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

Ezio examined the passageway that lead into the mountain, but due to the rugged nature of the passages, he searched around the plateau for any other way in, but finding none, he picked his way through the rubble that lay between the ledges. It seemed as if the years had taken their tole on the passageway. Where once it seemed to be ledges placed far apart were now eroded blocks of rubble that littered the floor. He followed the path for what seemed like forever until it opened out into the great plain. Stunned for a moment at the great expanse of space that was within the plateau, Ezio hardly noticed the temple that was covered by an old dead tree. When he noticed he made a beeline for the temple assuming that the temple would have been the first place Altair would have entered as well.
Upon seeing that there was no door on the bottom level he walked up the stairs while admiring the strange disks that were arranged on the floor of the bottom level. Just as Ezio stepped in front of the door on the top level a bright light shone behind him. He turned around and found the image of a woman floating before him.
“What?! Who are you and where did you come from?!” Ezio screamed at the woman, which was very unusual for him, but the idea of her sneaking up on him did not set well with him.
“I've been here since before you came here. I should be asking those questions.” It was at this point that Ezio noticed that she was translucent and floating, unnerving him even further before she asked, “Who are you and why are you here? This is my grave as well as that of the prince of Persia who tried to save this land.”
“I'm here following the trail that a previous Grand Master of my order left before he disappeared. He came here searching for a precious artifact. Would you know of anything of that type?”
“You still didn't answer who you are, but I guess one answer in exchange for another is a fair deal. Within this temple is a tree that may be something you are looking for. But I would not enter that temple currently.”
“Why is that, signora?”
“Not yet, answer my question first then I'll give you your answer.”
“Okay, okay. I'm from the order of assassins based in Italy; you may call me Ezio.”
“Alright Ezio, the reason you don't want to go in that temple is because the great evil of Ahriman is in it.” Ezio smirked, thinking it was a joke, “You don't believe me? Then what do you think happened to your ancestor when he tried to enter? Ahriman swallows up anything that comes near his pestilence.” Frowning Ezio turned to the door then asked, “Then how do I enter to see the tree?”
“You could follow the footsteps of the prince who lies here and cleanse the temple of Ahriman and succeed where the prince failed. But there is a problem.”
“What now?” Ezio groaned.
“In this body I can't cleanse the Fertile Grounds like I used to.”
“Wonderful, so how am I going to get to the tree now?”
“It's possible if you could take me to the Fertile Grounds.”
“How? Possession?” Ezio exclaimed sarcastically.
“That's what I was thinking.” Elika said with a smile.

This has the potential for much lulz.
Seconded.

I want Altair's revenge for Malik's fate in the book.
I want it really badly.
Thank you, writer!anon.

I lol'd

How about all of the characters team up on them *.*

No, because then they'd all be dead, and we'd never see the end of the video game series. XD

Oh man me too! That was such bullshit.

I'll be mean now and say that this would probably be the kindest thing that could happen to them...

Well... I do want to know what the PoEs do and if they save the world, but I guess I've already got my headcannon, and I don't really think they're going to do a good job with any character development, so, by all logical standards, you are correct. XD

SECONDED SO HARD IT HURTS
ASDFGHJMH

This is pretty cracky. Certainly feel free other writeanons to take a more serious look at this if you want!

There was a burlap bag on Malik’s desk. There was a bag on Malik’s desk and Malik was leaning back in his chair, legs crossed, flipping through a magazine spread out on his thighs. Downright smug.

Altair and Maria exchanged worried glances before approaching him. Altair said, “Malik, has something happened?”

Malik licked his thumb and turned a page. “No.”

“Oh, well that’s fine. But you’ve been whistling,” Maria said cautiously. “In a happy way. We were concerned.”

There was an interesting smell, and it seemed to be emanating from the bag. “What is in the bag, Malik?” Altair said, when there was no response.

A shrug. “I had some business to take care of. Nothing especially interesting.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with the rumors we’ve been hearing about the… the book, does it?” Maria tried.

Another easy shrug. “What rumors? Nothing to worry about, I’m sure.”

Altair and Maria looked at each other again. They exchanged a set of loquacious rapid-fire facial expressions, which in sequence equated roughly to sentiments of Now what?, Do something!, and You do something!

After another moment of severe frowning, Altair stepped forward. “You were gone an extra hour over lunch break. Did you have lunch with someone?”

