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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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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Fills Only
Discussion
[Fill] If You Give a Leonardo a Coffee... 3a/6
(Anonymous) 2014-12-25 01:45 am (UTC)(link)Enjoy!
*******************
The third time it happened, it was carefully researched and planned, the benefits deemed to outweigh the costs.
Such careful planning was the way of Niccolo Machiavelli, who had long operated under the belief that – should one wish to maintain simple hobbies like breathing – it was always best to stay aware of every single minute detail of the world in which one lived. And one of the many benefits of being the great Niccolo Machiavelli was possessing the resources and intellect required to do just that.
It was perfectly understandable, therefore, that when the city first erupted with confused and rapidly escalating accounts of “God’s Rather Pointed And Conspicuous Wrath Against The Borgias” and Machiavelli discovered he had received neither prior warning nor concrete facts about the madness, he was… perturbed. (And he considered himself to be well within his rights to feel so; for pity’s sake, the last time he had been this out of the information loop he had been ambushed from above by La Volpe while looking for a midnight snack).
After an emergency meeting with some of his best agents, complete with the standard
wittily scathing insults and speculation regarding intellectual capacity and parentageproclamations of absolute trust in their skill and capability, Machiavelli took his first steps towards rectifying that crime against the natural order. And so, agents out scouring the city for information, Niccolo Machiavelli sat back and waited, rather like an intelligent and incredibly handsome spider at the center of its web, to be informed of what perfectly rational and reasonable explanation certainly existed for the madness.Then his agents returned and reported that Antonio and Leonardo da Vinci were involved.
After abandoning all hope of logic and sanity, and immediately commencing with Imminent Doom And Disaster procedures, Machiavelli concentrated all resources and attention on
the mad harbingers of chaos, headache, and stirringshis two “allies.”They began with Salaì – because he was the easiest to find and collect, and most certainly not because anyone wanted to deal with the personification of annoyance that da Vinci kept around for unmentionable and presumably icky reasons.
Unfortunately, it appeared that Salaì had arisen that morning and decided to be even more annoying and unhelpful than usual. He was already blubbering most pitifully when Machiavelli’s agents deposited him in the interrogation room and removed the standard head-bag, and – remarkably – he seemed to have developed a resistance to the equally standard soothing technique of repetitive backhanding since last Machiavelli spoke with him. Eventually they managed to calm him just enough for the inquisition to proceed, and oh-so politely inquired about da Vinci’s role in the latest spot of chaos.
The tormented screams Salaì produced would haunt Machiavelli for years to come.
It was finally determined that nothing – apart from murderous intent – could be gained from further interrogation of da Vinci’s “assistant,” and after a well-placed and well-deserved boot-to-the-head they deposited the young man in a convenient alleyway.
If nothing else, Machiavelli consoled himself with alongside a very nice bottle of wine, they had confirmed da Vinci’s role as the epicenter of madness.
Which they had already known with all but absolute certainty.
…
Machiavelli reflected that he might have struck Salaì with slightly more repetition and force than was strictly necessary whilst rendering him unconscious.
Machiavelli similarly reflected that he did not feel even a little bit bad about that.
After another bottle or seven more of Very Nice Wine, Machiavelli steeled nerves and loins alike and set his agents on a significantly more dangerous, time consuming, frustrating, and rage and tear inducing task. Hunting down Antonio’s insane minions.
When his agents limped back to him after several days of hunting, finding, chasing, losing, and hunting-finding-etc. some more – every last one bruised, ears ringing with admittedly creative insults, and smelling rather strongly of rotten eggs – Niccolo Machiavelli began to think that a change of tactics was in order.
When all was said and done, Antonio might have been
devilishly attractive and sultryobnoxious and not-even-slightly-handsome, and a constant pain in Machiavelli’s well-toned and magnificent posterior but the man knew well how to train his minions.…
They had distraction-kittens damn it, that just wasn’t playing fair!
After a long and intensive
group drinking bingeplanning session, they at last settled on a new course of action. And so, Andrea decked out in the ponciest clothes they had on hand – which, given that Machiavelli did nothing by halves, was extremely poncy – they set to catch some thieves.Two hours, one casual stroll down a back-alley, and a concealed crossbow-woman with knockout darts and very good aim later, Machiavelli had a very annoyed thief in his custody. It was somewhere between depressingly and hysterically easy. (And yes, in retrospect he probably should have realized from the start that setting a trap would be more effective than straight-forward hunt, but in his own defense he had been incredibly inebriated at the time.)
