#i am making this up as i go

[teecupangel]

vampire au but (almost) every assassin is a vampire bc i mean.. vampire edward tho 👁🫦👁

I promise I'll make an actual long fic idea but now, just let me drool over the idea of Assassin vampires.

Alright, now that I got that out of my system (absolutely not), I guess we'll start from the beginning.

Buckle up, it's long because I 'accidentally' included all main AC protagonists in this fic idea hahaha

For a Vampire AU, my top two ideas are:

Let's make it full AU. We replace the Isus with Vampires.

OR

Vampires are one of the 'failed' experiments of Juno and Aita, just like the werewolf in Atlantis (maybe it was meant to give a body that can survive the solar flare but, instead, it freaking got a weakness for sunlight, super fail)

Regardless, one of the vampires survived the solar flare. We'll call this one the 'progenitor'. This progenitor vampire has a body that needs blood to survive. Human blood is the best because they're the closest to the progenitor's body. Animal blood barely helps. It would take dozens to be equivalent to one adult human.

So this progenitor drinks human blood. Through trial and error, they understand the limitation of their body. Sunlight burns them. They're faster and stronger than humans, being able to easily pin down a man three times larger than them.

Their senses let them see everything clearly. White means food. Red means danger.

They stay in the dark. They keep to themselves.

Then, one day...

Someone finds them.

Has been tracking them down.

Because one of the humans they fed from had a rich father who was willing to pay handsomely for their head.

So they fight the mercenary that found them. They fought and overpowered the mercenary.

But the mercenary manages to nick them. And their blood drips to the panting mouth.

And that's when the progenitor realized.

They could make humans loyal to them by giving them a bit of their blood.

To make them a thrall.

And that's how the Misthios Kassandra from Sparta became the progenitor's first thrall.

With Kassandra, the progenitor starts to experiment with just how much blood is needed to make a full thrall. Kassandra needed more than a drop but the drop was enough to hypnotize her, just like how their progenitor could hypnotize humans with their voice if they focus hard enough.

So he kept feeding Kassandra more blood until she became a full thrall. Loyal to a fault. With the same limitations as a human but just a tad stronger than humans and wounds that will heal the same quick speed as them. Unfortunately, even a full thrall must drink their master's blood regularly. Otherwise, the thrall will be removed.

And that was what happened with Kassandra. They fought once more. This time, the strength she received from the progenitor was enough to scare the progenitor and they hurt her too much. As she's dying, the progenitor tried to feed her their blood, in hopes that she will become a thrall and her wounds will heal.

She dies.

They bury her.

And she raises from the ground the next evening.

Not as a thrall.

But a vampire like the progenitor.

The thrall was gone.

Her hatred stays though. Not only that, but she was now a vampire like them. She tries to attack them but she cannot.

For the progenitor is her sire. Her blood refuses to harm them.

So she leaves.

And the progenitor is alone once more.

====================

Years passed.

The progenitor travels. They can feel Kassandra still alive, still angry.

But just as lonely as the progenitor.

So they stay away. Travel elsewhere.

That's when they saw her.

A human yet not.

A vampire yet not.

A dhampir, a union of vampire and human.

Kassandra's child.

But why was she alone?

Did Kassandra not realize that her child was not fully human?

Did she leave to give her a chance for a normal life but accidentally give her a life of loneliness, full of fear and confusion.

So the progenitor adopts the scared child, taught her all they know.

They treated her like their own child.

And experimented on what will happen if a dhampir was given blood.

As a dhampir, she grew the same as humans. Sunlight does not harm her. But she was as strong and as fast as a vampire.

Her senses were the same as a vampire.

Yet her stamina was the same as a human. Her body bruised and bled like a human.

She was better than a thrall in some ways, sure, yet limited by her half-human body.

And when she drank vampire blood.

Nothing happened.

How boring.

Yet she was loyal to the progenitor. Not because of any thrall, she was immune to it but because they were her parent. The one person who taught her and took care of her. Blinded by loyalty and love, she stayed with them. Became their eyes and ears in the daylight.

She glowed as blue. Their very first blue.

Their daughter.

And she fell in love.

To a medjay.

And he loved her back.

They give the progenitor humans to feed on. Criminals. Bad people.

The progenitor didn't mind.

Blood was the same regardless of how many laws a human broke.

If it soothed them, gave them an excuse not to feel bad about sacrificing fellow human beings... Then so be it.

The dhampir married the man. The progenitor stays with them. More like an in-law than anything.

Everything was peaceful.

They could not have any children.

The progenitor realized it was because the dhampir was sterile. A common trait of 'hybrids'. Still, the dhampir and her husband were together and in love.

But all things must come to an end.

Egypt is thrown into chaos and they are caught in the middle. The man lay dying in his wife's arms.

And so...

The progenitor tries once more.

