#Basim x reader

[starlightt180]

not @ me about to start learning Arabic because of Basim 😭

his voice in Arabic is so hot 🫠 but imagine him teaching you tho .

Basim will teach you some words and the meaning. Because sometimes you get confused when he says something in Arabic .

"عيُونك من جمّالها تشبه القمر بين النجُوم." Basim would say when looking into your eyes. And trust me .

you would be confused cuz , tf did he say in Arabic

“what does it mean ?” You said with the most confused tone . Basim will laugh and tell you the meaning .

” It means” he started “ from your eyes beauty . They’re like the moon between stars “ he said with a faint blush on his face.

”oh! now that’s romantic.. I didn’t know you had it in you” . “ i literally read poems in the house of wisdom when i was young” .

From then on you got obsessed with the language and begged basim to teach you Arabic

He told you that there’s a lot of grammar and it’s a must to follow it or the whole sentence meaning will change

He was right the language have A LOT OF GRAMMAR but hey at least you learned the Arabic alphabet.

[demigoddessqueens]

How would Altair, Shay, Basim and Arno react if their pregnant assassin/templar reader tries to go on a mission?

Ty 💕

You got it nonnie 😘😁

Masterlist 10

Altair

Will be VERY upset/annoyed because how could you be so reckless and careless!! He lost someone he thought he had a chance of life with, but now with you, it’s even more precious and hopeful for once and he’ll never stop fighting to protect that

Shay

His fiery temper will most likely rear its head because why would you think going on mission is a good idea ??

If this is during his Assassin-turned Templar arc, his frustration stems from wanting to protect you if others tried to use it as leverage against him

Basim

Sit back down, you are not going anywhere! Yes he knows you are more than capable of fending yourself and he trusts you, but Basim doesn’t trust others that easily, and he knows no mercy will be extended if someone hurt you or his unborn child

Arno

He will be very upset with you, considering all the loss he faced in life, like it would very much be a teary-eyed argument (on his end) with you both.

Once the dust settles and you two get a chance to talk, it’s more of addressing and soothing the fears Arno has from his life. He adores and loves you so much, and his heart couldn’t take it if you were gone.

[fabricated-misslieness]

Basim Ibn Ishaq x assassin gn reader

I am simping very hard

Requested: No

Word Count: 1257

Fighting, a dance that you swayed to every day. It is a competition whose prize is living another day.

Some days it was as easy as a slit to the throat, though those were short dances, they brought just as much satisfaction. Other days you had to deal with the guards too. On these days, it is a competition in pairs or groups, yet you have no partner.

You’d separated a long time ago, though you still court each other, you hadn’t seen each other in ages. Letters were never possible, either. He travels around the world, and so do you. Trying to track down where either of you are is out of the question.

It was alright, though. You’d agreed to separate for a few years, until you saw each other again coincidentally. There were Ancient Ones everywhere to assassinate.

You used to be upset, but in the end, you’d found peace in it.

Today was unlike any other. Perhaps you’d started a war, perhaps you hadn’t. You’d come to assassinate the Ancient One Fulke, upon getting a letter from the poor fellow soldier of Christ.

How this soldier had found you, you didn’t know, but the help was much appreciated. The letter included clues as to why this Fulke was an Ancient One as well as her location.

While you didn’t precisely know how she looked, the soldier had given you a fair description. Even if he hadn’t, you had keen hearing and observation, enough to figure which one was Fulke.

On the way there, there were several camps. It seemed they were going to assault the same place you were going to, Portcestre, where Fulke was hiding.

You didn’t know what their purpose was, but you could tell they were serious about it. There were many men and women, all warriors, who had come.

If they were coming for Fulke, like you were, you were going to beat them to it. You certainly hoped you would be able to assassinate her before they started their assault. If Fulke is as important as she is to the soldiers, they’d surely protect her. It is best to make your move when they have their guard down.

They’d assaulted right when you were fighting Fulke’s guards, just your luck.

Since the other soldiers were on alert and running towards the infiltration point, some had stumbled upon you on the way.

Maybe this poor fellow soldier of Christ was leading you to your death in the end.

You were annoyed and severely frustrated. Fulke had left your sight, surely to a safe place. You’d have to track her all over again while also risking death, now that the guards were on alert. You should’ve talked to the people in the camp beforehand.

More soldiers surround you, to the point where they’re able to push you into an open field where you can’t climb any walls to escape. They surround you, slowly moving in, but their mistake is going in one by one.

You’re skilled, that you know, so you’re able to take them.

The dance of battle is exhausting, but you’ve danced it several times before. It is lonely without a partner, that’s for sure. 

You’d be done with this circle of soldiers in no time, but the bad thing was that more came every second. It was as if you’d infiltrated a bee’s nest. They were tiring you out, yet you refused to give up. This was not the place you’d die, not without your dance partner.

“My darling!” You recognized that voice, Basim. Mayhaps this really was the place you’d die.

You snap your head towards the sound, but you do not let your surprise stop you from fighting. As you do, you search for the voice. Your eyes scan the battle, looking for that familiar face.

Then your eyes finally land on him, your dance partner. Finally you’d be together again and you’d win the competition together.

“My love!” You exclaim. He runs over immediately after he disposes of a soldier. Before you know it, you’re back to back in the midst of the circle of soldiers.

“Tell me about your travels.” He says, to which you gladly reply with your stories.

Battle is an ease with your partner, to the point where you don’t really even have to pay attention anymore. You’re scrambling for another story in your head when the soldier you’re fighting manages to cut your forearm.

The cut is not long or deep, but it is an injury nonetheless. The soldier is weak, you can tell, so it only takes a few swipes to dispose of him.

“Are you alright, darling?” He asks, but his tone isn’t very worried. He knows you’re strong.

You laugh, “Just a scratch! Now tell me your stories!”

Soon enough, the circle of soldiers are all dead.

