh, so you are a real captain, then. You have your letter of appointment, I suppose."

"Not yet," mumbled Connor.

It was true. The Admiral hadn't made his decision yet, dallying over the details. The prats had taken their share of the prize, of course, but it still wasn't enough apparently. The refitting to the Aquila to make her seaworthy again had been expensive, putting Connor into a debt that he'd only finished paying off as they were leaving with Haytham. Besides, Connor knew what the Admiralty thought of his skin. If he'd been born a white man, then he would already have been made captain, possibly even post-captain. The Aquila would have been better attended to, the men could have the better wage he wanted them to have, for putting up with the ludicrous amount of impossible situations the Aquila seemed to attract.

All in all, as Haytham had noted, Connor was only a master and commander, and he didn't see that changing any time soon.

"Well, I sincerely hope you don't beach us on that sandbar or wreck us on those rocks," mused Haytham, leaning on the bridge's rail.

"Do you really have so little faith in my skills?"

Haytham seemed surprised that Connor would ask such a thing, eyebrow raised, "Why yes. Naturally. You've not been sailing for long."

"I didn't want an answer," snapped Connor.

"Then don't ask questions."

He pulled his temper back. Haytham made it so easy to lose focus. At this rate, they would beach, proving Haytham right. Git.

"Half-sail, get the foremast closed, she's pressing on her forepeak, men," Connor hollered down the deck. "Raise the mizzen sails if you have to."

The Aquila tossed her head, picking up speed as the problem was resolved. As they sailed together, the crew were discovering and taming the Aquila's quirks, increasing their ability to move as a single, efficient unit. Connor was proud of their progress, proud of their willingness to accept and correct his mistakes. They, at least, offered constructive remarks with their critique. Watching them nobody would have realised their captain hadn't even known which mast was which mere years ago. Now he was a point of adoration to the crew - they'd help him grow from lubber to skilled sailor, offering corrections when needed and praise for landmark achievements.

Connor didn't realise, but his men thought the world of him. A little mad, slightly eccentric, but courageous, eager to learn, and never made them do something he wouldn't. That included cleaning out the toilet seats, even if it weren't regular for a captain to do so.

Now, if he could focus on getting through these rocks, it would be open sea from there. Taking it slowly would be appropriate given the circumstances.

"Ship sighted, starboard!" called Midshipman Jones, a bright young man with eyes bluer than the Caribbean sea herself - eyes that were in perfect condition and could spot a scrap of sail against cloud from miles away.

Beside him, Haytham eagerly plucked the glass from Connor's hip and turned the lens towards the other ship. Connor sighed. There would be no slow navigations today.

"That's the Welcome," confirmed Haytham. "Sneak up on her. If it is in your arsenal, of course."

Suppressing a growl, Connor snatched his glass back, pressing it to his eye. The Welcome didn't have any movement aboard her but that didn't mean it was abandoned. As they rounded the head, Connor discovered the anchors were down and the sails furled. It was abandoned, unless Church wished to engage them in a gunfight in which he'd not be able to move. Birds had settled to roost on the rigging though, and birds were naturally skittish creatures and not prone to hanging around humans.

"He's changed ships," announced Connor. "

Slow sailing through the rocks it was.

"Ah, if you had've taken the route I suggested, Connor, then he wouldn't have had the chance to do that," said Haytham, pulling an unamused and tired face, as if Connor could control Church's doings.

"The route you suggested is full of British and Templar ships, not to mention the winds are erratic, only giving advantage on certain days - Mr Faulkner did not indicate we would have such luck and it was our misfortune that the Welcome did," said Connor, voice close to ice.

"I am pointing out an observation, child. Besides, I know the flag signals and codes of my allies, meaning with a lick of paint over it's name - in fact, it needs pairing all over if you ask me - we could have slipped past as a third-rate sloop or corvette or another boat that I don't know the name of," Haytham replied.

"The Aquila is a ship and no, we couldn't have slipped by, our figurehead is too distinctive and we already have a reputation. Changing her name would have done nothing," snapped Connor, his volume rising with his agitation.

"Remove the figurehead then," hissed Haytham. "Lower your voice."

Around them, the crew looked horrified by the suggestion.

"No, I will not lower my voice. Who are you, to suggest we ally ourselves, to play the bleeding heart over my mother's death, then to come onto my lady of the sea, complain about my crew, my steering, my ability as captain, and question every single thing I do? I thought that I could impress you, on some level, that your son had learned and achieved so much, but no, I will not ever live up to your standards, you slimy -"

"Second ship spotted, sir, making a run for the open," interrupted Jones. "Thought you ought to know."