The man who had never been their thrall was gifted with the progenitor's blood.

He dies that day.

And he wakes that evening.

As a vampire.

They are happy once more.

In their happiness they forgot to feed the man.

Deep into the night, when they have grown tired from the stress and the celebration, they go to sleep. The man wakes up and drinks the blood of the first person he sees.

His own wife.

His hunger fulfilled, his mind was clear once more. And he saw what he had done. He runs in shame. The commotion wakes the progenitor who sees the dhampir barely clinging to life.

So they try.

They gives up their blood to their daughter and prays.

The following night...

She wakes.

Not as a dhampir but as a vampire.

And she is angry.

Not at the progenitor but at her husband.

For running away instead of staying with them.

The progenitor tries to remind her that it was shame and grief that propelled him to leave. That he still loves her.

But she did not listen.

She leaves to find him. Whether to kill him or to bring him back, the progenitor does not know.

What they did know is that they are, once again, alone.

====================

Years passed.

They feel Kassandra, Aya and Bayek yet they do not see any of them. The world is too big for their paths to intersect.

Or perhaps it was more accurate to say they themselves try not to get close to any of them.

For Kassandra, they knew it was better this way. Kassandra's anger still burns strong.

For Aya and Bayek, it is... pettiness that keeps them from following either of them. Their selfishness brings the progenitor nothing but irritation and tiredness. So they stay away.

In their travels, they meet a shieldmaiden who sees them drinking blood. She calls him a draugr and she hunts him. He runs and runs but she is a good hunter. A good tracker.

When there is nowhere left to go, they fight her. Pent up anger for his three stubborn childes propelled them to turn her into their thrall. To make her their slave. To do their bidding with no free will at all.

And when she grew old and weak, they let her go. Let her shout about the draugr that enslaved her. Let her words be heard and mocked.

As they returned to the shadow once more.

====================

But someone follows them. Someone from the shadows. Not like them.

But their blood...

The progenitor could taste the blood of their daughter running through them.

Too weak.

Like this human had an ancestor who had been a thrall instead.

And that made him weak to the progenitor. To desire a closeness with them.

So they let the human live. Give them a bit of their blood, not to enslave them but to show them that they can be a kind master if they wanted to be.

And the human guides them to the Hidden Ones. A cult created by his daughter, taking evil men from the streets and offering them to her.

To their queen.

And they know of the progenitor.

The one they call the Master.

And so they took the seat their daughter left empty, all because she is still searching for her husband.

And, to the man who brought them here, they rewarded him with the title of mentor.

The man cast away his birth name of Hytham.

And became the first Al Mualim.

====================

Centuries passed and they grow bored.

In their boredom, they grow complacent.

And that is how they are captured.

Encased in an iron chamber that pierces their body in places that will not kill them.

But will make them bleed.

So they bleed.

And the one who captured them...

The latest Al Mualim...

Uses their blood to create an army loyal to him.

Years passed.

They are forced to drink blood from a contraption Al Mualim created for them. Fresh human blood, yes, but fed to them like they were livestock.

They bleed.

And their blood creates thralls that Al Mualim controls.

They are powerless. Encased in an iron chamber that bleeds them. Chained and locked with an absurd amount of locks and chains.

But it was enough to keep them contained.

Unable to escape.

Until...

The chains fell.

The locks dropped.

And the chamber finally opens.

And the first person they see is a man with golden eyes.

Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad.

The first of their favorites.

====================

To be turned became a reward only given to the most loyal of their Brotherhood.

Not a cult anymore.

But a Brotherhood of Assassins.

Serving the light by staying in the shadows. Assasinating only to rid the world of evil.

Blah blah blah

They didn't care all that much as long as they feed. And they were fond of Altaïr.

Being saved does that to most beings, even someone as old as them.

And perhaps they were lonely too. Estranged from their first childe, forgotten by their daughter and her husband...

Altaïr was a curious man, unafraid of them. He treated them like they were equals. He asks questions but he also indulges their whims. He never tries to keep them locked in a room. When night comes, he joins them as they sit on the top of their tallest tower, enjoying the cold breeze and the freedom they lost all those years ago.

He gave them a name. For he believes everyone must have a name.

Desmond.

From the French word 'des mond(es)'... The Worlds.

A grand name.

They like it. They will wear the name with pride.

And they gave Altaïr a gift in return.

For saving them.

For treating them well.

Altaïr was not their first childe. But he will always be the first childe they sired not out of fear or desperation or by accident.

A childe sired out of love.

====================

There was a coup. By those who believed they deserved to be turned. They failed.

But many died.

The remnants of the Brotherhood returned to the shadows. The loyal thralls made their way all around the world. To build safe houses and connections that can be used by the inner circle.

By Desmond's inner circle.

