asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 6

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assassin's creed

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 6

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.6
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≈ Comment anonymously with a character/pairing and a kink/prompt.

≈ Comment is filled by another anonymous with fanfiction/art/or any other appropriate medium.

≈ One request per post, but fill the request as much as you want.

≈ The fill/request doesn't necessarily need to be smut.

≈ Don't flame, if you have nothing good to say, don't say anything.

≈ Have a question? Feel free to PM me.

≈ Last, but not least: HAVE FUN!

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I don’t know if anyone else experienced it like this but hear me out…
While we play as Haytham, we are learning the new mechanics of the game and when I discovered I could pet animals… oh the madness! Haytham basically stopped to pet every dog, cat, pig, sheep, chicken, turkey… he even tried to pet the freaking raccoons but they ran away :(
When it was time to play as Connor, the novelty of the action had worn off, so Connor really didn’t do much of it. And so… it sort of became my headcanon that Haytham has a HUGE soft spot for animals.

Basically what I’m asking is something showing this side of him. I don’t really have anything clear cut in mind. It can be serious or cracky. Just something. I’m not picky :)

I DID THE SAME THING
and when it was time for Connor, I didn't pet a single animal and killed everything I could skin for profit.

Someone please fill this!

like snow white in disney/shrek?

In Forsaken, Haytham goes on a rage!kill-spree after he finds that Holden's been castrated, and sets fire to the monastery that does such things. And he just casually mentions in his journal that he lets all the horses out of the barn before he starts the fire in the hay. Like it's not even something he had to think about, just "time to commit a little arson, see ya later ponies".

(Similarly, when he's hanging out with Connor and they need to kill some Jaegers, Haytham starts by killing some Regulars who, he mentions as an aside, are threatening some laundry women. Haytham's kind of like the world's meanest feminist.)

I think he doesn't even realize these good qualities in himself.

I meant to just write a mini-fill, and it turned into this...other plot elements kind of crowded the animals too...and the title is stupid but the story is mostly serious...and I should be writing the next chapter of my huge fill I've been working on...but this bit me and wouldn't let go.

Missing food. New York. Please investigate.

The note was short enough that Connor thought the pigeon could almost have just repeated it, if only he could say more than "coo". He absently pulled out a handful of dried peas and barley to thank the bird, who quickly pecked it all up, and flew back to his mate in the dovecote. Saddling the tall spotted mare--he knew the colonists had some specific word for her color pattern, but he didn't care--Connor headed for New York, where undoubtedly people were starving due to someone's greed.

Checking in with Dobby and Jamie, he learned that the missing convoys had been heading for the southern tip of the city. He got the distributor's name--a fellow from New Jersey who bought from dozens of farmers and shipped the produce and meats on to New York--and found a convoy of his distinctive wagons, guarded by what looked like mercenaries. Connor positioned himself in a leafy tree and watched.

Amazingly, the convoy was attacked in broad daylight. A smoke bomb obscured the details, but it seemed like there was only one person who took out all the mercenaries. He seemed to have knocked them out, as he tied them to various structures--laundry poles, wells, a brothel--sure to lead to ridicule when they woke up. Connor began to feel a grudging respect for the attacker, who was muffled in an ill-fitting coat and hat.

The attacker then led the drivers of the convoy wagons down a twisty maze of side streets, ending a block away from Fort George. A few whistles, and suddenly the wagons were converted into disbursement stations, and the poorest were queued up with baskets and bags. As they shuffled along, they received a family's worth of fruits and vegetables, smoked meats, cheeses, and bread.

The man who had attacked the convoy stood at the end of the line, offering a handshake here, tousling a child's hair there, murmuring quiet words of encouragement to a young pregnant woman with a toddler clinging to her skirts, and finding a ham bone out of nowhere for a nervous-looking man with a pronounced tic of his face and right arm, who clung to a hungry-looking dog as if to a lifeline. When a little girl with a badly twisted foot, carried in her stooped grandfather's arms, giggled and stole her benefactor's hat, Connor had to creep to a closer branch to confirm what he thought he saw. Indeed, the man giving out such largesse was, surprisingly, Haytham Kenway.

