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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
Fill Only
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
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(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Fills Only
Discussion
"Appreciation" - Prologue
(Anonymous) 2012-12-20 02:06 pm (UTC)(link)have some intense prologue, because I am apparently incapable of writing
PWP 8| Much smut will forrow once I sate my need to write EVERYTHING.
--------------------
Appreciation
Prologue
Hares eating in the bushes would sit up on their haunches and then irritably hop away from the approaching soft thump of hooves on the trail. Their movement barely caused a rustle in the undergrowth, yet still each and every one of the little creatures were spotted. A stroke of luck in the ruthless wilderness perhaps – the usually attentive dark eyes watching them were glazed over and unfocused.
Connor didn't feel well. He was so exhausted his shoulders were slumping and his seat was anything but light and easy on the Indian pony that stubbornly carried him through anything asked. The spotty little horse was also a very wise animal and there was no doubt that it knew that the human was ill.
”Connor, are you really feeling well?” It wasn't the first time Stephane had spoken that very same question during their ride to the Homestead. Every time Connor had given him the same reply, and as the good recruit he was, Stephane had quieted down. Until he repeated the question again.
Connor looked over to the French man riding next to him, realizing the light frown and narrow eyes for the sign of worry they were. He was right to question Connor, but the worry was not needed. The pain and fatigue would pass, just like every other time.
”I am fine.” His reply was short and clipped, and Connor tried to hurry his mount on so that he didn't need to see the looks that his recruit was giving him. He had no luck, truly the old man had been right when he had called the pony a 'stubborn mule' and right then and there had named the little stallion Terco.
Now ridden and trained, Terco was showing signs of what was the cause of his name. He refused to even acknowledge the careful squeeze of legs around his flank, much like he had done earlier when he suddenly had dropped from the rocking canter to a slow trot and refused to lope again.
Connor sighed and gave up. Any further movement sent pain shooting from his side down his stiff leg and sore abdomen. And then he was experiencing another kind of pain as well – the kind that would cause tenseness and nausea the very moment he remembered that his mentor was gone and that no one would harp at him about muddy boots once he arrived at the mansion.
”Well, I am not intending to offend, but you look a little pale.” Stephane had no problems with keeping up with them – the buckskin mare he rode was eagerly trotting along as usual.
”Perhaps I am turning white.” There was no humour in his tone even though it was an attempt at a joke. Connor had never really been good at entertaining others with jokes, nor did he pick up on them himself. It showed. The slumped riding and labored breathing definitely didn't help. Still - out of politeness or just thanks to his own detail rich imagination – Stephane grinned widely.
”I do not think that is possible.”
Connor hoped the conversation would end there. He was attempting to fight the waves of nausea that came over him as he rocked in the saddle. Excellent balance was important for an assassin. Connor rode without stirrups because he needed none and they were troublesome. Now he found himself wishing for something to keep him from slipping from side to side. It made him uneasy, surely staying in the saddle had never been this difficult. It was as if everything around him was shifting along with the slow gait they moved in. The greenery had turned into a messy colorful blur and the skilled hunter would only manage to catch glimpses of fleeing wildlife.
A mess, that is what he was, and what their mission had been. Stephane had showed up in Lexington no questions asked when Connor sent for him. He would have gone alone, but the condition of his leg and his side had made him rethink the decision. The wound from the shattered wood splinter had closed up, but the scarring remained irritably red and warm to touch. Doctor White had told him to spend weeks resting, that he must take care of his health. There was no time for rest, not while there was still work to be done. The war came to an end, but the troubled remains of struggle still existed. The band of redcoats camping near the small spring on the Great Piece hills was proof of that. They had turned raiders, killing locals around the hunting shack and attacking carts on the road just outside of Lexington.
There had been no other choice but to end their raiding then and there. Connor had tracked them to their camp easily, then sent for reinforcements in form of his first recruit. Stephane had been cheerful and happy to see him, it seemed. Together they defeated the group of military-turned-bandits. Connor had found himself slow and in pain, the battle went on around him in a flurry of colors. The magical ring from the treasure had protected him from the volley of bullets that nearly took him down. He had made mistakes in battle before, but none like this. Moving felt like swimming against the river stream, and the constant ache spreading from his side made him stiff and slow.