Basim just about drags you to a safe place, even when the scratch does not hinder your ability to walk. “I’m fine, love.” You reassure him, yet he drags you anyway. You’re sure he’s just trying to pester you.

The safe place is apparently a part of the archer walls, somewhat exposed to people on it, but thankfully a blonde warrior with a significant skill of archery had out-shot all the archers on the wall already. This warrior seemed to be leading the charge.

“How long has it been?”

“Three years.”

His voice is the same as it was 3 years ago, gruff but lovely. You yearn to pass your fingers through his dark hair again, to braid and decorate it with flowers, to run your fingers along his body again. You long to have some alone time with him out of dance.

You sit next to each other, just below the wall. He tears a rag to size and cleans your wound with water from his flask, leaning in close to do so.

As he works on tying it, you give a kiss to the top of his head. “What was that for?” He says in a low tone, finishing his work and looking up at you.

Your faces are close, and you take the opportunity to kiss him.

His lips are just as you remember, rough and sweet. His kissing is just as satisfactory, which is a good thing seeing as he shouldn’t have gotten any practice since you parted.

“Your lips are just as sweet as I remember.” You smile and he snickers.

“You missed me? Never forgot about me? Even remembered how our kisses felt?” He’s trying to tease you, painting you as an old sap, but you know he does the same things.

“Like you’re any better.”

You find yourself pulling him in for another kiss because you know he wants one, and you certainly do too. The dance of battle becomes white noise at this point, replaced by the dance of your lips.

When you pull back once again, you ask another question, “How’s Hytham?”

“Three years apart and you’re not asking about me, but Hytham?” You laugh. It is a mere jest, thus he answers your question briefly. “He’s doing well, better than the last time you saw him.”

You nod, bringing him into a hug. You relish in the warmth, but eventually you must both pull away.

He nods and you nod back. “You better stay alive, love.” You say.

“Same thing goes for you, darling.” He replies.

The tender feeling from the hug lingers a while, but you don’t let it distract you. You’ll have more of that later.

[frenchoravocadotoast]

Basim Ibn Ishaq headcanons

Basim Ibn Ishaq x GN!reader

Word count: 1003

Basim is an “actions speak louder than words” man. He’s kind of reserved by nature and has spent many years mastering the art of controlling his emotions during his time in Alamut.

That being said, his love language is definitely acts of service.

It starts off small – you both have a passion for literature, a common ground he has yet to realize. He’s talking to Fuladh about a recent poem he’s just read, reciting his favorite lines, when he hesitates at the end. He’s trying to remember the final verse when you jump in and quote it for him, and Basim shoots you an amused look.

“Since when do you enjoy poetry? ”

He tries to surprise you sometimes – he likes to lend you his favorite books, and if you indulge the man, he’ll even rant about his favorite poets/poetesses and their works. It becomes a bonding mechanism between the two of you, and it might look corny to an outsider; but you see how excited Basim gets when you say you liked the book he gave you, and suddenly, it’s like their opinion doesn’t even matter.

When the life of a Hidden One keeps you up at night –whether that be because of a nightmare or a stress-induced fever– Basim keeps you company. He knows the feeling all too well and refuses to leave you alone, unless that’s something you want. He will sneak into your room with a bowl of fruit and a book in hand.

“May I offer you a poem in these trying times”

Boom you’re sold

It’s a secret of his, but he likes writing poetry, too. He’ll die before admitting it though – and anyone who dares read his work will have to pry it from his cold, dead hands.

That being said, he might let you read something here and there (only the poems he’s revised a hundred times), but you have to swear that you won’t tell anyone.

You don’t mind. It’s like your little secret anyway.

Despite his preference for acts of service, he’s going to try to compliment you every now and then. You can always tell he’s being genuine, and when you thank him, he grants you a warm smile and a courteous nod.

He’s a very good listener. You could be talking about anything and he’d be listening intently, nodding along and asking questions. And nothing escapes him, really – he’s got an amazing memory and will remember your birthday, your favorite food, the friendly camel you met two weeks ago, or even the day you first saw fireworks. 

He remembers that day well. The bright lights were sizzling and popping in the sky as you watched them, transfixed. You’d turned to face him with a big grin on your face, and in your excitement, asked him an obvious question: “Did you see that?”

He smiled and nodded, because of course he did.

He didn’t. He was looking at you.

But besides that, nothing escapes him!

He has a habit of shielding you from the elements. When it’s scorching hot, he hovers his hand over your face to keep the sun from your eyes. When it’s windy, he likes to use his stature to shelter you from the breeze. And on rainy days, he cocoons you in scarves and cloaks to keep you from getting wet.

Basim starts laughing more around you, and you both become incredibly closer. You have so many inside jokes that it’s hard to keep track of them, and perhaps it’s starting to get to the other Hidden Ones too. Roshan just sighs as she watches the two of you because you’re both oblivious fools.

He definitely starts coming out of his shell with time, even dropping a pick up line here and there. The first time it happened it caught you so off guard he panicked and lost all sense of his training in three seconds.

“Well, – Nehal is calling me. I’ll see you around.” and he tailed it out of there, tripping over a vase before regaining his footing and scrambling away.

He wouldn’t approach the subject again, and if you were in his proximity he would be as stiff as a board – until you made a move too. You flirted with him out of the blue and he just widened his eyes and pointed at you.

😳🫵🏽

Things change from there and he tries to flirt more (and he’s so dorky he makes everyone within audible distance groan and leave). You’re organizing the books at the bureau, the one place you probably frequent more than your own home, when he comes in.

“You come around here often?”

You give him a deadpan expression, because he can obviously do better than that, and he grimaces.

“Yeah. No more of that.”

Biggest supporter ever. If you speak another language other than Arabic, he wants to know all about it. He’s a smart man, he can learn a couple of expressions quickly, and pretty soon you’re having simple conversations in your tongue. 

