#demonicneonfishy

[linaxart]

Below him is Earth, floating in an ocean of stars. The sun is just rising, lending it a kind of halo, which is a view he thinks he’s never gotten tired of. His favourite, though, is his view of the planet at night, when it’s lit by a web of man-made stars, stretching across countries and along coastlines, its cities glowing like tiny suns. Aside from the films and books he’s seen and read, sent to him every week or so, and the transmissions, it’s his only real indication that he isn’t the only person in the universe. Doesn’t alleviate the loneliness entirely, but it makes him feel just a little less isolated.

- from @youssefguedira's amazing amazing fic planet earth is blue (and there's nothing I can do) which is just so very perfect and I already love so much <3 and for @theartguard's bi-monthly theme Fic-Inspired!

[laviejaguardia]

Technical Support - read on ao3

NOW COMPLETE

Joe/Nicky. F1 AU. Rated M. 96k words.

Formula 1 driver Yusuf "Joe" Kaysani has just signed with Old Guard Racing, under the management of Team Principal Andromache Scythian. Like in any new partnership, there's edges to file down to fit and roles to coordinate so it all goes smoothly. In between those questions is the matter of who will be his new race engineer and run comms for him during races. It's a big ask that needs a delicate balance, it can't be just anyone. Engineer Nicolò di Genova has been working at Old Guard Racing for a few years, putting his analytical mind to good use filing down milliseconds off their lap times. He's been content with his work behind the scenes, only briefly stepping into the spotlight when the occasion called for it. Despite the sport's unpredictability, it's been good steady work, surely this new partnership won't change things much for him. Or: Joe runs his mouth when high on adrenaline, Nicky's voice is soothing, and a lot of things can happen in a single F1 season.

Hope you enjoy this labor of love, try to drop a kudos or a comment if you do, they're the blood and bone of fandom :)

[bookersebastien]

hmmm hello?? for the cliché prompts: 44 for joe x nicky if it speaks to you 😊💜

brielle ty so much for the prompt!! this was so fun to write! i did change the prompt slightly because i ran with the idea before double checking the prompt. hope you like it! also this got lost in my drafts for a bit so yes i know this was from soo long ago 🤣

44. i’m your new neighbor and i got locked out, help! 

Yusuf could think of nothing else other than his painting. The soft brushstrokes, the feeling of the bristles gliding across the canvas as the colors blended together at the tip of his fingers, the idea in his mind slowly taking the shape of something complete, something real, something magnificent.

Or it would as soon as he got up these fucking stairs.

Three days he'd been holed up in his apartment working on a new project, sudden inspiration chaining him to the easel and he was all too willing to let it hold him captive, the paintbrush cuffs around his wrists. He was utterly and completely consumed by it, to such a degree that it was all he dreamed about during the few hours his eyes managed to slip shut despite his best efforts, and all the coffee in his apartment.

Then right as he could practically see the finished product before him, it was missing something, a very specific shade of green so perfect in Yusuf's mind he spent two hours attempting to bring it to life. Paint tubes littered the floor around him, half empty and some dripping onto the ground in what he took to be a mocking manner as he failed each time to make the color he could see so clearly in his mind.

Three art stores later and he could only pray that this time he could create the green he so desperately sought. His fingers were itching to get ahold of his brush, his feet bouncing quickly up the last few steps, once again cursing his decision to live on the third floor of a building with no elevator. But the view of the nearby park could not be beat.

He was in such a hurried daze coming up the stairs that he ignored the noise across the hall from him, juggling armfuls of supplies because even if he was just there for paint he could not let the sale on canvases go unnoticed, nor the new clay glazes they got in.

His breathing was nearly ragged, his hands patting down his pockets, only finding his wallet and not the telltale jingle of his keys. His movements became so desperate he let his stuff come crashing down to the floor, his knees coming down right after, his hands searching inside the bags but the keys were still nowhere to be found.

Now the noise got louder across the hall, he could hear some people talking before he caught sight of someone walking towards him from the corner of his eye. He let his head hang in his hands, mumbling to himself that he swore this wouldn’t happen again after the stairs incident of 2015. 

The stranger approached him and spoke with such sincerity that Yusuf froze in place.

"Do you need some help?" His voice was calm and unbearably soft as he spoke, an Italian accent heavy on his tongue. Yusuf let himself laugh a bit at himself, because even if he wanted to say no, anyone could see that he needed it. After a moment he let himself glance up at the stranger who was looking down at him with concern. He just stared for a second before remembering you were typically supposed to answer when someone asks you a question.

His face was shadowed as he leaned down over Yusuf, but he could still admire the strong shape of his jaw that sloped down to impossibly broad shoulders.

"I uh-seemed to have forgotten my keys." He could barely manage the words, his breath stolen by the stairs and captured by the man before him. A man he realized he'd never seen before. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

He took a look at Yusuf's door before answering, "I'm your new neighbor it seems. I'm Nicky." He sticks his hand out and Yusuf takes it, suddenly remembering he's sitting on the floor as he reaches up.

