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greenlaut · 3 months

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yusuf (son of the sea) — assassin's creed oc

(this oc is a persona of myself but as the son of altaïr and malik. for fun purposes ehe.)

backstory under the cut

cw: implied child abuse, violence

yusuf heralds from akka harbour in the middle district. he had a content and fulfilling childhood with his father (a sailor), mother, and two you ger siblings. however, when he was 7 his father got caught in a brawl with drunk sailors, thus causing a conflict that killed his family. yusuf survived because he was out fishing when it occurred.

as an orphan, he was thrown into an orphanage. the orphanage couldn't afford the upkeep and soon enough it was bought by a slaver who profited off child-brides. yusuf escaped again; he'd rather die in the streets than bound to gross men.

he was severely malnourished and cold when altaïr first found him. the master assassin just finished up a kill and was making his way home. altaïr wrapped him up in a thick scarf and offered some bread. when the assassin tried to take yusuf to an orphanage, yusuf slipped away. yusuf was not a master assassin, but he was small and quick—easily weaving in and out of crowds and wagons. it took altaïr an embarassing amount of time (an hour, longer than it should've taken him to hunt down a target) to chase down the child. at the end of it, altaïr was impressed enough that he brought yusuf along.

altaïr thought of taking yusuf to masyaf, then forgone it, and instead dropped him off without much explanation in jerusalem with malik (much to the da'i's shock, confusion, and annoyance) before he continued on his mission. malik was apprehensive at first and was about to leave yusuf in one of the orphanages in jerusalem if altaïr never return to pick up the child back. but yusuf was a nice company to have around (compared to most of the air-headed novices he had to face—the bar is low) while malik worked. the child was witty, blunt, and reminded malik of young altaïr there wasn't any formalities when yusuf got taken in by malik—he just was.

during his stay with malik, yusuf preferred to be referred as a boy or child and acted much like any other boy. yusuf was born and raised in his family as a woman, and whilst he was in the streets he didn't care much about how people view him than to survive. one day malik asked him—the da'i glanced at yusuf whilst keeping his hands on the open map before him—if yusuf would rather be identified as a man or a woman. yusuf replied that he (is) very much a boy without looking up from his needlework (he was stitching his torn pants). malik nodded and that was that.

years later, when yusuf was of age; malik took it upon himself to unearth a merchant who sold medicines for men ailed with impotency. the da'i upheld his reputation as the most feared rafiq with the exchange. since then, yusuf has had no problems with getting his (gender-affirming) medicines regularly.

then al-mualim happened and altaïr rose up as a grandmaster. yusuf stayed with malik in jerusalem until he was of age to become a novice. until that time, altaïr would visit jerusalem regularly to check in on his ward and his friend—and to escape the unbearable stuffiness that is grandmaster work. altaïr taught yusuf how to hone his strength in stealth and agility. malik taught him how to read and write. during this time, they discovered yusuf was nearsighted due to him being severely malnourished in the past (and it also stunted his growth). but yusuf was able to hid it for so long since he had been using his second vision to cover up for his nearsightedness. (altaïr was rather delighted to find someone else sharing his trait. they bonded over their shared dislike of people labeled as enemies in their eagle vision).

they keep this strange bonding activity far off into yusuf's adulthood. they sit together and view into their second vision to ruminate over people. malik would scold both of them if he catches them in the act, saying that it's impolite and dishonourable. but after one attempts too many on altaïr's well-being, he understands the need. and sometimes, he'll sit with them and ask for names. altaïr has learned how to avoid dropping names to malik. yusuf hasn't—and the assassin isn't going to try and find out what malik will do (or has done) to them.

when yusuf became a novice, malik half-jokingly told yusuf to keep an eye on altaïr for him. and so he did; whilst he worked under the tutelage of the mentors, he would check in (read: harass) on altaïr in his study. while yusuf was not the brightest novice; he kept altaïr sane and feeling human enough through the trials of leadership.

yusuf eventually finishes his training as an assassin (not master assassin). altaïr oversaw his hidden blade initiation personally out of fondness. he has no intent of becoming a mentor, and so he takes his time to loiter around masyaf and jerusalem to keep an eye for both of his pseudo-fathers. taking up available missions or errands to run without caring for ranks.

he excels in stealthwork and free-running. to deal with his eyesight, yusuf tends to find viewpoints from the highest landmark first to check with his second vision before dealing with his target. contrary to his fathers, yusuf's swordmanship is minimum. he avoids conflict when he can, and prefers to escape (by running or blending in) or stealth-kill when facing enemy soldiers.

fin.