Connor joined the line, his coat dirty and bloodied enough to attract only a few glances. As the hungry families began to clear out with their prizes, Connor approached his father, curious about what game he could be playing.

"You. You should be bringing food, not taking it." Haytham's voice was flat, his arms folded.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Feeding the hungry."

"That seems a most un-Templar activity."

"Then you know nothing about Templars, son."

"Explain."

Haytham loaded two crates into a wheelbarrow, and handed the handles to Connor. "Come along."

"Saving the best for yourself?"

"Hardly." Haytham accepted a sheaf of paperwork from a wagon driver, and handed him a wad of money.

"Counterfeiting again?"

"For this amount? No need."

"So how does this advance your Templar plots?"

Haytham rolled his eyes. "What Templar plots would I have?"

"Killing Assassins. Seizing control of the colonies. Wealth. Power. Replacing Washington with Lee."

"I've taken a break from killing Assassins, I have no need to seize control of a group of fractious colonies, I have sufficient wealth for twenty men thanks to a large inheritance, and Lee is in Europe in disgrace. I am but one man and have no wish to amass immense personal power, and having found my friends to have been assassinated almost to the last man, I must act as a free agent to promote stability and order.

"When people are rioting for food, they will fight each among his neighbors for a stale crust. When they riot for an idea, they fight together, they set up new governments, they promote order and peace. But they will not fight for ideas on empty bellies."

"You have taken a break from killing Assassins?"

Haytham scoffed. "Yes, what Assassins would I kill? You? I'm not such a monster to kill my own son. Your friends? You would exact retribution with superior numbers. I am not a stupid man, though you seem to consider me one."

"Hmph. Where are we going?"

"My quarters at Fort George. Other hungry innocents await. Were you to kill me now, it would be tantamount to driving the blade into their flesh."

Connor huffed. "We shall see."

As they walked past the fort's stables, Haytham grabbed a flake of hay and added it to the wheelbarrow. Approaching his door, he withdrew a ring of keys, selected one, and unlocked the door, which he then slid one of the crates into. "Come along."

Connor readied his blades for a trap, but found only half a dozen cats, draped across the furniture. Haytham was filling their bowls with smoked fish from the crate, and as soon as he put the bowls down, the cats all rushed to gobble some sustenance. Haytham paused to scratch or pet each one, solemnly, and Connor eyed him warily. "What are you playing at?"

"Good deeds. You know, the locals tell me, time was, a man in a white hood did some good deeds. Killed some mad dogs, helped those afflicted with the smallpox. Very brave when you consider that it kills Natives so readily." Scooping up the hay, a heel of bread, a tomato, some spinach, and a scrap of cheese, Haytham headed for his bedroom, from which came a strange whistle. "Yes, yes, I know, you haven't eaten anything and your stomachs are as empty as your heads."

Connor peeked in to find his father petting what looked like a fat, fluffy sausage. Another one was waddling around the first, nose up in the air. "Father. What are those?"

Haytham sighed and started scratching the second animal's chin. "Guinea pigs. All the rage in England. We had one when I was a little boy. Very sociable little creatures." The first lunged for the second and bit its ear, causing an indignant shriek. "Except for just there, that is. You jealous little stinker! Let me give him some attention too!"

Connor crossed his arms. "Why do you have guinea pigs in your bedroom?"

Haytham was entranced by the small fuzzy animals, feeding them spinach out of his hands. "Hmm? Oh. Well, they'd nowhere else to go. They belonged to a little girl, but she was killed two months ago."

"Did you kill her?"

"Honestly, Connor! I do not attack small children!" Haytham looked genuinely affronted.

Connor looked distrustful. "Your friends do."

"Did, you mean."

"I do not know if Lee has ceased the odious practice."

Haytham rolled his eyes, while one guinea pig stole the other's spinach. "He was not raised as I was."

"And how was that?"

Haytham held up his left hand and ejected his hidden blade. "Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent. Hide in the crowd. And then my father was killed before he could continue. " He smiled sardonically and wiggled his fingers. "Imagine if he hadn't been. I listened well, you see. But I couldn't listen to the things he never said."