A thief finally in custody, the second inquisition began.
Under normal circumstances, Machiavelli might have approached an interrogation with Standard Approach A (known to his minions as “The Salaì Special” or “Repetitive Backhand”) or, if he were feeling particularly nasty, Standard Approach B (so named because Machiavelli considered himself above using crass terms like “blackmail”) or even, if he felt like a change of pace, Standard Approach C (bald-faced bribery). Of course, since he was dealing with one of
The DevilAntonio’s minions, anything approaching “normal” was right out. He didn’t even need to take a second look at the young thief – a strangely pretty boy whose short blonde hair looked as though it recently lost a fight with a hungry goat – to know that the boy’s innate fear of Antonio was powerful enough to fully negate any of Machiavelli’s favored strategies. (Admittedly, even were the fear of Antonio not present standard practice likely wouldn’t have worked. Machiavelli had long cursed the fact that Antonio seemed to exclusively recruit thieves that were insane, masochistic, adrenaline-hungry, crimes against of nature who only appreciated that which they could steal and were literally born without the ability to understand the meaning of the word “shame”).All this in mind, and still more than a little perturbed by the events of the past few days, Niccolo Machiavelli did something that made even fools and madmen quake in their boots.
He got creative.
Re: [Fill] If You Give a Leonardo a Coffee... 3b/6
(Anonymous) 2014-12-25 01:47 am (UTC)(link)Were Niccolo Machiavelli the sort of man who possessed a soul, he might have felt bad about using such inhuman methods. As Niccolo Machiavelli was the sort of man who had long since rid himself of silly things like a soul or a conscience, he merely reflected with satisfaction that one could not get results like that with Distraction-Kittens. Even if they were much more adorable and cuddly. But still, Machiavelli got results just fine and didn’t even need help from adorable
thief lordskittens to do it.So there, Antonio.
And so, as his agents soothed the thief with sedatives usually reserved for farm animals – because let no one ever say they couldn’t be nice if they felt like it – Niccolo Machiavelli sat back to reflect on the information he received.
In retrospect, he should not have been surprised to learn that Antonio’s diabolical new creation was the catalyst for the sudden influx of chaos and apocalyptic madness. Also in retrospect, it made Ezio Auditore’s crazed ramblings from the recent meeting make much more sense. “Drink of Madness, The End is nigh, so many tears, so many wet pants, Signore Hidden-Blade will be Displeased” indeed.
The reflection took a bit longer than it necessarily should have, as he mind insisted on ignoring his commands and wandering to Dark Places – as it invariably did when Antonio was involved. Admittedly, this spiral took him to different Dark Places rather than usual – and of course the standard wouldn’t even apply to his own mental distractions by this point. And so, instead of the usual thoughts of glorious triumph, proving his superiority, being vindicated before his allies and not-so-allies,
chocolate sauce,chocolate sauce,chocolate sauce and manacles on a luxurious bed with silken sheetsvengeance, putting the uppity thief in his placeunderneath Machiavelli, asserting his innate dominance during brutally violent altercations with ripped clothing and sweat glistening on sculpted muscles while they both lay tangled together on the ground, bodies heaving and rubbing against one another, breath mingling as they moved closer and closer until they finally – vengeance! Dark thoughts of vengeance!And nothing else.
Anyway.
Instead of the usual thoughts of glorious triumph, revenge, and nothing else, Machiavelli found his mind wondering to the fateful day he first became aware of the well-called Drink of Madness.
It involved Antonio. Which… actually meant that the usual thoughts were present in his current mental wandering, only in a slightly confusing and inceptive flashback sort of context. Anyway.
It had been a relatively normal day – reading reports, sending agents on missions, plotting and scheming with a side of planning, writing up intelligence for his allies, dodging multiple assassination attempts from La Volpe, doing a spot of gardening, the usual – when the thief lord appeared, quite suddenly, in
the inner sanctum of his lairhis study. Were he to be completely accurate, and he was Machiavelli so yes he would, the thief had dropped through the ceiling in a hail of plaster and dust, and landed on all fours on Machiavelli’s desk like some demented ceiling-dwelling feline.Putano didn’t even have the decency to land on his back or
tantalizingass like a normal human being. No no, he had to be all graceful like. Damn him.And so it came to be that Machiavelli – who had not screamed like a little girl when the ceiling caved in, thank you very much Portia and don’t you have a broom to ride somewhere? – found himself nose to nose with a dusty, grinning Antonio.