That being said, if you cuss someone out in said language he’ll probably try to remove you from the situation. He’s not keen on confrontation, especially with civilians, but if they wronged you in any way, he’d be all like “Yeah, what they said!” “And you better remember it!”

An absolute sucker for forehead kisses. He’s not very fond of PDA but he always kisses your temple when he has to leave or walk past you. It’s a ghostly touch, you almost don’t notice it, but it makes your cheeks flush every time.

Likes to hold your face in his hands and just look at you. It can end with him either smiling and kissing the corner of your mouth (on a good day) or pulling your hood down to blind you and ruin the moment (when he’s feeling a little silly). You call out his name and he just barks out a laugh as he climbs onto the rooftops.

He’s actually a little shit (affectionate) (derogatory)

[haythams-blade]

I’m playing ac Valhalla at the moment and I can’t get over how handsome Eivor and Basim are. 😭❤️ Might have to give them some love. If anyone has any requests or ideas for Eivor and Basim please let me know. ❤️🥰 I also keep thing of Haytham every time I hear Hytham’s name. 🥲❤️

[alessiathepirate]

Assassin's Creed: Mirage

THE ART OF PICKPOCKETING: Basim Ibn Ishaq x fem!reader

Summary: Basim Ibn Ishaq really liked to think of himself as someone, who's impossible to pickpocket -- and she finally found the opportunity to prove him wrong.

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I may have made while I wrote this short story.

Warnings: none

•••

Basim Ibn Ishaq really liked to think of himself as someone, who's impossible to pickpocket.

And whenever he said that thought out loud, she wanted nothing more than to prove him wrong.

She sometimes liked to include the children too, who were free to do whatever they wanted after finishing the task Dervis had given them. They liked to be the distraction, while she did her best to sneak up on him and take the little blue charm from his scarf. When she failed Basim chuckled while the children laughed. Nehal just stood not far away, shaking her head as she tried to hide a smile.

All her attempts had failed. None of them worked.

Basim always seemed to expect all her ideas and tries, and he was holding a firm grip on her wrist the moment her fingertips were touching his clothes.

She almost gave up, accepting defeat. Almost.

Because soon the right moment presented itself.

She just came back from an errand Dervis had given her -- an easy task; just a go in - grab the small chest of dirhams - then get out without getting caught. She was on her way to give Dervis the chest when she ran into Basim - or rather: Basim jumped her in a tight alleyway.

She was startled and almost dropped the dirhams, what would've gotten her a long, endless, angry speech from Dervis himself. She playfully hit Basim on the shoulder as he laughed.

"You're such a child sometimes, I swear." she shook her head disapprovingly, hiding a smile.

"Oh, come on! You left me all alone today with nothing to do!"

"Wasn't Nehal around?" she asked with a raised eyebrow as she continued to walk toward Dervis' place.

Basim followed her closely.

"Nehal isn't you." he complained and she felt a blush threatening to appear on her cheeks. "Besides, she never wants to come with me to see what the Hidden Ones are up to!"

"Because you annoy her a bit too much with that." she chuckled as Basim pouted at her teasing tone. "And it's not a bad thing that at least one of us isn't suicidal."

"Do you have any other errands to do after this one?" Basim asked.

"No. Why? Is there something you'd like to do?"

"I was thinking, maybe we could go and practice."

"Practice what?" confusion was the only visible emotion on her face.

"Pickpocketing."

She stopped so suddenly that Basim almost bumped into her. It was Basim's turn to look confused and hers to pout.

She looked at him as if he just hurt her feelings. Her eyebrows were raised as if challenging him to continue. When he didn't, she decided to voice her anger.

"Pickpocketing? You think I need to practice pickpocketing?" her voice was higher than usual and Basim just scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, not really knowing what to say.

"Well, everyone needs to practice..."

"Basim!" she could imagine his heart jumping at her tone. "Do you think I need to practice?"

He crossed his arms in front of his chest and did his very best to look confident, but he couldn't really fool her. She knew him too well. And she knew he wasn't feeling overly confident at all.

"Well, I did follow you and you didn't even notice me until I jumped you. And you still can't pickpocket me."

If looks could kill...

"So you're telling me that no one could possibly surprise you? Not like you suprised me?"

A quiet understanding ran through Basim's eyes, as if he finally realized that he set up a trap for himself. Her eyes were shining with mischief as she was waiting for an answer, and his body became more rigid, feeling a storm coming.

"That's exactly what I'm saying..."

Always acting so confident, always hiding the side of him she loved the most - the side that loved poetry, and softness, and the thought of love itself...

"If that's what you think, Basim..."

She put the chest between her left arm and her side to keep her right hand free. Then, she took a step or two toward Dervis' place to let Basim feel safe and give him the false feeling of relief.

The moment she heard him take the first step, she turned around, grabbed his scarf and pulled him down into a kiss.

She closed her eyes, but she could imagine the surprised look on his face. She could imagine him blushing and she could imagine his eyes being wide open. And those thoughts made her grin.

She made sure to kiss him with passion. To show him the feelings she has been having for him since the beginning of time. She made sure to kiss him roughly, she made sure it made him lose all his senses. She made sure it was a great distraction.

By the time Basim collected himself and found the courage in himself to kiss back, she already let go of his scarf and pulled away.

His flushed face made her smile widely.

"So this wasn't surprising... At all..."

"No, I--"

She grinned.

"It's alright Basim. It happens to the best of us."

She started to walk again and after a few long seconds Basim began to follow her.

Some of the children noticed them and ran toward them to greet them. She just giggled and raised her left hand high, showing them the blue charm what she was holding in a tight grip.

"I finally did it!"

The cheering was almost comical. So was the laughter what came after Basim touched his scarf with a confused expression, not believing that the charm was gone.

"Oh, don't worry Basim, we all need our practice!" she teased and the children laughed harder.