He let Stephane take the lead as they rode up on the narrow path that ran beside a steep edge. Soon they would be back on Homestead land. Then Connor could finally go down to the river and get his painful scar cooled down. The chilly running water numbed the pain slightly, and then he could continue with the chores before he would need to sit down. Perhaps he would have to stay in the water for a longer swim than usual this time – his outfit had became uncomfortably hot on one side and he could feel how sweat made the fabric cling to his skin and causing a horrible feeling of chafing.
”Ey Connor, do you think we could spend the evening at the inn? I hear they serve good spirits here!”
Stephane's voice had a strange muffled quality to it. It did not make much sense to Connor, but he started to recognize the surroundings again through the blur. There was Dave's smithy and stable building. They would soon pass the inn. As hard as he tried to remember Connor had no memory of even entering the valley. They were much further along than he had thought. And everything was wrong and crooked.
Terco came to a gentle halt. Annoyed Connor reached out to gently bring the reins against the pony and realized he was sitting halfway out of the saddle, leaning heavily to the left. He was going to fall and there was nothing that could help him-
”Connor?”
He grabbed hold of the pommel at the last moment and heaved himself back into the saddle with the little strength he had left. The movement sent such intense pain exploding from his side that Connor had to bite his lip to not yelp out loud. He couldn't make Stephane any more suspicious. The former cook was already turning the buckskin mare back around to figure out what was keeping his mentor.
”Terco...” Connor's breath escaped like a hiss between his teeth. A turned dark ear was all the attention he received from the pony.
”Terco? Is that the name of your horse?” Stephane had returned to them now, curiously looking at the colorful pony that was all too wise for its own good. Connor took the moment to steady himself and breathe deeply for a little while.
”Yes. Achillies named him. He said it means 'stubborn animal'.”
Stephane grinned at him again, this time chuckling a little even as he patted the mare he was riding.
”It is fitting. Did the old man name the other horses too?”
Connor felt a stab of sadness in his abdomen added in with the dull ache from his side. Yes, Achillies had named his horse. The chestnut roan Duchess he would always tend to every morning as if a sacred rite. She had been one of the few things the old man held precious still. He would talk to the horses, grumble and swat at them with his walking stick when they got too affectionate, and then sigh softly and run his old, crooked fingers through their silken manes.
”He named his horse, yes. The mare you are riding was purchased solely to be a carriage horse. Her name is Little Miss Fortuna.”
”Really? Merde, whoever named you my lady, had poor taste.”
Just then Terco finally relented and took a few steps. Walk was the only pace the little stallion would give. Connor did not have the energy to fight him; he knew he was powerless. Stephane did not seem to mind the change to a slower gait as he busied his hands in the dark mane of his mount and muttered something to her in French. As usual she listened well, her ears curiously flickering back and forth.
Connor did not let go of the saddle pommel. He feared he would slip again. Falling off the pony would certainly rouse the worry of his companion, so he held on as well as he could. The sticky moisture was getting worse under his coat, and now he was feeling sweat bead on his brow as well, even though he wasn't very warm anywhere but his side. In fact he was feeling slightly chilly.
They followed the path down through the settlement, passing the inn and the carpenter workshop. Someone greeted them loudly from the little bowls game square, and Connor heard Stephane reply through the haze. The sounds from the settlement were hollow and muffled. The only sound Connor could really focus on was the soft, heavy thumps coming from under him as Terco walked, and even the sound of hooves against ground would echo oddly. The sound of the river and the sawmill blended together much like the colors around them. Connor tried to catch the scent of fresh woodwork, but it was as if his chest was weighed down and all he managed to do was taking small shallow breaths that made him feel dizzy.
And then the enormous bell atop of the church started ringing. The sound struck Connor like the heavy boarding axe of a scot and he tried to wince away from the intense pain it caused. All movement stopped and Connor watched as his faithful pony turned its head towards him and clamped its teeth around his pant leg to slow his fall. He was sitting badly again, leaning to one side. The warm, wet feeling had bloomed all over his side, exactly where his coat had turned bright red. That bloodstain had not been there after the battle.
The last thing he saw was the blue sky as he slowly started to slip despite Terco attempting to keep him in the saddle. Connor fell. The bell kept ringing above him, and now the terrified voice of Stephane had joined in.