“I did, actually,” said Malik, and Altair and Maria settled slightly. “I suppose you could call him a coworker. Well, could have called him a coworker. I don’t think he’s going to be doing a lot of working any time soon,” Malik said coolly and turned another page in the magazine.

“Was it Oliver Bowden,” Altair asked point-blank.

“Yes.”

The bag sat ominously on the desk. A dark liquid was beginning to seep out of one of its corners. “Malik,” Maria said.

“Yes?”

“What do you have in the bag?” she asked politely. “Only, it’s, ah, unusual for you to take lunch breaks at all and some of us are a little curious what you brought back with you.” There was a loud shuffling behind them as Desmond, Ezio, and a number of others with desks on that floor strove to pretend they were focusing on their work instead of eavesdropping.

“Something Mr. Bowden is going to miss, I think,” Malik said after a steady stare over the rows of office desks. Someone coughed and the clatter of keyboards and busywork began again. “Actually, Oliver Bowden was only a pen name. That’s why I got back late from my lunch.”

Maria seized the bag and began opening it. Altair felt like his mind was floating through a panic-induced daydream. “Malik, I understand completely why you wanted to do this. Believe me—”

“I never thought I’d be on the receiving end of one of these conversations with you, Altair,” said Malik.

“But we are going to be in so much trouble if you actually assassinated an Ubisoft employee,” Altair continued. There was a scrape of chairs as the rest of the office stood up to watch the unwrapping.

“Oh?” Malik said. He gently turned another page.

Maria wrenched the bag open. She gave a small gasp then reached inside, moving things around.

“It’s a… computer hard drive,” she said.

“It’s—” Altair blinked. “What?”

“It looks like printer ink spilled everywhere.”

He checked the bag then stared at Malik, who finally acknowledged their presence by closing the magazine and turning his face upward. “You stole Bowden’s computer?”

“And his backup files,” Malik said, sounding insulted. “But, like I said, he shouldn’t be in the mood to write anything for a while. It was going to take more than beating the hell out of him to pull that man’s head out of his ass, but Mr. Bowden has been made aware of the severity of his actions, I think.”

A pause. With a sigh, Maria shrugged and returned to her workspace. Altair looked around and leaned across Malik’s desk “Tell me you at least…” he said in a low voice.

“Hard,” Malik agreed.

“In the face?”

Malik smiled. “Of course.”

Altair gave a small fist pump in front of his chest, hidden from the rest of the room.

I love you.

Maybe just Malik survives the Bowden character massacre and watches Altair grieve over his wife and son.

Watch it without sound.

A bunch of almost naked (hot) men dancing around, occasionally molesting ice cream.
I didn't know whether to be afraid or not...

So happy you enjoyed it, OP. ♥

omg, i laughed so hard i think i broke my lungs
thank you writer!anon, thank you SO much!

That pretty much made my freakin day, writer!anon.

yeah put that in your novel and smoke it, ubisoft.

...I...I think my brain's broke. I didn't pay attention the lyrics, too distracted by the almost nekkid guys.

I really, really want this now. <3

Could anon request a Desmond/Subject 16 fic? There really aren't enough of them.
BONUS POINTS if Shaun starts to get suspicious/jealous somehow. I'm not sure how that would fit in, buuuuuuut...
:)

It had been almost a year since the defeat of Al Mualim. Altair had taken on the role of Grandmaster, helping the Order recover from the betrayal and rebuilding its strength. Malik had been replaced at the Jerusalem Bureau, staying at Masyaf to help the recovery.

The one-armed assassin watched Altair sort through the latest batch of reports from their brothers in the field, making notes as he decided how to manage them. It was still strange to see Altair at a desk, even though he spent so much time there now. And....was it just the light, or was Altair starting to put on weight?

"These idiots," Altair grumbled as he read. When he was done, he attached several notes to pigeons and sent them on their way. "I am not convinced the new leader of the Jerusalem Bureau is competent. It seems I am constantly forced to send direction on how to solve their troubles." Altair returned to the desk, and adjusted the pillows he'd added to Al Mualim's chair before sitting back down. Then he turned his gaze to Malik. "What are you looking at? Speak. What am I to do about him?"

"I will go and speak with him. As to what I am looking at," Malik smirked, "It seems this life is agreeing with you. Perhaps a little too well."

