asscreedkinkmeme ([personal profile] asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2011-03-29 05:37 pm
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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.3

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.3
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List of Kinks
(Livejorunal) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
( Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 4
Part 5
Fills Only

Mindshift 14/18

(Anonymous) 2011-06-08 07:05 pm (UTC)(link)
“Wait, if she lives in the poor district, why was she in the rich district’s market?”

“I don’t know,” the woman said as she gave him another herb to grind. “But she’s in ruins right now.”

Desmond looked upset. “I hope she makes it, and her dogs too.”

“Don’t we all.”


He looked to see Granddad standing in the doorway. “Yes, Granddad?”

“What’s this about you leaving us?”

He was confused. “Huh?”

“I was worried that would happen.”

He saw Malik and Altair walk into the house. “What’s this all about?”

“Earlier, we discussed you going back to your time. Remember?” Malik said, frowning.

He thought for a while, and handed the ground herb to the daughter before shaking his head. “No. I don’t.”

Altair and Malik exchanged glances as Granddad sat down next to him. “They said that you are going to Masyaf, where they will send you home.”

Desmond tilted his head. “I don’t remember that at all.”

Malik growled, frustrated, and Altair scowled.

“Sorry,” Desmond said quickly.

“It isn’t your fault,” Altair said, “but I wish I knew why the Apple was doing this.”

“You are leaving us?” the daughter asked, and Desmond looked upset.

“I don’t want to. I like it here with you guys.”

“May I… may I travel with you?” Granddad asked the Grand Master. “So that I may say goodbye to my grandson, even though adopted?”

Altair frowned, but nodded. “We will give you an escort back, as well, but you may not say anything about what you will see.”

“Of course, but I want to say goodbye to my grandson.”

Desmond smacked the table and rose. “I don’t want to leave.”

“I know, Desmond. But you must.”

“I… Why?”


“Why do I have to go?”

Altair frowned. “Allah help me: it’s like caring for my child.”


Malik actually smirked. “His kid—your ancestor—has hit the stage of asking questions.”

Granddad laughed. “Ah, I remember that with my child. Good luck, young man.”

A dry smile pulled at Altair’s lips. “Thank you.”

Desmond flopped down. “I don’t…”

“We leave tomorrow morning at sunrise. Meet us outside the gates. I hope the Apple doesn’t erase your memory this time.”

Desmond didn’t respond. By the time they left, all thoughts of going home were gone. He wondered why Granddad and his daughter ate as if they were sad, and when he walked in to say good night to Granddad, he frowned.

“Why are you packing?”

“We leave tomorrow morning.”


“For Masyaf.”

“The home of the assassins? I thought you liked it in Jerusalem.”

“We have business to attend to there.”

Desmond smiled. “Okay!”

As he left to pack, he missed the “I will miss you.”

The next morning, he was bright and chipper, dressed in the Knight uniform with Malik’s sword by his side, and Kadar’s doll tucked into his tunic. He had the box of paper scraps and thank-yous from the citizens for “killing” Altair as his granddad had suggested. He was bright and bubbly as they met up with the two assassins.

“You’re coming with?”

Altair raised an eyebrow.

“Granddad said we have business to attend to in Masyaf. Are you coming with?”

“Yes,” Malik said as he hopped up on his horse. “We are the ones you have business with.”

“Oh, okay. But why—”

“Because the paperwork is in his home.”


They rode off, and Desmond spent the entire time trying to cheer his granddad up. He was solemn and forlorn as they rode to Masyaf, and he couldn’t figure out why. Altair and Malik were of no help either in figuring out what was going on, but Desmond smiled through his confusion. When they stopped in a small village for the night, he wrestled with the children and gossiped with the people.

“He acts as if he has lived here his whole life,” Altair murmured, watching him from a bench as he talked with a shopkeeper.

“What is the Apple doing?” Malik said, leaning against the building.

They watched in silence as two little kids taught him how to play a game. Finally, Malik said, “He said, when we first talked, that Masyaf had fallen in the future to the hands of the Templars. Do you think the Apple is trying to straighten it out?”

“The boy is not immortal, so that would make no sense.”

“At least I am speculating,” Malik spat. “Although, he seems fixated on the fact that he feels at home.”

“Do you think the Apple is trying to get him to go back to Masyaf in the future?”