”Connor!”
Re: "Appreciation" - Prologue
(Anonymous) 2012-12-20 02:25 pm (UTC)(link)I really, really enjoyed the prologue, Anon, and am looking forward to more!! :D
Re: "Appreciation" - Prologue
(Anonymous) 2012-12-20 02:48 pm (UTC)(link)Re: "Appreciation" - Prologue
(Anonymous) 2012-12-20 03:07 pm (UTC)(link)Re: "Appreciation" - Prologue
(Anonymous) 2012-12-21 04:17 am (UTC)(link)Aw yyyyiiissss....This will be nice. I am LOVING it so far. C:
"Appreciation" - Chapter 1
(Anonymous) 2012-12-22 06:59 pm (UTC)(link)seems that the curse of being a computer coding major means that you will be
the family tech support for the rest of your life, and yes, figuring out how to
work Minecraft mods for my unthankful boob of a younger brother is just what
my plans for the future are! end.rant
Sorry about that. Here, have some fic. And thank you for all the comments <33
and for not hating me for taking so long to get to the porn.
I might put up a second chapter tonight if I can get that far.
Appreciation
Chapter 1
”Ohh, I told him to get some rest, I really did...”
The Doctor's voice was hoarse and low, nearly a whisper as he gently wiped the wound with soaked bandages. Stephane clutched the pan of water in his hands so hard his knuckles turned white. Together they had managed to wrestle Connor out of his coat, and then the Doctor had carefully cut the undershirt off to avoid harming the young man any further.
It was an old wound, not fresh, and the thin cotton shirt had been firmly sucked into the liquid mess that was seeping out of Connor's mauled flesh. It had healed badly, festered under tightly wound bandages, and the weak scar tissue had finally ripped when weakened by the infection. The dark coppery skin around the wound was sickly red and purple, streaked with dried blood and fluids.
”I can't do anything to help him like this. I have to open the wound and clean it, draw out the pus and scrape out what I can.”
Doctor White had intense worry written all over his features as he reached for his medical equipment. He turned towards Stephane, his brow pinched with sadness behind his spectacles.
”Would you please prop him up a bit, support his head while I try and get laudanum into him? The pain is going to be absolutely excruciating as it is.”
–
Consciousness returned with a vengeance, lighting up his exhausted body like a gunbarrel loaded with black powder, and Stephane snapped awake from his restless sleep. For a moment he stared at the flickering shadows around him, incapable of registering the cast off from the two candles in the room. He shot up from his curled up position atop of a pile of quilts and pillows and scrambled for the edge of the bed next to him, wincing as he hauled himself up on his loudly complaining knees.
Connor was still dead to the world, sprawled out on his bed like a man with no breath left in him. But his bare chest was rising and indicating life, never minding how shallow and stuttering it looked. He had not moved from the position they had left him in after the operation had finally ended. The white, clean and carbolic soaked bandages were firmly wrapped around his abdomen, contrasting strongly against his dark skin. Blood had not yet stained through the bandages. Stephane finally allowed himself to release the breath he had been holding.
”I... Would it be too much asked, if I asked you to stay with him over the night?”
Stephane would likely have jumped off a mountain into a burning pile of ammunition if it meant he could have aided Connor in some way. Instead of voicing this to the Doctor, he had simply piled up some quilts and pillows on the bedroom floor and attempted to make himself comfortable. Sleep was out of the question, he had woken with a start at least a dozen times during the night, desperately clambering to his knees or feet to check on the man he was keeping watch over.
Once the sound of a small voice had been the reason for his awakening. It had not been a stranger talking downstairs as he first had thought, but instead it had been Connor, whimpering in his sleep. Words that Stephane did not understand. But he had understood the pained expression, and gently attempted to feed his mentor more of the laudanum. The Doctor had purposefully left a portion in a flask, prompting him to try and calm the patient down with it should he have regained consciousness or started to become restless.
Slowly Connor had quieted down, and the sound of his choppy breathing had once again been the only sound in the room.
”I will return first thing in the morning. Or, if he gets worse, please send for me. I will be there.”