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auroramoon-draws16 · 4 months

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New Years at the Crossover Bar!!

The Assassins (+ Haytham) wish you all a Happy New Year!

To another year of this nonsensical bullshit we call life, you’re always welcomed here at the Bar!!

Oh also The Reader and The Apprentice are here too!

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kayn-abyl · 3 months

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I posted my fanfic Bloodhound-TheLeper King and a Desert Rose on ao3 as well!

#baldwin iv #kingdom of heaven #altair #altair ibn la'ahad #assassin's creed #baldwin #fanfic #history #king baldwin iv #oc

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wyyvernn · 3 months

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omg i forgot post my recent Assassin's Creed oc - she doesn't have a backstory yet but i was playing around with the idea of her seducing men to pick their pockets before having her dog lead them away so she can escape once they realise what she's done :p

#assassin's creed iii #assassin's creed 3 #oc #original character

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marf244 · 2 months

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Ash never got to give her brother his birthday card

#angst with a happy desmond as compensation #assassins creed #desmond miles #assassins creed oc #oc: ash #ocs #fanart #my art #modern day gang

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a-simp-named-slickback · 1 month

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You cling to your papers and pens

Wait until you like me again

Wait for your love

I’m still working on finishing the epilogue of the fic, but I felt like messily sketching some Nashira and Basim last night ✨ (forgive me, drawing muscular men does not come easy to me)

#assassins creed #assassins creed mirage #basim ibn ishaq #ac mirage #basim #basim ibn is’haq #basim x oc #assassins creed fanfiction #fanart #assassin’s creed

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temeyes · 3 months

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tonight's cooldown sketches: OCs w/ swords

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radioactivepeasant · 2 months

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Free Day Friday: Viper continuation

Picking up from Here

Thrax scarcely recognized the city anymore. In the five years since his banishment for questioning the research into dark eco, he'd sort of assumed nothing would change, not really. But the Haven he crept through now was barely half of what he'd left behind. The slums were gone, replaced by gleaming modern architecture and locked behind force fields. He'd thought it was to keep the displaced rabble out until he saw the first metalhead lounging on a filthy street corner. Until he saw the crushed remains of the Stadium, the Grand Hotel, the museum-! The Palace District of Main Town was destroyed.

How far Praxis must have fallen before the end! Thrax found himself, to his surprise, hoping the old fool had met a hideous death at the hands of Damas’s pet demon. The count was right, he was an abomination, but that was more Praxis's fault than the monster's, to his mind. Praxis made it out of some kid who didn't get a say in the matter. In his own way, Thrax felt sorry for Jak. But sympathy for demons didn't get you far in life.

Bitterly cursing the cold, Thrax pulled his scarf higher and found himself turning down an alley in search of things to burn. He should have been home by now. Well, not home, his old penthouse from his days in the Guard had a support beam impaling the top three floors now. Somewhere better, perhaps, in New Haven. He'd even have accepted military barracks if it came with the proper pay and respect! That had been the promise, that was to be his reward: all that Praxis had stripped from him restored. And all he'd had to do was kill that weakling Damas.

Only, Damas wasn't a weakling anymore. He was as harshly pragmatic as Praxis had ever been. Ruler of a land of barbarians! It was madness! Honestly, Thrax would have been relieved to have Haven destabilize and assume control of the city. But now...now, he doubted Haven had anything close to the manpower that would require. No wonder assassination had been suggested instead!

And he'd failed, pure and simple.

Thrax was no fool, he knew his glorious homecoming was contingent on him holding up his end of the bargain. Still, he couldn't help a sullen thought that he might have succeeded if Veger hadn't sent the monster straight to Damas’s doorstep like a housewarming present.

There were two other people huddled around a barrel at the end of the alley, burning garbage for warmth. They didn't acknowledge him at first, until the light flickered off his tattoos. One of them swore and kicked at him.

"Get out of here!" The kick unbalanced him and his friend caught his elbow. "KG scum! Metal-lover! Go back to hell!"

Something grated high above their heads. The sound of a boot on a slate shingle. Even with the heat of the fire in his face, Thrax suddenly felt cold. What forgotten instinct warned him not to look up? That he had no time to look?

The shingles cracked.

Thrax ran.

