#i have some more world building like cities and colonies and frontiers but i wont bore you with those... yet

[hangingoffence]

mecha ocs u say 👀 pls tell me more:]

HA are you ready for MORE world building(and science i dont know anything about but pretend to) ?! *evil laugh* strap in buddy >:)

ok SO this stuff takes place in the post-apocalyptic future. On Earth that is mostly populated by monsters that rule over the land. The air is also filled with dangerous gasses emitting from the monsters. They are dangerous for any animal to breath. Most of the gas and the monsters are concentrated in the Mediterranean sea, parts of Africa and southern Asia. Staying in warmer and dryer parts of the Earth.

Humans in this universe reside in a belt called the East Cross that spans all the way from Norway to northern parts of China. In the northern parts like in Russia humans can live quite normally due to the cold keeping the monsters away. There are also humans in southern Africa, the Americas and parts of Oceania.(but i havent gotten into them that much)

Due to the danger of the new environment humanity has advanced their technology far beyond what they would have thought which is where the mechas come in. After decades of research and studies humans have created tech that is capable of brain emulation. At first only partial brain emulation or PBE was achievable. In which a computer will create a 3D scan of the host brain and it constructs a software copy of it. The copy can be implanted into a mechanical body and through an emulator the human host can control the mechanical body from a distance.

A branch of military was created from this technology called the Android Emulation Corps(lazy name but it is what it is) or for short the A. E. C. They operate unmanned androids, called Self's through the brain emulation.

In the future, whole brain emulation or WBE was created. It is much more extreme version of the partial one. The human host's brain will be removed from the body and is sliced into small cubes which are then scanned with great accuracy. The immerse detailed scan of the brain, when ran on appropriate software is identical to the original host brain. The main difference in WBE and PBE is that WBE is able to simulate the host brains consciousness, whereas the PBE only allows the host brain to move into the copy and control it.

The WBE is a very delicate procedure and not always 100% successful. It is also not reversible and the original brain is impossible to be implanted into the biological body. But if successful, after booting the mechanical copy body the brain was implanted in, the host's personality and consciousness will live on without a biological body. Also this way if the mechanical body is destroyed the copy brain can just be implanted into a new body, basically making the host immortal.

ok not the the Self's. They are most of the time 300-390 meters in height and can weigh up to 10 000 kilograms. They are mostly made of flexible but strong materials like steel, fiber-reinforced plastic and thermoplastic. They have human proportions to make it easy for the host to pilot them. The most common PBE Self type is the Olympian. They are equipped with machine guns and a type of ultrasonic weapon that has deemed very effective against the monsters. The implanted copy brain sits in the lower spine. It is the one's used in the frontier against the monsters. The WBE Self's are commonly smaller and made for life outside of combat.

and ummm... yeah i just vomited this all here so how a bout a small snippet from my writing about the characters (im force feeding you here and you cant stop it)

He sits next to Bill and brings up his ticket to examine it. It reads. East Cross underground bullet train. From Copenhagen to Beijing C. 07:30 - 08:20. Cabin number 2. Seat number 87. “These trains really are fast.” Meyer says more to himself than to Bill next to him. In 50 minutes through the whole Eurasian continent. Impressive. “Have you ever been in one?” Now talking to Bill who fiddles his own ticket in his big fingers. “One time. When they were building the first of them. As a child.”  “Cool. I’ve actually never even been near one. Should be exciting.” Bill hums in acknowledgement and the conversation ends. Until Nemo walks into the hall. He slides opposite of Meyer and Bill and opens his mouth; “Where you sitting?” Nemo lifts his own ticket for them to look. Seat 91.  “I’m 87.” Meyer answers and Bill says that he sits in seat 75. “Hope we can still move in the train.” Nemo makes a face and pockets his ticket.

[writerjodie]

Connor Kenway - Cry for Help

It's Friday, which means a new oneshot on my Ao3 and Wattpad accounts!!

I may as well post it here too, to reach a wider audience ;)

◇▪◇

Ah, Boston. A city of new beginnings and dreams, one rattled by war and revolution.

The rigid streets please you, they make it easier to navigate through the warrens of brick houses - unlike the winding streets of your hometown back in England. Still, you would much rather be in the comfort of your own home, rather than the unfamiliar harshness of this new world - never mind the fact there's a bloody war going on.

But what you want is never what you get, not since you had pledged yourself to the Creed. At first, you had enjoyed it, and had helped the British Brotherhood covertly operate beneath the Templars' radar. Eventually you'd grown bored of seeing the same faces every day, of repeating missions over and over, and running around in circles as the Templars thwart yet another of your plans.