Stephane cast a glance towards the window. The sun had not started to rise, it was still very early. No birds were crowing, and no dogs barking outside. A quiet moment before sunrise. Connor was out cold and fairing as well as he could in the situation. Stephane decided that he would stop creeping on his sleeping mentor like a crazy man grasping onto invisible threads of hope, and headed for the little study just across the hall.
There he could use the little table and chair to sit down and write, and at the same time he could listen for any changes.
–
Stephane woke with a start once more. The bottle of ink that he swiped at had no chance of surviving the crash. His vision was bleary, his mouth was dry and his head felt incredibly heavy. After further inspection he also noticed his stomach was empty like the purse of a beggar, and the starting knocking on his temples was definitely making way for the greatest headache of all times. Falling asleep infront of a table was likely the most uncomfortable position to sleep in. Stephane felt his neck and his back agreeing quiet vehemently to that thought, and he grimaced as he attempted to sit up properly.
The knocking however become louder, and the cook realized that someone was at the door and not attacking his poor skull. Indeed there were now small rays of sunlight streaming in through the windows. He could not have been asleep for long, but a disastrous feeling of nausea was immediately summoned once the worry settled in again, digging its cold claws into his skin.
Stumbling out of the chair, Stephane quickly snuck into the bedroom across the hall just to make sure that everything was as it had been earlier. Connor was still unconscious, he was breathing - and it may have been just Stephane's desperate imagination or the fact that he was sadly starting to get used to the pained sounds – but it did seem that the broad chest was now rising and sinking easier than during the night.
Doctor White was at the door, and it appeared the man had slept just as much as Stephane; meaning nearly not at all. He was wearing mostly the same clothes as well, though the shirt was clean and not stained with blood so he must have had time to change at least. But his face was tense with exhaustion, and deep black furrows had appeared under his now red-tinted eyes.
”How is he?” Doctor White's voice was dry and raspy, laced with exhaustion and strain.
”Alive. Sleeping.”
”Ah, good.”
Then the doctor's shoulders slumped with relief. Stephane hoped that this meant that the worst had passed. They climbed the stairs together in silence. The doctor had brought his bag with him, though this time it was even larger. It was all worrying, and the niggling nausea did not stop spreading.
”I am going to simply cut the bandages and clean out the wound. When was the last time you gave him some of the laudanum?”
”At some point during the night. I... Cannot remember exactly when, this is all very confusing.” Stephane shook his head sadly. Upsetting would have been the right word. Instead of looking disappointed, the doctor patted him on the shoulder. The human contact was welcome, reminding Stephane of reality.
”It is fine. You have done well. Try and rest a little, I will call for you if I need help” he said simply, before heading for the bedroom. Stephane willed himself to not follow the doctor and instead headed back into the study to finish his work. There were five letters to close and bring to the nearest and fastest courier.
Re: "Appreciation" - Chapter 1
(Anonymous) 2012-12-23 03:18 am (UTC)(link)Re: "Appreciation" - Chapter 1
(Anonymous) 2012-12-23 02:39 pm (UTC)(link)Re: "Appreciation" - Chapter 1
(Anonymous) 2012-12-24 05:44 am (UTC)(link)"Appreciation" - Chapter 2
(Anonymous) 2012-12-28 12:44 am (UTC)(link)other prompts I'm working on and... well. I also caught the flu. * thumbs up *
And yeah, this bit is a little boring and writing it was sort of like pulling teeth.
The next chapter should be up a lot faster. And it will be longer.
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Appreciation
Chapter 2
Two long days and nights. Stephane was ready to collapse on his third sleepless night. Still, next to the feverish man he was fairing full gold.
Connor was restlessly falling in and out of consciousness after the first night. It had started with short little moments of delirious mumbling, the assassin being addled by the laudanum and the rising fever.
The fever eventually got so high that the sweat ran in rivulets down the dark skin and soaked the through sheets. Doctor White said all they could do was sit by and hope that Connor was strong enough to fight the infection.
“He is the strongest man I've met. And he is in perfect physical health. I... All I can say is that if there is one person I think could survive through something like this, it is Connor.”
Late in the evening Connor regained full consciousness for the first time. He spoke gibberish at first – perhaps his own language – but when prompted he switched to English. It didn't help much, but luckily he wasn't in a hurry out of bed either once Stephane coaxed him back down and picked up a book from a nearby stool. The young man seemed content then, and Stephane read for him until he fell asleep again.
