Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 6

[asscreedkinkmeme]

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.6
Open

Sky World

≈ 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
Kink Meme Masterlist
New Kink Meme Masterlist
(Livejorunal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
#2 (Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive
#3 (Delicious.com) Archive <-- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Fills Only
Discussion

Comments

Self-fill: Yes, No, and Maybe [1/?]

[(Anonymous)]

Chapter 1


It was one of those small bookstores near campus where he liked to hang out once in a while.

The owner, a young man from Britain with a sharp tongue, had a fine taste in music as well as books. And Connor enjoyed lingering between shelves, listening to the soft melody of Debussy, and smelling the odor of ink.

Today, he was browsing the fiction section when something caught his attention.

It was the only copy of the newest edition of 1984, one of Connor’s favorites, for it showed him a world without freedom that made the hair behind his neck stand.

It was also Achilles’ favorite. In fact, he was pretty certain it was mostly that cantankerous old man’s influence.

Even though it had been three years, he still didn’t miss his adopted father any less.

So he reached out to get the book.

But instead, he touched the fingers of another man, and flinched as if he was electrocuted.

“My apologies,” said the owner of those long and nimble fingers.

It was a silky, mild voice of a middle-aged man, with a profound British accent.

Connor turned his head and looked at the man. He was in his fifties, but in amazingly good shape for a man of his age. He had a handsome face, which was flattered by his neatly cut greying hair. He was wearing the standard attire of a scholar: white silk shirt, charcoal cardigan, black pants and a pair of dark brown oxford. He was also carrying a leather briefcase.

A professor, no doubt.

“Oh I was just browsing,” said Connor, slightly embarrassed. “You can have it if you want.”

“It’s quite alright. I was browsing as well.” The stranger smiled a little. “It reminds me of my youth as an ignorant teenager is all.”

“You know, I suppose I should be offended by that comment.” But he really wasn’t. “It happens to be one of my favorites.”

“Ah.” The man didn’t even sound apologetic. “Orwell does have an interesting interpretation of the conflict between freedom and order, albeit a bit extreme.” Then he seemed to remember himself.

“Haytham. Pleasure to meet you.” A hand was extended towards Connor.

The younger man hesitated for a split second, then he took the hand and firmly shook it.

“Connor. Nice to meet you too.”


“So, ecological anthropology,” said Haytham. “Preservation and conservation of Native American lands, I presume?” His right thumb had been caressing the lid of his Earl Grey subconsciously for the last 15 minutes. And Connor found it somewhat distracting.

Or maybe it was the fact that the name “Haytham” sounded familiar to him. He couldn’t tell.

“I’m hoping I can eventually get to do that,” he said. “Right now I’m working with my professor on the resource management of the Torres Strait Islanders in Australia.”

“That’s an entirely unfamiliar territory to me.” The older man took a sip of his tea, then continued, “Unlike you, I tend to focus on the overall themes of humanity, such as the use of power for freedom, or for order.”

“Then which way do you prefer?” prompted Connor.

“Order.” Haytham answered almost immediately. “In my opinion, freedom is just an invitation to chaos. Look at the Congress, or the British Parliament. Look at them stamp and shout, all in the name of liberty. But that’s just noise.”
Connor wanted to argue with him, wanted to say otherwise. But that was the exact moment Haytham’s cellphone decided to ring. So instead, he picked up his paper cup and took a drag.

“Excuse me,” said Haytham, as he picked up his phone.

“Dr. Kenway speaking.”

Connor choked on his latte.

Now he knew why the man’s name sounded so familiar.