They travel. Years passed traveling all over. They stayed in the continent that will later be called Europe. The Templars, the Brotherhood's hated enemy, change their name as well. Yet, they still hunt down the Brotherhood.

They hunt down Desmond.

The one they call The Devil.

But Desmond is not afraid. Why should they be? They finally had childes who care for them.

They had a family.

One of the thralls did well in Italy. His descendants became a noble house and they welcomed Desmond and his inner circle with open arms.

One of the children was a curious little boy.

And Desmond indulges him. Plays with him.

Even as the boy grows older, he still gravitates towards Desmond.

Not because Desmond was the progenitor, the most important secret of the Brotherhood.

But because of Desmond's kindness and smiles.

The boy is loyal.

The boy brings the entire Templar Order in Italy on its knees.

And cuts its head off.

Only then does Desmond realize.

That they had been blind for years now.

The boy they saw had been a man for years now.

And the man deserves a reward.

Ezio Auditore da Firenze was not their first childe.

But he was the most successful of their childes.

====================

They continue to travel. To see the changes of the world. And to keep people from realizing that they do not grow old. It is during these travels in the high seas that they are attacked by a pirate ship. Their ship was damaged but they won.

But Ezio had been severely wounded, dripping blood all over the dying pirate who nearly cut his head off while he was protecting a wounded human brother. They didn't know it at that time though.

The chaos and Desmond's panic over Ezio almost dying were more important. They threw the corpses overboard.

That night...

Edward Kenway rose from the depths of the sea.

Edward Kenway became a rogue vampire. He only cared for gold and glory. The Brotherhood stayed and observed. They guided when they could but left Edward Kenway alone.

Desmond had asked them to.

For Desmond wanted to see.

What kind of vampire Edward Kenway would be.

Years passed...

The age of piracy comes to an end.

And Edward Kenway comes to them.

Comes to Desmond.

Asking for guidance.

Pleading for a purpose in life.

So Desmond welcomes him.

And gives him purpose.

As a member of the Brotherhood.

====================

Edward did not know it then. That he had a daughter.

And a son.

Different mothers. The wife he left to become a privateer then a pirate later on. The woman he spent the nights with while on a mission for the Brotherhood.

Edward found his daughter. Welcomed her into their Brotherhood.

His son was lost. Taken by the Templars who whisper in his ears the kind of monsters vampires are.

The Templars are successful in indoctrinating him.

Haytham Kenway.

The Templar's very own vampire hunter dhampir.

Haytham Kenway became their very own boogeyman. The strength of his vampiric lineage and the weaponry of the Templars serving a keen and observant mind.

The Brotherhood learns of his history and things become more complicated.

Orders to not kill Haytham Kenway resounded all over the Brotherhood.

For he was of Edward Kenway's blood.

Of Ezio Auditore's blood.

He was their family.

But Haytham Kenway used this weakness to his advantage.

Killing any and all members of the Brotherhood he found.

Humans.

Thralls.

Vampires.

In desperation, Edward did what was forbidden.

That winter night, the dhampir Haytham Kenway died in his father's arms.

The following night, Haytham Kenway awakened as a full vampire.

====================

Haytham Kenway as a vampire did not change his stance. He was still loyal to the Order and he still hunted the Brotherhood.

All it did was make him hate himself more. Hate his vampiric nature.

And that hatred only made him more dangerous.

On the other hand...

As he was sired by Edward Kenway, he could not harm Edward anymore. As Edward's sire, he could not harm Ezio as well.

And, most importantly, he could not kill The Devil.

So he took in members of the Order. Trained them in his ways. He did not turn them, of course not, that would only hinder them.

And they became the best of the Templars' vampire hunters.

But one of them was better than all of them.

May even be better than Haytham as a vampire hunter.

Shay Patrick Cormac.

A man who used to be a member of the Brotherhood. A thrall that left after a horrifying event that changed him.

Haytham found his successor.

He found the vampire hunter that will kill The Devil.

====================

Perhaps it had been a moment of weakness.

Perhaps it had been true love.

Regardless of the truth, the fact remained.

Haytham Kenway had a son.

And Edward found him as a babe, nursing from his mother's tit. Shrouded by the darkness, he took the child away and returned to Desmond.

He gifted the baby to Desmond.

A way to repent for how he had inadvertently created their greatest enemy?

A desire to have even just a piece of his son yet shackled by guilt and pain?

Edward did not say his reasoning.

All he asks is that Desmond takes the dhampir.

So Desmond did.

Connor Kenway was raised as a dhampir who believed he was Desmond's son. He was raised with love and his days were filled with happiness.

His favorite was Uncle Edward who sometimes visits to give him the nicest of gifts.

As he grew older, he learns the truth.

Of his parentage.

Of Haytham Kenway.

So he tries.

He tries to build a bridge between Haytham and them.