Antonio had said ‘Well hel-lo there Signore Machiavelli!’ He had said ‘Get off my desk’ and was not even slightly tempted to add ‘and on your knees.’ Antonio had grinned – almost as though he knew what Machiavelli was not thinking – and had very slowly cartwheeled of the desk – like some sort of limber acrobat of desire and temptations – so that, for just a moment, he was spread and arched between Machiavelli’s desk and the floor like the not-even-slightly-virgin sacrifice to some brilliant, powerful, and extremely attractive deity of secrets.
Not that that was how Machiavelli saw it himself, of course.
And even if he had, he most certainly wouldn’t have enjoyed the sight.
At all.
…
Stupid sensual Antonio.
Anyway. While Machiavelli had been fighting for breath and trying to calm his racing pulse – both attributed solely to disgust, of course, and nothing else – the not-even-slightly-attractive thief had strutted – in a way that, on someone who was not as unattractive as Antonio, could have been described as positively salacious – his way over to the small sitting area Machiavelli reserved for small meetings with his top agents, most trusted allies, and people who were not Antonio. He then sat down in what he couldn’t possibly but probably did know was Machiavelli’s chair. Or, rather, he draped himself over it in an obscene manner, like some shameless catamite
or tasty treat, and announced that he had a ‘little gift’ for his ‘most favorite and beloved of trustworthy allies.’Machiavelli responded with a gesture that spoke a thousand words.
Several minutes passed much the same – Antonio offering absurd platitudes and compliments while arching himself over Machiavelli’s chair, and Machiavelli being completely unmoved and unaroused as he threw back gestures and glares – until the great mastermind gave into frustration and crossed to the seating area, if only to make Antonio shut up and leave so he could get some work done without the constant
temptationannoyance, and demanded that the thief get on with it already before he showed the fool just how hard Machiavelli could make things for him.Snickering and grinning like Machiavelli had been the one to say or do something inappropriately sexual, the thief had produced a small canteen.
‘We’re calling it espresiaccelerato at this point,’ the thief said, ‘name’s a work in progress, I’ll admit, but the drink itself is quite… quite an experience, shall we say.’ He held the seemingly innocuous container to Machiavelli, smiling so innocently that there had to be a catch, ‘I’ve played with the recipe a little, and I simply couldn’t think of another person I’d rather have try the outcome than my dear friend and ally Niccolo.’ He held it out a moment longer as Machiavelli continued to stare at him in pointed disbelief, then shrugged with an air of injured innocence and set the container down on a small table. ‘Well then, I’ve done what I came to do. I shan’t keep you from your important – and, dare I say, fascinating – work any longer, my dear, sweet friend. Until next we meet then!’
Antonio had then shimmied to his feet and selected the route that trapped him between a chair and Machiavelli himself, resulting in a slow squeeze between the two and – subsequently – a prolonged pressing his stupid and by no means pert posterior against Machiavelli’s… ahem. And, of course, the maddening pestilence managed to get caught up on something – what Machiavelli was not sure, it really didn’t look like there was anything truly underfoot – and briefly stumbled, only managing to stabilize himself by reaching back to grab a handful of Machiavelli’s undeserving backside… somehow. Understandably, therefore, Machiavelli was quite red of face – from annoyance – by the time Antonio got himself free of the sitting area and made a – admittedly spectacular – running dive through a nearby window.
Somehow, Machiavelli wasn’t even a little surprised when Benito appeared fifteen seconds later, exclaiming in muted horror that they were now sans the captured thief and a wall.
[Fill] If You Give a Leonardo a Coffee... 3c/6
(Anonymous) 2014-12-25 01:49 am (UTC)(link)On the surface it seemed harmless enough, rather small, and a cursory sniff did not carry the odor of hard liquor or lethal poison. He debated with himself for a while, curiosity warring with common sense. The desire to figure out just what made this beverage so special that Antonio would use it to cover his jailbreak, combined with the knowledge that poisoning was very much not Antonio’s style – though he momentarily entertained the theory that it had actually been La Volpe, cleverly disguised as Antonio through some cosmetic means and attempting to poison him (again), before discounted that theory on the grounds that La Volpe’s backside was nowhere near as shapely and tantalizing as Antonio’s. Not that he made a habit of studying either man’s backside. At all. – finally won him over, and he found himself lifting the canteen to his lips.