"What are you talking about?" Altair demanded. "You have no idea how difficult this adjustment has been. Deciphering Al Mualim's papers. Issuing new orders. Unifying our fractured brothers. Do you think I like sitting at this damned desk all the time? I miss having missions. Flying over rooftops after a target, or making a quick escape!" Altair put his feet on a small cushioned footstool he'd taken from among the bookshelves.

Malik gave a pointed glance at the footstool. "Oh, yes, you are clearly suffering so much. You must have great fortitude of spirit to keep such a healthy appetite despite this grueling work, if your expanding waistline is any indication."

"That is ridiculous!" Altair insisted. "I may have to spend more time here, but that does not mean that I have let myself become unready for combat! Why, just this morning the training master asked me to help demonstrate technique."

Malik simply reached forward, pinching Altair's waist. The fact that he was able to do so and come away with soft flesh between his fingers was telling.

Altair glared at Malik. "So I do not have time to scale cliff edges all day. I would if I could." An assistant walked up to the desk, setting down a plate of food. As he backed away quietly, Altair called him back. "You forgot the cheese. This is not a complicated task, novice." The assistant scuttled away, and Altair turned back to Malik. "Now. Can we get back to real business?"

Malik snickered. "Somehow I think you could do without the cheese."

"Malik, you are being ridiculous. I am still wearing the same robes as I did when I carried out missions. This one fits fine. As do my weapons belt and bracer." Altair stood to demonstrate his point. The items he had listed were adjustable, but that was a fact he kept firmly to himself.

"And how many times have you had to let out your belt, hm?" Malik leaned over, checking the leather and noting the holes where it was most worn down by habit. "Looks like about three."

Altair placed a hand over Malik's wrist, where it hovered near his belt. "And if I have? Have you made a study of my body? Do you find me unfit to lead? Unappealing to look upon? I cannot be too hideous, given that you let me kiss you when we were alone in my study."

Malik scowled, his face reddening. "That has nothing to do with this. Nor is it about your fitness to lead. I was merely suggesting that you have let yourself indulge in too much decadence. You are an assassin, you do not need cushioned footstools and generous meals brought to you by eager-to-please young initiates. You are already gaining unhealthy weight, that much is clear to anyone without making a study of it."

"Very well. I will make more time to train. And get rid of these." Altair tossed the pillows and footstool toward the bookshelves, startling a scribe who was at one of the tables. "Is that the only way I can keep your affection?"

Malik rolled his eyes. "Are you done bring childishly dramatic?"

Altair looked at Malik suspiciously. "What do you want, then? I need you, Malik. To be at my side. To be my partner, confidante, and advisor. If you need me to look a certain way, I have no choice but to do so."

"I am all that you say you need," Malik told him. "But you left one more thing out, maybe the most important. You need me to be honest. Do you think that any of the sycophants you deal with all day would ever point out that you are falling out of conditioning?"

"I suppose not," Altair replied. His tone was a bit grumpy, but not as much as it could have been, due to Malik's reassurances that he was Altair's trusted partner. "You never answered my question though. Do you find me unappealing to look upon?"

"Idiot, I already told you that this isn't about your looks, appealing or otherwise, " Malik said grumpily. He knew better than to try answering a question like that - if he said that Altair's looks had suffered, then Altair would sulk horrendously, and if Malik admitted to finding him attractive, then Altair's ego would be unbearable. "I am talking about trying to keep you in proper form as an assassin, ready to fight even though that may no longer be your primary role within the Brotherhood. "

"I wish to know," Altair replied simply.

Seeing that Altair was going to be stubborn about it, Malik opted to deliberately misunderstand the question. "The sight of you no longer angers me the way it once did, but you know perfectly well that we are long since past that."

"I see. So that is all," Altair sulked. "That resolves it." Altair stood and began stripping off his outer robe, striding toward the garden as he did. The scribe who had been startled by the flying pillows watched agape.

Malik followed, amused at Altair’s fit of pique and curious about his intentions. Without the outer robe, Altair's new pudginess was especially noticeable.

Altair stood atop the few stairs leading down to the garden, going through some basic stretches. Then he set off jogging around the garden. Up and down the slope leading to the cliffs he went, setting a consistent if somewhat slow pace, until he was panting with the effort.

"That's all it takes to get you out of breath these days?" Malik called, smirking. "No wonder your stomach's gotten so round."

