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The Old Guard 2 | Behind The Scenes

On Netflix July 2nd

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aaaand let's go!

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shoutout to all the accounts I followed years ago for the old guard content that have since moved on to other fandoms that are now reawakening like sleeper agents after the old guard 2 announcement

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Yusuf closes the door with a heavy sigh.

The kitchen is dark and quiet, and the stove is cold to the touch. He puts down the parcels he carried all the way from the market, lights the oil lamp and hangs it over the worktable. He does not venture into the adjacent room. There’s no need for that. He knows Nicolò is not home, and he buries the uneasiness it all entails deep inside his chest.

It would not be the first time Yusuf had to dine alone since the winds had turned too strong and too cold, forcing many galleys to stay in port. The taverns are packed full and so is La Sacra Infermeria, where Nicolò has built quite a reputation for himself in the past months. Still, it is Christmas Eve and when Yusuf woke up in the morning, he found a note in Nicolò’s handwriting asking him to bring home meat – rabbit, if he could not find rooster. He could not.

Joe needed to add some finishing touches in the Oratory to get the Conventual Church ready for midnight mass and it was the thought of Nicolò’s cooking that had kept Yusuf company as he worked all day long. The focus demanded by the job made it a bit easier for Yusuf to refuse the food offered by the brothers, though he did not manage to dissuade his fellow workers from shoving a cup of wine in his hands at the end of the day. It was light Sicilian wine, very cheap, sour, sold from the cask, and it had upset Yusuf’s empty stomach as he gulped it all down.

He thought he would feel guilty about downing the wine after, but he did not. The Ramadan had started two weeks before, but the truth was, he had not fasted every single day thence, nor did he sneak out to pray five times a day with the Muslim slaves out in the harbour, but he did watch them bowing towards Mecca as he walked home at the sunset. Nicolò never asked, never judged. His heart understood Yusuf as Yusuf sometimes did not understand himself.

Yusuf lights the logs inside the stove and coaxes the flames into life. He washes his hands and his face, shivering at the contact of the icy water against his naked jaw. Not for the first time, Yusuf wonders if it was truly necessary to shave off his beard. Its absence did not bother him that much during the summer months, but since the weather became wet and chilly, he dearly misses that extra layer of protection.

Nicolò has mourned the loss of Yusuf’s beard since the very start. He made no attempt to disguise his resentment, but in the end, they both agreed it would be easier for Yusuf to pose as an artist from Messina if he did not have a beard. Yusuf could easily replicate a proper Sicilian accent and of course, he knew every single Christian prayer in the world.

He called himself Joseph then. Sometimes, when the brothers were out of earshot, one of his less pious co-workers would jest that, while Yusuf was busy painting fluffy wings, an angel was probably paying his Virgin Mary a visit. It was easy to laugh at the blasphemous joke, and it made all the hard work a tad lighter. Yusuf took everything in stride, yet he could not help thinking about Nicolò, who was definitely far from a virgin – though sometimes he could blush like one, especially the times Yusuf kissed and licked him between his legs, his coarse stubble turning Nicolò’s pale skin red.

The thought of Nicolò naked and squirming under him brings some heat to Yusuf’s lower belly, but it’s not enough to chase away the cold from his bones. That coldness, Yusuf knows, has less to do with the weather and more with the emptiness in his soul, something that only grew since Quỳnh was taken. They did not have time to deal with that emptiness for decades when they searched for her in every port, from the North Sea to the coast of Africa and around the Mediterranean.

They would have continued searching for her forever if it had not been for Andromache, who sneaked out one night, leaving behind nothing but a note telling them she had to do this alone for a while. Nicolò wanted to follow their remaining sister no matter what and followed her they did. They were two steps behind Andromache for almost three years until they ended up stranded in Melita during a storm.