"Yusuf. Oh sorry--" he pulls back quickly once he sees his hands are still coated in paint, his mad dash out the door didn't include washing his hands first, "--I'm in the middle of a project."

"You are an artist then I assume? Or is there some other use for all the supplies?" Nicky asks eyeing the, quite frankly, ridiculous amount of supplies scattered on the floor around him. Yusuf stood up, suddenly feeling mildly embarrassed as he tried to put everything back in the bags with as much dignity as a man in his position could muster.

"I am, or I guess was trying to finish a new piece I started, hence-"

"Forgetting your keys?" Nicky laughed and Yusuf's heart skipped at the sound. "I can't say I've done the same for art supplies, but I understand feeling when I'm cooking. Can I ask what it is?"

"I don’t usually like to discuss my pieces until I'm done," Yusuf replied before he even realized what he was saying. It’s not like it wasn’t true but the last thing he wanted was to come off as rude to his beautiful new neighbor. He smiled awkwardly as he finished grabbing his things; never one to be nervous he found himself double checking the paint lids with painful slowness before setting each one back in the bags and leaning them carefully against the wall. It felt like it took him hours while Nicky watched.

"It's fine. But I would like to see it when it's done if that's alright."

Yusuf just nodded. He realized his desperation to get back into his apartment had paled now, pushed into the back of his mind as he spoke to Nicky, feeling something stir within him. There was an earnest calm about him, words careful and eyes searching, posture tall though his frame shortened by the breadth of his shoulders.

"Would you like some coffee while you wait for a locksmith?" Nicky offered and Yusuf was in no position to refuse, not like he would anyway but that soft Italian voice pulled at his chest in a way he didn't think he could refuse if he wanted.

"Yes, that would be nice. Thank you...," he whispered, words trailing off when Nicky bent down to help him with his bags, his face catching the sunlight from the window as he stood. His cheekbones complimented his strong jaw, his nose so perfectly highlighted by the light it's as if he was looking at a painting. But it was his eyes that Yusuf could not look away from. A soft green, the color of the shallow waters of the Mediterranean, of sea glass, of the moss that covers the forest floors.

The perfect shade of green.

[katesbridgerton]

guys, i want to start writing again, but i honestly don't know where to start. please send me prompts? i accept for the following ships: kaysanova; kanthony; tarlos; buddie; jisbon; mattfoggy; spirk aos.

tagging some mutuals. sorry!

[3rdspinspodfics]

Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko Characters: Quynh | Noriko, Andy | Andromache of Scythia, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, mermaid!andy, mermandromache if you will, as usual the author has no idea how to tag, First Kiss, POV Quynh | Noriko, Minor Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, like. there if you squint, Podfic, Podfic Length: 10-20 Minutes Summary:

Do not go down to the water, they say.

It had been something Quýnh had been told as long as she could remember. Do not go into the woods when the moon is full. Do not stray from the mountain path. Do not go down to the water at high tide on a clear night.

When she was thirteen, she had asked the caretaker at the orphanage where she’d been raised. The woman had simply smiled and shaken her head. There are strange creatures that walk in the light of the moon, child, dangerous creatures. Best to stay safely inside. 

Even now, at twenty-seven, she still gets the same old answer. She’s not sure if they’re unwilling to tell her, or if they themselves don’t know.

Quýnh had never exactly been one to do as she was told.

Podfic of beneath the waves

by demonicneonfishy.

With thanks to @pierremichelofavignon !

[youssefguedira]

are we ready guys

[celia-bracali]

"The Old Guard" fanfic recommendation:

"libero, libero (nel corpo e lo spirito)" by

demonicneonfishy

Summary:

And so these are the three things he knows, when he cannot be sure of anything else:

…

the water is dark, and cold, and heavy.

-

Five hundred years ago, Yusuf was cast into the ocean. Now he's out, but nothing is as he remembers it anymore. Not even his family.

[shinylightblue]

The Dregs in “Shadow and Bone”

(loosely inspired by: (x)(x)(x)

[andtheywerecocaptains]

Marwan Kenzari - The Promise (2016) premiere

[spacewitchqueen]

17 + kaysanova

Hi Bea! Thank you for this prompt 💗 I hope you like it!

17. "I can’t forgive myself for the way I treated you."

Nicolò wakes up in the middle of the night. He wasn’t asleep, not really; he was just waiting until Yusuf was lost in dreams. He resists the urge to sweep a curl out of Yusuf’s face, and slides out of their tent as quietly as he can.

Their tent. Nicolò supposes it’s just Yusuf’s tent now. He mounts his horse and allows himself to look back. Something inside him protests, pulls at him to reconsider, to stay. “No,” Nicolò tells himself. “I can’t stay. It’s better this way.”

The night is cold and quiet around him; there’s no one in sight, only the moon high above him, Nicolò feels like it is reproaching him, he feels observed, judged. He pulls his hood over his head, as if trying to hide from the moonlight.

Nicolò looks back but the tent is no longer visible. The stubborn thing he can’t quiet down complains again. “Why would you abandon him in the middle of the night, like a thief?”

