Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.3

[asscreedkinkmeme]

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.3
Fill Only

Get out of my bureau!

☃ 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
(Livejorunal) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 4
Part 5
Fills Only
Discussion

Comments

Role Reversal

[(Anonymous)]

So this is a strange AU idea I've had. Basically it's that all the Templars and Assassins switch jobs. So Assassins would be Templars and the Templars would be the Assassins. Any time period you want just something wonderfully brain breaky would be awesome.

Re: Role Reversal

[(Anonymous)]

This has the potential to be either cracky or epic! I'd love to see someone go epic! But crack is awesome too!

Cesare forced into the Assassin role? Robert losing or betrayed by his friend/fellow Assassin Maria to the Templars? So much potential, and I wish I could write!

eclipse (1/2)

[(Anonymous)]

The Assassins are good.

They slide out of the shadows and ambush with an incredible finesse that the Templars don't possess, largely because the Templars don't need it. Why should they? They have all the power of a bright civilization at their disposal and no inclination to hide, so Altair doesn't even bother dragging the white-robed assassin into an alley before twisting around and burying his dagger into the nameless man's back, right between the shoulder blades, severing his spine. He steps on the man's neck and crushes it under his heel as he pulls the weapon out.

The Assassins are good, but Altair is better.

The crowd of onlookers underfoot gasp as the bloody body hits the dusty ground, averting their eyes like they could be guilty by association if they so much as stare a moment too long. The five bodies hanging in the gallows on the stage behind him are proof that they could. Even the city guards gather to see what the commotion is about before they catch sight of him and back into each other, stepping on each other's toes as they walk in a wide circle around him, dispersing the spectators and avoiding his gaze.

“Let this be a lesson to you all,” he announces. “Not even the Assassins can escape judgment.”

Ever so faintly, he lifts his head and, above the stench of the Poor District and the rot of the people, he catches a whiff of fire on the wind.

-----

Even with one arm, Malik easily tosses the body into the fire. Flesh, like the pages of heretic books and sacrilegious propaganda, burns black then not at all, broken down into nothing but thick, clogging smoke. The white and red garb of the Assassins singe and char until even their bones turn brittle and dark. The smell of burning human meat is distasteful and sickening to the stomach. It makes one of his assistants start to retch wetly in the corner, adding the smell of vomit to the air.

“Get a hold of yourself,” he barks at the doubled-over back. Everyone in the vicinity cringes at the sharp whip-like crack of his voice, knowing better than to test his infamous ire. “And make sure the rest of this burns to ash. And stay alert! I am going to check that the rest of you novices haven't botched up a simple fire,” he says with disgust, sweeping out of the alcove and into the streets. Even though he is handicapped, the pedestrians part like the sea to make way.

There is no weakness in a man whose arm, even singular, is that of the law.

-----

The hood falls off the assassin and Altair freezes, then sneers. “They are so pressed for men that they are hiring women now?”

The assassin kicks at him, hands scratching angry red welts into his arm, but she lets out a muffled growl and scrabbles her feet against the ground instead when he tightens the hold he has around her neck. It is thin and fragile under his fingers, not because she is a woman, but because any man's throat is vulnerable when in his grasp. She glares balefully at him, her arm shooting out once to claw at his face, but she has made concessions to walk in a man's shoes – the nails are brittle, chipped, and blunt. They do little damage.

eclipse (2/2)

[(Anonymous)]

“You Templar vermin don't know of what you speak,” she hisses, voice low and deep for the fairer sex. Her words are flecked with anger and disgust; she raises his chin as much as his choke-hold will allow, proud and crass, not at all like a woman. “You don't even know what you are fighting for. You are so well-ingrained in your bigotry that you have begun to believe your own lies. What do you know of equality?” Despite being pinned like an animal, waiting to die, she opens her mouth and laughs in his face. “What do you know of justice?”

He pulls her away from the wall and throws her to the ground, frowning as she gasps and holds a hand to her neck. This time, there is confusion as well as distaste in the way she looks at him, one of her hands instinctively flexing back to unsheathe the weapon hidden in her bracer, even if Altair broke the blade not ten minutes prior. Only the short, jagged base of the knife comes out, barely extending past the butt of her palm.

“I know there is no justice in gutting a defenseless woman,” he says, leaning forward and catching her wrist as she tried to slash at his throat with the ruined hidden blade. He smiles, all teeth. “At least not where no one else can see.”

-----

“You don't understand, Altair. The Assassins are the ones who can see the true path to the future,” Al Mualim pleads, but he is already choking on his own blood, the collar of his robes soaking a deep red, matching the Templar cross sewn on his front and distorting its clean-cut lines. He is bleeding out on the floor and Altair watches him die, neither stooping to comfort them nor bending to pass a hand over his eyes when the old, wizened body finally gives out and shudders still. That would be too merciful; that would be too much like an Assassin.

When he returns to the castle, he has visitors.

“Al Mualim called us here,” explains the black-market dealer from Damascus, dressed in opulent, dark robes from the profit he makes from selling priceless counterfeit pots imported from the East. The wizened old doctor from Acre, his beard a snowy white, nods his agreement. “He said there was a matter of great importance to discuss, mentioned a letter from Europe.”

Malik's eyes wander over the blood still caked in Altair's nails, linger on the golden sphere still trapped in the claw of his hand, tight and secure like the bars of an iron cage. There is jealousy in that gaze, envy that Altair should be the one to have won that particular prize. “A trap,” he surmises sullenly, leaning back against the counter with a huff of irritation. “These days the Assassins are everywhere. And if you have dealt with your infiltration problem here, then I am going to return to my district to make sure I don't have such careless pest problems.”

“Malik,” Altair begins, but he is too proud and too power-drunk, too certain of his own truths to go searching for any others, too corruption-filthy and selfish. He lowers his attention away from the expectant look the other Templar gives him and shakes his head. What forgiveness does he seek that he himself does not grant at the gallows? “No, it is nothing.

All of you, go.”

Re: eclipse (2/2)

[(Anonymous)]

OMG... There are no words for how... It's so dark and yet true to the characters if they were flipped and Al Mualim was trying to do the right thing, only in this version of events it might've actually been the right thing... And Maira's nails, for some reason that was really poniant and said so much about her.

I think I love you Write!anon. Thanks so much for this fill. It literally left me speechless with how right it was, while at the same time being so wrong.