Connor considered this, while Haytham cut up the tomato and fed chunks of it to the guinea pigs. They looked a right mess, with tomato smeared all over their faces and chins, by the time they finished. Haytham scooped up some rather brown, soggy hay, and dumped it in the empty crate, then replaced it with fresh. Within seconds, the guinea pigs had disappeared into it, quiet except for the soft noises of chewing. "Father... I believe you have a rat in this room..."

Haytham looked over. "Yes, do you know some people actually keep them as pets?"

"Some people such as you."

"Some people such as a little boy whose father was killed by Redcoats, who saved nothing from the fires but his beloved pet, but wasn't allowed to take her to his grandfather's house in the frontier." Haytham was trying to feed the rat bread and cheese, but she seemed more interested in climbing all over his hands and snuggling. "She's an old lady now, and doesn't have much time left. Yes, there you go, little one."

One of the guinea pigs emerged from the hay and stood up on its hind legs to whistle at Connor. Haytham gave him a slice of tomato. "Go on, feed him."

Connor complied, warily. "All of these animals have a similar history, then?"

"Most of the cats are strays, but yes, the rat and guinea pigs and dogs were the pets of those... who can no longer keep them." He fastened the door on the rat's cage.

"Dogs?"

"They're next door. Come along."

When Haytham opened the next dwelling, four dogs rushed them, and another was yipping inside. Connor watched as the four relieved themselves and then ran about happily. The last dog finally limped out, on three legs--what remained of the fourth was bandaged. "So you just happened to have two dwellings to fill with animals?"

Haytham was opening the last crate--dried meat. "No, this is Charles's. He's not using it. Besides, he likes dogs." Two of the dogs were happily gnawing on the meat. The other three, including the injured one, were having trouble.

"Father. Please wait." Connor pivoted on one heel and left the fort, leaving Haytham somewhat puzzled. Perhaps a quarter of an hour later, Connor returned, holding what looked like the dressed carcass of a hare. He cut it into pieces with his hidden blade, and threw one piece to each dog. "My apologies, Father. I had only one hare and there is nothing to hunt nearby."

"Was that your dinner?"

"I can catch another."

Haytham tried not to smile. "Son, would you like a dog?"

Connor frowned. "I am away from home far too much, and cannot take care of a dog." His voice was quiet and wistful. "But, I may know people who do want dogs. I will write to you about them."

"Before you go..."

"Yes?"

Haytham waved the sheaf of paper. "I do not like to steal from honest farmers, fishermen, and so forth. I do send them the exact amount they request. And the shopkeepers who were to have received this... I compensate for their lost earnings. The distributor was charging them absurd amounts anyway. But these... These are from farmers that I know depend on enslaved labor. I do not pay them. However... I would prefer if they stopped owning slaves altogether. Actually, I would greatly prefer if they stopped breathing." He handed the papers to Connor.

"What are you saying, Father?"

"You're an Assassin! I'm hiring you! Freedom is so important to you that I was sure you'd take these contracts. Wait, how could I forget?" He rummaged in his desk drawer for a handful of feathers. "This is the marker your lot uses, correct?"

Connor asked impassively, "Why do you not take care of the problem yourself?"

"Because I have no team and no friends, son. You have killed almost every one."

Connor grudgingly took the feathers and the papers. "Very well. I shall look for myself to see if your allegations are true, however."

Haytham sighed. "Exactly as I would expect."

Connor inclined his head in acknowledgement and was off.

Three weeks later, Haytham received the first of several bloody feathers in the mail.

Two weeks before the first assassination, a convoy had appeared just outside the fort. A middle-aged black man was driving it, accompanied by a man and a woman that seemed to melt into the crowd. Not only was it full of food, there were several tables with detachable legs, to serve the food from, and a curious wooden contraption that turned out to be a chair. There were also several hare and deer carcasses strapped to the top of the wagon, and the driver had meat and bread which he had brought along.

Haytham asked the driver, but the only paperwork the man had was a short note in Connor's handwriting that said, "Everything has been paid for." The driver, Warren, helped set up the tables and showed Haytham how to work the folding chair, then left to begin the journey home. Several days later, the same convoy returned, this time driven by a large blacksmith. And again, and again, and again. The starving children began to grow once again and their parents and grandparents lost some of the hollow fear that had owned them since the fire. The dogs and cats filled out some, and their ribs could no longer be seen under tattered fur. The guinea pigs remained fat and loud and greedy, as guinea pigs often are, and Haytham's rat had all the tasty treats she wanted.

