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asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-10-29 11:35 pm
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
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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.
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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
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Discussion
Fill 2: Versipellis 2/4
(Anonymous) 2013-03-20 06:28 pm (UTC)(link)Just some extra stuff. This image is what I based Connor's wolf form on: http://www.barnorama.com/wp-content/images/2011/04/B1203/35.jpg. This is the one I used for Haytham:http://www.daveshumway.com/data/photos/46_1_MG_1161GreyWolf.jpg.
Haytham had forgotten how much he had enjoyed the frontier. He shook his body, dislodging some snow that had built up on his grey coat. A rabbit hung from his jaws as he jumped over snow drifts, heading to the cave cum den he had left the boy in. It was different from the cities, where the snow often turned to a muddy slush before anyone could admire its beauty.
The small fire he had left going in the cave was still lit. His son snuffled and snuggled deeper into his white robes. Haytham rolled his eyes and shifted, his coat once again falling across his shoulders. If there was one thing he was going to teach the boy, it was going to be how to shift with his clothes. It was less likely to get him thrown in the stocks for public indecency.
His son cracked open a tawny eye and shut it. A paw covered his muzzle, and Haytham almost laughed at the sign of dismay. He put the rabbit to roasting and went over to him, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck. The pup yelped and twisted, trying to bite him.
“Now, now, none of that,” Haytham said, swatting him on the nose. The pup managed to look offended, still squirming. Haytham rolled his eyes and poked the boy on his haunch, right next to where he had sewn up a nasty gash. His son squeaked, his jaws snapping slightly as the pain registered. “You’re being rather rude, boy.”
Haytham sat the boy down on the white robes again and rotated the rabbit, making sure that it was well-cooked. While raw meat wouldn’t harm either of them, he preferred cooked meat. From the way the boy’s nose was twitching, he did as well.
“Are you going to shift back?” Haytham asked, taking the rabbit off his makeshift spit. The boy cocked his head to the side, obviously confused by the question. “Human, boy. Unless you prefer to eat in that form?”
The boy squeaked, his fur standing on edge. If he had been older, Haytham might have felt a little threatened. But his son merely toddled over and sat in front of him, his head hanging low. Haytham sighed and picked him up, stopping his squirming with another pat on his muzzle.
“You don’t know how to voluntarily shift?” he asked as he tore a strip of meat off the rabbit. He held it out in front of the boy, who snapped it up eagerly. “I would have thought that your mentor would have at least taught you that much.”
The boy growled, turning to glare at Haytham. Haytham scratched him behind his ears and smirked.
“I am not a fool, boy,” he said. “There was only one assassin left alive. The old man must be training you. Poorly, if he doesn’t even know the basics of caring for one of us.”
Without warning, the boy’s hackles were raised, and he launched himself out of Haytham’s grasp. He let out a coughing bark as he landed, falling on the dirt as his back legs gave out under him. Haytham watched as he dragged himself back to the pile of his robes and tucked himself into a ball. Setting the rest of the rabbit to the side, Haytham began to move towards the boy. His son growled and showed his teeth, to which he rolled his eyes.
The wolf came to the forefront easily, covering him with fur and dropping him on all fours. Haytham shook his head at the sensation, and focused on the boy again. His son had backed up in his little nest, his back arching slightly and his teeth bared in fear instead of anger. Haytham chuffed a short bark, one meant to order another wolf to come closer. The boy, still afraid, cocked his ears forward at the sound, but made no move towards him. Haytham repeated the sound, adding a growl for emphasis. His wolf snarled in his mind as the boy continued to stay where he was.
Haytham walked over, ignoring the pitiful growl the boy gave him. He grabbed his scruff in his jaw and took him back to where they had been sitting. Arranging the boy so that he couldn’t escape again, Haytham tore another piece of meat and held it out to him. His son squirmed for a few moments, trying to escape, before he stilled and took the food.
Their meal continued in silence as they picked the rabbit down to its bones. Haytham still felt hungry, but there hadn’t been any large animals around. He put the thought in the back of his mind as he examined his son. He looked young, which made Haytham worried. A young pup should have someone looking out for them, teaching them to hunt and play. From the reports he had heard from the Order the boy moved like an adult as he stalked the streets of Boston. Yet he looked like a young pup, similar to what Haytham had shifted to when he was nine years old.
The boy yawned, his eyes fluttering shut. Even though his human senses were telling him that Haytham was an enemy, his wolf recognized Haytham as his father. He snuggled into Haytham’s side and closed his eyes, falling into sleep. Haytham curled himself around his son, keeping him warm. He would have to ask the boy’s name, once he shifted back. It was rather annoying to refer to him as boy all the time.
Morning came too quickly, the faint light streaming into the cave. Haytham moved carefully so not to jar his son from sleep, and shifted back to human form. As he did so, he noticed the boy do the same. Haytham froze, but the boy did not rouse from his sleep. Haytham rolled his eyes and took off his cape, spreading it over his son. He poked at the dying fire, adding some sticks to the feeble flames, before grabbing the boy’s robes. Using the same needle that closed his son’s wounds, he began to sew up the holes in the robes. He was so wrapped up in repairing the outfit, that he did not notice the boy wake.