Your mentor had seen this listlessness in you, and had sent you to respond to the letter sent by Colonial Mentor Achilles Davenport. Achilles' letter was vague, only asking for a helping hand to help him train his new student, and perhaps complete a few missions of the side. You supposed it was better than sitting around doing nothing, and so had accepted the mission with glee.

The trip across the Atlantic had been rough, and you had nearly kissed the ground upon arrival. Now all that's left is to find this Davenport Homestead, but you already know that wont be an easy task. It's not like you can just ask anyone  in the city, not with the Templars absolutely infesting the place - a reign that should end soon, with your help.

Sighing to yourself, you gnaw at the chunk of stale bread in your hand, and gaze out over Boston harbour from your perch on the roof of a house. Your eyes automatically flicker through the crowds, searching for any sign of an Assassin insignia, or even a Templar cross, all to no avail.

Seagulls soar over head, screaming as ships come and go, then you see him - a flash of white and blue in the crowds, hidden beneath a beaked hood. Finally!

The man lingers for a second on the street corner, the shadow of his hulking form reaching nearly across the whole street. Head tipped back, his eyes meet yours with a nod. Then he's gone.

Bastard.

Swearing, you get to your feet and attempt to follow him only to feel a huge hand clamp on your shoulder.

"Miss (Name)?" a voice asks, one belonging to the man who was down on the street, and who is now stood behind you. You have to admit, that's pretty impressive.

Slowly, you turn to face him, getting a good look at the part of his face visible beneath his hood.

"Master Achilles?" you ask, by way of response.

"No, the old man is back at the Homestead, I'm Ratohnhaké:ton," he doesn't smile, but lets go of your arm.

"Ratohnhaké:ton? A...lovely name, and yes, I am (Name)," you nod to him, feeling tiny compared to his huge form.

"What?" you add, noting his surprised expression.

"You are the first person who isn't a member of my village to pronounce my name correctly, most people just call me Connor," he smiles a little, a sight that sends your cheeks blushing,"Come on, I have some horses ready to take us back to the Homestead,"

Wordlessly, you follow the assassin through Boston and the Frontier, all the way to the Davenport Homestead.

-

The moon is soaring high by the time you arrive, and you nearly drop off your horse with fatigue. Luckily, a young lad runs out of the stable building to deal with your's and Connor's steeds, and you allow Connor to lead you into the brick house where Achilles no doubt waits for you.

"Old man! I'm back!" Connor calls out, finally tugging down his hood in the safety of the manor. The wall lanterns cast unflickering shadows on the wall, as floorboard creak upstairs. Impatiently, Connor stalks into one of the side rooms, leaving you to wait as Achilles shuffles down the stairs.

"Hello dear, let me have a look at you, and see who they sent to me," Achilles squints at you, prodding you with his walking stick, "Hm, not bad. I'm sure we can make good use of you here,"

"Thank you for having me, I was at my wit's end back there - nothing to do but chase dead ends. From what I read in your letter, things are more...interesting over here," you thank the old man, following him into the sitting room just off the hall.

As much as you want to crawl into bed and sleep for days, you know it's only polite to speak to your hosts for a bit - at least you're getting food, coming from the sounds of Connor clanking around in the kitchen.

"Yes yes, especially since young Connor here is the son of a certain Grand Master of the Templar order," Achilles chuckles, as if that little titbit is nought more than playground gossip. Releasing a whistle, you shift uneasily in your chair. I bet their family meetings are awkward.

Jerking back, you barely dodge the plate that flies in your direction, watching as it smashes on the window behind, leaving a smear of whatever stew was on it.

"Hey! That window was cleaned just yesterday!" Achilles snaps, glaring at the brute of an Assassin that stands in the doorway. Unsure of what to do, you lean further into your chair as you watch the argument unfold before you.

"First you claim I am incapable of fighting the Templars alone, then you send for help behind my back, and now you go around telling everyone about my father. What if I don't want people to know?" Connor practically snarls, already storming from the room.

"Young man get back here and clean that stew up! (Name) would have had to know eventually, and we are greatly outnumbered by our enemies, you will thank me for the help later," Achilles rises on shaky legs, resting heavily on his cane,leaving you to awkwardly sit in the winged chair by the pile of steaming stew.

"Why don't you get (Name) to do it, since you're so keen on making her help us," Connor is shouting now, his voice still loud even though he is at the top of the stairs.

Achilles doesn't deign to reply, and merely sits back down opposite you.

"I think it's safe to say that it's a delicate subject," Achilles explains, "He'll come round by tomorrow. Now, would you like more stew, or I can show you to your room?"

You decide to play it safe, and opt for going to your room, knowing you can't stay awake for much longer.

Once in your room, you strip down to your undergarments and tug out your spare clothes from the small bag slung over your shoulder. You dress yourself in them, and go to close the curtains, only to see Connor gazing out to sea from his seat on a rock. You find yourself watching him for some time, feeling a slight pang of pity for him.