Connor glared at Haytham - their conversation would be finished later. The midshipman looked sheepish and pointed out the fleeing ship.

Fast rocks it was. The Aquila spread her sail, trying to catch up with the smaller, faster ship, Church clearly involved. Church was firing at them but the shots were neither clean nor accurate, his disadvantage being in exposing his rudder to Connor.

"Take out their steering, men, and make hopes that they will be dashed to pieces upon the rocks," he called.

He narrowly avoided a rock himself, twirling the Aquila around it, the sails and rigging being constantly adjusted to push her past her limits and add extra manoeuvrability. They were keeping good pace with the other ship, firing upon it with their swivels, but until they could hit it with a broadside - a broadside that Connor couldn't line up in this environment - the ship would remain stubbornly speedy and ahead of them.

"But really, who let a boy with so little experience have his own ship?" murmured Haytham.

The Aquila scraped a rock, Connor's concentration lost. His grip on the wheel tightened.

"That's definitely Church, then?" he asked calmly.

"Yes, wh-"

Haytham's inquiry was never finished, his face suddenly having a fist planted in it. While he was still reeling from the broken nose he now sported, Connor grabbed him by his collar and dragged him over to the railing, pushing him against it until Haytham was close to toppling into the ocean.

"Insult me one more time and I will dump you in this ocean. It looks warm, and it is - "

Haytham moved his hands towards Connor's, but Connor shook him to recapture his attention.

" - it is beautifully warm. That is if it's summer."

"You wouldn't dare," said Haytham smugly. "You're too afraid of -"

There was a large splash as his father was flipped over the edge of the Aquila. Connor watched the bubbles burst on the surface for a few moments, waiting for his father to re-emerge. When the Templar did, sans hat (which had conveniently fallen off as Haytham had fallen and was currently clutched in Connor's hand), there was a foul look on his face and he quickly clung to the side of the ship, not wanting to be left behind. Connor threw a rope down to him and watched in amusement as his father hauled himself, heavy wool cloak, weapons, and all, onto the bridge. Haytham rolled onto his back with a wet splat, water dripping onto the deck, panting from the slight chill to the water and exertion from the swim and climb. 

"What do you have to say for yourself?" asked Connor, leaning over him.

"You're a child," said Haytham. "But I am proud you inherited my strength. That was impressive, throwing me over. I could see the punch coming."

"Did you now?" said Connor sarcastically. "Who'd have thought."

"Of course. Anyone could read your emotions."

Blood had started to drip from Haytham's nose. Connor frowned.

"Go see the surgeon before we get into a bigger fight. He'll set your nose for you. And take off your cloak - it isn't impressing anyone."

"Yes, sir," replied Haytham a slight mocking to his tone.

He made his way below deck, back still ramrod straight even as he sneezed and continued to drip water, damned cloak still on. But at least he stopped making remarks about the Aquila and her crew. Taking the wheel again, Connor stared at his father's retreating form. Some people never changed, their pride too strong to swallow.

At least they'd had some time together.

Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, the REAL part 3 :)

(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 11:42 pm (UTC)(link)
OMG ANON AUTHOR - I'VE BEEN WAITING TO GET BACK HOME JUST SO I COULD RAVE ALL OVER AGAIN AT YOUR SHEER BRILLIANCE.
And you mentioned that you are posting /raw/? That blows my mind - you're barely editing and yet we lucky readers get to have these gems so quickly in such large amounts! I couldn't even tell that you were posting all of this raw - I did spot some few spelling errors but those were NOTHING to your storytelling!
Speaking of storytelling, I've been seeing it since the first chapter, but now I'm done. I'm sorry Shaun/Desmond - I've been in your ship long and hard and it looks like I got converted to Ezio/Desmond unintentionally. NO REGRETS (jumps off a cliff).
(YES MAGNIFICENT WRITER. YOU HAVE MANAGED TO CONVERT ME WITHOUT EVEN TRYING. Maybe we should go with what above anon propose and /do/ make a cult for you)
Okay. Time to actually make a legit review XD
I just love how you give Desmond's voice - he makes cute cheeky comments of the objects he used to have large access to (now that he's in the 1700s, he might as well be the first to invent a hamburger omg) and complains that he didn't take a shower for three days (which I'm sure all of us would). His speech, like Ezio described, is crude but modern society's colloquial, which is why I don't feel any discomfort at all from your take on Desmond. He's just so Desmond! And Ezio's speech is as charming and eloquent as he is back in the games. And flirtatious - Ezio, I don't know about table manners back then but I think the message of kissing fingers and smirking at another person while eating is the same for everywhere, any time period XD
Still loving the small details like describing the stew our two assassins are eating and their conversations on how to deal with the Kenways. Although I like me some ConHayth myself, I understand if Author!Anon cannot fit it in the story. Hell like I said before - there could be absolutely NO SMUT AT ALL and I'm still happy.
What you're writing is pure gold and magic and I am so damn happy that you're giving us this wonderful story!

