asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.3

I kind of love-hate you now because the prompt already made me cry ;_;

OP here, and this is definitely how I imagine it being for Altair.
Thank you for the fill, I loved it!

You're welcome, OP :)

young!Ezio fucks up or miscalculates in some tactical way and ends up taking a horrendous beating that shakes his confidence, a lot, because someone has to come to his rescue.

This could be really short, and slash is not necessary. Just a snapshot or vignette type thing where he's wandering around wherever he's recuperating, all despondent and battered and limping, and someone older (Maybe Mario...but it would be cool if somehow make it Lorenzo de Medici) explaining that no, he's neither invincible nor infallible, but nobody is, and that he can learn from this.. maybe giving a story of a fuckup of his own.

It would be extra levels of awesome if this is told from the older's perspective and that person is shocked at how beat up Ezio looks but also at the dramatic change in his personality and hastens to get him to pull his shit together.

Yes, it's another h/c request anons, but I just need some please...

Really interested in the story!
Also, this might lead to me watching Supernatural.

Gnarled, brittle hands clasp together, rubbing lightly to create some semblance of warmth. Leonardo tries to bring up his knees as he lays in his overly comfortable bed filled with downy pillows and heavy cotton sheets, tries to find a way to double the thickness of his quilt; everything is cold now--he is cold now. He tries to smile at the blossoming cherry tree outside his window, its flowers and scent perfuming the air outside--outside.

Leonardo cannot go outside. He is frail bodied and tired, now.

He is dying.

He had written Ezio a letter scant weeks ago, telling him to come and visit--he had accepted his own mortality and wanted to see his dearest friend before he died.

He coughed a series of hacking, painful, dry coughs, unable to fight miniature beads of tears that bordered his clouded eyes. He tried to breathe normally again; funny how before, it was he who knew every way to heal and restore people and himself.

Now he laid on a bed, waiting for his hour to come.

He remembered the times he and Ezio shared together: he had been an unwavering column of dependability to Ezio when they were especially young, then it was Leonardo's turn to depend on Ezio.

(Truth be told, the order never reversed again.)

He remembered the times Ezio had saved him: from the Florentine guards, the Borgia, the hooded loons called Hermetecists, simple thieves, even; Ezio had always come to his rescue.

What had he to show for it?

'He was my friend,' he told himself, voice creaky from underuse. 'And that's what matters.'

He affirmed this in his mind: yes, he was his friend. He was his dearest friend.

And yet he moved to Franc, despite all he'd done to protect him. He'd moved to a foreign land where his craft could be appreciated; in the process he'd lost Ezio.

He remembers the last time they met, it was a few days before he embarked on the trip to Amboise.

'Let me come with you,' said Ezio.

'But you must care for your Brotherhood,' reasoned Leonardo. 'You are no longer a simple assassino--you are now Il Mentore. The order... It needs you.' he refused to let slip 'but not more than I do, for fear of sounding selfish.

Now he wished he'd let Ezio come along; what few memories they'd had that they were genuinely happy were ocershadowed by the fact that they occured thirty years ago.

Leonardo pulled his quilt higher. The cold seeped through to his bones not to long ago; as much as he'd like to think it was just his imagination, the chill deep within him kept reminding him that the grains of sand in his hourglass were running out.

He stared out the window. Outside--dear god he wanted to be there--outside, the sun was shining, the wind just humid enough to carry the scent of lilies and cherry and sweet pea and rose, birds of any and every colour and specie hovering overhead, the horizon looking closer than ever. He could make out shadows coming closer from the lime of the horizon; he wanted to think that the shadows were falling so that Ezio could travel in shade.

The clouds advanced and advanced and advanced toward him until he could not see them anymore; he felt silly for thinking messages could travel so fast.

He rustled in his sheets, trying to turn to his side withiut hurting his hunched back. In doing so he faced a mirror, which caught without mercy the ugly lines and wrinkles on his face, his beard unkempt and greying, formerly fair toned skin turned into a faded pallor. He had lost his youthful features a long time ago: his eyes went first, clouding until he could see but limited splotches of things, then his hands, then the rest of him followed. Nature was cruel that way, taking away from him the privelege of seeing and creating.

He looked out again: this time he saw everything he couldn't have.

He did not realize it but he had begun to cry.

