asscreedkinkmeme (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2013-05-13 07:24 pm
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2013-05-13 07:24 pm
Entry tags:
Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 6
Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.6
Open
Open
Sky World
≈ 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
#3 (Delicious.com) Archive <-- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Fills Only
Discussion
Re: Connor wants Haytham to (re)join the Assassins... whether Haytham wants to or not
(Anonymous) 2013-12-30 04:10 pm (UTC)(link)I want to fill this one too but I already have a bazillion chapter fic going!
Fill sans witty title (1/?)
(Anonymous) 2014-03-10 02:00 pm (UTC)(link)For the second time in his life, Haytham Kenway woke up bedridden. It put him in a foul mood that only got worse as he realized that the sharp pain with every breath most likely meant broken ribs. He was in a room that he didn't recognize, in a bed that wasn't his own, and he couldn't remember how he got there. Nor could he sit up, so he looked around as much as he could without moving any part of his body other than his eyes.
The room was clean and had large windows that let in ample early-autumn sunlight. The bed was surprisingly comfortable, and smelled of fresh straw. There were a number of paintings on the wall, but he recognized none of them. His suspicions continued to grow as he looked through the window to what little he could make out, and were confirmed when his son came in the room, carrying a cup of broth and a spoon. "Connor..." he rasped.
Connor looked surprised. "Father! You are awake. How do you feel?"
"Dead."
"You are not dead, Father." An awkward silence fell between them, and after a few minutes Connor seemed to remember he held food, and moved to sit on the bed. "I am going to prop up your head, Father, so you can eat."
"I don't want to eat," Haytham complained petulantly.
Connor ignored this and gently eased in another pillow, then brought a spoonful of broth to his father's lips. "I have not poisoned your food," he said, tetchily. "If I wished to kill you, I would not have brought you here."
"Where is here--mmph!" Haytham swallowed the broth angrily, annoyed that Connor had taken advantage of him talking.
"You are at my home, Father. It is safe."
"Where on earth did you get this house?"
Connor only smiled and continued trying to feed his father. After over an hour, most of the broth had made it into the older man's stomach, and only some was on the bedclothes--Haytham was an incredibly fractious patient, and would never admit that he felt infinitely better now that he had hot food in his stomach.
"Do you remember what happened before I brought you here?" Connor asked softly as Haytham stared resolutely at a painting.
"We were fighting. I assume I broke at least one rib?"
"Several. You are lucky to have escaped puncturing your lung."
You're the one who kept pushing me into things, Haytham refrains from saying. Instead, he asks, "Are you injured?"
Connor shrugged. "I, too, hit my head. I remained conscious, however, and was able to drag you out. I...believe your home has been completely destroyed. The building collapsed--that is how your skull was cracked."
Haytham reached up to feel his head, but Connor yanked his arm back down. "I will tie your hands to the bed if I must."
"I'm surprised you haven't already."
"You are hardly a threat to me like this."
Haytham sighed and silently agreed. How embarrassing--the Grand Master of the Colonial Rite, bedridden from a piece of falling masonry and some inconveniently placed barrels, now dependent on his Assassin son. Who had, he couldn't forget, caused the problem by shooting the walls with cannons and then running into the path of cannon fire. Fool.
"Father, do you need to use a bedpan?"
"You've got to be kidding."
"Suit yourself."
"...fine, Connor, I need your assistance in a personal matter." His voice was brusque, annoyed, embarrassed. Thankfully, Connor said nothing and politely looked away the whole time, then tucked his father back into bed. "Thank you," Haytham grudgingly acknowledged.
"You should get some rest, Father. I will be here, you have only to ring this little bell to call for me."
Haytham grumbled. The last thing he wanted was to depend on his son for anything. But, unfortunately, he had nobody else. All of his friends were dead, save for Lee, who probably assumed him dead in the bombardment. And sometimes, he thought he might actually have died, and been trapped in some sort of Purgatory.
He didn't know why his son was doing this--was it some new method of torture the Assassins had come up with?
Re: Fill sans witty title (1/?)
(Anonymous) 2014-03-17 02:26 pm (UTC)(link)