“I didn’t abandon him,” Nicolò mutters. “Yusuf will be fine by himself. Better than with me.”

The nagging voice is not convinced. “Do you really think that?”

Nicolò feels miserable but he rides on, not paying attention to where he goes. He avoids the roads as much as he can, he doesn’t want to see anyone. The only person he would like to see, Nicolò won’t allow himself to go back to. He stops only when he deems he’s put enough distance between him and Yusuf. He lies down on the ground and falls into a restless sleep.

Yusuf catches up with him the next day. He’s there when Nicolò opens his eyes.

“I know the tent can get stuffy sometimes, but if you wanted fresh air you could have told me,” Yusuf teases. “I was worried when I saw you weren’t there.” He’s not angry, he just wants to know why Nicolò left. They had agreed to look for the women together after all.

Nicolò stands up but he can’t look Yusuf in the eye. “I had to leave. I can’t forgive myself for the way I treated you.”

“Even after I have forgiven you myself?”

Nicolò shakes his head. “I can’t forget the things I did. I killed you, many times, and I. I can’t let myself think that you could love me.”

“But I can.” Yusuf steps closer, takingNicolò’s hands in his.

“Well, you shouldn’t.”

“So you’d rather be miserable alone, than happy with me. Or is it that you still want to hurt me, trampling my heart when I’m seriously considering giving it to you?”

“No!” Nicolò looks up at Yusuf, at his earnest eyes, wondering how he had entertained the thought that he could leave this man. “I never want to hurt you again.”

“Good,” Yusuf says in a soft voice. “Just one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“If you were so intent on leaving, why did you circle back towards our camp?”

“What?” Nicolò looks around. The surroundings were oddly similar to where they had set up the tent. “That horse is a traitor. He made his way back when I stopped guiding him.”

Yusuf chuckles. “Either he knows what’s best for you, or you led him with your heart.”

Nicolò shakes his head again, but there’s a smile playing on his lips. “We were meant to find each other.”

“And we have.”

[linaxart]

Guitarist Joe for @theartguard July theme Music 🎸

[laviejaguardia]

Joe crashes into the old safe house. The fact that the door is locked and he has to break the lock already tells him Nicky hasn’t arrived yet. He throws his bag on the decaying couch, paying no mind to the dust that flies up. His eyes sting and he decides to blame it on the allergies. 

His phone takes a few forceful taps to light up, he punches in the encrypted code and pulls at his curls as the line rings.

“Joe,” Copley’s voice greets him.

“News.” To call it a request would be generous.

“Nile checked in five minutes ago, Andy two hours ago. They’s safe and lying low.”

Joe breathes out but his shoulders remain tense. Copley doesn’t say anything and silence stretches over the line. Joe's breathing fills the connection.

He tugs at his curls, hand coming out stained with tacky blood. He has no idea if it’s his or someone else's. He’s glad his dark hair means the stains weren’t visible, he had no idea he was so dirty.

“I take it Nicky…” Copley trails off, no doubt taking notice of the mood on the other side of the phone.

“No.” Joe replies, curt and without any warmth. He might regret being so rude later but now the man’s cautious tone grates at him. He paces the dirty room, kicking up more dust. He tugs again at his hair, momentarily forgetting about the blood and muttering a curse at the first feeling of wetness.

“I’ll let you know,” Copley finally replies and the line goes dead. Joe throws the phone on the couch, not caring that it might get lost in between the dilapidated cushions. 

I’ll let you know… Copley said and Joe hears the echoes of what he didn't dare to utter.

I’ll let you know if there’s news. 

I’ll let you know if there’s bad news.

I’ll let you know if he’s spotted.

I’ll let you know if he’s been followed.

I’ll let you know if he’s been kidnapped.

I'll let you know if he's d-

Joe’s breathing picks up and he paces the room, both hands on his curls now. His shirt is stuck to his skin in places, dried blood making for an adhesive. The old dust, disturbed for the first time after decades, burns his throat. He bites his lip, crosses his arms and uncrosses them. There are ants all over his skin. He tugs at the irritating collar of his shirt, it grazes the side of his neck like a breeze, like the way Nicky noses the skin to make him squirm.

There’s no velvety chuckle curling on his ear now, only stillness, silence and the lack of a presence, a void so enormous it has its own gravity. Like a black hole, it sucks Joe _down down down_ the spiral of worst case scenarios.

He got out according to plan, with a chance encounter with a patrol that was over and done in two minutes. Oh, he remembers now, the blood in his hair is not his. The knowledge only works to annoy him further, he hates being covered in other people’s organic matter. Once the men were dispatched, he walked through the field under the red hues of dawn to the rendezvous point where, as planned, a car was waiting for him. 

The ride was a blur. He’s not sure if he used the phone’s GPS to get to the safehouse or if muscle memory did him a solid. He has no idea how long the ride was.

He does a turn around the couch and scratches at his shoulder and up to his neck. The blood is getting itchy. How long has it been? Shouldn’t have Nicky arrived already? He pats his pockets but can’t find his phone in any of them. 