"That's cheating!" Basim argued with a blush. "Give it back!"

"Get it back!" she shouted as she began to run, dropping the chest of dirhams not caring if Dervis gets his money or not; or if he gets angry or not.

Victory just felt too good. So did Basim's lips on hers.

Their game of cat and mouse didn't last long. After a few minutes Basim managed to tackle her on one of the rooftops - and she gladly let him turn her around and kiss her with so much passion, she had to whimper.

Yet the minute Basim's fingertips touched the charm, she grabbed his wrist, pulling him away from her prize.

"Don't you dare." she warned.

Basim grinned. She did too. Then his lips were on hers again as her free hand held onto his shoulder tight.

[i-lived-i-died-and-now-i-sleep]

Imagine Basim gifting you his ring before going on a long mission

Imagine standing in front of him, your fingers entwined with his. You're looking up at the tall man you call the love of your life. Tears fill your eyes at the thought that he has to go on a mission for at least several months,to a country far far away from you. Biting your lip didn't help by any chance to suppress a small whimper that escaped your mouth. You knew he had to go. You knew it meant a lot to him. Still, it felt like a part of you would go with him. And that you wouldn't be whole for what would feel like an eternity.

Basim furrowed his eyebrows at the sight of you nearly crying, but then, a smile appeared on his lips.

"Hold on,my love. I have something for you."

After fumbling around for some seconds, he pulled off the green smaragd ring he always wore on his little finger. His smile grew even wider, a bit cocky even.

"I know you will miss me. And I will miss you too. More than you can imagine. But never doubt that I will come back to you."

Suddenly,he closed the distance between you two and kissed you on your forehead.

"No matter how far,my heart stays here with you. Keep this ring to remember that."

[alastorqueen]

You Are Enough

Ok, so I was playing AC Mirage in the middle of last night for the second time. I enjoyed the game for what it was, despite some nitpicks. It nestled right in with the og games. While playing, this idea popped into my head so I decided to write this little drabble. We all have our moments when we feel like we have to work hard to prove something to people before focusing on improving ourselves. Hopefully this can lift up someone who understands because I certainly do. Enjoy.

The story is a Basim x reader using the female pronouns instead of y/n. But feel free to use whatever you prefer.

Basim gasped for breath as he rose up from his sleep. Another nightmare. Nothing new, all the same. He gazed up at the ceiling for a brief moment and began to control his breathing. After looking around the darkened room, he was preparing to lay back down to fall back asleep, until he heard a faint noise downstairs. It wasn't quite loud, but just enough to be heard.

Curious, he lifted the covers off of him and stepped out of bed to go check the source of the noise. As he descended down the stairs, he peered around to see a faint light glowing with a female silhouette near it. Her back was turned and Basim was so quiet she didn't hear anything as she was attentively focused working on something.

Basim softly called out her name. She snapped her head to face him and smiled. She was a bit startled because she was not aware of his presence or how long he was standing there, but paid it no mind.

"Basim, I thought you were asleep." She said. He shrugged. "Well I was, but..." He paused, not feeling like addressing the matter why he was awake. So he focused on her reasoning instead. "Still working on that project I see."

"Uh-huh." She replied dismissively. Basim knew about this. She's been working all afternoon, and for whatever reason had a habit of doing projects well into the day without the consideration of rest. Once before when she completed something after many days working on it, the sheer fatigue was so evident in her face she looked as if she might collapse. He can see it now when she turned to face him in that brief moment. Dark circles formed around her eyes, the weary yet determined expressions.

Basim didn't want to intrude on her and tell her that she should take a break. Perhaps she was just a hard-worker and that was part of the regime. But now, he knows he needs to say something.

"You really should rest. You are going to work yourself into exhaustion." He said with genuine concern, stepping closer to her.

She glanced quickly at him before turning to her duties. "I-I know I just want to get this done first."

Allah, she even sounds tired. Basim thought.

"You can get this done another day." He suggested, reaching out to rub her shoulder. She looked like she was in pain being hunched over for however long she was sitting there.

Basim did not understand what happened in that moment when she suddenly stopped what she was doing and looked down at the table, only to begin sobbing.

He called her name again and turned her shoulder towards him so she could face him. He took her chin gently in his hand to raise her face up. "What's the matter?" She closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Talk to me habibi, tell me what's wrong."

She rolled her eyes trying to avoid more tears from falling, which failed. She still refused to look at Basim, even when she faced him. She felt embarrassed crying to him over this. But why?

"It's just that," she hesitated. "I feel like I'm not doing enough, like no matter how much I try it's never enough."

Oh. Now it all makes sense.

"What has happened to you in this place we have to call life, that makes you feel this way about yourself?" He asked tenderly. Her shoulders sagged when Basim started to massage them, patiently awaiting her answer.

"I see others work very little or about the same and they gain so much. It's like no one gives me a chance to prove myself, to show what I am capable of. This is why I work so hard, stay up late, compromise my well-being."

Basim stared at her with eyes of compassion and understanding. He knows what that feels like. He himself has endured it many times within the Brotherhood of the Hidden Ones. Even now, he still struggles with those moments of inadequacy. But he didn't want to focus on himself, he's going to tell her what he had to learn.

"Look at me." He said firmly, yet kindly enough for her to raise her tearful eyes at him. "You cannot waste your time trying to find worth from others before you find it within yourself. You have to realize that you are enough. Otherwise if you keep trying to seek everyone else's approval and they don't see it, neither will you. Embrace all that you are. Your flaws, your talents, your weaknesses, your strengths. That is what makes you who you are, no one else. That is what makes you more than enough, habibi."

He cupped her face in his hands, gazing intently into her eyes because he wants her to hear this clearly and concisely.

"You are enough."

As she stared into his honey brown eyes, she knew he meant everything he said. This was not about just making her feel better, she had to see her worth first before seeking anyone's validation. Risking her own self-care was not necessary for this.

