assassin's creed artwork


“ ― You have not encountered cunning or danger until you have faced a British Templar.”

*Rupert Ferris has been omitted from this work

Jacob Frye x Reader - No Longer Yours

A/N: I blame @mother-dove for the thought of this angsty piece. A small scene where Jacob Frye encounters his former (and formerly pregnant) wife, who became a Templar. {I guess this is sort of an alternate world in a sense, as Jacob is in his late 20s or so and Starrick is still alive}. Art piece is mine.

Rating: SFW {no warnings unless you count angst as one.}

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Jacob prayed he wouldn’t encounter her…the woman he loved and the woman who was pregnant with his child…

She had turned to the Templars—the very Crawford Starrick—to find reprieve from the Assassins she once had been apart of and fled from under Jacob’s tutelage for some years now.

All those years felt like they amounted to nothing…that their love was a lie. Yes, Jacob felt he was to blame for her losing the child she had from a prior tryst in her life, but did he deserve this? Did he deserve to, not only feel heavily to blame for the loss of an innocent boy, but lose the woman and the baby she carried that was to be a symbol of their love? Now, she was the enemy, and by order of the Council, she was to be eliminated on sight if she wasn’t expecting.

It had been months since he had seen her, and Jacob wasn’t sure what to think. Did she die giving birth? Did the child die, and (Y/N) was in grieving? Did they both die…? All of the negative thoughts that could weigh upon him heavily attempted to swamp him and cripple his aching heart all the more as Jacob remained in wait within the nearby factory Starrick had taken over again with a Blighter group.

Focus, Jacob, he thought to himself, trying to push the anxious feelings to the side at what had become of the woman he loved and the child he may never get to see or hold.

He had been asked to liberate the children there, but seeing those children merely prompted more painful thoughts about his own. His eyes narrowing, he saw a small pack of Blighters heading to where Jacob was roosting upon the rafters within the shadows, and now was a perfect time compared to any to let off some steam.

The three didn’t suspect it—Jacob falling from above as he unleashed his hidden blade upon the back of one and swiftly removed it to cut at the throat of another and then viciously slice the one remaining. Blood marring the floor and his features, Jacob moved the back of his hand to his face to remove it only to duck quickly when he heard a gunshot ring out in his direction.

Jacob wasn’t surprised. Blighters could have heard that noise as he was hardly discrete given how his mind and heart were elsewhere. Ducking out of sight of the gunshot, he hid behind one of the many pieces of machinery and fished for his own revolver, checking the bullets to notice he had enough before keeping it at the ready.

The footsteps were quiet—calm almost—as they got closer and closer to where he was. Jacob breathed quietly to himself, listening with caution beyond the bellows of the surrounding devices that nearly made it difficult to do so. Jacob knew if he waited for too long, this Blighter would get the drop on him, and so it was there he turned with his gun aimed and ready to fire only to stop and feel all color leave his face and the breath knocked from him at the sight of his enemy.

“(Y/N)…!” Jacob gasped, unable to believe what he saw before him.

Her face was cold, and she looked upon him as though he truly were the enemy that had come upon her territory. She wore the Templar badge with honor, it seemed by this point, and her stomach…was flat.

“This is what you’ve become?” Jacob asked, criticizing her choices as he kept the gun readied in case (God forbid) he had to use it. “I thought you aided the children of London, and now you’re their mistress in terms of slavery!” His hand shook angrily at the complete change that had overcome the woman he loved.

“Quiet,” she ordered, those eyes of hers becoming fiercer and firmer by the minute as she kept her stance, unwavering. “According to Master Starrick, we give these children a place to rest their weary heads for a moment, apposed to the cold and rainy weather that London has to offer—we give them money to—!”

“You’re killing them slowly!” Jacob interrupted irately, furious that she would dare talk of Starrick in such a way. The anger of such a thing turned into jealousy, and it was there his hand shook all the more, the Assassin motioning his gun off to the side with his features wrinkled in displeasure. “And how is ‘Master’ Starrick?” Jacob hissed the title as it was nothing but bile in his throat. “Leaning on him lately for the losses I’ve incurred upon you?”