If he made it, Nicky should only have been slightly behind Joe himself.

The image of Nicky being held between two henchmen, bloody and stoic as always comes to his mind. Nicky gets so focused when he snipes and this time they couldn’t spare Joe as a spotter. It’s nothing they haven’t done a million times before. And yet… The last glimpse Joe had of Nicky flashes before his eyes, the warm press of his lips against his own in a chaste parting kiss. The memory of the warm kindness in his eyes and whispered good luck wish does not have the soothing effect the real thing had then. All Joe can think about is how he should have held on for longer, should have wrapped his hands around the straps of Nicky’s ammunition vest and refused to let go.

It’s too easy to picture Nicky lying on the ground, sniper rifle on his shoulder, gaze intent on his target. It’s a sight he’s intimately familiar with. The well worn thoughts about his thighs, his ass or the way his shoulders spread even wider than normal that he voiced just to break Nicky’s concentration escape him now. All Joe can think of is how he never noticed how vulnerable Nicky looks. The soft hairs on the back of his neck, the dip of his lower back, the spot Joe knows would render any man immobile if shot through. 

A hand raises in his mind's eye, a gun at the end of it, gripped expertly and finger on the trigger.

Joe chokes on a sob and shakes his head, cursing the images away and failing. The horror film continues to glow on the backs of his eyes, seance uninterrupted. He’s seen Nicky dead so many times. His mind has no issue bringing the image to life once again, rendered perfectly to the last detail. 

Nicky's lovely clear eyes, vacant and dull. His cupid bow, made for kissing and laughter, slack and flaccid. His skin takes an ashy look in death that makes the red of the blood all the more stark. 

Joe’s chest is a vice around his heart, squeezing all the air out of his lungs and turning his heartbeat into a thunderous thumping against his sternum. It hurts to breathe, his tongue feels big in his mouth, pushing against the back of his teeth. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyelids. The dried blood flakes and makes them itch. 

Joe gasps, images of Nicky’s lax body burrowing in each crevice of his brain. The wall is musty and cool behind his back, the floor gritty through his pants. He curls towards himself, gasping for air, in the darkness against his thighs all he can hear is his own gasping breaths.

Certainty sinks into him like lead.

He’s dead he’s dead he’s dead, something deep inside him chants.

This is it this is it, he’s gone and not coming back. You lost him. He died far away from you, you will not go together, you will not follow him for thousands of years.

His body feels like it’s been torn in half, not a clean cut but a jaded edge down to the very atoms that form him, ripped apart at a molecular level. He’s a nuclear fission of grief, splitting at the most primal elements. 

Nicky used to say he believed they had been part of the same star once upon a time and that that’s what drove them together, why they felt like home before they even shared a language. It used to make Joe feel warm, he certainly felt like his body knew Nicky’s since the origin of the universe. Now Joe wonders if this is what the supernova that ripped them apart back then felt like. 

The wall digs at the bumps of his spine, a rosary like the ones Nicky used to like, made of bruises that bloom and fade like fleeting cemetery flowers.

They heal because it’s not his time, but it was Nicky’s and Joe can see it clearly, his strong body, lax and limp on some lost corner of the world where even he might not find him. There’s no dreams to connect them replaced now with the waking nightmare of his existence and-

The door creaks open.

Joe shoots up from the floor, scrambling to hold on to the couch to keep his balance.

Nicky is putting down his bag and kicking off his boots with matching thumps on the old wooden floor when Joe lays eyes on him. Dust, golden in the morning light, curls around him, caressing every available inch of skin and adhering to his clothing. Nicky grimaces at some sensory feeling and reaches towards his back. His eyes land on Joe then and he smiles, soft and content.

“Tesoro, hello,” he greets him, velvet voice warmer than any sun, more enveloping than any blanket.

As Nicky wrestles his t-shirt off, revealing blood stained but unmarred warm skin. Joe breathes in deep, pulling in dusty stale air and his own atoms back together. It rattles in his lung, forcing his ribcage to expand and his heart to stop beating against its bone cage. His shoulders slump with his exhale.

Nicky balls up the cloth and flicks it towards the couch. It falls next to Joe’s abandoned phone. He takes a couple steps closer, moving through space as graceful as water. Warm hands find Joe’s hips, nudge him closer as gentle as a breeze kissing the petals of a cherry blossom. 

“I made good time, did you have any problems?” Nicky asks, a corner of his lips curling upwards in that way it irrevocably does when he has Joe in proximity.

Joe smiles and leans in to rest their foreheads together, noses grazing against one another.

“No, habibi.” Joe replies, their faces so close his words turn into a kiss, soft and lingering.  "Nothing out of the ordinary,"  he tells those warm sea-green eyes.

[nickydestati]

duolingo tog prompts #18

This was inspired by @hachinana87′s amazing art. 

prompt: It is easier to die than to love (è più facile morire che amare)

(cw: canon-typical temporary death)

*

 Nicolò is dying. It is not the first time. It will not be the last. It cannot be the last. Yusuf will not allow it.

