jofie-does-things · 3 days ago
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ough i want to write so badly but alas i have so many projects that take first priority
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jofie-does-things · 3 days ago
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familia~
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jofie-does-things · 3 days ago
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Would be asleep right now, but there are Fictional Characters to imagine in emotional situations. You know how it is.
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jofie-does-things · 3 days ago
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Rainwater and seawater will find their way back to each other...
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jofie-does-things · 3 days ago
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the new event has many many ideas swirling around in the ol' noggin (which is so unfortunate bc I was like "its about time to write some more ac fanfic, maybe a dash of resident evil")
Y’ALL
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jofie-does-things · 4 days ago
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Y’ALL
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jofie-does-things · 6 days ago
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Yasuke in Assassin's Creed Shadows
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jofie-does-things · 6 days ago
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thinking more about Connor and modern!reader where they're traveling on the road together and he is an early riser and you're very much not
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jofie-does-things · 6 days ago
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Current hyper fixation (love and deepspace) and rafayel is such a boyfailure i love him so much
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jofie-does-things · 8 days ago
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Not the current hyperfixation but man am I missing that Italian man…
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jofie-does-things · 3 months ago
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Say it with me now
You are never late to a fandom. Your fic is never "invalid" for being "late". Your fic doesn't need a high word limit. Your fic does not need a high standard. Your fic does not need to be highly popular. Your fic isn't less valid than a popular author's fic. Your fic isn't inheritly bad. Your fic is amazing. Your fic is valid. The only thing that matters is that you're having fun. Fandom is not consumption and consumerism. Fandom is fun, free and for the people. Fandom is not a popularity contest. We're all nerds at the end of the day.
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jofie-does-things · 3 months ago
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Thinking about him…
can't wait to see how much fanfiction is written about this guy tonight
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jofie-does-things · 3 months ago
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Modern!reader and Connor HEAVY on the mind today…
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jofie-does-things · 3 months ago
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just so you know, you have some followers who enjoy/write fanfiction. not saying their urls rn bc i don’t wanna air out dirty laundry in public but if you want them so you can block and report, just say the word and i’ll dm you a list
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jofie-does-things · 3 months ago
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If your feeling it maybe something along the lines of:
I am clearly not attracted to you that's why I'm trying to avoid you at all costs/ I don't know how I'm supposed to focus on this meeting with you staring at me like that.
For a possible Machiavelli x reader. 😖
I was today years old when I found out that Ezio is actually older than Machiavelli by 10 whole years!!
Divide
Summary: “Niccolò Machiavelli is not a man to beg, but you bring him near enough.”
Pairing: Niccolò Machiavelli x Mercenary!Reader (AC: Brotherhood)
Word Count: 2.9K
Genre: Angst with a pinch of fluff
Warnings: Depictions of slight gore
A/N: Sorry about the wait on this! I had such a tough time trying to figure out how to write this man into a romantic scenario, but I finally ended up with something I’m happy with! Hope you enjoy! <3
No beta we die like Ezio’s fam
“I am clearly not attracted to you that’s why I’m trying to avoid you at all costs.”
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to focus on this meeting with you staring at me like that.”
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Deep beneath the stained glass rooms of the Vatican, where Gregorian hymns of reverence morph into the screams of those who dare defy the Borgia family, Niccolò Machiavelli follows Micheletto Corella through the dense fog of suffering. The shadows of the thin hallway are suffocating, even with the guiding light of the torch in his hand.
The dark colors of the robes that Cesare’s personal assassin wears bleed into the shapes cast onto the stone walls. If Niccolò didn’t know better, he’d have mistaken his silent demeanor for a phantom, a long dead innocent with no hope of escaping here alive. The hairs on the back of his neck and his instincts kept him from believing it.
A low groan to his left caught his attention, steps momentarily slowing to peek into the cell next to him.
What hit him first was the smell.
Inside the small room, a man– or what was left of him– had clearly been left to rot. Whip marks and knife cuts deep enough to sever tendons littered his body. There were chunks of flesh torn off at the ends of his appendages; where the starving rats took their share and the man had been too weak to bat them off. The scene sends an imperceptible shiver down his back. He’s not normally one to shy away from gore, but the torture is different from the quick killings he’s done.
“This way.” The gravelly voice of the man up ahead echoes down the chamber. Niccolò notices that he’d continued on into the darkness ahead, seemingly indifferent to the lack of light. It’s not for the first time that night that he’s left wondering what deal Micheletto has made with the devil to become the man he is.