"Thank you, Basim." She said ever so softly, still reeling from his words.

He gave her a small, yet sweet smile before leaning closer to place a kiss on her forehead. "Now come to bed, rest your body."

She nodded. Then after placing her equipment neatly on the table, she covered the small flame to blow out the lamp, and stood up with Basim to head upstairs.

"I will never forget your words Basim." She said. "But I sometimes do tend to fall back into my habits."

"It happens to all of us." Basim admitted. "But when you do, make sure my words come to mind."

[ravnkit]

Ooooooh :0 what characters do you write for AC/Assassins Creed?

Hi!

So I've played Syndicate, ACIII, Back Flag, Valhalla, Odyssey, and some of Mirage so I am pretty confident to write for:

Connor, Evie, Jacob, Eivor, Alexios, Kassandra, Edward, and Basim

Though I can always research and read for the others!

Sorry for the long wait for the reply love, been prepping for AP exams and it's killing me. Thankfully I'm almost done with this year and can write all I want over the summer.

[starlightt180]

☹️

me seeing that my fav character barely/doesn’t have any fanfics OR imagines

[yasashii-leaf]

[starlightt180]

how would mirage basim take care of u on ur period

basim ibn ishaq x fem reader

After long day of training . Basim returns to his tent in alamut to rest . When he enters , he finds you laying on ur side holding your stomach

“rouhi? Is something bothering you “ he said as he sat beside you , hand on ur back to comfort you “ yes… my cramps are getting worse and i cant do anything without feeling tired and pain “ you said looking up at him

Awh u poor thing . He can’t sit there and see his habibti in pain . So he stood up .

“Where are u going?” You sat up to see where he’s going “ sit here my love . I will be back “.

10 minutes passed and he returned with tea for you, and a book in his other hand “i got you tea ya rouhi . And i got this book to read it to you .” He smiled as he sat down again and handed you the tea .

You smiled at him as you started to sip on the tea . Its kinda hot but it’s helping you with the cramps . After you finished it , basim pulled you to lay your head on his shoulder. He threw the blanket on both of you and reached for the book . “ there’s many stories in the book. I’ll ready you some “ he said as he opened the page on a story he love.

an hour passed and your knocked out . Laying on his chest as he wrapped his arms around you . Running his hand up and down on ur back as to comfort you . He kissed your forehead and closed his eyes . “Goodnight ya habibti”

On my period rn and though why don’t I write about basim taking care of ya . I know this is short but i will try and make another one for valhalla basim :3

[demigoddessqueens]

Valentine's Day challenge for you! For each of the love languages (touch, gifts, time, words, acts) assign an assassin to each and write how they show it

Also happy Valentine's to you (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

Of course!! Thank you dear for this cute request!

Happy Valentine’s to you too!!

MASTERLIST 10

Love languages

altair

He’s a man of quality and substance so he would be wanting to spend quality time with you and appreciate all of you

ezio

Absolutely relies on physical touch and so much affection whenever he’s around you

desmond

I feel like words would be his strong suit since he thinks highly of you and wishes someone would have told him the same

edward

another one who would be physically affectionate, mostly stemming from his fear(s) of being alone

arno

The Romantic honestly tries to hit all five because he adores and loves every part of you all the way

aveline

All the gifts and spare time she has, as much as your heart desires

ratonhnhake:ton

Such a sweetheart! Acts of service are his go to because he gets to talk to you the most if your me busy with chores

jacob

another touchy one like Ezio! PDA starts to become his favorite especially if some Rooks are eyeing you too long

kassandra

Words are key to the Misthios because she weaves elaborate poetry to remember you by

bayek

Quality time is favorable to the former Medjai because it anchors him back to the loving domesticity when things get crazy

eivor

Eivor likes to create and make things so gift giving speaks volumes if carvings or jewelry are to your liking

aya

She is more physically affectionate, always holding onto your arm or hand if she wants to

basim

Likes spending quality time with you the most because he gets to unwind and relax with his favorite person

Templars

shay

Is absolutely physically affectionate and shameless about sneaking kisses

haytham

Tries to spend more time with you as possible, but also likes to buy you gifts

[supergirl16]

YOU GUYS PROMISED TO WRITE MORE FOR BASIM WHEN THE NEW GAME IS OUT.... WHERE IS THE FICS 😢😢

[frenchoravocadotoast]

Cogito, ergo sum

from Latin "I think, therefore I am"

Basim Ibn Ishaq x GN!reader

Prompt: Basim survives the temple

Warnings: Implied NSFW at the end

Word count: around 4k (big boi)

The cliff is his safe space.

It has been ever since he first arrived at Alamut. You remember meeting the young man he used to be, a clumsy thief with a shy stubble that paled in comparison to the beard he’d grown throughout his training. It made him look wiser, you supposed. And wise he was, for he was educated by none other than the silence of the mountains and the sword of Roshan.

He was a smart man, but going into the temple was not a smart choice at all. Roshan had tried to stop him and failed. She walked out of the temple with a limp, holding her shoulder and her side as her head hung low in shame – defeated by her own student, her son, in a way. She couldn’t bear to look you and the other novices in the eye. 

But that was okay, because you couldn’t look at her either. You couldn’t look away from the mountain that stood tall before you all, the grinning cave that held Basim’s life over your heads.

He wasn’t coming back, Roshan said. You didn’t listen. Didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge the novice who tried to pull you away from the cave. You heard your mentor’s footsteps grow distant as the murmurs of the hidden ones mourned a new loss. You’d almost joined in their whispered prayer when you saw it – a wheezing figure stepping out of the cavern, hand pressed against the rock as they kept their gaze low. You rushed to meet them halfway.