“Why are you doing this?”
Haytham looked up in surprise before turning back to his work. “You’re untrained, and I would rather not have to put you down like a rabid dog. As for this,” he said, holding up the robes, “it seemed rather practical. You do need to wear clothes, after all.”
“We are enemies.”
“You are my son,” Haytham said, ending the argument before it could begin. “I’ve known since you first set foot in Boston. While you may have different beliefs, it is rather hard to refer to you as an enemy at this point. You are nothing more than an annoyance to us.”
“Then why am I here? Why did you not kill me?”
“I have no reason to,” Haytham answered, tying off and cutting the thread. “You’re barely more than a pup, yet to learn his place in the world.”
He heard rather than saw the boy start at the words. Looking up, he saw his son almost curled in half under his cape.
“I am a monster.”
Haytham snarled, shifting with barely a thought. The robes dropped under his paws as he stalked over to the boy. His son began to crawl backwards, but stopped when Haytham let out a warning growl. Haytham could see the whites of his eyes as he padded closer and jumped to put his front paws on the boy’s shoulders. Almost immediately the boy shifted back to a pup, Haytham’s cape dropping to the floor. He grabbed his son before he could make a break for it, dragging him back to where Haytham had been repairing his clothes. He dropped the boy on top of them, then folded himself around him. His son tried to wriggle out of the embrace, but stopped when Haytham growled.
They sat like that for almost an hour. When the boy began to grow restless, Haytham shifted again, unsurprised when the boy did as well. It had been much the same when he was first understanding how shifting worked. Haytham motioned for him to put on the robes, which the boy did grudgingly.
“You have a name, boy?”
His son looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. “Ratohnhaké:ton.”
Haytham rolled his eyes. “I can’t pronounce that.”
“I go by Connor,” he told him.
“Much easier to pronounce,” Haytham replied as he turned back to the fire. “You’re seventeen years of age, if I’m correct?”
“Yes.”
“You should have been shifting at seven,” Haytham mused as he added more twigs to the fire. “When did you start?”
“Less than a year ago.”
“Curious,” Haytham said. “There should be a dry log near the entrance. Would you mind fetching it?”
Connor grunted, his footfalls going in the direction Haytham indicated. A frown marred Haytham’s face as he considered and discarded what he knew about the boy. It was strange and slightly worrying that he had only just begun to shift. But, aside from that, Haytham found that he was relieved. Connor’s wolf was still young enough to be taught, and the boy could be told how to control it.
Connor sat the small log next to Haytham, and took up a seat across from him. He had pulled up his hood again, but Haytham could still make out that he was very uncomfortable. Haytham let the silence between them remain as the log crackled and began to burn.
“You do not seem surprised to find out about me,” Connor said, breaking the silence.
“I’ve known about you since you first set foot in Boston,” Haytham replied, looking at him. “A young werewolf, with no obvious training, in my territory? There haven’t been any of our kind besides myself in these lands for nigh on ten years. I assumed, and was proven right. Any other questions?”
“Why did you help me?”
“Because a young werewolf, no matter what side he may claim to be, needs to be trained in how to control his beast. I would rather not have to put you down.”
“And yet you may have to.”
“But not for lack of training,” Haytham countered. “While our ideals may be different, any Assassin would do what I am doing for our kind, child of a Templar or not. It concerns me that whoever trained you has not.”
“He does not know.”
Haytham threw the twig he had been poking the fire with into the flames. “And if you had asked, he might have at least tried to help. Might have told you that you aren’t a monster.”
“In my village there are stories of men who have lost themselves to their beasts,” Connor said. “It is a curse among my people.”
“Well, in your case it is not,” Haytham replied. “My father was a werewolf, as was his father before him. The Kenway line has always had a inclination for it, even since before our departure from Russia. It seems it was passed on to you as well. Which means that you should be trained in how to use it.”
“I will not be trained by a Templar.”
Haytham felt his anger rise, but let out a deep breath. He knew it would be hard to convince the boy that he needed to be trained, even if his father was the only one able to do so. A father that he seemed to loathe.
“In this instance, I will refrain from attempting to push my ideals onto you, if you will extend the same courtesy of listening when I speak,” Haytham said, his voice measured and careful. “If you are not trained, you run the risk of striking out against those whom you care about, not just those you seek to kill. It is a weapon, but one that you instinctively know how to use. Which means that after a few days, we’ll go our separate ways, and never speak of this again. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
It was far from easy to convince the young Assassin that every sudden move Haytham made was not meant to hurt him. But, slowly, Connor began to trust him. Within the first day of his tutelage, Connor had stopped shucking his clothes when he transformed. On the second, he helped Haytham take down a young buck while transformed. Haytham had chuckled when Connor later told him that it would have been far easier to hunt in his human form. Haytham had countered by asking what would happen if he didn’t have his weapons. At the end of the week, Connor had learned what Haytham had set out to teach him. Instead of saying goodbye, he simply walked out, casting one look back at the small form curled up on the floor.
It would not due to become attached. Either way, one of them would kill the other.
Re: Fill 2: Versipellis 2/4
(Anonymous) 2013-03-20 06:50 pm (UTC)(link)