This pleases me greatly ^.^
No, no! You’re supposed to be STOPPING me!!!! LOL!!!!
"Catherine rests her forehead on the long face of the chestnut horse and allows her hot tears to trail down her cheeks. She climbs up onto the pile of logs and shimmies onto the chestnut’s back, settling herself astride the blanket. Once there, she leans all the way down and rests her body on the horse and her face on his neck. His shaggy winter coat is warm on her cheek and the stiff hair of his mane tickles her ear. She closes her eyes and breathes in the dusty, sweet hay smell of the horse, absently patting his neck with one hand while the grey horse nuzzles her other." Misguided, chapter 6 “Day Six”
Imagine waking up beside Connor every morning
"Rolling on her side, Catherine lightly traces a finger down Connor’s arm. He stirs and takes a deeper breath, turning his head on the pillow and letting his hand fall off of his stomach to lie against his side. Catherine sits up and looks at him, allowing the blankets to drop down to her hips. He raises his left hand to his neck and rubs it lightly before resting his palm on his chest and taking another deep breath. Even her light touch seems to have awoken him. He opens his eyes and tilts his head at her watching him before reaching up and tucking his left hand behind his head." - Misguided, chapter 19 “Haste”
Connor had hidden his pain as well as he could from Ellen, seeing her to the door and stealthily using the frame to aid him in standing upright until she had tenderly kissed him goodnight and he had shut the door behind her. He walks bent partially over and it is a struggle for him to climb the stairs so he descends the three steps he had managed to ascend, goes to Achilles’ room and falls weakly into the same bed he had begun his recovery in without bothering to take off more than his jacket. Bending to remove his boots is a near impossibility so he simply lies back and decides he will do it later after he has rested for a short time.
"Connor takes the bow from Catherine by the grip and she looks up at him with a request as she shrugs her jacket back on.
'Show off for me. I'm tired of seeing arrows missing the target and I don't think my arm can take any more of that string.'
'What do you want me to hit?'
'The tree I was shooting.' Connor nocks an arrow, draws back on the bow and releases in one seamless motion. After struggling to perform those three movements herself, Catherine appreciates the grace of seeing it done well.
'That was too easy for you. How about the branch that crosses the gap between those two trees?' Catherine points to the branch, approximately thirty paces into the woods and a few feet above their heads. Connor takes an arrow from his quiver, draws the bow deeper, aims for slightly longer and hits the branch, releasing a shower of snow onto the ground. Catherine narrows her eyes and searches for another, more difficult target, turning in a slow circle where she stands next to Connor in the snow. Connor's lips quirk into a subtle smile at her determination as he readies another arrow.
'There. The sapling growing from the crack of the cliff.' Connor pivots his body towards where Catherine is pointing and the arrow takes the top of the slender sapling off, both the arrow and the portion of tree falling to the ground below. Catherine presses her lips together and squints into the distance, searching. Finally she turns to Connor and raises her hands from her sides.
'Impress me.' Her voice is a challenge and Connor grins and looks around. Inspiration strikes him and he points with an arrow in his hand.
'The gorge. There is a fallen branch stuck to the opposite cliff wall. I will knock it down.' Squinting and shading her eyes with one hand, Catherine can just make out the branch rocking in the breeze high on the cliff. Connor draws the bow deeper than ever, the wood creaking as it flexes. Taking a breath, he resets his feet and aims. In a sudden flurry of movement, he shoots and immediately grabs another arrow and shoots again, making only the smallest adjustment in his aim. His movements are so swift and practiced the second arrow seems to fall into place on its own. The first arrow knocks the branch free and the second lodges in the falling branch just before it passes out of sight below the edge of the gorge.” - Misguided, chapter 7 “Day Seven”
Ratohnhaké:ton/Connor from Assassin’s Creed 3
Please REBLOG, do NOT REPOST!
I’ve started jotting down ideas for a Misguided sequel…. Stop me now! I can’t get sucked into another story yet!
The 4th of June in the 15th Year of the New Order Under our Lord and King
I still tremble when I think on that fateful day, of the carnage and screams and fear that made the air unbreatheable. The smell of blood and death will come to me unbidden, making me retch and forego my meals for the day. The only solace I find is when I beg my stoic guard to take me to the upper level promenade of the Palace where he showed me the retreating citizens so long ago. There, where the wind always seems to blow, taking with it the perpetual stench of scorched sorrow that fills me, I’ll pace the walkways over and over. I wonder if I may wear a furrow into the stone under my relentless feet.