Re: gen, Aquila's crew and Haytham

(Anonymous) 2012-11-28 12:05 am (UTC)(link)
Uhm, it's not exactly what you're after, but I just filled something similar over here --> http://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1795.html?thread=8799235#cmt8799235

Maybe it'll keep you sated until a real fill comes along?

Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, the REAL part 3 :)

(Anonymous) 2012-11-28 12:07 am (UTC)(link)
Hi writer anon, it's me again. You know, one of your adoring fans that is complete heads-over-heel's for your fic because everything is beautiful and nothing hurts :DDDDD Can I ask you to marry me? Because this is how I want everyone to be interacting with one another to be like if Asscreed ever makes them meet each other.

Oh god, I can't wait to see Achilles reaction to Ezio and Desmond, since he probably seen a picture of Ezio somewhere. :DDDDDDD And the Davenport residents, yes!!! Hopefully we'll see the Assassin recruits later on :DDD

Re: Fill: A Dose of Seawater 1/1

(Anonymous) 2012-11-28 12:10 am (UTC)(link)
Oh c'mon, Haytham, you saw nothing coming! Jerk!

This was amazing, oh my gosh! Connor's adoring crew, the awkward interruptions, Connor trying so hard to maintain his cool! Great job, anon!!

Re: Fill: A Dose of Seawater 1/1

(Anonymous) 2012-11-28 12:28 am (UTC)(link)
I love you writer!anon, you have a gift because everyone was perfectly in character and I loved the whole father-son interaction, especially Haytham getting punched overboard.

Re: Fill: A Dose of Seawater 1/1

(Anonymous) 2012-11-28 12:42 am (UTC)(link)
Connor didn't realise, but his men thought the world of him.

Awww... I always believed Connor's crew adored him.

FILL 8/?

(Anonymous) 2012-11-28 12:47 am (UTC)(link)
So things are finally happening! I should probably mention that my headcanon is that Connor is vaguely asexual, and doesn't have a lot of interest or experience in relationships, especially not physical ones. Thank you so much for your lovely comments! You really make me feel special, guys. :3


Connor feels sick as Haytham walks away, He doesn't want to think about what he said, much less agree with it. He doesn't want to remember how harsh and cruel the world is. He doesn't want to think about how small and insignificant each life is. He doesn't want to think of people as numbers.

So he forces himself to turn his thoughts toward Haytham himself. He's fairly certain the man is interested in him as more than just 'an interesting fellow', and he's unsure as to how he feels about that. How he's supposed to feel about that. He knows that most Colonists would spit on the ground and snarl that those kinds of desires are disgusting and wrong, but his kind would have treated that sort of affection the same as between any man and woman. Most tribes considered it holy, really.

Connor thinks long and hard, as he goes back to his room and curls up in his bed, waiting for sleep to take him again. It's nice, he decides eventually. The girls in his village never really seemed interested in him, giggling amongst themselves, both him and they far too young for romance. While he'd matured under the watchful eye of Achilles, he'd not had a chance to court anybody, and the interest people have shown in him is mostly amusement that a savage can act so civilised. This is different. Flattering, really. Even if it is a little awkward, because in his head he keeps accidentally calling him 'father' still.

The last thought that flits through his mind as he drifts off to sleep is that he can certainly appreciate Haytham's interest. He's a handsome man, if perhaps a little old, and he seems genuinely nice. He's not sure which of them is misguided.

...

He wakes up at nine, disorientated. He can't recall if his conversation with Haytham was real or imagined. Perhaps he'll try to speak with him later.

He gets up, combs his hair and straightens his clothes. He eats the cold porridge left on his table. It tastes like wet paper, but he's hungry. There are no envelopes this time.