For once, he was grateful for the grueling, brutal training Damas forced candidates to endure before he allowed them to enter the desert alone. A Havenite -- gods, when had he stopped thinking of himself as a Havenite? -- would never have been able to clear the fallen masonry, or the burnt-out husks of hellcats that littered the streets. A mantis-head took a swipe at him from the shadows of a fallen archway, and Thrax lost his footing as he dodged.

He landed hard, skidding down a short drop that had once been part of the road. In the two seconds required to pick himself up, Thrax saw what his instincts had been warning him about.

The monster. The child-soldier. Jak.

He leapt from the awning of what used to be a racing memorabilia shop, landing with a predatory grace that momentarily froze Thrax. His creepy talking Teacup Mine-rat hunched on his shoulder -- everyone said there was no such thing as Mine-rats having a teacup breed, but they were the only animal he'd ever seen with those proportions and that nauseating shade of orange -- watching him with those beady little eyes. In an almost careless move, the rat pointed out the mantis-head that had knocked Thrax down. The monster shot it in the head after only glancing in its direction.

The spell was broken. Thrax ran down the cracked and sunken crater that the road had become, desperately scanning the horizon for a place to hide. He was too far from New Haven -- not that the elite would have any compunction to help him when he'd failed his mission -- and he could see metalheads and those Krimzon robots blocking many of the avenues he could have used for escape. Stopping to shoot them would give the monster time to catch up.

Thrax knew what the abomination was capable of. He'd seen what happened to his co-conspirator. Dropped like a stone as they tried to flee, obsidian claws buried in the base of their skull while watched by the pitiless eyes of whatever evil spirit the boy had become. Would those same claws paralyze him, too? Drag him back to the desert to die or worse? Or would death be swift?

No, no he couldn't think like that. He had to escape. He had to hope for a way to kill the thing. Thrax charged into another alley, hoping against hope that a door would be open or unlocked. If he could get inside, his chances of survival would dramatically increase.

The Precursors, however, did not favor him that day.

The alley ended at a wall of twisted rebar and half melted plastics, fused together with foul acids secreted by the metalheads. A panicked whine escaped Thrax's throat as he whirled, already knowing what would be behind him.

But there was nothing.

That did not calm his nerves. Where was the creature? Thrax's eyes rolled back and forth, scanning every shadow. His breath came in shallow pants as he backed up, fumbling for his morph gun.

Then came the sound of boots on shingles again.

He had forgotten to look up.

Jak dropped silently, driving his knee into the fugitive's back. Thrax fell with a cry, gun clattering from his hand and onto the ruined cobblestones. He was under no obligation to bring Thrax back alive -- they'd gotten most of the information they needed out of the monk, Nadab. Damas had given him explicit permission to kill the would-be assassin if the situation warranted it. But at the same time, Jak had a suspicion. He was catching on to a greater trend of treachery within Haven, and he had a feeling Thrax knew who was behind it. All he needed was confirmation.

"Do your worst, abomination," Thrax gasped, clawing for any shred of courage he had left. "I do not fear death."

"Captain."

Thrax faltered. "What?"

Jak flipped him over so that their eyes met. His eyes were cold, and in the darkness, Thrax wondered in a daze how they could look so much like Damas’s.

"It's Captain Abomination. If you're going to insult me, do it properly."

The rat snickered and nudged his head encouragingly.

"Now you have a very small window of opportunity here," Jak growled. "You tell me who put Nadab in contact with you, and you get a chance to give up your beacon with a shred of honor intact. If you have a shred of honor left."

"This is a limited time offer," Daxter warned.

Trembling, Thrax repeated, "I do not fear death!"

Jak smiled, but there was no humor in it.

"Yes you do."

He was right.

#fic prompts #writing prompts #free day friday #continuation #viper au #jak and daxter #jak and daxter au #background dadmas #Jak is here to LARP Assassin's Creed and he's having a great time #cliffhanger because frankly i haven't decided whether or not to kill Thrax #meanwhile Jak has ignored fifty percent of the missions Ashelin insisted he do #he's already on a mission for his dad leave him alone #jak and daxter oc #krimzon guard oc

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nemo-in-wonderland · 4 months

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Dover, 26th December 1872

The house was quiet, as the middle of the night approached. The staff of the house was peacefully sleeping in their beds, all resting and dreaming of the past festive days as the snow outside danced away, shimmering crystal swirling in a waltzing tempo, twirling with the wind that blew from the sea, not so far away. It was a gentle snowfall, one that had enveloped the entire world in its protective cover. Dorothea had been sitting by the windowsill of her childhood bedroom in Dover for the greatest part of the evening, lost as she was in that dance that always entranced her like nothing else in the world. A book - Alice through the Looking Glass - was sitting just besides her elbow, still opened to the page where Dorothea had interrupted her reading.