The dirt underfoot grinds against the floor as Niccolò follows after.
They come to a stop in front of a cell, equally as unassuming as the previous doors. Its rusted hinges screech loud enough to drown out the groans of the other prisoners.
Inside there’s a man strapped to a chair. The moonlight shining through the grate far above them has the blood shimmering like rubies. He’s more alive and put together than the previous man, but littered with wounds more precise. Incisions meant to hurt. To torture. Meant to incentivize into giving up information.
Niccolò is surprised he’s lasted so long that Micheletto himself has to deal with him.
The assassin steps forward, shrugging off his doublet and unsheathing his dagger. With silent steps, Micheletto swings the pommel towards the man’s jaw. It connects with a sickening crack that has Niccolò wincing minutely. The man groans in pain, leaning as spit and blood drool out of the side of his mouth.
“Honestly, if that had worked, then you would not have been summoned here, Micheletto.”
The voice comes from the shadows at the back of the room. A figure that Niccolò hadn’t registered in its stillness emerges, tutting at the actions of the assassin in front of him. He lets out an aggravated noise, choosing to ignore you.
You’re sauntering towards the two men, taking graceful, deliberate steps to avoid the mess of blood pooling beneath the prisoner. Your hand rests delicately on his back as he’s hunched over the ground. The touch brings him back to the present, sitting up to the best of his ability.
Gentle fingers swipe across the blood on his chin, both assessing the impact and guiding his eyes toward you. Niccolò’s skin prickles.
“Can you still speak?” You coo at the man. You’re rubbing gentle circles into his jaw and leaning into his space and Niccolò is amazed at the enthusiasm with which the man nods his head as a broken “Y-yeah” leaves his mouth. If he weren’t so mesmerized by your actions himself he would’ve been shaking his head at how easily his recruit caved.
A small smile curves over your lips and you eye him out of the corner of your eyes. It has his breath hitching and the sly look on your face has him remembering why you’re so dangerous in the first place.
“I do not know how I'm supposed to focus on this meeting with you staring at me like that.”
It catches him off-guard for a split-second– something that hasn’t happened to him in years– but he schools his panic and racing heartbeat into neutrality. He takes a step forward, clearing his throat as he bows and greets you formally. You slide off the side of the chair where you’ve perched yourself and pace toward him. Your unyielding gaze sets his nerves alight and the air around him seems to buzz.
“It has been so long since we have had someone who knew how to have fun around here,” you cast a look at the ever silent Micheletto, who only grunts in response. The curl of your smile and the glinting of your teeth in the torchlight reminds him of a panther. He has the distant thought that Ezio would love you, if you weren’t currently working for the Borgia. “Nice to see you again, Niccolò.”
A curt, “Likewise” is all he feels comfortable mustering in the presence of the two other men in the cell. The word serves as a dismissal to you and a reminder that he has other priorities at the moment. As unshakeable as ever, you take his gruffness in stride; with an amused giggle and the roll of your eyes.
“Let’s get on with this, shall we?” Niccolò sends Micheletto an impatient look. The assassin wastes no time in laying out his personal armory on a rickety table off to the side.
“Aw Niccolò, I thought the reason why you came here with him was because you were too attracted to me to resist.” The playful pout and the weight of you against his chest sends an electric current up his spine. Looking away, he regards you with his best attempt at a scowl.
“I am clearly not attracted to you, that's why I'm trying to avoid you at all costs.”
“Ah, so it is because of me,” Your cooing has his brain going haywire, but your proximity has him fidgeting with a nervousness that hasn’t plagued him since he was a child. Your gaze slides to the man tied to the chair. “Or is it something else?”
His breath hitches imperceptibly. The comforting warmth of your hand is scorching now, branding every groove of your palm into his skin. You turn your scrutinizing gaze back to him, watching with clever eyes, like a fox toying with its prey. The ends of your lips tilt up with the slight narrow of your brow. His skin feels too tight.
As Micheletto steps up to the prisoner, Niccolò lets out a silent plea for forgiveness. 
Then, the butcher begins to carve.
~~
Minutes feel like hours in the short time that Micheletto works, separating skin from muscle and muscle from bone. Starving rodents linger along the edges of the cell, trained to associate the pained screams with their next meal after the torture is over and done with. The resulting iron tang fills Niccolò’s senses as he focuses on the fruitless venture of the assassin in front of him.
