#DesLucy

[clingyduoapologist]

Lucy I appreciate the effort but as far as glass houses go you’re rocking a mansion

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: Slowburn – Malik hates rich playboy Altair, and starts a blog to educate the tweens on what a sexist dick he is. He just didn't expect Altair to find it and become its fan. Taking place over three years, we follow how both characters become better people, before they even meet in person.

Author: @bewareofchris

Note from submitter: This is my favourite slowburn, and despite how insanely long it is, I've read the whole thing three times, and I'm always thinking about starting that fourth time. It doesn't have much to do with AC apart from a few references and using the characters. Please, go read it if you like slowburn!

[zromby-archive]

'well i've lost it all, i'm just a silouhette, a lifeless face that you'll soon forget. my eyes are damp from the words you left, ringing in my head, when you broke my chest.'

[bewareofchris]

R | Desmond/Lucy | Implied Violence, Implied Character Death

Desmond had two lives: the future he remembered living in and the present he woke up in.

From @dreamingcellardoor‘s prompt

Character A time travels back to the past to kill Character B. It's necessary because Character B has turned into a monster (metaphorically or literally) that will end the world or something equally terrible. But you know, Character B wasn't always like that...

[desmondmlles]

I’M DESLUCY TRASH

[cpunkmagneto]

Lucy: what Desmond I know how to have fun

Desmond: I'd like to see that

Lucy: okay when we're finished saving the world I'll show you

Desmond: wait can I get that in writing

me: please get married

[caiminnent]

glass houses [Shaun & Lucy with mentions of one-sided shaundes & deslucy, rated T]

Prompt(s): sleep deprivation (BTHB, 2/25) + 14

Summary: “We’re in love with the same person. Friendships have been built on less common ground.”

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed

Tags: College AU, Bonding, Pining, Unrequited Crush

2.3K || Also on AO3.

Forty three—no, forty two minutes left to have lunch, get his essay printed and rush to Leonardo’s office on the other side of the campus—and Rebecca is still droning on and on about the part next Saturday, because clearly the life he doesn’t have is more important than the grade he won’t be getting unless they pick up the pace already. Murder on school grounds would probably get him expelled, among other things, which is why he’s only contemplating it; but an under-slept, under-caffeinated man has his limits and he is approaching his fast.

“No, Rebecca,” he repeats on a deep sigh as they finally get in line behind a couple in matching PJ’s, seemingly having a heated argument through sharp looks and contained gestures in that way only couples can. “I do not want to come to the party, thank you very much. I’m not even invited, remember?”

“I could ask Lucy,” she offers, unfazed. “We’re having lunch with her anyway, I could mention it then—”

His stomach drops.

“—I’m sure she won’t mind. I mean, the more the merrier—”

Taking a deep breath through his nose, “We’re what?” he cuts in. The Couple glance over with raised brows and pursed lips, as if he sullied their petty issues by having his own.

She frowns. “What?”

He just shakes his head. Lunch with Lucy, Christ. Today just keeps giving. “You won’t ask her to invite me,” he says, pinning her with his I Mean It, Rebecca look. “Or don’t even hope for a single page from my notes ever again.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ll swear on anything, Rebecca.”

Fishing her phone out of her pocket, “Whatever,” she throws, fingers already dancing on the screen. His own remains suspiciously silent in his bag. “What’s your beef with Lucy anyway?”

The Couple aren’t even pretending not to listen in, half-turned in their direction as they are. He glares steadily at them until they get their noses out of his business and back into their own, although some of those meaningful looks are probably about him this time. Hell if he cares.

“I don’t even know Lucy,” he points out, rubbing at the throbbing spot over his brow—not that that’s ever helped. “Why would I have a problem with her?”

“You get weird whenever I mention her, man. Coulda thought you had a thing for her if I didn’t know better.” Pockets the phone again, shrugging a shoulder at his look. “It’s either that or hate.”

Oh for the love of— “I don’t hate her, either,” he says—the truth, too, no matter the disbelieving face she makes at him. He has no real reason to hate Lucy. He just... doesn’t prefer to share space with her if he doesn’t absolutely have to.

If he sometimes goes out of his way to make sure he doesn’t, well.

By some miracle—more likely, because they’re finally within reach of food—she drops the subject, shoving a tray into his hands and grabbing one of her own. His stomach curls into itself at the sight of half the containers, the other half he can’t even recognise beyond had it before and didn’t die.

He accepts a serving of each and trails off after Rebecca.

Once they push past the growing crowd towards the tables, scanning the sea of heads, “You should try to get along with Lucy, you know,” she pipes up—because Rebecca leaving anything alone would’ve been too much like good luck to happen to him. “You know who she’s friends with.”

“Rebecca.”