Poor lad...his father is a Templar, and he may be forced to kill him one day. You are so distracted in your thoughts that you don't notice him turning back to the house, stopping when he sees you staring. He cocks his head to the side a little, watching you as you watch him, a tiny grin forming on his lips.

Smiling back, you quietly close the curtains and crawl into your narrow bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

Tomorrow you would begin your work, helping Connor and Achilles to defeat the Templars of the Colonial Rite. But that's tomorrow, tonight - you sleep.

---

When Achilles had told you that your fellow assassin is the son of Grand Master Haytham Kenway, you had imagined that they were not on speaking terms. Because, you know...being on opposite sides of a bloody war is certainly cause for animosity between relations.

But when you arrived in New York after a day's rest at Davenport, you had not expected to be greeted by the Grand Master himself - even is it is a cold reception.

"Evening Connor, I see you've made it in one piece," Haytham sneers, regarding you coldly, "And I see you have brought company,"

You too stare at the Grand Master curiously, not entirely sure on how to act. God damn Connor, he's working with the enemy! You should be slitting Kenway's throat now with your blade rather than chatting him up in a damp alleyway.

"Recovered from your beating, then?" Connor snaps back, already impatient with the man. Sucking in a breath, you tense yourself for Haytham's reaction: whatever relationship these two have...it's an odd one.

Haytham scoffs at his son's words, and continues to ignore you. Not that you mind, to tell the trust, you don't think you'll be able to keep your words civil if the opportunity arose.

"Benjamin Church is holed up in a brewery on the waterfront, we should be done with this by sunrise," he explains, indicating his hand in the direction of the waterfront.

That's enough information for you, and you are already climbing up the side of the shop you have gathered outside. Once up there, you linger, waiting for Connor and Haytham to join you.

"Good, I would like to have those supplies returned as soon as possible," Connor turns to join you on the roof, shooting a small grimace to you as he starts his climb.

You can't help but feel a little stutter in your heart as you consume the way he looks at you, at the dark glint in his eye that promises violence - not towards you, of course.

"I would't want to keep you waiting from your lost cause," Haytham mutters under his breath, once he reaches the roof too. Had Connor not been there keeping it civil, you're sure you would have gutted that Templar there and then.

Deciding to ignore Haytham as much as he ignores you, you take off at a run across the rooftops, only sparing a glance behind you once - which was only to see Connor deep in conversation with his father. As a result, you arrived at the brewery much quicker than your counterparts, and remained lingering on the roof around the corner. You allow them a few minutes to converse again, before you drop down into the alley beside them.

"I will find a guard who is off duty, and take his uniform," Connor watches as you drop down beside him, "(Name), you should try to find a disguise too, they wont just let anyone in there,"

"Very well, I will wait here then," Haytham sniffs, looking non too pleased to be left behind with you.

"Of course you will," Connor snaps, glaring as his father sits down on a bench.

"Oh I'm sorry! Would you like me to come along and hold your hand perhaps? Provide kind words of encouragement?" Haytham jests, shaking his head as Connor glares back.

With that, he's gone, leaving you to deal with Haytham. Sighing, you reach upto your hair, pulling it from its' tie to loosen it. Once your (h/c) hair is loose and flowing, you move onto your robes, tugging at the clever slits in the side that pull down a small skirt for you to wear. It's quite clever really, you'd stitched it up yourself one night a few years ago, and it allows for you to pass as an ordinary lady when times are dire - like now.

You turn back around, to find Haytham staring at you with interest.

"Never seen a woman before, Kenway?" you spit out before you can stop yourself. God...your mentor would be stringing you up now if he could see you...he would want you to flay Haytham where he stands just for being a Templar. But Connor wants to work with him, for some forsaken reason, so you will comply.

"I was merely wondering why he chose to bring you along, I don't see how you will help this mission," Haytham flicks some imaginary dust from his trousers, as you stand over him, arms folded, "It's unusual of Connor to cry for the help of others,"

"It was not Connor who called," you mutter, your conversation interrupted by Connor's return.

Haytham looks his son up and down, checking his stolen uniform will pass inspection. You have to admit, he looks mighty fine in that suit, especially with that tricorn on his head. Oh to see him with just that on...

Wait. No. Stop that.

During your musings you had failed to notice Connor was too, staring back at you.

"You look...beautiful," he whispers, ignoring the look Haytham gives him.

Rolling his eyes, Haytham leaves you blushing with his son and stalks off to the brewery entrance, beckoning for you to follow. It's only as you approach the gate that you realise: you do not know what part you are to play. You decide to take a punt, and quickly loop your arm around Connor's, hoping Haytham cottons onto your idea.