It was him. Basim. The matted jet black hair was hard to miss, along with his beige and blue robes. His brown doe eyes flickered and met yours, but before you could reach him, he put his hand up and yelled at you to stay away. His stance had become defensive, a shaky hand resting on the handle of his sword, as his eyes watched you and your friends with wariness.

You frowned; called out his name and watched as the grip on his sword tightened. Those eyes of his didn’t regard you with the same warmth they used to. They were scared, angry, and untrusting. His lips that would smile so often were pulled down into a snarl and his brows were etched into a scowl. His body, once so sure and confident in his walk, trembled under your gaze. 

Before you could say anything, he ran. He climbed up the cliff with the expertise of a man who had endured years of training, or with the velocity of a lizard who feared for his life. The tails of his robes whipped in the wind when he reached the summit and disappeared from your view.

But he hadn’t run away. He lingered in his trusted spot by the cliffside. Rayhan would watch him from his tent and study his behavior. In the mornings, Basim would sit to meditate. It wouldn’t last long before he’d start to pace, hands in his hair before he’d yell up at the sky, fall to his knees, and throw rocks against the floor. After his fit, he’d try to sit still again, fail, and do it all over again.

When night fell, he’d crawl down the cliffside and rummage through the baskets of food you and the other novices had purposely prepared for him. He avoided you like the plague – whatever had happened inside that temple, whatever he’d seen, had shook him to his core. It was enough to haunt his mind even when one of his old friends attempted a conversation with him during one of his nightly visits, and he’d only granted them a glare. You kept your distance, watching from your seat near the fire, when he looked at you, frowned, and left to return to his cliff again.

It broke your heart. He loved that cliff, he’d found peace there during his troubled past, but now it only seemed to isolate him. But that was the point of meditation, wasn’t it? Keeping the world out, silencing your mind? If it worked for him then, why couldn’t it work now?

He needs time, Rayhan told you one day. You both watched from his tent as Basim had finally settled down after pacing for hours – he sat criss-crossed, hands resting on his lap as he breathed out. He lasted 3 hours like that. You found yourself smiling at the sight.

Maybe meditation did work.

Months go by. Winter greets Alamut with a snowstorm that would put the Gods to shame, but the canyon protects your stalls, tents, and beds from the howling wind above. You think the harsh temperatures will lure Basim down from his lair, but you grow concerned when the snow starts to pelt down on you and there is no sign of him anywhere. The spare pelts and blankets in your tent call out to you, and without thinking it much, you strap them to your back and go look for him.

You find him halfway through your climb. He was smart enough to flee from the icy winds in the mountains, and found shelter in a little panhole on the side of the cliff. He’s setting up his own tent when you call out his name. He turns to face you with a bewildered look, like it’s his first time seeing another human in his life, when you give him the folded blankets and pelts.

“You’re going to need these.”

He takes them from you, eyes flickering over your face, and whispers a soft thank you.

You give him a small smile, because those two words are enough to make your heart soar and jump around – but you don’t want to scare him. You’re about to leave when he says your name.

“How are you still here?”

You shrug.

“I never left.”

He frowns at that, although it’s not the same frown he wore when he first came out of the cave. It’s the kind of frown that tells you he’s thinking, mulling over your words, wanting to believe them. You believe them, because you know the Hidden Ones would never leave him behind like that; and without saying much more, you part ways again.

The snow melts and gives way to the blooming flowers. You’re helping Rebekah fix the handle of a sword when someone taps your shoulder – Basim stands behind you, giving you a quick smile that barely peeks out of his blue scarf. It disappears just as quick as it comes, but it leaves you breathless nonetheless.

He asks about Rayhan’s whereabouts, and you can only point him in the right direction as words fail you. It’s the first time you see him talking to others of his own volition; and when he leaves after voicing his gratitude, you turn to look at your blacksmith friend. She’s looking at you slack-jawed.

Basim starts coming down more often since then. Just a month ago, he’d joined you by the campfire while Nur told a story. You’d patted the empty seat next to you, and when his lips stretched into his usual warm smile, your heart squeezed.

You’d missed him.

Speaking of Nur, you saw him talking to Basim on the cliff just this morning. They were rekindling their friendship as Nur showed him the tapestry he’d been working on all winter. If he’d gone up there unannounced, maybe you could try talking to Basim too, right?

That’s exactly what you do. I’m in control of the story.

He’s sitting close to the edge, looking at the setting sun, when you stop behind him. He spares you a glance, as if he’d been expecting you, before patting the empty spot next to him, just like you had done with him. You carefully sit down when he speaks.

“It looks beautiful from here, does it not?”

You hum and nod. “I  can see why you like it so much.”

“It is very freeing to experience life from these heights. Down there, we’re so small.”

Your lips stretch into a smile – he’s starting to sound like himself again, with his wise and philosophical words. It itches at the thorn that’s been stuck in your heart since he grew distant from you all, and you find your words leaving you before you can register them.

“I missed you.”

His expression falters at that, and a saddened tint floods his gaze.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I do. I was not myself when I left that cave.” he whispers, grimacing. “I was never myself, it seems.”

You stretch your legs out, nudging his boot with yours. He smiles wryly at your attempt to comfort him.

“What makes you think that?”

“What was revealed to me at the temple…” he gestures with his hand, but no words come out, and he promptly drops it. “My life was not meant for me to live.”

“I do not understand.”

“You must think me mad. Even now, I do not quite believe it myself.” he scoffs, eyes glazing over. “I was just a vessel, a fool fighting against nature.”

There is not much you can do for him, you think. Not much you can understand, either. Until Basim doesn’t fully capture what troubles his mind, you doubt you’ll be able to get through his defenses. But with him, it’s different. Basim sows and reaps, builds and destroys – the walls he’s built around himself stand tall before you, but they’re no match for him. They’re like overgrown weeds he needs to pull out. In his novice years, he used to speak of the power and danger of one’s own mind; and he seemed to be heeding his advice even after all this time, for he continued to speak despite your silence.