He was dying, that much he knew. And that Ezio most definitely was necer going to come in time. He was losing the world and his friend and everything he once was; he was lost and there was nobody around to help him see that his legacy, his life, his friendship and everything else he left behind was beautiful.

Leonardo was sobbing and coughing loudly and drily and painfully; he was leaving aleady.

He coughed and sobbed and tried with mangled hands to wipe his tears away.

He slowed his breathing and tried to calm down.

'Tranquilla,' he told himself.

'Tranquilla,' he whispered, the word coming out as a strangled puff of air as he breathed his last.

Writernon is fail and forgot to retitle. Hope you like it OP and Im totally not claiming this just for myself; other writernons please go ahead and write another! :D

I might just fill this myself (I've had a few ideas)... any objections

And feel free to fill as well, it would certainly be better than mine, god, I fail so bad sometimes

I love to read this ;_;

In my opinion, Tazim is the only good thing to come out of The Secret Crusade.

So, after Altair regains his Grandmaster status and Darim returns to Masyaf, I want Tazim to confront Darim about leaving his father and the Brotherhood in a time of need - with all the subtlety of an A-Sayf. Darim, never to have been on the receiving end of such a tirade, is stunned and somewhat humbled. After that he continues to accept whatever criticism Tazim throws his way and at the same time wants to get closer to his father's new second-in-command. Whether or not Darim confesses his feelings and if Tazim returns them is up to anonwriter.

Bonus points if Altair notices whats going on and reflects on his own similar feelings for Malik.

I'll help you out, anon:

http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19860.html?thread=5776532#t5776532

~~yeah, I'm the filler, so what?~~

Maybe this will tide you over until someone fills this one, OP.

I love him to :) best of the multiplayer charecters. Which fill was that?

He is so- so lovely... ^___^ It was called Lure. It was a Teodor Viscardi (Officer)/ Il Lupo prompt. Here's the fill addy. I left off the http stuff so LJ won't screen it.

forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19860.html?thread=5586580#t5586580

Also, I have the first several parts of you fill completed. Should I start to post it? It might end up being quite long... so might take some time but I'm very interested in continuing to write on it and I'm having fun with your prompt and hopefully not taking it too far...

I was the one who asked for a sequal to that lol small world.

Sure start posting the parts now if you want I'm eager to see what you've written.

ROFL That's hilarious and unsurprising that you are the same OP who wanted the sequel. I am still working on that too BTW it's just going a little more slowly than this one which has taken over my mind.

Ok. I'll start posting it off the original prompt up there. I hope I didn't depart too much from what you wanted I just got this vision and because because cannonsettingwriter!anon writes Cannon Setting, it just NEEDED to come out like this.... so... ashdflk fuck... Fuck You'll see. (so nervous)

I hope you enjoy what I have so far but just to warn you it's all set up for the real plot and the character development at this point. I have written 2500 words and he hasn't even met Ezio yet. LOL I hope it's not utter shite. XD

Ok... this might end up getting kind of long and I will try to work on it as much and a quickly as possible so I don't end up leaving anyone hanging for too long.

The way to fly

Awakening had come as a bit of a shock.

He was almost certain he had breathed his last, with that treacherous whore's poison twisting his insides and paralyzing his body; with the merciless water rushing up over his head. He knew very well what manner of toxin Fiora favored and had been in the process of building his immunity in the case that, as he suspected, she could not be trusted. He was an employee, no more and no less but he knew that if he ever became a liability, it would be his life and not just his livelihood. The Borgia paid and equipped well however, certainly better than pickpocketing had ever provided him...

Although he hadn’t entirely left off that either... a little extra coin put away for emergencies... in caches hidden in places around the city known only to him. It was always better to plan ahead, lest one be easily displaced by the most casual of betrayals. He had learned much while being trained to act and fight and kill as the Assassins did, supported and protected by the powerful Templar Order but he had always known that his place was anything but secure, simply given the course of training he had been through.

He was a spy; he was a killer; he was a thief and a scoundrel... and also, it now appeared, he was a casualty.

It had been too short a time in coming; her betrayal unexpected but unsurprising... He had nearly gotten to her before falling to his knees in agony from her wretched poison. Still, he was not dead as he assumed she believed him to be, when she had rolled him into the river. Had his tongue not been held still by the poison’s effects he would have been cursing her name even as the black water closed over his head.