"The moment I was close enough, the King took my left hand from where I was holding my dress and brought me up beside Him. He raised my arm up and in that instant, every human present dropped to their knees and lowered their faces to the floor. I shook with horror at how they viewed me. The King lowered my arm and brought His face down next to my ear. The heat of His breath on my skin drew chills over me like an icy cloak.
'See how they worship you? You are their emblem of hope and I am their means of salvation!' I could not tear my eyes away from the people before me. Every one of them was dressed in tattered and worn clothing, dirty and threadbare from overuse. Children were there, filthy and hungry. Beside their frightened parents or older siblings, they alone had the courage to lift their faces upward and look upon their so-called emblem of hope. If everyone only knew how much I hated standing beside the King, His puppet, His toy, His tool, they would never have bowed. If I ran for the doors, screaming that it’s all a lie, would they stop me? Would He kill me right in front of them? The King’s hand slid upwards over the bracelets I wore, setting them clicking as His fingers rose to my skin and tightened around my forearm. I looked up into His gleaming, turquoise eyes. His dark pupils expanded as if He could read my rebellious thoughts and He whispered quiet words of threat into my ear.
'Do not choose this day to defy me.'” - The Quill, chapter 3
*throws tablet away*
"The Aquila and the Fenix de Oro are quickly joined by almost a dozen ropes. Huge scratches mar the freshly painted hull of the Fenix De Oro, leaving deep marks extending from the partly caved in portion near the front where the Aquila had first made contact. Connor catches Catherine’s eyes for only a moment before running along the length of his ship, jumping up onto the broken bowsprit and taking a leap across the open gap to the other ship. In that instant of eye contact, a million words pass between them but none of them are enough to assuage Catherine’s fears as he lands firmly on his feet among the enemy with his tomahawk swinging. Assassins and sailors alike follow Connor’s lead, wielding swords, knives and guns, and pouring onto the other ship with a deafening shout, leaving the Aquila almost empty.
The battle separates enough to reveal Connor’s blue coat in a different place. Catherine is reminded of the brutal style of combat she had witnessed in the village, only now he holds nothing back. The full force of his strength and weight are behind him when he kicks a man over the side of the ship only to turn in the same fluid motion and use the spin of his body to bury his tomahawk into his next opponent. His face and clothing are already stippled with the blood of his enemies and his mouth is open in what appears to be a shout but if any sound comes from him it is lost among the countless others that meld together into a dissonant and terrible clamor that is punctuated by ringing gunshots from the pistols wielded by one man or another.” - Misguided, chapter 24 “Rage”
"Connor finally falls completely unresponsive. When Ellen is finished, fifty seven individual knots keep the ragged original wound on the front of his abdomen and the straight incision that runs across Connor’s side closed. They are almost perfectly spaced and exactly the same size. Dr. White uses a fresh rag to wipe off the blood that had smudged over Connor’s skin from Ellen’s fingers. He takes the needle out of her shaking hand and replaces it with a dampened rag.
'That’s some great work, Ellen. I couldn’t have done them better myself.' He nods at her reassuringly and Prudence and Myriam help her to her feet and lead her away. They sit her down at the table and clean off her hands and a smudge of blood that marks her cheek where she had brushed away a bit of her hair at one point. Diana helps the doctor wrap a long length of bandage around Connor’s stomach with the help of Terry and Godfrey rolling Connor onto his sides so they can pass it underneath him and bind it tightly. When it is done, Dr. White sighs and cleans off his tools and hands carefully.
'Now we wait… and pray that his youth and vitality can carry him through the next few days. If he can survive the week, he’ll live. He’ll need to be watched all the time until he breaks from this fever.' The women come back with some soap and clean linens and they wash Connor’s face and hands until he is as clean as they can reasonably get him. The men aid them in changing the wet and bloody sheets until they are satisfied with his relative comfort and he appears to be resting. No one is sure whether he is actually asleep or if he is merely unconscious from weakness, pain, blood loss or the alcohol he was dosed so heavily with.” - Home, chapter 1
Little drawing for practice face and body.
So of course.. Connor >W<