She turned her eyes away from that spectacle of silent beauty, and glanced over her shoulder, finding the antique clock nestled on the mantlepiece. Almost midnight. Boxing day was almost over. Had it not it been that late, she would had taken her violin and played a merry tune. She felt her fingers tingling with impatience, her mind running as fast as wild horses in a prairie, as she chased melody after melody. She sighed in quiet resignation as she snuggled once more against the soft worn out hostelry of the old love seat that she had pushed against window, to better behold the spectacle that the wintery night was offering her. She reached out toward the window and opened it, uncaring about the cold, just so she could hear the far away crushing of the waves against the shore, a sound that always brought her peace of mind and spirit. Despite the difficulties in breathing that her swollen womb brought and the sharp pains in her legs each time she tried to rest in her bed, she was always careful in her movements, careful not to wake the little one she carried, the sweet love that was finally sleeping inside her belly. An elated smile widened on her face, her nose wrinkling with absolute mirth as her thoughts about her son started to chased one after the other . Somehow, she always saw a tiny dark haired baby, with joyous hazel eyes and beautiful freckles all over his tiny face, dimples on his chubby cheeks and a small mouth always smiling in mirth. She was never one to care about flight of fancy, but the closer she approached the estimated day of her little one’s birth, the more she found herself awake and wonder which one of her thoughts would turn out to be the truth. “You’ll catch a cold with that window opened, Goldilocks,” Dorothea turned and her smile transformed in an even sweeter one at the sight of the man standing at the door, his voice husky from sleep.

“I needed a breath of fresh air, dearest. It can be so stuffy in here,” She said, opening her arms in a silent invitation to reach her and sit with her. “What are you doing still awaken? You need to rest, love.” “ I wish. I could not find a way to be comfortable in bed, I am afraid. I have the moon in my blood tonight. What about you?” Jacob yawned, as he sat besides her and took her in his lap. “Couldn’t find a way to be comfortable either. The bed felt too empty.” he grinned, winking at her and tickling under her chin. “You were so tired after taking care of that situation in London, I did not have the heart to disturb you,” she murmured, giggling when she felt Jacob’s lips brushing against her collarbone, kissing her skin ever so gently. “You should have though, Dottie,” he whispered back not unkindly, wrapping both of them with the soft bearskin that Dorothea had been using earlier. “Wake me up, if you aren’t feeling well. I might not be able to do much, but I can at least be of company,” “Oh dearest, I was feeling perfectly fine. Just unable to enter Morpheus’ realm.” She giggled when she saw his brow raising, a skeptical light lighting up on his face. She cupped his cheeks with her hands, resting her forehead against his, allowing the warm fuzzy feeling of happiness blooming in her chest when she looked at those eyes that she loved more than anything in that world. Yes, she caught herself thinking again, she truly hoped their child would have his eyes. “I promise, I am completely fine, Jacob. Had something been wrong with me, I would have told you right away. Your son just decided that it would have been a tremendous idea trying to stretch his legs around,” Jacob’s face lit up again, sweet fondness transforming his face entirely. “Emmett’s being a little rascal?”