The islands have been under the Knights Hospitaller’s rule for half a century then, teeming with people from all over the Mediterranean. Yusuf reasoned that if there was a sailor left alive who knew anything about a witch locked in an iron coffin and thrown into the sea, they would eventually sail their way into the Grand Harbour. So far, none did, but they have lost Andromache’s track, so they decided to keep themselves busy, nursing the wounds in their hearts as they tried to do some good.

Yusuf had grown used to going without his daily prayers during their search. They were in constant move, and every new lead that led them nowhere chipped off a piece of his faith. He promised himself he would do better when they found Quỳnh, and it felt like a bargain he had little to offer in return. Then when became if and eventually, his despair festered into a wound that he felt bleeding under his skin.

More than once, Yusuf woke up feeling as if he was drowning in that very blood, with the taste of salt and rust on his tongue where he had sunk his teeth into. And maybe, if he could multiply that feeling by a thousand, maybe he would be able to grasp a fraction of what Quỳnh was feeling. More than once, Yusuf found himself praying, but it felt hollow – as if no one was listening. Eventually, Yusuf stopped, and at night he buried his face into Nicolò’s neck, weeping in silence as he realised maybe he should pray for his sister to die instead.

If it was Nicolò in her place, what would Yusuf do? How would he even live?

A shiver runs through his body as those thoughts run amok, and Yusuf stokes the flames in the stove with more force than necessary. Nicolò is on his way. Nicolò is coming home. He left a note in the morning, they made plans to spend the night together. No one has found out about them, no one has overheard them making love in the dead of the night, no one has seen either of them heal too fast from a too-deep cut. No one is coming for them. They will be fine.

Yusuf closes his eyes for a moment, calming his heart. He takes a deep breath and picks up a knife to cut the rabbit meat into smaller pieces. He does the same with carrots, onions, and garlic.

The work in the kitchen distracts him from his daunting thoughts, from his fear. In a way, it’s similar to painting. Once you get the sketch done and it’s only a matter of covering layers, you need to focus on your task, your mind does not get to wander too far, otherwise, your work will be ruined. So Yusuf focuses on the menial tasks at hand and he does not think about Nicolò and his whereabouts. He cooks and he waits.

The stew is bubbling by the time Yusuf overhears the door open behind him. He stirs the pot over the stove once before turning to look at his heart. Nicolò’s face is pink from the cold, and he smiles brightly when their eyes meet. Nicolò only takes the time to remove his shoes before he eagerly bridges the space between them, pressing their foreheads together. As Yusuf feels their breathing mingle, he thinks, there is nothing more sacred than this.

“My heart,” Yusuf whispers, kissing Nicolò’s cheek and then his lips. He tastes the cold wind in them, and he wonders if Nicolò can taste the sourness of the wine in his. “You had me worried.”

Nicolò’s eyes soften, and he kisses Yusuf back with intent, before hoovering over his shoulder to inspect the stew. There’s a pained look on his face and Yusuf knows he’s feeling guilty.

“It’s no matter,” Yusuf says sincerely. “It’s not often I get to make you Christmas dinner.”

Keep reading

A little old something I wrote for the holidays <3

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doesn’t the term “staff member” make you laugh because those 2 words both mean penis

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When you’re in the middle of a fic and realise you’ve missed a very critical tag

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we never have~

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It all begins with Nile looking out of pure boredom at Nicky’s ID - or at least one of his innumerable ones -  lying on the kitchen counter. 

“Aren’t Nicky’s eyes green?” She asks and regrets her question the exact moment the words leave the tip of her tongue because Joe gasps and puts a hand dramatically on his chest as if she had offended him personally somehow.

Which is ridiculous since it’s Nicky’s eyes she asked about and said person isn’t even in the living room with them but off in the kitchen, cooking while softly humming to himself.

In the only armchair Booker places a hand on his face as if Nile had just made the biggest mistake of her life. Andy doesn’t hesitate, groans barely audible and mumbles something like having to check that her ax didn’t disappear before disappearing herself like morning fog on a field.

“Green?” Joe repeats bewildered and Nile plays with the thought of quickly changing the subject but she can’t think of anything useful.