But the bridge he was trying to build was on top of a raging river that destroys everything that falls into it.

In the end, Connor had to make a choice.

A father who he knew nothing about and hellbent on destroying everything he held dear.

Or a father who raised him with love and gave him a choice.

In the end, Haytham Kenway dies in the arms of a son he did not know.

====================

They followed Shay Cormac to Paris where he gathers what remains of Haytham Kenway's vampire hunters and the rest of the Parisian Rites of the Templar Order. Amidst the cries of the people and the growing tension between the nobles and the common folks, two young people are driven apart by their family.

Elise de la Serre becomes a Templar and trains under Shay Cormac.

Arno Victor Dorian is turned into a vampire by Ezio Auditore who takes the young man under his wing.

Their shared history comes into play as Elise starts to dream. Dreams that leave her hot and wanting.

Her nights are filled with such delicious dreams. Her days are filled with horror as more and more of their members are killed or gone missing.

Yet, this does not break her. She is a strong-willed human. She learns the truth soon enough.

Of how Arno had used their past, their previous romantic entanglements, to make her his thrall. How she gave him everything the Order told her or what she learned all on her own.

How her knowledge was the reason why so many of the Orders died.

She tells Shay all of these. Shay gathers what remains of their forces and they help her remember.

Remember the place that Arno always takes her when she is under his thrall.

The temple underneath Le Marais.

They go there to find clues.

What they found was a trap.

And they learn that Elise did break. After learning how everything was her fault, that she led all of those people to their death...

To be told that the reason why Arno had been able to enthralled her was because, underneath all that desire to be a Templar, to be taken seriously, was a lonely child wishing to be loved by a father and mother who were too busy trying to keep the Parisian Rites of Templars alive.

That underneath all that loyalty to the Order, she hated it for taking her parents away.

Two factions entered the temple underneath Le Marais that day.

Only one faction left the temple that night.

====================

Evie and Jacob Frye were children of the Brotherhood. They were wild and brave.

And they had something to prove to dear old father.

So they travel to England to hunt down the Templars. They create their own gang and destroyed the Templars plan.

The words of their deeds (and the chaos that came after them) reached Edward Kenway who was... perhaps a bit estranged from the Inner Circle by this time. A self-imposed punishment, perhaps. He sees the joy and brashness of the two and it reminds him of how he was before.

So he turns the twins into his thralls. Not enough to enslave them but enough to just give them a little boost. And he guides them.

He helps them.

He builds a family with them.

Years later, when England is fully under Brotherhood control, it would be Edward Kenway who would greet his fellow favored childes with a grin. He would hug his grandson who was now a fellow childe, one of the progenitor's favorite if the rumors were to be believed.

And he would be the one to introduce the Frye twins to Desmond.

And ask that the progenitor reward them.

And Desmond would see the joy on Edward's face. The peace in his eyes.

And they would smile as they say yes.

====================

Decades would pass and humanity will grow. They will develop cures for diseases that once killed hundreds, if not thousands, of them. They will invent objects and techniques that would make their lives easier. Humanity will prosper and destroy itself, over and over again.

And the Brotherhood will remain in the shadows. Forever foiling the plans of the Templars. Taking in thralls to keep them in check while securing their safety.

But there will be humans who will find their way into the Brotherhood.

Who will become part of the Brotherhood.

A girl raised in an orphanage being run by the Brotherhood.

A talented woman with a knack for technology.

A curious man who found the truth among thousands of conspiracies all over the world.

A broken man trying to keep himself together and looking for a place to belong.

A frustrated woman wanting to be acknowledged for the work she has done.

The Brotherhood welcomes them all.

Whether they stay as they are or become a thrall is up to them.

Perhaps...

They might even be rewarded by the progenitor.

[hinamie]

post-graduation trip airport looks

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[spyres]

[spidertroupeart]

the jokes write themselves

[egophiliac]

buckle up lads we're going BACK INTO THE BOOK

[lotus-pear]

learning to love

[trickstersaint]

i want to introduce you all to a project that is very close to my heart... or lack of one. anyway. for anyone who has ever wanted to play a poem. i'd like you to meet aromanticism

(link opens itch.io - she'll run on html in your browser! please be nice to her!)

[billpottsismygf]

Doctor Who: The Impossible Planet & The Satan Pit / The Legend of Ruby Sunday

[klanced]

can we start placing bets about the live action voltron movie. everyone download draftkings right now

[lunamothghost]

karaoke night at the fairy fort but only with britney songs

basically I saw this mashup on yt and felt like I had to draw it,, ren and lizzie duet irl when

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Actually, the bars aren't so bad anymore.

Think you can fix him? Read about his care instructions over at Tiger Tiger)

[hinamie]

unconditionally

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[aimer-arts]

you're my world!

[last-flight-of-fancy]

The Third Promise