This is really more of a follow-up than anything else...still...here ya go.

The children got to know the different drivers, who had begun helping Haytham give out the food, and because of their excited chattering, he knew who would be there long before their arrival. So one day, when he heard them excitedly speculating about the new driver this time, he asked what the driver looked like.

"An Indian, sir, a huge Indian!"

"But he's wearing regular clothes!"

"They're not that regular, they're very odd."

"But they're not normal savage clothes."

Haytham tsked at the little boy. "It's wrong to call them savages. They are as civilized as you or I, or even more so."

"My da says they're not even human."

"He's wrong, then. Tell me, this huge man in very odd regular clothes, is he wearing a white and blue coat with a white hood?"

"Yes sir, he is."

"Ah, then it's my son."

That set the children a-buzzing with gossip. "How do you have an Indian son, sir?" asked Betsy, the girl with the club foot.

"Well, I fell in love with a Mohawk woman, and we had a son together," he said lightly. "Now, how could that happen if she wasn't as human as I?"

"Did you marry her?"

"Alas, no, and then her village burned down, and she perished in the flames, when our son was only a small child. Smaller even than all of you."

"Was he sad?"

"Did he get hurt?"

"Yes, and I don't think so."

"Why weren't you there to help?"

"I didn't know that we'd had a son, because I had to go rescue my sister in Turkey and Syria, long before Connor was actually born."

"Wow!"

"Your life is like an adventure story!"

"Is it? I suppose so."

"You must have so much fun having adventures."

"To tell the truth, I would rather have fewer adventures, and more time spent with Ziio and Connor when he was young."

They were still peppering Haytham with questions when Connor drove up. "Hello, Father, I have finished with...what you asked."

The children swarmed the wagon, staring at Connor curiously. "You look just like Mister Kenway!"

"No, he doesn't, he looks just like a savage."

"He said not to use that word!"

"Do not worry, I am used to being called savage," said Connor coldly. "Usually by people who are preparing to steal my village's land, or cruelly attack us. However, I will still make sure you do not go hungry today."

"Well, it's not you making sure, is it? It's Mister Kenway. You're just driving the wagon."

"No, child, my son is generously providing this food."

"Well, I don't want to eat it then."

The other children crowded around Connor as if to protect him, and Betsy said firmly, "Well, I do. And I already like Mister Kenway's son, for being nice, even though he's sad from watching his ma die in a fire." She told Connor directly, "My ma died in the fire here. So I know how you feel. It'll be all right. You still have your da after all."

Connor nodded solemnly. "Thank you for your sympathy." He began to unpack the food to distribute, assisted by several of the children. Haytham set up the tables, and before long, hungry people were lined up. As Connor handed out loaves of bread and apples, he asked his father coolly, "When did you start telling them all about me?"

"When they asked. You know, son, it might do you good to talk to them about--"

"About how my mother was murdered right in front of my eyes in a fire set by your men--"

"Not by my men!"

"So you say."

"Houses burn down, Connor! Parents die! You're not the only person who's ever suffered that!"

"Oh, what would you know?" Connor stalked off in disgust to get more bread from the wagon.

Haytham shook his head and murmured, "About that? Everything." He turned back to the families who were getting free squashes and venison, courtesy of Connor and his farmer friends, and forced a smile.

Not op.

I love this! Love the way you've written this and I must admit, love that it's a serious story and not a crack fic!
man, did not expect them feels in the end... wish there was more to this, but it's perfect in it's own as well!

Aww, author!anon thanks you!

I may eventually write a follow-up to this. But of course it would be sad, because Kenways.

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 6

[GEN or Any/Any] Haytham the animal lover

Re: [GEN or Any/Any] Haytham the animal lover

Re: [GEN or Any/Any] Haytham the animal lover

Re: [GEN or Any/Any] Haytham the animal lover

Fill: Crazy Cat Templar [1/2]

Fill: Crazy Cat Templar [2/2]

Re: Fill: Crazy Cat Templar [2/2]

Re: Fill: Crazy Cat Templar [2/2]