Great.

“You’re asking if Nicky’s eyes are green?”

With a suffering, long-drawn sigh Booker fishes for the remote control, increasing the volume of his soccer (football, Nile corrects inwardly due to several former and appalled protests of the boys) game which doesn’t seem to bother Joe in the slightest.

“Mon dieu, here we go again…”

“Uh…yeah? His ID states that his eyes are blue and I just wondered because they appear to be green,” Nile tries to explain her question.

“Blue?” Joe raises his eyebrows and Nile almost expects to get into her first real argument with one of her new team members but to her relief - apparently having dodged a bullet there - he only smiles fondly. “My dear Nile, you will notice it’s impossible to pin Nicky’s eye color down to a single shade. On paper the mirrors of his kind soul are always forced into dullness unworthy of their true beauty.”

Whatever Nile had assumed to get as an answer to her question, it is absolutely not this indirect declaration of love from Joe to Nicky who - again - is not even in the same room to hear that.

While her curiosity is piqued and she is strangely moved by the crystal clear affection for the love of his life, illuminating Joe’s face, Booker turns off the TV, obviously having given up on his attempt to ignore the situation.

“Andy, do you need help checking on your ax?” He calls as he rises. 

“Get your own excuse!” Andy yells back and Booker looks at Nile and Joe.

“Andy needs help with her ax, so I’m going to…help her with her…uhm…ax,” he ends awkwardly. Entering the hallway, Nile can hear him mutter: “You can do better than that, Sebastien. You imbécile.”

“Impossible?” Her attention returns to Joe who invites her to sit down next to him with a light tilt of his head. She willingly follows his request, unceremoniously plopping down on the sofa. “Even after all these years?”

“Especially after all these years,” is Joe’s mysterious reply. Thankfully he elaborates on his statement without Nile having to require more information. “I know it’s hard to believe but even after more than 900 years Nicky and I still discover new habits of each other: certain preferences, a change in particular movements, new interests or the urge to try out a different hobby. But most and for all we are still able to see beauty in mundane things like waking up in the same bed, sharing a cup of coffee or taking a stroll through parks. Nearly a millennium ago I wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told me that I’d love someone with every fiber of my being, so much that it would hurt to breathe sometimes, although I would’ve spent centuries with them. It is difficult to verbalize this feeling of deep connection ingrained in the bond I have with Nicky.”

The devotion to Nicky - unquestioningly Joe’s soulmate - Nile can hear in his warm voice takes her breath away and she only remembers how to suck air into her lungs when they start to burn. Despite the sheer wonder of a relationship having lasted that long without losing any of its mutual love it means a lot to Nile that Joe is speaking to her so openly and devoid of any doubts regarding Nile’s acceptance.

“And it fills me with the utmost joy that I am still incapable of capturing every single color of Nicky’s eyes because it means that there are so many things about him waiting for me to detect them.” Nile admires Joe’s honesty and the unashamed way with which he tells others about his connection to Nicky. 

Infinite and profound tenderness.

“Wow, when you phrase it like that I can totally see where you’re coming from and I’d love to hear more,” Nile says, forgetting the actual reason she started this chat. Her brain is catching on a little too slowly. “I mean if that’s alright with you,” she backpedals hastily although Nicky joining them interrupts their conversation for the moment.

“Andy said you were holding ‘exaggerated and dramatic love speeches about me’.” He greets the both of them with a smile hidden in the corners of his mouth and presses a kiss into Joe’s curls as he walks behind the sofa.

“I would never dare to do that,” Joe protests, winking and leans back his head to get another kiss directly on the lips.

“Is that so, habibi?” Amusement sparkles in Nicky’s eyes which originally had been the drive behind Nile’s curiosity. “Nile, is Joe holding an exaggerated and dramatic love speech?”

Grinning, she admits, “Yeah, he kind of does but honestly I’m here for it.”

Joe throws a small pillow at her but he is laughing, showing off the crinkles making him look even more likable. “Liar!”