Only a couple of years ago, Yusuf had run his sword through Nicolò himself. Now, he cannot bear the sight of even the slightest hurt done to him, even though he knows he will heal from it time and again. Every time his Nicolò is wounded, Yusuf feels his pain as if it were his own.

This time, Yusuf thinks he might die right along with him even though his own wounds have closed minutes ago.

As he looks at Nicolò, he knows it’s a hopeless case, he knows. Still, he tries to staunch the bleeding, tries to bandage that horrible gaping stomach wound as best as he can. His fingers are trembling.

“You are all right,” he keeps repeating. “You are going to heal. Any minute now.”

“Yusuf?” 

The sound puts an end to Yusuf’s feverish fumbling. It’s faint. Broken. Scared.

Yusuf looks at Nicolò’s face to find his blue eyes wide and searching for him.

“I’m here,” Yusuf says, bringing his face closer to Nicolò’s. “I’m right here, habibi.”

Nicolò’s fingers grab his sleeve, tightening. There are tears silently creating clear paths between the dirt and blood on his cheeks.

“Stay- stay with me,” Nicolò says, gasping. “Please, Yusuf.”

Yusuf swallows. “Always. Whatever you need.”

Nicolò’s eyes are fixed on his, clinging to him desperately. Yusuf forces himself to hold his gaze, to pour in it all the love and warmth he feels for Nicolò. He knows what Nicolò is going through, he has gone through it a dozen of times himself. Immortality doesn’t make death any less scary nor any less painful. 

But Yusuf would want nothing more than to be the one dying right now. He has come to realise it is easier to die than to love. To love means to one day lose that love. And Yusuf’s heart aches and cracks at the thought alone, shatters every time he does lose Nicolò, however temporary it may be.

“Yusuf. I do not want-” Nicolò chokes out. “I try to-”

Yusuf hushes him, trying to soothe the panic in Nicolò’s eyes. “I know, my heart. I know.” He takes a shaky breath. “It is all right. You can let go now. You can let go and come right back to me and then you will not be in pain anymore.”

He squeezes out a smile. It hurts him more than he could ever admit, but it is all worth it to see the fear in Nicolò’s eyes ebb away, replaced by a peacefulness that chills Yusuf’s bones.

Then the light in them ebbs away as well. And his fingers go slack against Yusuf’s sleeve.

Yusuf doesn’t even notice he’s crying as he gathers Nicolò in his arms, careful as if he’s made of glass. He sits there holding him, caressing him gently, dying a little more himself with every passing minute. 

But when, finally, Nicolò gasps for breath and the light floods back into his eyes, Yusuf’s heart starts beating again as well, in rhythm with Nicolò’s. And he knows, he knows, he would go through this a thousand times more if it meant he could love Nicolò during all the time in between.

[katesbridgerton]

Hi! Here's some dialogue prompts if you like,

"Well last time that worked."

"It's only illegal if we get caught."

"Please don't go."

Or some situational prompts,

Walking through a Halloween haunted forest

Accidentally crashing a party or wedding

Having a food fight

All for Kaysanova, no pressure, just have some fun if one of these sparks anything 💜

Hi, Anon! Thank you so much for sending prompts. I wrote a little something and I hope you enjoy. ⭐

"Please don't go," Joe says, the tip of his nose is touching Nicky's cold cheek; Joe has been holding his body since they have arrived from the mission. "I can't do this without you," he whispers, the tears that had stopped just a few seconds ago are now falling again.

It's been 24 hours and no signs that Nicky is healing. One bullet went straight into his heart and the other was allocated in his brain. Everyone doubts Nicky will make out of it alive, but not Joe. Joe knows he will come back, because he promised back then, centuries ago, after their first night together that they wouldn't leave each other. And Joe believes in Nicky, Nicky never lied to him.

After four days, Joe already died at least three times next to his beloved; he is not getting up to eat or drink water no matter how many times Andy, Nile and Booker knock on the door of their room. 

"I hate you. I hate you for putting yourself in front of Andy and I hate Andy for getting inside that building even though she's now mortal," he sniffles, hiding his face on Nicky's t-shirt. "I can't watch this, ya amar. I can't watch you leave. I'm sorry for being so weak."

He stands up, makes a bag with Nicky's clothes — because they smell like him — and writes a note to leave on the bedside table.

We promised we would wait a year for each other. Please. This is my only request. Do not bury or burn him. Joe.

It's a lie. They had promised they would wait a month, but now Joe can't help himself. A month is nothing, what if Nicky doesn’t wake up? Joe leaves the house in the middle of the night because he can't look at Andy without feeling anger, he can't look at Nicky without hating him and he doesn't want those feelings. 

He really doesn't. He's not entitled to them. No matter how much his heart is shattered. 

They were in Italy when it happened. Nicky died at home, and now Joe is left without one. That's his first thought when he is showering in their place in Malta; the hot water is hitting his back muscles as he cries for his lost lover. When he leaves, he dresses himself with one of Nicky’s clothes and goes to bed — he still doesn't bother to eat, or to drink water, no matter how much he craves for it. The rain outside makes his entire body shiver, not because it's cold, but because he wishes he was holding Nicky. 