“I’m just saying. Sheesh, someone’s touchy today.”

And whose fault is that, he’s about to snap when he spots Lucy off to the side, dumping an ungodly amount of sugar into her coffee—from Creed Coffee, no less. His first stop as soon as he drops off his essay; he’s earned a treat.

Because it’s just that kind of day, Lucy chooses that moment to look up and catch him staring like a buffoon. She beams at him like there was no one she would’ve been happier to see, waving them over.

“There she is,” Rebecca says, taking a sharp turn in her direction. He follows suit, squeezing between tables she breezes through and almost spilling his chow all over people on three separate occasions until they safely take their places across from Lucy.

To his credit, when Lucy smiles at him again, he does try to return it. His face muscles ignore the command entirely.

The women have already jumped into conversation on nothing he particularly cares about; he tunes them out for the most part and buries himself into his ‘food’ instead, fielding Rebecca’s attempts to lure him in with one-word responses and the occasional grunt when he can get away with it. About twenty minutes left; he can make it if he hurries. Maybe. Hopefully.

“Ignore him,” she stage-whispers to Lucy—with ‘him’ sitting right next to them, thank you very much. “His coffee machine broke last night.”

The audacity. “She means she broke it,” he clarifies around his spoon. It’s not grumbling if he’s right.

“Semantics,” she waves it off, reaching for her coat. “I’ll fix it when I get back, promise.”

“Wait, where the hell are you going?”

Raising her brows, “To turn in our papers, like we talked?” Rebecca says, confusion so thick in her tone that he almost doubts his own memory—except he could recognise that glint in her eyes anywhere. “You’ll keep Lucy company while I’m gone, right?”

That meddling little—

“Right,” he says for Lucy’s benefit, who is glancing between them with polite curiosity, doing his best to convey you owe me so much for this with one look. “Of course I will.”

Rebecca dares to grin at him, dropping the pretence altogether. All of three seconds and she’s off, leaving only an unused fork behind.

Without her around, the table has gone alarmingly smaller, Lucy everywhere within his sight unless he stares straight down at his tray. Had he ever been alone with Lucy before? Alone alone, within speaking distance, without anything or anyone to hide behind?

He doesn’t even have coffee to hide behind now.

One slides in front of him.

Raising her hands, “You look like you need it more,” Lucy explains, that too-warm smile on her lips; he feels shittier the longer he looks at it. “No offense.”

“None taken.” He did catch a sight of himself on the way here—not his best moment.

The polite no, thank you he should say is on the tip of his tongue—almost impossible to get out with the warm temptation is sitting right there in front of him, right under his nose, smelling—well, sort of like a unicorn exploded in there and caramel. Not that he can afford to be picky.  

Besides, he’s survived vending machine sludge; it only goes up from there.

“Come on, take it,” she insists, honest-to-god batting eyelashes at him. “So that I can feel a little better about asking for your ComLit notes next week.”

He snorts and accepts the bribe, only too eager. It’s syrupy to the point of nauseating, not unlike those energy drinks Rebecca fills the dustbin with, except with a lot less immediate kick. He doubts there’s any caffeine in there, even.

Magic might be involved, however, given the way he’s already feeling a tad closer to human.

He nods his thanks. She returns it.

“You know, Shaun,” she starts slowly, with an odd sort of caution—or maybe he’s just not used to people who think before they speak anymore. “I don’t know what Rebecca threatened you with, but you don’t have to sit with me just to be nice. I know you don’t really like me.”

He can’t help a wince—then a deeper one, when it hits that this was probably among the worst ways he could’ve reacted to a statement like that. Leave it to him to put his foot in his mouth without even opening it.

“It’s fine,” she adds, saving him from himself. “I mean it. Not everyone has to be friends.”

That’s not it, not at all.

Thing is, under different circumstances, they could’ve been friends, he and Lucy. He doesn’t know her, not really; but by the electives they keep coming across each other in and the books she carries, he doesn’t doubt they could find plenty to talk about if, if, he could get his head out of his arse and get over—

Well. He obviously can’t tell her all that.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not you,” he allows, the closest thing to an explanation he can afford to give.

“It’s okay,” she says gently, those huge, impossibly blue puppy eyes of hers trained on his. “I know.”

Blood freezes in his veins.

It’s a simple phrase. It doesn’t have to mean anything beyond the face value. There’s no reason for it to; he’d been careful—more than, really—but that smile, all sadness and sympathy—

He swallows against the bitter taste in his mouth, a light burn all the way down his throat, pooling in the pit of his stomach. “You do?”

“I do,” she confirms, jerking her head somewhere to his far right. He follows her gaze to—

Oh, hell. She does.

“He doesn’t know,” she answers his unasked question, lowly enough that the rush of blood in his ears almost drowns out the words. “Don’t worry, you’re not obvious about it or anything.”