 “So you’re not ‘being so disgustingly sweet that one has nausea’ as Booker put it?” Nicky digs deeper. The two immortal warriors evidently have a lot of fun playing this little game and Nile enjoys the relaxed atmosphere.

“Booker has bad taste,” Joe says loudly, clearly addressing the French man somewhere in the safe house.

“Shut up, jackass!” Booker shouts back.

Nicky tsks chidingly and acknowledges Joe’s shit-eating grin with a lopsided smile of his own. “Now that we’ve settled the matter I wanted to inform you that dinner is ready in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you, vita mia.” Joe threads their fingers together, caressing each knuckle with a peck. “I appreciate your cooking wholeheartedly.”

“Not just you,” Nile adds and mentally takes note to look out for the color of Nicky’s eyes.

Her plan is astonishingly easy to carry out once she knows what to keep her own eyes on. 

More often than not Nicky’s eye color consists of various shades of blue mixed with splinters of green, turning his eyes in the right light into shards of seafoam, deep, mysterious teal lagoons on hot summer days, lucious, vast forests or the wide expenses of the sky.

She notices that they seem to get colder whenever something arouses his irritation: an insult spit at Joe on a mission, impoliteness in everyday life, injustice, an attempt to hurt Andy or when someone shoots Booker or Nile herself is in danger. Then the tempting, gentle mountain lakes freeze to merciless, piercing shards of arctic ice and blazing silvery steel, so frosty you can nearly feel the cold as thousand pinpricks in your skin.

If he is sad or in a bad mood there is a depressing gray outweighing the other colors in his gaze like clouds on a rainy day or a raging storm in fall, making them more washed out and muted.

On a mission as they’re in the crossfire Nicky pushes her out of the way, shielding her with his body and an “Uff” escapes her as the air leaves her lungs all at once. Carefully he braces himself with his arms above her and for a second she only stares into his eyes, intensively looking down at her in return, examining her body for wounds. 

“Are you alright, Nile?”

“Oh shit!”

Alarmed by her curse he starts searching for an injury. “What is it? Did you get hit?”

“There is fucking gold in them!” Nile exclaims, unaware that she is completely ignoring his concerned questions.

Confused, he pauses. “Prego? I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

But Nile’s focus is on something else. “There are golden freckles in your eyes! Are you kidding?”

“I told you so!” Joe calls somewhere on their right, involved in a fight. “Nicky’s eyes don’t have one color!”

Despite the fact that they’re in the middle of a battle, bullets flying over them, Nile laughs and has to chuckle even more when Nicky shakes his head. “Unbelievable…”

The next time Copley makes them fake ID’s he asks Nicky: “What eye color do you have?”

And Nile goes: “You can’t answer that so easily.”

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hugs and kisses

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╥﹏╥ i'm so honored!!!!!!! such a pleasure to read your words.<3<3<3<3<3<3

this is absolutely perfect and beautiful! you described perfectly Booker's feelings and connected each artwork together (in a way I haven't even thought about). thank you thank you so much !

sketches of scenes we didn't see from the screenplay (and/or from a different point of view).

The 3 first ones are from the screenplay (for the first one... I can' find the source anymore but it's definitely from the screenplay) : X X

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sketches of scenes we didn't see from the screenplay (and/or from a different point of view).

The 3 first ones are from the screenplay : X X

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version without beard for Nicky : X

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Commission by the very talented Psyclopathe @notablogtobefollowedunless 

For Djinn’s eyes chapter 43, full drawing inside the chapter (because Tumblr doesn’t allow very sexy stuff lol) 

(It’s ink on Yusuf’s hands :) )

Psyclopathe’s commission are open if you are interested ❤

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My contribution to the Old Guard Reverse Bang 2022 hosted by @theoldguardevents.

I had the chance to collaborate with @ignisentis for this event.

She wrote a wonderful story and added nice details, more depth, and more emotions, please go read it here X. (there's one more drawing in the fic on AO3)

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so, the job guys...