“Stop it, Jacob!” (Y/N) demanded, her finger nearly threatening to pull the trigger on her gun in attempts to halt him from trying to bring up memories past.

“Where is our child, (Y/N)!” Jacob roared, his words vibrating about the metal work and overpowering the groaning of the machines.

She breathed in a slow and shaky breath, her stance changing into that of a near killer who wouldn’t care if she shot her former lover and watched him bleed out over the floor. “That is no longer your concern,” she whispered cruelly.

His heart began to race. Did she even have the child? Did the child actually die as he originally feared? The anxiousness swelling in his heart made Jacob threaten to shoot her in return as his face began to ache from the anger mixed with sadness that it expressed clearly there in the foggy and horribly lit factory. “Where is it, (Y/N)!” Jacob demanded to know once more, but as he continued to have this stare off with his former beloved, he saw something amiss on her that was his only clue:

She wasn’t wearing the shilling necklace he gave her anymore like she used to, even when she switched sides. But as he let his guard down at that realization, (Y/N) saw her chance and fired.

Jacob was able to react in time, but as he did so, the bullet grazed his right cheek, slicing the skin with a horrible burn and causing the blood to bubble forth and drip down his cheek and pool upon his chin. He moved against the machine his back was against to avoid the attack, urging himself quickly to escape to a nearby window (the one he used earlier to get in through) as he had lost his desire to kill the woman he loved as he loved her still.

When she fired again, Jacob nearly lost his composure in trying to do his leap of faith into the nearby haystack below. Falling completely off center, he did indeed hit the hay, but at a weird angle to which he felt his right shoulder take a pretty bad strike upon the wood of the cart.

Jacob remained out of sight in the hay, hoping (Y/N) wouldn’t continue her witch hunt. He saw her look out the window and down at where she knew he was hiding, and much to the Assassin’s relief, she only closed and locked the window to be sure to keep him out.

Jumping out of the hay and picking it out of his clothes and hair, Jacob breathed steadily as he rested his hand upon his badly bruised shoulder. “Bloody hell,” he grumbled, feeling the moisture in the air thicken till the rain began to fall heavily, dampening his clothing and making his stride even more difficult to make given the aching heaviness in his heart.

“That baby is somewhere…and I will find it…” Jacob murmured, determination prompting him to move onward and away from that fight for now. He would have to free the orphans later, but right now…he had a more important child to hunt for and free.



(Y/N) had desired to snuff out his name, but not all traces of him. This was why her removing the shilling necklace was shocking to Jacob. Even during her times with the Templars and being cradled by that bastard, Starrick, not once did (Y/N) remove it till lately.

Jacob had stayed in her shadows, followed her back to the throne of which Crawford Starrick himself sat proudly to oversee London and the many factories he had put into effect with his label on them. The mere thought of that man and the ideas that Starrick was wooing his beloved to comfort and brainwash her made Jacob furious. If his shoulder wasn’t bruised up and damn painful to move, he would try to assassinate the Master Templar again, but Jacob had to find his child first…if his assumptions were indeed true.

He stayed to the outside of the building, finding an open window of which to crawl through and sneakily make his way undetected through the decorative halls. Blighters were the least of his problems here…Templars were everywhere to be seen upon nearly every turn made. Jacob found relief in the fact it was night and raining, or else he would be in for a difficult time just trying to get through the window.

All the same, he had to be quiet. If he alerted just one Templar, Jacob would probably find himself at Starrick’s mercy. Even just murdering one would cause a problem unless he managed to find a good place to stash the body (and most of the rooms were locked and there were no places to do so in terms of hallway furniture), so the Assassin did his best to use his Eagle Vision to search the rooms within the main bedroom hall he found himself within.