That was how he ended up passing his time after that. Reading until his throat was sore, sleeping in fits and starts, helping Doctor White and attempting to force down some bread and cheese. Connor refused to be spoonfed by anyone when awake even though completely delirious; Stephane tried, Diana who brought the broth tried, and the Doctor tried. The bedridden man simply turned away from the food, like a stubborn child. He did accept water from a cup lifted to his mouth and that was - at least according to Doctor White - most important.
“He refuses to eat and I cannot make any sense of what he is saying - Lyle, tell me he is going to make it!”
“So far he has been doing great Diana. He is a real fighter. The fever will dehydrate him and he accepts water so that will help. I am not even sure his stomach would stand food right now, so we just have to wait and see.”
The letters Stephane had written had been packed in the saddle bags of a courier that very same morning, and thank the lord and spirits and whatever, the man musts have had landed himself a fast horse because the first familiar face showed up the next day after.
Not surprisingly, Clipper Wilkinson was the first one to arrive. He came rushing up the muddy road on the back of a tall, gangly bay horse that definitely did not look like a mail pony nor a carriage animal. The horse seemed just as jittery as the rider did after what looked like it had been a wild charge all the way from Boston.
Then, with Clipper there to keep watch as well, Stephane managed to sleep for a few hours without waking up more than thrice. He woke to the scent of cooking filling the air and stumbled down the stairs to find Deborah Carter downstairs, going through the kitchen. The hearty barmaid from the homestead inn had came by with a basket full of still warm food. Stephane really started to appreciate how helpful everyone turned out to be. Understandable really, Connor was impossibly kind and polite when he was not cracking skulls open with an axe.
Clipper ate his dinner in a hurry and then snuck back upstairs while Stephane briefed Deborah on everything that had happened since Connor's sudden collapse. He was interrupted by a knock on the door when Duncan Little arrived. The Irishman had been working on an informer mission out in the frontier and by chance had been recognized by the Lexington innkeeper and pointed to the courier taking a short break by a corner table.
After a very light dinner the former priest went outside carrying linens and bandages and set to washing off blood and medicines in the river. Deborah wanted to go upstairs to keep Clipper and Connor some company. Stephane busied himself with tidying up the kitchen and then the upstairs study that he had spent time in after Clipper had shown up.
Doctor White came to check on his patient in the evening, bringing clean bandages and some herbal tea that was going to bring down the fever. Connor was still floating in and out of consciousness, but he was slowly becoming clearer when awake, and the moments lasted longer. He had also gained some of his decency because the first thing he did once finally recognizing Deborah was to pull the blanket all the way up to his chin. She just tittered softly and wiped his forehead with some cool soaked linen.
When the night settled in they decided on waking hours and what order they would be up. Clipper insisted on first watch.
No one dared to touch the bed downstairs so they ended up using quilts, pillows and some furs as makeshift beds spread out over the floors in the upstairs rooms. Duncan wanted to give Deborah her own room but the spirited little woman just settled down in the middle of the pile after dragging her furs back into the study. Stephane laughed at how flustered the former priest became and settled down next to Deborah for some rest as well. Eventually even Duncan curled up on the soft piles even though he kept a respectful distance.
Re: "Appreciation" - Chapter 2
(Anonymous) 2012-12-28 07:49 am (UTC)(link)Re: "Appreciation" - Chapter 2
(Anonymous) 2012-12-28 04:50 pm (UTC)(link)As for the timeline... Well. Haytham is dead and Charles is dead. The wound spoken of is that nasty bit during the Lee chase when Connor is impaled on a chunk of wood. There was that...what, 6 month break after that so likely during that time?
Re: "Appreciation" - Chapter 2
(Anonymous) 2012-12-28 09:02 pm (UTC)(link)(catchpa: "Susan's name is?" ... does the catchpa think i'm stupid? :D)
Re: "Appreciation" - Chapter 2
(Anonymous) 2013-01-13 05:15 am (UTC)(link)Re: "Appreciation" - Chapter 2
(Anonymous) 2013-01-21 04:51 am (UTC)(link)