Beside him, you stand uncharacteristically silent. Your turn at coaxing any information out of the man having failed minutes prior. If Niccolò himself hadn’t been there to oversee his own recruit, he doubts the man would’ve put up such a strong defense to your charms.
When the time was up, you’d sent the prisoner a pitying glance and stepped back with a lingering touch to his cheek as Micheletto approached to take over.
There’s a tenseness in you that he’s had to train himself to recognize. No doubt you’ve observed the same in him in the time he’s spent down here.
He chances a comforting brush of his pinky against yours; too light to truly grasp onto, but solid enough to know it’s there. The slight twitch of your finger in return is enough to let him know that it’s acknowledged and appreciated. 
He knows you aren’t one to bask in the gore that Micheletto delivers. You’ve always had a penchant for mischief; especially if it serves to reward you with a full purse and an entertaining time. But this crosses far into the territory of brutality that neither of you care to venture.
Minutes pass without a single interrogating question having left the butcher. The agonized wailing echoes through the cell; only interrupted by another round of skin-splitting hacking. The next series of pleas as Micheletto raises his blade to flesh again sends Niccolò marching forward.
“Enough!” The assassin’s blow is interrupted as Niccolò grabs his wrist, wrenching the blade from his hand. “That is enough! This is no longer an interrogation. Leave him alone!”
Niccolò’s grip on the instrument tightens as Micheletto shifts forward to snatch it back, gravel crunching underfoot.
“We are here to get answers from him!” The assassin hisses as he swings for the knife, Niccolò drawing back just enough to keep it out of reach. He maneuvers around the man as he stumbles, marching to the table laid out with his torture utensils and folding the pack up in one swift movement.
“We won’t get answers from him if you kill him before we can ask.” Niccolò snarls as he shoves the leather case into Micheletto, knocking him back just enough to stumble over himself. “And if he dies before we can find Ezio Auditore, I’ll be sure to point Cesare to the man responsible.”
The prisoner’s pained moans echo in the cell as Micheletto storms out, knocking you with his shoulder on the way out. A small smirk of approval curls at the edge of your lips as you watch the man retreat back through the prison. You glance once more at the man, before turning to Niccolò.
“Signora.” He bows and gestures for you to make your leave ahead of him.
Your smirk stays rooted to your face, combined with a look that he’s not sure he should be finding attractive or worrisome.
“Signore.” You bow your head in return and leave him with a knot of concern in his chest.
Alone in the cell, he chances one last look at the prisoner as he schemes an escape plan in his head.
He will have to move faster than expected.
~~
Navigating the same maze is exponentially harder in the dark. A good thing that Niccolò had memorized the route here and back. The squeaking of a rat running off accompanied the squeal of the hinges as he slowly nudges the door ajar.
The cell is in the same state of chaos as they’d left it. His recruit, now untied, lay in a heap next to the chair, almost as if he’d slid right off and stayed there. That’s probably what happened, in all likelihood.
With silent, deliberate steps, Niccolò rushes forward to prop the man up. He checks his pulse. Alive. He breathes a sigh of relief. A pained groan leaves the man as he helps him up, the weight of him tugging while Niccolò struggles to stand.
There’s an exit the long way around, through labyrinthian halls that exit through the back of the vatican. It’s an inconspicuous entrance for captives that weren’t worthy to have their blood spilled on marble floors to meet their fates in the neverending darkness.
He just had to make it out, meet Volpe’s men, and the man would live to see another day of freedom.
“Somehow, I knew I would find you back down here.”
The melody of your voice sends a shiver down his spine, heart momentarily freezing as your figure is revealed behind the door of the cell. He stutters in his step, the weight of the prisoner lolling forward and pulling Niccolò to steady him.
“What are you doing here?” His voice is only slightly strained. Slow, graceful steps bring you to him.
“I would ask the same of you,” you gesture to the man slung across Machiavelli’s shoulder, “but it seems I’ve interrupted a plan of yours.” The warmth of your breath ghosts over the shell of his ear as you lean in.
“To answer your question, mio caro, Cesare hired me to catch you.”
Blood roars in his ears and his heart drops at the revelation. He searches your face for any sign that this might be a joke of yours to throw him off. The serene expression on your face never wavers. Cold in its rigidity as you watch him piece together the fact that this is no prank of yours.
