#templar oc

[estuschan]

now that @templartationsexchange 2026 are revealed, let me bask in showing off my delightful prompt for @michichi69 , some boy-kisser Alistair! I had so much fun painting this 🤍

[tensleepmice]

Célia in Haytham’s outfit.

(surprisingly fitting)

[heljay]

A batch of XCOM OC refs! All entirely unrelated, but nevertheless characters that occupy a reasonable amount of my brain :'3 In order: Hester "Miracle" Morris, Rook, and Xan "Python" Ven!

Hester obviously took the most time; Rook is a very simple variant of the in-game archon, and Xan is tricky because these designs are basically outside of her actual canon story as I've decided it. Admittedly I keep questioning if I should kill her off as I intended when I first developed her, leaning towards yes, but I still wanted to give her a design for an AU where she lives.

👽 Anyway I have a Ko-Fi and there's stuff on it

[pohezia]

🦋 Faërin Delilah, the romantic bosmer

[onyxkis]

beth in no, i'm not a human.

[rebyisasimp]

SHE'S DONEE,MY TEMPLAR OC IS BASICALLY DONE!!

This is her (I can't line art or render) Rebecca Heather Ming,a templar who's passion is jewelry and fashion or anything fancy.

If she didn't become a templar she would be an opera singer, probably Soprano and based on my girl Christina Daee from The phantom of the opera.

[inquisiorastoria]

Got to draw Lux, a super cool Dragon Age OC belonging to @librivore42 for our trade! Hehe

[hamletsleftball]

vows

— at the church pews, he vows to her with shame.

CONTENT WARNING: implied past sexual assault, character has unresolved trauma, HINTS of toxic masculinity, angst with comfort(?), implied marriage, past emasculation of original male character, trauma haunting narrative/character, angst in the form of feeling unworthy and shame. read antonio's oc intro & this piece for context.

author's note: jeanne and antonio are my assassin's creed ocs! basic gist is antonio is currently working as a double agent for the assassins, avoiding the templars due to the assault he had faced growing up under Templars' guardianship. this takes place some time during the first part of ac3 / haytham's arc. jeanne and antonio are a married/to-be married couple, and this explores the moment where antonio came clean to jeanne about his past (which he views as shameful).

———

She weeps. 

She weeps before him.

I will hold you. With my skin stretched across my ribs, and hollow is my body, I will hold you and shield you from the harsh winds, my dear.

“Don’t…don’t cry,” he tries to grasp onto her sleeves, scrambling to clutch onto her figure. “There is no reason for you to weep for me, my dove.”

“I did not know…”

“There was no way for you to know.”

“Had I known…”

“I would never have let you see such sides of me.”

She weeps, and his world crumbles. In the dark, empty church, he kneels. For her. Desperate that she would not abandon him as God had, that his dove would not fly off at the sheer sight of blood which coats his boots and scruffy black hair, like a sticky sheen that he cannot scrub off no matter what he does. 

Pray do not leave me. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, clutching her hands so tightly. Her soft, unmarred, perfect, gentle hands. Oh how he yearns for her to touch her like he is no monster as he believes he is. But for an angel to grace him with her touch, or for him to stain her unmarked flesh— what a sin! “I’m sorry. Please stay. It doesn’t have to change anything. Please.”

“Why would I leave?” She cries out, tears blurring those doe eyes that shatters his self the more he stares. She tugs at his shoulders, trying to pull him up. Desperation blabbers on her tear-stained lips. She cries. “Stand, please! I would never— So please stand up!”

He cannot. 

This is his last act of reverence. Of love.

Just as he does not dare raise his head to meet her eyes. Eyes blessed by Demeter herself, of the worldly calm he so desires to be a part of.

Yet why does she still plead to him, when it should be the other way around? “You have done no wrong. Why do you apologise, still?” Her voice is strained with anguish, her hands digging into his shoulders, his arms, anything, anything to get him up. “Antonio, for the love of God, please stand up and face me as you should!”

He cannot. 

He weeps. Tears feel like the angry hot whip’s lashes that scar his back, as they trail down in rivulets down his cheeks, dampening the dusty wooden planks beneath him. His hands curl into fists, nails digging into the flesh of his palms until he feels the sting and dampening of his skin, and the way blood seeps under his nails.

God, does he deserve this?

I can offer you so much, my dear. If it is my warmth, you may siphon it all. If it is my heart, you may tear it out. Your love is mercy, and every bit I spend basking in it is my elysium.

She collapses to her knees. Chest heaving with ache, as she runs her hands up his cheek, forcing him to lift his shameful head.

Yet my presence to you is the filth of the earth ruining your pretty hands and soiling the ground you stand on. My selfishness and greed unbecomes of you.

“Forsake the thought.” Her voice, yet her voice, surges another wave of tears to burn his eyes. Her gentle touches, which he is so undeserving of, covers every inch she can see of him, as if to replace His— “You are here. You are with me. I choose to be here, no?”

He can hardly respond, not when sobs wrack his shoulder and he heaves for air, her air. Sounds of anguish fill the stale building, flooding the wretched place with his cries. He cries his heart out, like a child of grief and torment.

Why does she not leave?

Yet all she does is pull him closer, embracing him tightly as he rests his head against her shoulder. Her hand caresses his hair, combing out the treacly locks of its mire, while the other keeps him close.

“They were so, so cruel to you.” Her voice trembles, and his sobs deepen. “Oh God, I am here now. Let me wash you of your past, let me relieve the burden from your shoulders, my dearest.”

Still, you look upon me as if I am worthy of the commonfolk’s gaze. As if I am worthy of being a human.

“If I could not help you then, at least let me help you now. I will lower myself if I have to, if it means I get to see your face and hold you in my arms. I will kneel and beg and plead if it means you will be at peace.”

What can he provide her in return? But whatever pathetic scraps remaining of his lean body and deteriorated mind?

Finally, he dares enough to meet her gaze, and lifting his head feels like a tremendous task, yet he does. Because, by Jove, he would do anything for her. If it pleases her, if it makes her happy—

If it is I that you require for contentment and merriment, I would. I would.

Her eyes. Once so innocent, and now she bares herself vulnerable to him. As he does for her.

A hand rises to her cheek. The other clutches at her arm.

Even now, she stares at him with hope. So much hope that it makes his heart clench and twist.

“I love you.” A pitiful whisper from his chapped lips.

His vows. For her.

———

fin. | do not plagarize, steal, modify or translate my works without my explicit permission.