He's not sure what he's going to do. He doesn't like being cooped up indoors. He glances around his room. He doesn't want to explore the house right now. The servants are unsettling and the Templar inner circle are almost certainly skulking around somewhere. He's not in the right mood for reading. He has too many thoughts, too many feelings. Perhaps...

His eyes fall on the desk. Perhaps he'll write. Write all these thoughts out of his head and onto paper. Put them in a drawer or burn them. It'll pass a few hours, at any rate.

He hasn't got anything better to do, so he moves across the room and picks up a quill.

Achilles, he writes. I have missed you very much the last few days. I find myself in a dangerous situation. I was careless and was captured by Templars, though I am sure you know this by now. I do not know where I am being held, only that it is in the Colonies.

He pauses.

Grand Master Kenway has promised that I am safe, so long as I make an effort to understand what it is the Templar Order want. I agreed, as the alternative was death. I hope you understand. I want to return home as soon as I can. I miss our long talks, and the silly little errands you always send me on.

Does that make any sense? It doesn't matter really, he decides. After all, Achilles will never read this.

From what Haytham has told me, the Templar's goals seem noble, though I am unsettled by the ruthlessness of their behaviour. Admittedly, you did not teach me much about showing kindness to my enemies, and the Grand Master has taken it upon himself to bridge that gap in my training. He is a good teacher, and

Connor pauses again. How can he say what's been happening without actually saying it?

he is affectionate. I appreciate his interest in me, though I wish it could be under different
circumstances.


That sounds all right. Achilles still thinks Haytham is related to Connor, after all.

I worry a lot for you and the Brotherhood. I am anxious for the recruits. I am afraid that the Templars will find you and kill you, that I will give something important away without realising it. I worry about my revolutionary friends, whether they are safe or not. I can do little but ponder all the ways everything I hold dear can be taken away from me. You are the closest thing to a father I have.

I hope this finds you in better conditions than I.

Yours,

Connor


He writes the date at the top and signs his letter with a flourish, and wonders what to do with it now. Certainly, writing it was therapeutic. He feels better now. The bottom drawer contains spare quills, ink, envelopes, wax and paper, and the others are empty. He folds it and tucks it into the middle drawer, and glances at the clock. Less than half an hour. Damn!

Connor sighs and leans back in his chair. It might be a good idea to try to find Haytham. He wants to know more about the Templars and their history in this land. The best place to look is probably his study.

...

He manages to find his way to the study without consulting a servant. He taps on the door hesitantly.

"Yes?" Haytham's voice calls from within.

"It's Connor," he replies. "I'd like to speak with you."

"Come in!" Haytham calls back, sounding delighted. He opens the door and steps inside. Haytham gestures for Connor to sit down, and Connor does.

"What brings you here?" Haytham asks. "Do you need anything?"

"I just wanted to talk," Connor says. "Our conversation earlier... ended on a bad note."

"That it did," Haytham says. "Are you here for an apology, then?"

"No," he replies. "I wanted to know more about the history of our organisations in this land."

"I..." Haytham doesn't seem to know what to say. "Where would you like me to begin?"

"With yourself," Connor says, after a moment's hesitation. "You are a rather interesting fellow, after all."

Haytham is silent for a moment, and his mouth twitches slightly, a small smile.

"Very well. I came here after taking a precursor artifact from a target in Covent Garden. The United Kingdom Grand Master, a man named Reginald Birch, and also my mentor, believed there to be a precursor storehouse in the Boston area of the Colonies."

"What's a precursor?"

"This may be hard to believe. Before our civilisation, our history, there was a previous civilisation. The Ones Who Came Before. Throughout history, they have shown themselves to various people, mostly Assassins. They left behind relics with special powers, such highly advanced science that it is indistinguishable from magic. The most well-known is the Apple, a golden sphere capable of mind control, creating illusions so real you can touch them. There are several of them, though I have only ever seen one once, from a distance, when I was younger."

Connor wonders if perhaps the sacred artifact of his village, the one that showed him the image of the woman with the crown-veil, was one of these Apples. He does not want to ask.

"So this storehouse would contain many of these artifacts?" He leans forward, studying Haytham carefully. The older man is wiping ink from a quill.

"Precisely. After a lot of trouble, I gathered my most trusted men- you've met them already- and journeyed to a Native holy place. I was disappointed. My artifact was supposed to be a key, but it did not open anything. I decided to fulfil my secondary goal, and build an Order here."

"Was there already a Brotherhood?" Connor asks. He knows the answer, but he wants confirmation.

"Yes, there was." Haytham is quiet. He puts the quill and rag down, steeples his fingers and meets Connor's gaze. "You know the rest of the story."