"The Father of Understanding guides us," Haytham chants to the guard at the door, who meets him with a nod. You and Connor however, he looks the both of you up and down questioningly.

"You I recognise, not the savage, or the tart," the guard snarls, his voice gruff and lazy.

You flush furiously with anger at the insult. Tart? Tart? What a bastard.

"He is my son, and-" Haytham's explanation is cut off by Connor clearing his throat violently.

"And the tart is my...wife," he yells, already at his wits end. You have to admit, in the few days you'd known Connor you had grown to see him as naive and sweet, if not a little headstrong. You hadn't thought he'd work out your plan when you grabbed his arm.

"Tasted of the forest fruits, have you? Off you go then," the guard steps aside, ignoring Connor's outburst.

Once Haytham is through, the guard shoves his rifle in front of you, stopping you and Connor from entering.

"How do I know this savage isn't kidnapping you? Wouldn't you rather cosy up with me, eh, love?" the guard leers, and you watch as Haytham sighs in exasperation behind him.

"I can assure you, kind sir, that we are very happy together," you reply, allowing Connor to tighten a protective arm around you. If you had your way, the man would be bleeding out right now on the floor for A: insulting both you and Connor, and B: questioning your ruse when the bloody Grandmaster is backing it up.

The guard merely raises one brow, in a look that you translate as 'prove it.'

Glaring at the guard, you think of what could prove to him that you and Connor are married, after all, you don't have a ring or anything to show him. You hesitate for a second, before you think 'well...fuck it', and plant a huge kiss on Connor's lips.

He stiffens for a second, before he relaxes and kisses you back.

Oh lord. You could stand there for hours, just kissing him. But a laugh from the foul faced guard pulls you back to your senses.

"Alrighty then, enough now, I get it," the guard chuckles, letting you past.

Haytham merely regards the two of you with a raised brow, before leading the two of you to continue the mission.

-

A week passed, an not a mention is made of the kiss. But interacting with Connor was growing increasingly difficult, especially with the growing feelings and thoughts in your head. Hell, even Achilles has noticed the change in atmosphere, and is always pushing for the two of you to speak.

Mostly you stick to solo missions, liberating the people of Boston and New York on behalf of Connor whilst he gallivants about with his father. For once, though, the both of you are at home, and it looks as if you'll both be there for a few days, with nothing to do.

You're hunting down by the Aquila when one of the homesteaders approaches you, Myriam.

"There you are, Achilles is looking for you," she waves over at you, pointing back towards the manor house.

"What for?" you ask, knowing you've already chopped the firewood for him today.

Myriam shrugs her shoulders,"He didn't say, just that it's urgent,"

Confused, you finish skinning the fox you've felled and follow Myriam up to the manor, where Achilles waits for you in the doorway.

"Ah, (Name) come inside," Achilles pulls you inside, ushering you into the dining room, where a table is laid out with roast turkey and candles to boot - and Connor.

"I think it's about time you two spoke to each other properly," Achilles pushes you onto the chair opposite Connor, who looks equally as surprised as you,"It is obvious that you two harbour feeling for each other, so I'd suggest you both confessed,"

Achilles tiptoes out of the room, gently closing the door behind him. Frowning a little, Connor looks at the spread of food in front of him. "I had nothing to do with this, Achilles sent someone to bring me here, I guess he did the same to you," he breathes, not quite catching your eyes. "Connor..." you begin, readying yourself to talk. Achilles is right, there is something between you two, and letting it wither and die is not a good idea. You may as well take the plunge. However, Connor beats you to your proclamation of love.

"(Name), it is true that my heart harbours warm feelings for you. I had not thought Achilles had noticed, nor that you would reciprocate them," he begins, his voice trembling slightly with the rush of emotion that courses through him,"Since we are here, would you do me the honour of....allowing me to kiss you?"

You grin at Connor from across the table, his cuteness is just too much. "I do believe we have already kissed," you muse, harking back to your brewery entry,"And I remember it being the best kiss I have ever had," You practically leap over the table, nearly knocking over the candle in the process, to reach Connor. His lips are silken and smooth against yours, his touch feather light yet carrying that possessive firmness of a trained warrior. As you two unite, you feel his eyelashes flutter against your cheeks. Dinner is forgotten as you melt into the kiss, your lips molding against his in a way that makes you think you were made for each other. Hands roam wherever they can reach, and the two of you pull apart for only a second.

That look...that goddamned look in his eye, feral and laden with lust and love for you. Without a word the two of you abandon the food, and you allow Connor to tug you upstairs to that you presume to be his room. Half a thought is spares for poor Achilles, who no doubt will be deprived of sleep tonight, but that thought is whisked away when Connor's hands find your sensitive areas and you struggle to keep your eyes open at the contact.

God, the week of no contact was worth it for this.