"I don't see you running," Altair grumped, jumping up to catch an overhanging beam. He tried to do some pull-ups, but dropped back down after two. So he spread out on the ground instead, to do sit-ups until he finally sprawled, exhausted, with his arms out at either side of him.

"Two? Really?" Malik laughed. He got up and shed his own robe, jumping to the beam and doing twenty himself with his remaining arm before climbing up onto the structure and heading for the cliff - not to run to it, but to scale it.

Altair watched him, stunned into silence. He made a mental note to make this a daily routine. Clearly Malik had kept up with his training. Once Altair had caught his breath, he went to the fountain to drink and splash cold water on his face.

Malik climbed the cliff and then returned the same way, carefully controlling his breathing and pretending that his arm did not ache. He did take care to keep in conditioning, but the cliff was a challenging climb even for assassins for two arms.

Altair sat up with his back to the wall, with a cup old cold, clear water he had filled from the fountain. "Amazing," he called. "Come over here and sit."

Malik came over, disdaining the bench lest Altair think him tired. "What is amazing about that? Any assassin should be capable of that much."

"Sit down next to me and drink. I wish to talk to you about a training routine. Your performance was inspiring, and I wish to discuss incorporating your routine into all the brothers' training."

Mollified by the sincerity of the admiration - however misplaced, he felt - Malik came and sat beside him, accepting a cup of cool water from Altair and trying not to drink it too fast. "It is nothing special. I have had to work harder to be as good as I once was, is all."

"You have. And you succeeded. It must have been a difficult struggle. Malik, I will listen to your counsel moving forward. No matter how uncomfortably honest it is." Altair snuck an arm around Malik's waist and leaned Malik back against his slightly-soft body. "Comfortable?" he asked, with a smile.

"Does that mean you have not been listening to my counsel in the past?" Malik asked dryly, adding as Altair pulled him close, "You make a better pillow than those fancy ones you threw away earlier."

"I refuse to answer that," Altair grinned. "And thank you. Enjoy it while you can. Once I get back into shape I will not be so plush. Though I think I'd still be capable of providing my tireless advisor with some relaxation, in other ways." Altair kissed the nape of Malik's neck softly.

Malik squirmed a little. "Altair, not here. Someone will see."

"Somewhere else, then?" Altair asked.

"You presume much," Malik gave him a look.

"You are right. Later. I have much to do now." Altair stood. "I am going to tell all the brothers that for one hour a day, we are not to be disturbed. You will be training me in the garden. Also..." Altair hesitated, "I will tell the servants to leave the cheese off my meals." He did plan to steal back a pillow or perhaps two, but Malik did not need to know that.

Malik looked amused. "You can eat what you have been, you just need to be active enough to make use of it all instead of letting it turn to fat," he smirked, pinching Altair's stomach again.

"Will you still pinch me then? I must confess to becoming rather fond of it."

"Idiot," Malik told him, reaching around and - yes, those were love handles - and pinching hard.

True to his word, Altair did enjoy it.

Everything about this fill is beautiful and crackish as it should be. This made my day as well :D

Hell, this is epic shit right here. This just made me feel so much better, WriterAnon! Thank you.

Altair's mini fist pump made the whole thing.

Also, it is now part of my headcanon that they all hang out when Ubi's not making them work. <3

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.3

Assassins Through Time (2/?)

Re: Unlucky 13

Re: someone-a gonna get hurt real bad

Re: lol

Re: someone-a gonna get hurt real bad

Re: someone-a gonna get hurt real bad

Re: someone-a gonna get hurt real bad

Re: someone-a gonna get hurt real bad

Re: someone-a gonna get hurt real bad

Re: I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO TITLE THIS

Not So Funny Now, Is It? - Fill [1/1]

Re: Not So Funny Now, Is It? - Fill [1/1]

Re: Malik/Altair

Re: I'll Never Look At Ice Cream The Same Way Again. Ever.

Re: OP has never been so happy!

Re: Not So Funny Now, Is It? - Fill [1/1]

Re: Not So Funny Now, Is It? - Fill [1/1]

Re: I'll Never Look At Ice Cream The Same Way Again. Ever.

I feel we need more crazy in here.

Fill - Going Soft [1/3]

Fill - Going Soft [2/3]

Fill - Going Soft [3/3]

Re: Not So Funny Now, Is It? - Fill [1/1]

Re: Not So Funny Now, Is It? - Fill [1/1]

Re: Not So Funny Now, Is It? - Fill [1/1]