But his caution and well placed distrust of his employers had apparently been his savior as intended. For he still lived...

Upon sitting up, he realized suddenly that he was very much inclined to lie right back down again, the world tilting crazily and his back on fire with agony, his stomach churning. He managed to heave himself over to the side before vomiting. Strangely enough there was a pail already before him when he purged the sour, metallic bile. As he sagged, panting; throat raw and eyes half blind with involuntary tears, the pail seemed to move away and set itself down a few feet away. Then a beak-masked face with darkened lens eyes became just visible to him, seeming to hover in a sallow shaft of dirty sunlight which spilled down through a high window.

Initially he recoiled but no... This was not Malfatto... Il Lupo recalled hearing of that sinister character’s death through his eavesdropping; killed by the Assassini if rumor was to be believed.

“D-dottore?” He managed to barely croak, his voice ruined by bile and drowning.

“It would be best if you were to remain still, young man.” The beaked mask bobbed slightly with its wearer’s words but with the lack of any visible mouth, the effect was disconcerting in his muddled state; the deep voice seeming to come from inside his pounding head.

Wary, but unable to do anything to improve his lot, Il Lupo closed his eyes and eased himself back onto the mattress he lay upon, wincing as his lacerated back rasped against the sheets. His skin felt hot and swollen there and it burned terribly. He grit his teeth against the pain, a chill sweat blooming on his forehead and upper lip. His throat was parched and his lips felt cracked when he attempted to soothe them with a dry tongue.

Then there was moisture at the seam of his chapped lips, a slightly bitter tincture of herbs seeping into all the tiny cracks and fissures and stinging badly but at the same time feeling almost rapturously good. As the glass was tilted gently against his mouth, an equally gentle hand moved behind his head to support him as he drank deeply then coughed, sputtering as he tried to take down too much. The glass was withdrawn and a damp cloth mopped his lips and forehead, “How...?” He managed as his eyes drifted closed again. Breathing slowly he tried to will the pain to the back of his mind and with the help of whatever had been in that glass, it became easier.

“I witnessed your ‘murder’ and after the one with the fan disposed of you in the river I salvaged you, intending to sell you to the Artist for coin to buy my supplies. Imagine my disappointment when I discovered that you were alive.” The doctor spoke cavalierly but even in his weak and wounded state, Il Lupo recognized the humor, dry though it was, in the man’s deep voice.

The fit of coughing triggered by his bark of laughter wracked his body for a long moment and when finally his spasms relented, he sagged bonelessly against the mattress, breathing shallowly and it was well that the doctor merely said-

“Rest.”

Because Il Lupo was rapidly losing consciousness anyway, the last image he saw before his eyes fell shut, the doctor leaning close, his bone-white beaked face and dark reflective eyes emotionless but not devoid of life. He seemed worried, head cocked slightly to the side much like a real bird might do... Il lupo’s mouth quirked up at one corner before he faded into the void between dreams.

~O~

When next he awoke, he was alone and, he noticed, feeling much improved. The second thing he noticed was that he was in a bed... although not the same one he had initially regained consciousness upon. Il lupo sat up, the quilted coverlet sliding off his body which he saw was bandaged across his back and around his chest. He was otherwise nude and saw no sign of his belongings, however there were some items on a chair beside the single small bed he occupied.

He discovered a set of inconspicuous clothes; white chemise and gray tunic, simple, striped breeches and plain brown boots, the garb of a commoner. It suited him just fine. He was done with the Borgia. He was dead after all. There was also a small pouch of coins and a cloth wrapped package which, upon closer inspection proved to be a loaf of bread and a slab of dry cheese. Beside it sat a clay jug that a quick sniff revealed to be brandy.

Had that strange doctor done all of this for him? Il Lupo marveled for a moment but could make little sense of it. Altruistic behavior made him naturally suspicious but he could find no reason for the feeling. He shook his head to clear those thoughts. It did no good to think on such things. He was alive and healing well, it appeared. He had clothing and food and a little money. He just needed a plan.