"And now I am near enough the only Assassin."

"Yes, you are."

Suddenly Connor doesn't feel safe any more. The way Haytham is looking at him is almost like a predator. Haytham rises from his chair and walks towards him, his footsteps nearly silent. Connor gets up with rather less grace.

"I should go," he says. He has no weapons. He may be stronger, but Haytham has more experience. He has no doubt Haytham could kill him if he wanted.

"No," Haytham says, so softly the sound barely breaks the silence. He's too close, much too close, and Connor slowly backs away until his shoulders hit a book case. Haytham follows, all but physically pressing him into the shelves. He puts one hand next to Connor's head and leans in suddenly, hesitating at the very last moment.

Connor forgets how to breathe for a moment. They are almost touching. Haytham's mouth is so close to his own, he can feel hot breath against his lips.

"I... I apologise," Haytham mutters, pulling away, facing the other direction. "I don't know what came over me."

Connor's brain goes into overdrive. He has no idea what just happened, except that he's somewhat disappointed it didn't happen.

"Wait," his mouth says, without any input from his brain.

Haytham looks over his shoulder, suspiciously.

"I... I might have enjoyed that," he finishes, lamely. Haytham's brow furrows in confusion

"You...?"

"Might..." Connor tries to repeat himself, but he can't. It sounds so stupid. "I might have... I mean, I think I would have..."

Haytham makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a moan. Then there's a brief flurry of movement and suddenly there's a mouth over his own and it feels really good. He's being pressed right into the shelves, and he doesn't mind that it's uncomfortable, because this new thing that's happening is amazing. Connor has no experience in this, so he passively lets a tongue worm into his mouth, and he lifts his hands to the arms that are now on each side of his neck, supporting Haytham's weight. He runs one down to where he thinks Haytham's hips are, and the other up to Haytham's jaw and gasps for breath when Haytham finally breaks the kiss.

"Did you?" he asks, running a hand over his lips to catch any stray strands of saliva.

It takes a moment before Connor can think again.

"Yes," he says.

fill anon just noticed a typo

(Anonymous) 2012-11-28 12:50 am (UTC)(link)
OH SHIT

"Did you?" he asks, running a hand over his lips to catch any stray strands of saliva.

should read

"Did you?" Haytham asks, running a hand over his lips to catch any stray strands of saliva.

ugh it's ten to one am and i am so going to bed

Re: Fill: A Dose of Seawater 1/1

(Anonymous) 2012-11-28 01:00 am (UTC)(link)
Writer!Anon, you make OP so very happy in the pants. Thank you, mysterious Anon.

Thank you.

Re: fill anon just noticed a typo

(Anonymous) 2012-11-28 01:01 am (UTC)(link)
UGH SUCH A COCKTEASE oh I am enjoying every bit of this fill, you're wonderful fill anon!

Re: FILL 8/?

(Anonymous) 2012-11-28 01:17 am (UTC)(link)
I will love you forever for writing this! Not expecting Haytham to have told Connor so much, but Connor probably knew all of this already having had Haytham's journals, talking with Achilies, and even his conversation with assassin recruit Duncan Little (the little boy from the Opera House). But the end... hrrrg so many feels. I actually wonder, is Haytham actually attracted to Connor at all (I mean who wouldn't be)?

Also, from your physical descriptions of his light skin color and the fact that he stood out among the other children of his clan and easily recognized as half-caste, are you describing Connor from the RISE trailer rather than the video game? Just curious

Anyway, thanks for another wonderful and speedy update!

Re: FILL 8/?

(Anonymous) 2012-11-28 01:30 am (UTC)(link)
I know in the game Connor's skin doesn't look much lighter than the other Native American characters, but Ziio speaks for about a minute at the start of sequence 4 about how different her son looked, and when he's a child he looks a bit pale. So I think it's not very noticable to colonists, but Connor would think it obvious. Like someone might have a bit of a complex about their 'really tall' figure, when they're actually only an inch or so taller than those around them, and most people wouldn't pay it much attention. Does that make any sense? Sorry if it doesn't... I'll try to explain better in the morning. :S

I'm really glad you like my writing so much! All your lovely comments and observations make me all warm and fuzzy inside! :3

Re: FILL 8/?

(Anonymous) 2012-11-28 01:38 am (UTC)(link)
No worries, I completely understand. I'm actually still in love with Ubisoft's early trailer versions of Connor a little more than their final edit of him.