They both loved staying in bed on rainy days.

When Joe dies that night, he wakes up knowing exactly what he's going to do the next morning. He sits down slowly, blinks, and almost falls when he tries to stand up; leaning against the walls, he arrives at the kitchen, opens a can of soup — Nicky is probably cursing him wherever he is — and eats it slowly while drinking a glass of water. He needs to be strong enough to walk tomorrow.

Joe wakes up early on the next day, around six in the morning, and walks out of the house leaving behind a note on Nicky's pillow. The hike to the cliff has memories all over it, stolen kisses, laughs, hugs and even a pig back ride when Joe was too sleepy to function. He stops and smiles, before continuing his journey

"I was thinking about Malta," "What time in Malta?" "..." "Oh, THAT time in Malta."

Nicky proposed to him for the first time on the top of this cliff. The place where Joe is standing now. After the proposal, Joe remembers so vividly, they went back to their house and had one of the best nights of their lives. And every night was perfect with Nicky, so that says a lot.

Nothing makes sense anymore. Not now. Not without Nicky and if Joe can't endure a life on earth, maybe he can under the sea. He takes one step forward without thinking twice, and then another until he's falling.

He let himself sink, and as his lungs are slowly filled with water, the last thing he sees is Nicky’s eyes. If he's lucky enough, this will be his last death.

Joe wakes up naked and wrapped in a blanket, in their bed. He hears a way too familiar voice coming from the living room.

"Yes, I'm with him. We're staying here, boss. Call you tomorrow." 

"Nicky?" Joe's voice is weak when he calls the name, then he stands up, bringing the blanket along to warm him up. "Nicolò?" 

The green eyes meet his brown ones and he doesn't even have time to process what's happening before being pulled to Nicky’s arms. It smells like Nicky, it looks like Nicky, it holds him like Nicky, but-

His thoughts are interrupted when long hands cup his face and pull him to a kiss.

It tastes like Nicky. When Joe is about to open space to a way Nicky’s tongue knows too well, he falls on his knees.

An illusion, of course. Because Nicky is- Nicky is dead. The ghost kneels in front of him and gently repeats his previous movements, kissing Joe slowly. Joe is not sure of what's true or not anymore, the sensation of their mouths together is too real to be just a hallucination. 

"Sono qui," Nicky whispers against his lips. "You're still awfully weak. I don't even want to think about what you did, my love. All the pain you went through. I made you a proper dinner."

"Nicolò," he cries, hiding his face on Nicky's neck and allowing himself to be held. 

Nicky is nothing but patient, he sits on the floor, opens his legs and gives Joe enough space to sit in the middle and snuggle against his chest. Joe doesn't know how long they stay there, and he could have stayed more if his stomach had not complained.

"Food is ready, but I know my husband very well, so shower first," Nicky smiles and stands up, helping Joe to do the same.

Joe doesn't move while Nicky is bathing him, he doesn't even blink because he's too scared that if he does the sensation of Nicky’s hands on his body will disappear. 

"One year, um," Nicky laughs, kissing Joe's neck. "I would have done the same."

"No, you wouldn't. You're more rational. More practical."

"Not when it comes to you, habibi. Never when it comes to you."

"When did you-" Joe finally turns to stare at his husband. 

"Two days ago. I'm not healing slower, I did hurt myself before and everything is normal. I guess the type of wound," he shakes his head. "You jumped."

Joe nods. 

"What if I hadn't gotten there in time, habibi?" Nicky pulls him by the waist, their bodies touching everywhere; Joe rests their foreheads together.

"But you did," Joe whispers. "You did."

"Let's eat something now? You really need it. I'm going to be there, I'm going to hold your hand, I'm never leaving you again. This is a promise."

The food smells delicious, it's one of Joe's favourite dishes, but when the plate is full in front of him, he can't bring himself to let go of Nicky’s hand; their fingers are intertwined and he never wants to let go. He will never let go, because if he does, Nicky might die again.

He only notices he's crying when Nicky’s free hand wipes the tears away. And after that, without asking, he starts to feed Joe. Joe wants to say it's not necessary, that he can do it alone, but he's too focused on the sensation of his husband’s warm skin against his. He can't really do anything else.

"Thank you, habibi," he whispers.

"Not the first time. Won't be the last," Nicky smiles. "Are you cold, my love? You're still shaking."

"I hated you," Joe admits, biting his lower lip so hard that he can taste blood. "I hated you so much," the tears start to fall (one more time). Nicky doesn't interrupt him. "I hated Andy. I was so angry. I hated you more than when I did in the Crusades," he admits. "I don't want to eat anymore." 

"It's ok. Do you want to go to bed?" 

Joe shakes his head. He doesn't want to sleep. He doesn't want to close his eyes and miss Nicky.

"Let's go to the couch."

Nicky is the smartest person Joe knows, there are blankets waiting for him and a pillow; he can't really fight when Nicky tucks him in, because 1) he's too weak; 2) he'll do anything Nick wants.