Things became… cloudy, afterwards.
The next day Machiavelli concluded that the drink was a powerful hallucinogenic. There was simply no other explanation for the foggy memories of group hugs, the institution of “No Pants Wednesdays” and “Snuggle Fridays” (which were not going to continue, no matter how much his agents whined), the painting of flowers and happy suns and fluffy bunnies on the walls and ceilings of his lair (the fact that those were still there was a testament to the lasting power of the hallucinogen), the holding of hands and singing of friendship and peace with his agents and several – very confused but not unhappy – captured Templars, or the mass weaving of floral wreaths and crowns.
Espresiaccelerato-fueled hallucinating was also the only possible explanation for the visions of paying Antonio his own through-the-ceiling surprise-visit while au natural – his clothes having been shed hours earlier with the intent of ‘being closer to the blessed Earth!’ – and throwing the thief lord to the floor, straddling him, whispering absolutely filthy promises in his ear… and then passing out. That last was especially only a hallucination, since Niccolo Machiavelli most certainly would never want to have filthy, kinky, mindblowingly amazing sexy-times with Antonio. And, even if he had, which he didn’t, he would most certainly have performed far above par and left the thief wrecked, not annoyed, unfulfilled, and prone to shooting Machiavelli glances of long-suffering frustration. So, yes. The well named Drink of Madness was a hallucinogenic. There was no other explanation. And that was what he told himself daily and enforced on his agents with the threat of Unbridled Creativity.
Though if the mutinous little bastards didn’t stop calling him “Papà Happy Rainbows” he was going to forcibly transfer them to Claudia Auditore’s command and be done with them.
Anyway.
Sighing deeply, Machiavelli sat back, rubbed his eyes tiredly, and realized that – partway through the demented stroll down memory lane – he had come up with a plan that was fiendish even by his standards.
The plan in mind involved betraying the faith a close companion, drugging a typically harmless and just all around nice man with That Which Should Not Have Been Made (again), almost certainly unleashing impossible madness and destruction on a helpless and unprepared world, and was simply the sort of plan that he most definitely should not do.
But, yeah, he was totally going to do it anyway.
##################
[Fill] If You Give a Leonardo a Coffee... 3d/6
(Anonymous) 2014-12-25 01:52 am (UTC)(link)Upon committing himself to The Plan, he had set things immediately in motion. Agents were summoned, The Plan was outlined, protests were silenced with extreme prejudice, assignments were given, and the agents were dispatched to carry out said assignments. Soon their tasks were completed – because Antonio wasn’t the only one who could properly train minions, thank you very much – and strike team was dispatched to the natural habitat of da Vinci, laded with the carefully selected regents and components that would – with any luck – be turned into devastatingly powerful and accurate firearms, and a canteen of the fiendish espresiaccelerato.
Astonishingly, the latter had been one of the easiest items to procure and, while Machiavelli did not want to slight his agents’ skill, he was fairly certain that The Plan might have been spawned by A Plan of Antonio’s own devising. Because while it was entirely possible that the thieves had been completely and utterly distracted by Raphael’s charms – the young Spaniard was certainly pretty and seemingly helpless enough to hold the attention of less-degenerated folk than the thieves – long enough for the others to steal some of the drink… Machiavelli couldn’t help but feel it was more probable that he had just played into Antonio’s dainty hands. The theory at least provided a more comforting reason for Antonio’s previous trip and gift of the foul stuff.
But, regardless of who set things in motion and why, Niccolo Machiavelli would have his weapons and everything would be awesome.
With this in mind he had sent his agents into the lair of brilliance; the first wave, comprised of poncified Andrea and Benito, distracted the genius – Salaì had already been dealt with, thanks to one of Cavalo’s patented “Unconsciousness From Above” maneuvers – while the second wave flitted about the workshop, depositing the selected materials for eventual use. Last, but by no means least, of all had been Portia, who was charged with replacing the contents of da Vinci’s cup with the espresiaccelerato. The agents had done their respective tasks perfectly – because Machiavelli’s awesome couldn’t be contained and was, therefore, rather catching – and had slipped away, one by one, leaving da Vinci none the wiser. This done, and agents positioned to make sure no one entered and distracted the inventor – and maybe to make sure nothing got out before Machiavelli wanted it to – they had all settled in to wait.