“No more nor less than his father usually is, I assure you,” She chuckled, as she pressed a long kiss against his temple. “He has been tumbling around all evening, poor sweetling. Not much space left in there,” Jacob’s warm hand brushed her swollen womb, resting a little longer when he could feel the soft outline of his child’s head. “It won’t be long now, little one,” he murmured, the tone of his voice sweeter than ever, despite the worried look in his eyes. Dorothea furrowed her eyebrows, her gaze turning inquisitive. “What’s wrong, Jacob?” He stood quiet for a moment, lips thinning as thoughts after thoughts mulled all over his face. “I just realized now…it really won’t be long now until Emmett’s here with us,” he started whispering, locking his gaze with his wife, trying to find some comfort in those sweet eyes that always looked at him as if he had put the Sun in the sky. “And…what if I end up being like Ethan? What if I end up making mistake after mistake, ruining our child's life because it will turn out I am not so different from…from him?“ She caressed his cheek, her knuckles following the outline of his face with delicate attention, trying as she might to give all the courage she carried in her heart through that small contact. “I know you are terrified. I know. I share your sentiment. I am petrified that I will not be able to fill my role as I should, that I will not give our child what he deserves and needs, just like my own father did to me.” She sighed, turning sad for a moment. “I cannot lie and say that we will not make mistakes, Jacob, because… we are humans. To err is in our nature. It is inevitable,” she scooted closer, now enveloping the man in her arms, bringing his head against her chest, gently kissing his dark hair. “But I also know something else, something that always gives me strength and bring me comforts when I lie in bed, and worriment takes over my senses: we are in this together. We know what our sires’ mistakes were, what they had caused us with their actions, so we already know what path not to follow. So long you hold my hand and I hold yours, so long we walk together side by side, we will not stray away. You will see.” Jacob’s lips thinned even more, his grip growing stronger around her body, as he felt his chest tightening as it always did when a particular thought squeezed his heart without mercy. “I don’t want to lose you,” he murmured, allowing her perfume of orange blossom to envelope his whole being and tear him away from his biggest fear. “My father lost my mother, and it broke him. I can’t lose you, Dorothea. I can’t. I just can’t. Not after we found each other again. It-It will break me. Completely.”

Dorothea sighed, her eyes turning sad: she knew those thoughts were always there, keeping him their prisoner with their invisible chains. She had seen it in the way he had been throughout her whole pregnancy, the way he would always pace around the house whenever she wasn’t feeling as energetic or as active, the way his own sleep had become so incredibly light he would wake up at sounds so faint, she could not hear at all. With a gentle hand, she raised his chin, and as he had done earlier, now she locked her eyes with him, pure determination blazing within her chest. “It will not happen, Jacob. I promise you, it will not happen. No force on this Earth or beyond this Life will pull me away from you. My time is not up yet, and I have every intention to grow old with you, so long you will have me by your side,” she caressed a wayward lock of dark hair away from his eyes, and smiled. She felt his shoulders relaxing a little, but the tension in grip was still palpable. “How about we go back to bed together and try to sleep some more? You truly need to rest,” she suggested as she tenderly kissed his closed eyelids with all the sweetness she was capable off. “I have the feeling that tomorrow will be an eventful day,” “Will you read me something first?” he asked, still feeling the tension in the way his jaw tightened. Her voice was one of the few things that always helped soothe his nerves. “Of course, my love. Anything for you.” Carefully leaning, she took the book still standing on the windowsill when suddenly, she felt a small nudge on the side of her belly and laughed. ”Apparently, your son is awake again,” Jacob placed one hand over the spot Dorothea was pointing, and was rewarded with another nudge. A smile widened on his face once more. His worries were all still there, still swimming just beneath the surface of his composure: but he knew that Dorothea’s words were true, and they brought some peace in his soul. She was right. They would make it. Together.

“ He decided that he wants to go back to Wonderland with us, eh? We have a Alice’s admirer at our hands,” he murmured, his smile growing wider. Dorothea laughed, as she combed through the book to find the piece she was looking for. “If he is anything like you, more like a Cheshire Cat in the making,” Jacob chuckled at the thought. He felt her snuggling even more comfortably against his solid frame, as he wrapped the bearskin tighter around them. Then, with clear silvery voice, she started narrating that poem that, by now, they both knew by heart.

“'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!"

SOOOOO.

I AM SORRY FOR THE DELAY, BUT I ACTUALLY MANAGED TO FINISH THIS PIECE and OMG I AM SO HAPPY I WAS ABLE TO DO SO, AND TO ADD ALSO A SMALL DRABBLE TO IT AS WELL. (truth to be told, my husband nudged me to finish it, so, if you see this posted, it's thanks to him and his encouragement lol)

The festivities do bring miracles, don't they?😂😂

I don't have much to add to this, just that I loved working on it and that I was truly truly happy to write for Jacob and Dorothea again, especially in this particular setting! (I mean, if you remember the info I gave a long while ago, you know what's about to happen lolol).

I honestly love doing these kind of Festive Artworks with them, I wish the festivities actually last longer, so that I would be able to draw more of them lolol.

well, I hope you will like this just as much as I loved working on it!

--Nemo

#Assassin's Creed #Assassin's Creed Syndicate #Jacob Frye #Dorothea Starrick #Emmett Starrick-Frye #nemo sketches #my art #my oc #Winter #Christmas #character art

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