Staying low to the ground and letting the thunder drown out any noise he could make with the added thunderous tapping of the rain on the building, Jacob found a room within the center of the west wing that appeared to have a newborn within it from what he could see with his vision. His heart beating wildly at the hopes it was his, he dug for his lock picks and upon unearthing them, began to pick the lock swiftly to get inside of the room. When he heard the satisfying click that he was in, Jacob pocketed them once more before urging himself within the bedroom, closing the door inaudibly behind him.

It was dark and only the lightning would grant him some form of sight within the bedroom that had a single bed in the center with a crib at the foot of it to which the child was resting peacefully as it were; regardless of the sounds coming from outside. Jacob took to his feet and hurried over to the baby’s bed, pulling his soaked hood from his face to not frighten the child and see if it was indeed his.

It was a baby, like any other, but what stood out to him was the necklace it wore—it was Jacob’s old possession he had given to (Y/N) to suffice as a wedding ring when he hadn’t the money to give her a proper one. A small gasp of a laugh escaped him in the quiet room—one of happiness and relief—as he bent down to pick up his child and notice, from the color choice, that it was a little boy.

The child was only two weeks old, and it showed alone in how he didn’t even move when touched upon by his father. Jacob hadn’t even a moment to realize he was putting himself in danger (or notice the sound of the door opening quietly), too engrossed in having a chance to hold his son for the first time. Cradling his son to his chest, Jacob smiled and kissed him upon his forehead. “Hey there, lad,” the Assassin whispered, “I’m your father.”

The sound of a gun clicking caught Jacob by surprised as did the voice of Crawford Starrick. “He was your son, Mr. Frye,” said the Master Templar calmly as he felt he had the upper hand in this situation. Regardless of Jacob fishing out his own revolver and threatening to fire in return, Starrick didn’t flinch. “Now, he is mine.”

Jacob growled, his hold upon his son tightening protectively, the lightning illuminating his aggressive expression. “Over my dead body,” he hissed through his clenched teeth.

“It will be,” responded Starrick rather kindly at the thought, most of his own form obscured by darkness to the common eye. The Master Templar’s face wrinkled curiously at Jacob’s bold actions. “You have nothing left. Mr. Frye. I have your former wife, and I have your son. Not only has your wife found reprieve within my embrace, but soon—your very son—will only see me as his father and will be hunting his actual father unknowingly in the years to come as the next Master Templar.”

That thought was the final straw to Jacob, and in that thunderous night, Jacob rang out multiple shots at Starrick angrily, tears blinding his vision as he yelled and alerted his presence foolishly to others nearby…

…and Starrick seemed to answer—with three or so of his own against the mentally wounded Assassin in hopes to end him.

He could remember the last few moments he shared with her when they were imprisoned together. The bars were at least wide enough for them to see one another and to let their hands touch, and Jacob wished he had done more during that final night they knew they had…he wished he had done more than just mourn the loss he knew he was going to have beyond his sister while there in that cell; especially knowing he would be mourning his wife’s death for years to come.

Net was down for several hours so I thought I’d finish up this piece. =)

Jacob Frye in the AU: Steampunk story The Clockwork Soldier. You can see part of the giant gear in his back now that I’ve finished it up. The map on the back wall is a map of Shakeep Island. The dots are cities and the star is where Shakeep Castle itself is. Because it is a floating island, that water is basically going into the void, I guess.

No references used for Jacob but a major reference used for the bedroom.

“I am to hazard a guess that teatime is over?” – Jacob Frye

For @mother-dove.

The whole thing with these two is they cannot seem to have a single teatime without their clothing randomly disappearing. Jacob always tries to find that as ‘their time’ when he’s off and away taking care of business and she’s aiding the children and watching Davis and their black cat Rookie. Of course, the pleasant conversations have caused their entire living room and kitchen area to be ‘christened in their love’ but not their bedroom.

I guess they both get excited by tea and pleasant conversation.

Elizabeth Dawson: @mother-dove

Jacob Frye: Ubisoft

Art: Me

References used: 2 for the Victorian furniture; otherwise, I’d be at a loss trying to replicate that.