Nicky sits on the floor, in front of him, he still didn't let go of Joe's hand. Or vice versa. Joe doubts he is giving any other choice.

"You're going to sleep and when you wake up in the morning, I'm going to be here with you. You need to rest."

"The rings," Joe mentions. "You're still wearing them."

"Your rings? Of course. Your necklace too."

Joe had left the items behind because in case Nicky was really gone, Joe wanted him to have something material that belonged to him.

"You didn’t leave your wedding ring. Tell me why," Nicky kisses the ring on Joe's finger.

"Because I'm always going to be married to you. It doesn't really matter if you're alive or not."

"I'm going to be here tomorrow morning. And the day after and until you grow old and get tired of me."

"It's never going to happen."

"Please believe in me," Nicky begs. "I need you to rest."

Joe can't tell if it’s Nicky’s wish or his own tiredness, but he eventually falls asleep. He wakes up startled in the next morning, scared even. It’s when his eyes find Nicky’s.

"I brought you to bed so we could stay together. You were very agitated during the night. Very unlike you," Nicky touches his cheek. "We're staying here, Joe."

"I like that," Joe smiles.

"No. Not in bed. We're staying in Malta. It's over for us. The missions."

"What? But Nicky, you-"

"If it were you," Nicky closes his eyes and when he opens them again, Joe sees a mix of fear and anger. "No. You’re never going through that again. I'm never going to watch you heal again. You threw yourself off a cliff!" he raises his voice a bit. "It's over for me. Unless you disagree, of course."

"There's nothing I want more than to just be with you. I don't want to watch you die again either. I don't want- it's over. It's the end for us." 

Nicky smiles. 

"It's just the beginning for us," he whispers against Joe's lips before kissing him.

[youssefguedira]

hello everyone! wrote a new thing

Rating: Teen

Summary:

“This is Joe, transmitting from Orbiter 3. It’s” – he checks the computer’s clock – “day 11,689 of the experiment. Uh, all medical checks came back normal, plants show no abnormal growth or change, soil levels all fine. Drank about three bottles of water. No technical faults to report.” There’s never much to say during these reports, but they’re the closest thing he gets to talking to someone else. “Earth looks particularly beautiful today. And I’m running out of paper.”

Joe has spent his entire life on a small ship orbiting Earth, as part of an experiment on the viability of long-term human space travel. His routine has been the exact same for thirty-three years: at forty, he will be allowed to return to Earth. But when things begin to go wrong, and an engineer - the first person he has spoken to since he was sent into orbit - is sent to carry out maintenance on the ship, Joe begins to realise that the experiment may not be what he thought it was.

[caffeinatedbraincell]

Oooh 9 and 38 for the two part Drabble game please! 💖 thank you! (Your choice between the two pairings~)

[9 - Settling in for a cozy night together/38 - “You just feel really good. Soft and warm…”]

Shatters!!!💖🥰✨ Thank you so much for this ask! I went with Joe/Nicky and I might’ve gotten bit carried away with the fluff, but here you go! Hope you like it <3

Read on AO3

Joe pulled the autumn-colored quilts tighter over his shoulders, snuggling into the downy mattress. His cheek was cradled by a feather-soft pillow, fragrant with the scent of eucalyptus and pine from the forest surrounding the hotel. With a contented sigh, he noted the sound of the shower shutting off in their bathroom. Nicky would be out soon.

The hotel had been Nicky’s idea, a new place he’d found online. From the moment they’d arrived, it had felt like home. Joe had been utterly taken with the charm of the little woodsy building, tucked away in a pocket of golden-red trees.

“Mashallah, Nicolò, what a beautiful place!”

Nicky had smiled as he sifted through his wallet. “The forest is lovely in this season. I thought you would like to spend some time here. It’s got a homey feel, no?”

Joe ran his hand over the glazed wooden countertop as Nicky finished checking in. He glanced around the vast foyer, reveling in the crackle of the blazing fireplace, the warmth radiating from the quaint brick walls.

“It feels so familiar. Like we’ve been here before.”

“It’s only been around for a decade, ya qalbi.”

“In a previous life, then. Or maybe a parallel universe.”

Nicky had chuckled, turning around to hand Joe a room key. “Go upstairs and shower. I’ll swing by the kitchens and bring us something for dinner. The reviews said they make an unforgettable focaccia.”

Nicky hadn’t come up yet when Joe stepped out of the shower. He decided to rest his eyes for a bit, to shrug off the lingering fatigue from driving - the freshly made bed just looked so comfy - and of course he promptly fell asleep. He’d awakened but a few minutes ago to the heavenly smell of garlic and rosemary, and the sound of Nicky humming in the shower.

The focaccia now sat on the table across the room. Joe blinked at it longingly, willing it to float over to him without him having to leave the blankets. He huffed when it inevitably did no such thing.

Behind him, Nicky laughed softly. Joe turned, breath catching in his throat at the sight of his husband standing in the slanting rays of evening sunlight, wearing only sweatpants and rubbing a towel over his hair.