“There was this… machinery inside the temple. Nehal told me to open it, and when I did–” he swallows. “It was pain after pain, memories that threatened to claim me, fears that broke my very soul. And then, when I was begging for it all to end, praying to be let out– Nehal wasn’t there anymore.”

You frown. “Your friend?” he nods in response.

“She was never there.”

“She was gone?”

“She wasn’t real.”

He rakes his hand through his hair as he hisses through his teeth, like the revelation itself burdens his heart soul. You watch in awe at the raw display of emotions as he frowns and his hoarse voice speaks up once more.

“I lived a lie. It was all my fault. I killed the Caliph, I dug my own grave, led myself into the very trap fate had woven for me.” 

A tentative hand rests on his forearm, and you squeeze to break him out of his trance. Basim turns to look at you, bearing the look of a man drowning in despair and needing it all without knowing what he yearns for. 

“And yet, you live.” you whisper.

He sighs in return. “I live.”

“I understand why you were so defensive when you left the cave.”

He shakes his head, looking at the setting sun that paints the sky in a purple hue.

“I thought I was imagining you all. Sometimes, I fear I still do.” he looks at you, frowning. “If I believed Nehal was real my entire life, what was stopping me from believing you were real, too?”

“I don’t recall ever meeting your friend.” you think out loud. “Did she ever interact with anyone other than you?”

“She was a very private person.” he speaks like he misses her. “Nehal didn’t like meeting new people.”

You give him a sad smile. Even in the face of reality, it’s hard letting go of a beautiful lie.

“But you see us talking to other people. I talk to you, but also to Fuladh, or the merchants in Baghdad. They’re real - and I’m real too.”

“For the longest time, I thought maybe I was imagining it all. That you were all a fragment of my imagination.” he shakes his head. “I failed to see the line that separated reality from fiction. When I was in that temple, I thought my entire life was a lie. I was trapped in a void, but then I saw this light - and I ran and ran, thinking I could escape from it all.”

Basim is ranting now as the words come more naturally to him. His gestures become more frantic as he turns to look at you, eyes wide like the day you saw him stumble out of the cave.

“But then I saw you, and I thought I was still trapped. Eventually with time, I came to think you would all disappear.” he stops, and his gaze softens. “And yet, you’re still here.”

You whisper. “I’m here.”

His eyes linger on you for a moment, before he nods and looks at the horizon again. The sky is dark by now, and you smile at the memory of Basim teaching you and your friends about astronomy. He’d learnt it all when he taught himself to read in the House of Wisdom, but unlike the scholars that demanded an audience to witness their greatness, Basim taught for the pleasure of teaching. Whatever he’d read during his time in Baghdad or witnessed in his past lives had definitely made him wiser beyond his years. If there is a God, he’s been generous with Basim – all that knowledge has fallen into the right hands.

But his usual passion for the stars is dormant now. You glance at him, taking note of his silence as he resumes his meditation, and take that as your sign to give him some space again. You’re sitting up when you feel his hand grasping your forearm, but when you look at him again, he doesn’t react. But the hand doesn’t relent either, and so, you decide to settle down again.

It’s quiet between you, and it makes his whispered words so much louder. They’re a promise of a better future.

I missed you, too.

Summer comes and goes, and trees start to shed their yellowed cloaks again when Basim decides to move out of the cliff. It’s a misty morning, courtesy of the rainy weather in autumn, when you see him walking down the slope towards your tent. He’s carrying his rolled-up mattress and tent with him, sparing you a smile when you approach him with a big grin of your own. Perhaps your excitement is a bit too palpable, because his brows raise in amusement when you ask to help him carry his things – but you’re too distracted to notice, ranting about an oh-so convenient spot right next to your tent, and he promptly follows after you.

But the muddy slope demands a sacrifice, and your foot slips in front of you. Years of training abandon you as you reach for the slippery boulder next to you, but you miss once more. A hand holds you by your cloak, but it’s too late, you’re falling forward and hoping the mattress in your arms will break your fall, and then – the mattress grunts?

You look up, feeling the familiar fabric of robes under your cheek. Basim has taken the brunt of the fall, cupping the back of your head with his hand as his other arm wraps around you. It’s almost comical when you both look at each other, slowly sliding down the last inches of the slope as your robes get caked with mud. And then, he laughs.

It’s a low chuckle, but it makes his chest shake nonetheless – you can feel it reverberating beneath you, and you find yourself grinning at the sound. You’re sure it’s the first time you’ve heard it in over a year.

So much for a Hidden One, he says. You huff in response, shifting in his embrace when you feel the hoop of your belt digging into you, but not leaning too far away from him either.

His eyes are lidded now, and his smile has softened. You can’t look away. Basim’s hand reaches up and his thumb brushes the corner of your brow, removing dirt from your face, you assume – but all he manages to do is smear it even more.

You don’t really care about the mud, anyway. Something has changed between you two, and you’re sure he can feel it, too. It’s obvious in the way he refuses to let go of you, the way he looks at you. You tell yourself that the mud is heavy on your back, that it weighs you down and pulls you closer to him – and he doesn’t resist it either, especially not when his lips barely brush against yours. You’re about to press closer when Rebekah’s voice speaks behind you two.

“Is the floor comfortable?”

Winter is relentless once more. You’ve all hitched your tents closer to one another to preserve warmth, even knitted some more scarves to protect yourselves from the chilling bite of the wind. The bonfire is bigger than ever, it could easily give your location away to your enemies, but only fools would venture all the way to Alamut during wintertime and expect to survive – both the weather and a clan of trained assassins. 

You’re more than safe, both from outsiders and the elements. Your hidden blade is always strapped to your forearm, and as for the elements? There 's Basim.

He makes sure to save you a spot by the fire, and has a woolen blanket for those particularly colder nights. Sometimes, when he’s feeling extra nice, he offers you a cup of tea, too.