And so it came to be that Niccolo Machiavelli entered the warzone that had once been Leonardo da Vinci’s workshop, in search of his
ill-gotten gainshard-won prize.It took him a while to get to the backroom, in no small part because, admittedly, he hadn’t exactly expected there to be a goat walking on one of the walls, staring at him with the eyes of the damned. It took him a while to edge past the thing, navigating the rubble and miscellaneous debris while keeping an eye on the thing, lest to come for him. (Damn thing nearly did at one point, when he was startled by a basin of water that was, somehow, on fire, but he narrowly managed to fight off the demonic caprid).
Once he actually got to the backroom, however, a new challenge presented itself.
The room was suspiciously tidy – moreso than he had ever seen it, in fact – and da Vinci himself was slumbering peacefully from his place on the chandelier, but… but no matter where he looked, Machiavelli could not seem to find anything resembling a firearm. Anywhere.
Rather, there seemed to be a series of – admittedly fashionable – overcoats on the room’s center table, each made from what appeared to be a mesh of wires, and sporting a strange, glowing circle in the center of the chest.
Machiavelli made his way over to the table – passing a new sculpture that, upon c loser inspection, appeared to be made largely from firearm components – and studied the coats closer.
They were, as he thought, made of interwoven metal wires, which converged to connect with the glowing circlet in the center. The circlet, made from metal itself, seemed to glow from within and cast a blue-white light over its surroundings. Picking one coat up, Machiavelli was moderately surprised at how light and flexible it was, sliding over and through his hands as easily as silk. The coats were, rather obviously, a brilliant and useful sort of new body armor.
How incredibly dull.
Sighing in disappointment, Machiavelli let the coat slip through his fingers and fall back to join its fellows on the table.
And promptly jumped for cover when, the light of the circles intensified, a low hum emanated from them, and electricity arced through the air as some invisible force prevented their contact, leaving the coat he had been examining floating in the air amidst a halo of fiery sparks.
From a safe distance, Machiavelli stared at the coats in slack-jawed awe.
Then, slowly but building to maniacal speed, he began to chuckle.
##################
Two days later, God continued his pointed and showy attack on the Borgias.
A squadron of their soldiers, led by Cesare himself and a pair of high-ranking Templars, were making their way through the streets, when they suddenly found themselves faced with a small group of Assassins.
That was not unusual.
What was unusual, however, was the sheer mad brilliance of the Assassins grins.
The collection of Templars and soldiers had at least enough of a collective self-preservation instinct to be momentarily frozen by the grins, but eventually recovered enough of their senses to press an immediate attack.
Civilian witnesses and surviving soldiers alike would later swear, loudly and with too much passion to not be believed, that every last attack with blade, blunt instrument, fist or foot, or firearm was stopped in midair and sent flying with a shower of sparks and high-pitched hum, as though the Lord Himself had placed a hand between Templars and Assassins and said: “Not today fratello.”
The Borgia forces kept up the attack for several minutes, until the utter futility of the scenario began to sink in. Slowly they lowered their weapons and stared, most gasping for breath, as the Assassins just stood in place and grinned.
Then, one of the Assassins took a single step forward.
Civilian witnesses would later swear, leading the surviving soldiers to swear the opposite just as loudly, that Borgia soldiers turned as one and – each screaming like a little girl – ran from the Assassins and their divine protection.
In the end, they were chased through the entirety of the city, numbers vacillating as the Assassins either got bored and took them out or picked up a few new Templars and guards to play with. Eventually the surviving forces managed to get back to a friendly stronghold – though they very nearly lost Cesare to a canal along the way – and sealed themselves in until the next morning, at which point the Assassins had gotten bored with throwing rotten fruit and devastatingly witty insults and left.
Eventually, having taken hours to make their way and flinching at any flicker of shadow or sudden noise, the Templars made it back to their stronghold… which was, by that point, more than a little on fire, and was ringed by a series of newly installed flag-poles that were merrily flying Cesare Borgia’s underclothes.
Even more eventually they managed to get the fire out, but the damage had been done: to their fortress, and to the dignity of Cesare Borgia and his frilly underthings.
Re: [Fill] If You Give a Leonardo a Coffee... 3d/6
(Anonymous) 2014-12-26 10:17 am (UTC)(link)