Clearly he is, if she noticed.

He risks another glance—he is sprawled on his seat with an arm resting on the other one, laughing at whatever bollocks story Cross might be telling, that stupid one-strap bag of his sitting on the table.

“You’re sure he doesn’t?” he has to ask, heart both at his feet and racing in his chest somehow.

She nods. “Positive. He’s the worst when it comes to this sort of thing, you wouldn’t believe it. He won’t notice unless you come at him with a brick that says I like you.”

Something at the back of his mind prickles like static.

See, past the initial shock, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out where he’d gone wrong. As far as social circles go, his and his are on different planes entirely. They don’t have mutual friends beyond the tangential; they don’t frequent the same places unless Rebecca drags him out to Bad Weather; they hardly talked enough for him to develop this… thing he’s been saddled with, even. He’d thought—as long as he kept to his corner of life where he doesn’t have to face them, he’d thought he could pretend his feelings away.

It had never even occurred to him that someone might notice him not looking. That someone might have reason to care why.

He’s fairly certain of the answer when he asks, his stomach heavy with dread, “Speaking from experience?”

Her face goes carefully blank. It’s as good a confirmation as any.

He takes a deep breath, locking the irrational sting of disappointment down and away, where he can pretend it doesn’t exist, either. What does it matter if she is the competition? He had decided not to pursue that line of thought long ago. What does it matter if he’d already lost?

“You’re not obvious, either,” he tries. She smiles, if that rueful little curl can be called one. “He doesn’t know?”

She shrugs, too nonchalant to actually be that. “Or doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. I dropped, like, a lot of hints; no one’s that oblivious.”

Would it be awkward if he kind of sort of maybe wants to give her a hug?

It would, wouldn’t it.

What even is his life.

“Anyway,” she sighs, glancing at her watch. “Time to leave. Vidic’s class.”

Ugh. That he doesn’t envy her for. “Good luck,” he offers, reaching for the cup again—a bit sorry to have taken it from her, now.

She makes a face. “Thanks.” She drops her spoon on her mostly full tray, Rebecca’s abandoned fork with it. “By the way, it’s his birthday next Saturday. We’re having a party at our place; you should come.”

He almost chokes on the next sip, saved by a stray half second. “Me?”

She raises a brow, a perfectly arched duh.

His brain stutters. Why does she—why would she want him there, if she knows? If she—

It makes no sense.

Lucy is still seated across from him, calmly waiting him out like there’s nothing odd to this. Just two friends making casual weekend plans.

Not all that sure it’s not the exhaustion fucking with him, he licks his lips. “So you’re fine with…”

“That you’re on the same boat?” She shrugs again, zipping up her jacket. “We’re in love with the same person. Friendships have been built on less common ground.”

Huh.

Digging into her bag, she comes up with a blue marker, reaching for the other cup. “My number,” she says as she writes on the sleeve and puts it back, written part facing him—all neat, efficient lines, because of course. “Let me know if you make up your mind.”

He nods blankly, for lack of a better response. She smiles, standing up with her tray.

She’s already halfway to the door when he remembers: “I’ll bring the notes!”

She winks at him over her shoulder, fixes her bag and disappears into the crowd.

[kaschra]

Some DesLucy art again

[onlyonezenn]

Bonus:

Lucy knows what's going down.

[ask-the-moderns]

Eh.

[thewritingmusctahe]

Okay I said this was gonna be late, thanks to some power outages knocking out my internet, but i TOTES WROTE IT, SO. This is my AC Secret Santa gift for assassinbabymama, and one of her requests was; Desmond wears a mistletoe hat to try and get Lucy to kiss him.

SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, MERRY BELATED CHRISTMAS!

He found the hat at the store. A striped green and white elf like hat with some fake mistletoe hanging off the tip. Desmond picked it up and pulled it onto his head. He reached up and pulled the top over so the mistletoe dangled out in front of his face.

Awesome.

Grinning like a kid in a candy store, Desmond raced through the aisles to find Lucy. She was glancing between laundry detergents, debating which one to throw into their basket.

“Hey Lucy!” Desmond called, running up to her. “Smooooochies~”

She glanced up at him, saw the hat, and scoffed at him. “Stop playing around, Desmond” she said, dropping a box of Tide into their basket and walking away from him. “Did you get the soap I asked for?”

“Uhm…”

“Well go get it. Now, Desmond.”

And she walked away to leave him standing there in the aisle, the mistletoe still hanging in front of his nose.

x-X-X-x

He came back the next day, without Lucy. And he found the hat again and bought it without hesitation. The cashier at the till laughed when they saw the hat and rang it up.

“Good luck, dude” they said to Desmond.