His tent is right next to yours and you always catch him reading a book late at night or early in the morning, swaddled under the bundle of blankets. He can always tell someone is watching him, and when he makes eye contact with you, he never fails to give you a wink.

It’s an ongoing thing. You really don’t know what’s happening – but you get your answers soon enough.

The fire that keeps Alamut warm needs to be fed, and Rayhan refuses to have people venturing out into the snowstorm alone to collect firewood. Thus, he sends you in pairs, for two people can look out for each other and carry more wood back to the tents. 

You’re used to the ruthless weather in Alamut – sandstorms are no match for you, nor the heaviest of rains. But there is something about snow that weakens and tires your body without even trying. You’re shoving the wood into your robes and arms before the cold catches up to you, but your movements become slower with each second, and Basim notices. He grabs your bicep and raises his voice over the hissing gale, signaling that it’s time to go back.

You don’t remember how much time you’ve spent outside, but when you return to the shelter, your damp robes are weighing down on you. The cold has seeped in, stiffening your limbs, and you promptly drop the wood close to the fire to dry for tomorrow.

The warmth in your tent has never been so inviting. The small torch lit by your mattress is the only source of light, bathing the space in a dim orange hue as you change out of your robes and put on some dry ones. It’s still cold, and the goosebumps on your skin make you hiss when the sensation of a hundred needles pricks your skin.

Someone clears their throat outside your tent before the tent flap is lifted – Basim is standing there, now wearing dry robes too. He smiles at you when you greet him and he nods at your damp clothes.

“I put mine by the fire to dry. Do you want to give me yours?”

You nod and he leaves with your robes in hand, but returns soon after with a bronze cauldron in hand and a towel on his shoulder. You eye him, confused, and it’s only when he sets it down before you that you notice the steam coming from the water inside.

“Nur thought we could use it to get warm.” he explains as he sits down next to you. He grabs the towel and dips it into the cauldron before wringing it out, getting rid of the excess water. 

“That’s nice of him.” you smile.

“It certainly is.”

He holds the damp towel out to you, but you frown.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You don’t have a towel?”

He huffs out a laugh at that, shrugging.

“He only gave me one. You take it.”

“No, no – you take it, Basim.”

“I have not come here to argue with you.” he whispers, and presses the towel closer. “Besides, you need to get warm more than I do. You seemed to be struggling out there.”

He 's right. The needles on your skin dig deeper when the hot steam dances before your eyes, so close yet so far away. You’re about to take the towel from him when you feel a soft warmth blooming on your temple.

Basim gently presses the towel onto your skin, eyeing your locks, now damp from the melted snow. Your body immediately reacts to the touch – the needles ease, your fingertips tingle, and against your better judgment, you lean into his touch. 

The cotton moves down your face, where Basim softly caresses your cold cheeks. Warm droplets roll down, but they soothe and feed the bumps on your skin, like flowers craving water after a dry summer day.

This isn’t something that the other paired novices did for each other when they went out looking for wood. 

But Basim isn't like the others, is he? He stands out from them in the way he thinks, speaks, cares for others, looks at you, touches you. 

The heat from the towel tickles your skin, or perhaps it’s your own cheeks burning at the revelation. He moves down to carefully rub the silky cotton around your neck, easing the cold that has nestled there and weakened your voice. His body leans slightly closer to gain better access, and his other hand rests on your knee for support. Without thinking it twice, you nestle his hand between yours.

It’s cold, much colder than you expected, but you feel it relax in your hold when your fingers intertwine with his. He continues to bathe your skin with the warm towel, eyes following every motion as your gaze is trained in your conjoined hands. It’s been minutes now, and you can’t feel him warming up yet, but your body is burning under his touch and attention. Your mind is foggy, your tongue loose, and your words tumble out before you can stop them.

“You should get warm, too.”

The towel pauses, but then you hear him hum. His eyes are on you now, lidded, you notice – and they slowly trail down the peak of your nose, down the cupid’s bow, all the way to your lips. They remain fixed there, fluttering when he notices you lean closer, and he whispers back.

“Maybe I should.”

Your lips brush against each other, just like that day at the muddy slope. But there is no one around to interrupt the two of you, no storm to keep you apart; and with a shaky exhale, Basim’s lips lock with yours.

He is a patient man by nature, but this kiss – it cries of overdue affection. You’re kissing like this is the only thing that can satiate your hunger, a hunger beyond the carnal dimension. It’s the kind of need that has been boiling up to this point for months, years, even – long before he’d stepped foot in that cave. It was always there, dormant.

The towel drops to the ground with a thump. His hands find your hips and cup your cheek as your breathing quickens, and he only spares you a second to breathe before he starts to pepper kisses along your jaw. Your hands find his scalp and you gently massage it with your nails, making him groan against your skin; and when his hand sneaks under your blouse, you smile at the warmth his touch now radiates.

The next time he kisses you, he tastes like glass. Like there are broken shards that cut his tongue and make his words bleed while he sings you praises. The illusion is broken, the mirror destroyed; for his touch is real, he is real, and so are you, and so are the kisses that you keep stealing from each other.

Your arms wrap together and bring you closer to each other as he pushes you back against your mattress. The cauldron is long forgotten, the warm water no longer needed as you both breathe the same hot air and look at each other like you’re drunk on wine. Soon, your clothes come off, strewn somewhere on the floor. You lose yourself in the embrace of love, lips swollen and unrelenting; and in the privacy of a flimsy tent, you and Basim become whole again.

[haythams-blade]

Guys did anyone else hear about Netflix creating a new Assassin Creed tv series?😭🥲 Imagine if we all got our favourites brought back for a television series 😭❤️ I just hope they do it justice. 🥲❤️

I’d love to see Desmond Miles.

I’m so far behind on this news 😭❤️