It’s the only time you’ve ever delivered an answer so blatantly.
In the darkness of the cell, he plants his feet, heart racing a mile a minute as he considers the obstacle you’ve become. Silence weighs like a blanket over the two of you. Despite the way you recognize the look of realization on his face, you don’t move to speak; lips quirked in amusement as the words tumble over each other in his mind.
He is not one to plead, especially not in his line of work. A simple “So?” is all he can muster through gritted teeth.
“So, we have fifteen minutes before Cesare’s guards flood this prison in search of you.” You move to position yourself underneath the prisoner's other arm and begin to pull him forward with you.
It takes Niccolò more than a moment to recover from the whiplash of your admission and your apparent help before he’s digging his feet into the ground to spur the three of you faster. He’ll have the time to work through the confusion when he’s back to Tiber Island.
~~
Maneuvering a half-dead assassin recruit through the pitch blackness of the prison tunnels has its challenges. You appear to have memorized the way out entirely. He wishes he had the time to question you. The weight of the man and the oppressive darkness keeps him silent.
Every noise is a skipped heartbeat for Niccolò; either manifesting as a rat or a creak of the prison structure itself. At his side, you coo quietly to the recruit, keeping him quiet so as not to alert anyone to the prison break.
Freedom comes into view with the sight of moonbeams spilling over the gravel floor. It’s surprisingly easy to force the lock open and slip out into the marbled courtyards of the Vatican.
A cart waits in the shadow of the pillars off to the side, the ebony stallion tethered to it tosses its head with impatience. The two of you haul the recruit to the cart. Niccolò lays him in the hay, promising medicinal help soon, before he turns back to you.
If circumstances were different, he probably would call you ethereal in the light of the moon.
If circumstances were different, you might’ve appreciated the compliment.
Instead, the quiet of the night remains as you linger; neither of you willing to say a word.
A small huff of amusement escapes you, stepping forward and brandishing a black lump of cloth. He sends you a confused look as he accepts it.
“You didn’t expect to make it out without some sort of disguise did you?” A mirrored puff of laughter escapes him in return.
“Well, until ten minutes ago I did not know I was being hunted.”
“Right, you would have planned for it otherwise.” You say with an eye roll. He settles the cloak on his shoulders with a flourish.
You’re retreating to the looming marble fortress and before he can think better of it, he’s tugging you into a kiss.
It’s all unspoken longing and a tangle of heat. Your mouth moves against his in a way that makes up for the skill he lacks. If you had more time, you’d probably tease him for it. But you don’t and he sinks further into the feeling of you, savoring the way your body presses against his. Your arms are thrown around his shoulders, an action altogether surprising but not unwelcome to Niccolò.
He almost abandons his mission then and there.
Almost.
It’s a moment too short when you break away from him, your arms brushing their way down his shoulders to meet his forearms. The touch leaves his skin burning in its wake. You move to pull away, but he holds you there, looking insistently into your eyes.
“Come with me.” It’s barely a whisper; to you, it’s deafening. You pull away with a sadness in your face that he wishes he could kiss away.
“I cannot. Cesare will be looking for me and it will only lead straight to your organization.”
To you– but he doesn’t need to hear you say it to know.
Niccolò Machiavelli is not a man to beg, but you bring him near enough. Any protests are silenced as you draw a velvet pouch from your cloak and shift it into his hands. The weight of the coins are as heavy as his heart. You fold his fingers over it and press a lingering kiss to his knuckles; soft as the velvet he holds.
Then you pull away; the skin where you were, cold in the evening air.
“Grazie,” he bows his head to you, “Signora.”
“Signore.” You mirror him; the amused smile curves your lips again. Like the embrace never happened.
He watches you go for a few moments before he’s pulling himself up into the driving seat and setting the stallion off at a brisk pace. The velvet pouch sits attached to his belt; its weight, a comfort as he makes his way home.
You’ll probably be on a ship, embarking for new lands by the time he finishes his journey to the hideout.
He hopes he’ll see you again.
Knowing you, it’ll be sooner than he expects.
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jofie-does-things · 3 months ago
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it is literally so embarrassing to write scenes of intimacy. i always have to take a step back when writing a kiss scene and go ‘is this cringe?’
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jofie-does-things · 6 months ago
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Having genuine panic attacks at 2 in the morning bc I forgot to submit two assignments that would bring my grade from an A to a C. Praying that my prof is kind-hearted
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