“Thanks, I’m gonna need it.”

x-X-X-x

Lucy looked like she wanted to kill him when he whipped the hat out at home in front of her. She refused to get near him, and he had to chase her around the living room in attempts to get that kiss. Until she just ran to the bathroom and locked herself in.

And the game continued all throughout the month of December. Whenever the hat was pulled out, Lucy seemed to conveniently disappear. It drove him mad that she wouldn’t just let him kiss her. It was just a kiss for Pete’s sake!

But nope, she’d run and hide from him. And then suddenly, a few days before Christmas, the hat itself vanished. Desmond nearly turned the house upside down looking for it, but alas, no luck. Lucy must have taken it. It was probably at a Goodwill somewhere.

Dammit.

x-X-X-x

Then it was finally Christmas morning. Desmond woke up early to make coffee infused with marshmallows, chocolate, and peppermint (hey, he was a bartender, and he knew how to mix more than just alcohol). While the coffee brewed, he whipped up delicious french toast, and fluffed up some eggs, and fried some bacon.

Lucy eventually appeared in the kitchen, a wrapped present in her hands.

“Hey there you,” she smiled, and held out the present to him. “Merry Christmas. I’ll let you open this one now.”

Desmond, pleasantly surprised, took the present and ripped the paper off. It was just a small white box that he pulled the top of open. His eyes widened in shock when he saw what was inside. Lucy reached into the box, pulled out the hat, and reached up to stick it on his head, and oh, she made sure that mistletoe hung down between them.

She cupped his face and pulled him down for a long kiss. Desmond dropped the box to place one hand behind her head, the other at her back.

Merry Christmas indeed.

[cr0aklota]

These stupid dorks...

I just realized that today was the day Lucy got stabbed and now I'm sad

Fuck you ubisoft,seriusly.

[kaschra]

Assassin's Creed

Desmond/Lucy

[onlyonezenn]

Hi I'm auditioning for the part of Desmond Miles and I'll be singing "From Eden" by Hozier.

[electricitytrick]

Jameskiddofficial wanted DesLucy. I wrote something. Not very cuddly, more of a bonding moment actually. I haven't really proofread it because I'm damn tired but lemme know if there're mistakes or typos or whatever c:

Title: Dark

Rating: PG

Summary: On the road the modern Assassins need to stop and spend a night in an old motel. Lucy and Desmond are put to sleep in the same room, but Desmond's bleeding effect is making it difficult to sleep.

~

”Lucy?”

Lucy sits up in the narrow bed, hand already going to grab the pistol tucked under her pillow.

”No, no, it's okay, everything's cool, I just – ”

She closes her eyes and lets her shoulders drop, slowly exhaling. The small hotel room is dark, it's light blue walls black in the night, and she can barely make out Desmond's silhouette as he sits on the other edge of the bed, a hand raised to cover his eyes. He seems alright, but as she relaxes, she notices how his shoulders are shaking and how his breath comes out in uneven gasps when he says: ”I just... a bad dream, that's all... I just needed to, I don't know...”

”Is it the bleeding effect?” Her voice breaks a little at the words, and she quickly convinces herself that it's because she's so goddamn tired.

Desmond nods, then shakes his head, then nods again. His hand is still raised to hide his face, and Lucy wonders if it's to prevent her from seeing him.

“Come here, Desmond.”

Despite the agreement they made before going to sleep (“You sleep on that side, I sleep on this side, 50 per cent of the bed for me, 50 per cent of the bed for you”) he scoots a little closer to her and she wraps her arms around his shoulders, rubbing his back gently.

“I keep seeing...” His voice is a little thicker than usual. “I keep seeing this woman in robes who just stands there and looks... right through me. Sometimes it's... Sometimes it's someone I don't recognize. It's so... This is all so fucked up.”

“I know.” She doesn't really know just how fucked up it all is, but she keeps rubbing his back through the thin grey cotton T-shirt he wears to bed and slowly he seems to calm down a little. She still can't see his face in the darkness, but she sees how he wipes his face with the back of his hand and hears him breathe in slowly.

“Get some sleep, Desmond. We'll have to get up early tomorrow.” She draws back and feels Desmond grab her arm.

“No. Please.” He sounds so vulnerable and frightened, and Lucy reads a 'Don't leave me alone' between the lines. She sighs and lies down, patting the lumpy old mattress next to her. “Fine.”

After a moment's hesitation (he obviously wasn't expecting her to comply) Lucy hears the bed creak as Desmond settles next to her. Their fingers are still entwined, and Desmond gives her hand a light squeeze as his breathing becomes more even, a telltale sign he's finally falling asleep. Lucy tries to time her own inhales and exhales to his breathing and presses her cheek to his shoulder. His T-shirt smells like coffee and the dust of so many different places she can't even begin to count them.