Nicky leveled Joe with a crooked grin. “What, you think the food will just fly over to you if you stare hard enough?”

“No, but you might,” Joe replied, gazing at him with all the love he could muster. Nicky was walking towards him before he even finished the sentence.

Joe untucked his arms from the auburn quilts, reaching for his husband. Nicky buried one hand in Joe’s hair, curling the other around a bicep as he leaned down for a kiss. Suddenly, he paused.

“What?” Joe asked, watching Nicky’s expression soften to one of almost unbearable tenderness. “What is it?”

“Bello,” Nicky whispered after a beat. He brought his hand up to cup Joe’s face, swiping a thumb over his cheek. “Così bello. What could I possibly have done to deserve eternity with you?”

Joe’s breath hitched. When Nicky got like this, eyes sparkling with a hint of tears and endearments flowing from his lips like liquid love, it was all Joe could do to lay still, open and receptive to a millennium of devotion made immediate.

Nicky shifted to lay his body over Joe’s, carding a hand through Joe’s hair as he held his gaze. “Have I told you yet today how much I love you?”

“No, but the ‘spending eternity with me’ kind of gave it a-” Joe’s voice cracked traitorously as Nicky’s breath ghosted over his lips. He fell silent.

“It is well that I haven’t, because I don’t think it’s possible.” Nicky pressed a feather-light kiss to the corner of Joe’s lips, pulling away as Joe leaned his head up for more. “To put what I feel for you in words is like trying to pour the ocean into a wine glass.”

He kissed Joe again, another barely-there brush of their lips. Joe couldn’t suppress a whimper. “Nicky, please…”

“Anything.”

Nicky kissed him properly, then, taking Joe’s face in his hands and capturing his lips with his own. A small noise of relief escaped Joe’s throat. Nicky kissed him with a depth of attention that would have driven a lesser man to madness, and even now, Joe thought, it was a near thing. After a moment, he trailed his lips down Joe’s jaw to his neck, tugging back the top of the quilts.

Joe laughed shakily. “What brought this on, amore?”

“Nothing in particular.” Nicky nosed at his neck, dipping to lay gentle kisses along his collarbone. “You just feel really good. Soft and warm…”

Soft and warm, Joe’s brain echoed lazily. Then his eyes widened in realization. “Oh shit. Nicky, it’s like 10 above freezing outside. You’re not even wearing a shirt.”

“I’m okay, my love,” Nicky chuckled. “The heater’s starting up, and I just got out of a hot shower.”

“No. Come under the covers.”

“Joe-”

“Per favore, Nicolò?” Joe held Nicky’s hand, intertwining their fingers together.

Nicky sighed around a smile. “A thousand years, and I still can’t deny you anything.” He pushed up off the bed, and Joe opened his mouth to protest. “A moment, ya amar, let me get the focaccia so we’re not flipping a coin to see who gets out of bed to get it later.”

He set the bread on their bedside table and slid under the covers with Joe. Joe hummed contentedly, curling into Nicky and laying his head over his heart. Nicky wrapped his arms around Joe, running his hands over the warm skin of his back.

“I was thinking,” Joe mumbled after a beat, tracing his fingers through the soft hairs on Nicky’s chest.

“Were you, now?” his husband teased. Joe snorted. “What were you thinking, love?”

Joe glanced at the falling leaves outside their window, startling reds and yellows against the gray light of dusk.

“About change. We are no longer the same men who fell in love outside Jerusalem, nor will we be who we are now a thousand years in the future. But this - what we have - endures, does it not? Love feels like too small a word to describe it. I- I wonder sometimes if I take you for granted.”

“Yusuf.” Joe felt Nicky’s hand on his jaw, gently tilting his face up. “Look at me.” Joe complied. “I will love you like this for as long as you want, until the end of time and beyond if you let me. Why worry about taking for granted this basic truth, inviolable as any law of nature?”

“What if I lose you? Amore mio, I can’t be without you. I can't.”

Nicky’s eyes welled with tears, and Joe instantly regretted his words. His beloved had brought them out to this beautiful retreat to relax and enjoy, and Joe was being like this. He jumped to take it back.

“No, Nicky, I’m sorry-”

“Shh, it’s alright. I understand. We spend so much of our lives fighting that it is hard to relax without going over all the what-ifs. But for now, Yusuf, trust me on this one. I will not leave you.”

“I know,” Joe said, nuzzling into Nicky’s chest. He felt Nicky’s arms tighten around him. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Bringing us here. Saying that. Everything.”

Nicky smiled. “You never need to thank me for this. Now get up, let me feed you something before you fall asleep like an exhausted puppy.”

“Excuse you, an exhausted puppy couldn’t have driven us 120 miles to this hotel,” Joe grumbled, sitting up.

“Of course, love,” Nicky said easily. Joe rolled his eyes, reaching over Nicky’s lap to steal the focaccia. He realized with a start how hungry he was.

But when Nicky intercepted his arm and manhandled him into another melting kiss, Joe couldn’t bring himself to mind even a little bit.