But first he needed to piece together where he was and what his next move should be. Far too many things had been wrested from his control recently. He rose from the bed on legs which were a bit wobbly from inactivity. Discovering a small table near the wall bearing a basin and pitcher filled with water and a cloth for bathing and beside it on the floor a wide low earthenware pot, the purpose for which was fairly obvious, he made use of all of it before stepping into braie and breeches, pulling the chemise over his head with a wince as his damaged back stretched and pulled.

This place looked like an inn, and a cheap one it seemed. Il Lupo poked around the small space, observing the room’s simple furnishings and the single dirty window overlayed with iron lattice at the bottom. He peered out and down to the alley below. It looked blind and disused and the room he occupied was on the second floor. That was good to know.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and Il Lupo nearly jumped out of his unlaced breeches, going automatically to deploy a weapon which was not there. He cursed under his breath, testing his unused voice by first humming and then quietly calling-

“Si?” He cringed waiting for the door to come open but it remained closed.

“Signor...? I was told you might be ill... are you alright?” The male voice on the other side of the door sounded elderly; kind. “The doctor who paid for your lodging... He asked me to look in on you should you not emerge within two days... It has been two and one half days, Signor...”

Assuming he was being evicted, Il Lupo began tugging on his new tunic, going for the boots. Again he thought upon the odd doctor, everything actually fit him quite well... “I am feeling much better, gratzi. I will leave quickly, as I have clearly been here overlong...” He rasped, feeling the strain on his damaged throat.

“Oh, not to worry... Your room has been paid for five days. I am pleased you are mending well, buongiorno.” The man beyond the door called in departure and Il Lupo could only repeat-

“Buongiorno...”

Standing dumbfounded in the middle of the room he didn’t move until he could no longer hear the old man’s footfalls on the ancient floorboards. He then sat back down on the bed, pulling the tunic back off and tossing it over the chair. He had decided to test the trustworthiness of that bizarre doctor and remain where he was. He was ravenously hungry and the simple meal he had been provided looked as good as any feast. It failed to even occur to him to suspect poison as he ate and had some of the brandy, gratefully crawling, half dressed into the slightly lumpy bed when he had finished half of what he had been given, to attempt to regain more of his strength.

And the food was not poisoned; and no guards came for him; and nobody else knocked upon his door for the rest of the day as he slept on in a mercifully dreamless torpor.

Anon was not interested in this prompt in the slightest, but decided to read it out of idle curiosity. Anon is glad she did. The dottore is intriguing and Anon hopes to see more of him...? And Il Lupo finally catches a break. This is well-written and I want to read more. Excellent.

I have a random fic I wrote that's kind of like this, except Ezio's actually there when Leo dies... And Salai's a big baby. It's not polished at all, but if OP wants it, OP can have it.

I too would like to bring the Dottore back in at some point but basically he was just a device for the plot set up. :( (I liked him too though and maybe I will use him again just because he came out so awesome!) Perhaps he is the Tiber Island Doc? ~~I could use him all the time. He could be the only one who know who il lupo really is.~~ XD

Thanks Anon! It's good to know that even a fill for a prompt which is of no interest can be enjoyed! I hope you continue to like what I have on this one. Thanks again!

XD I love this idea! This is OP of the Wings prompt, and I think this is awesome! (I feel really bad for Altair, here! Poor guy, he didn't know!)

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.3

Re: Leo on his deathbed.

Re: False Identity [Minifill, 1/1]

Re: False Identity [Minifill, 1/1]

Ezio moping after getting the everloving hell kicked through him, gets some mentorly advice

Re: The Other Team Free Will 5/?

Tranquilla 1

Re: Leo on his deathbed.

PREVIOUS POST WAS TRANQUILLA 2 of 2

Re: WINGS continued : Altair/Malik

Re: Why Petruccio collects feathers

Darim/Tazim

Re: Suits!

Re: Prower(Il Lupo)/Ezio OP

Re: Prower(Il Lupo)/Ezio OP

Re: Prower(Il Lupo)/Ezio OP

Re: Prower(Il Lupo)/Ezio OP

Re: Prower(Il Lupo)/Ezio OP

Filled! The way to fly. [1/?]

Re: Filled! The way to fly. [2/?]

Re: Filled! The way to fly. [3/?]

Re: Filled! The way to fly. [4/?]

Re: Filled! The way to fly. [4/?]

Re: Leo on his deathbed.

Re: Filled! The way to fly. [4/?]

Re: WINGS continued : Altair/Malik