#i WISH it was summer (warm weather haters do NOT come for me) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

captainsuke · 3 years

Link

Yusuf should be asleep, he should be wrapped around his husband's body, taking strength from the warmth he's never quite felt anywhere else.

Instead he's in the kitchen, the cool metal grip on his pistol warmed by his hand wrapped white knuckled around it.

He'd heard a noise.

He'd dreamed he'd heard a noise.

It doesn't matter. It's late and the little cottage they are currently calling home is empty, except for his sleeping husband, and Joe, standing vigil in the dark.

(rest of fic under the cut for all you ao3 haters)

There's a small gap between window and wall, and the wind flows through it with a whispering wail. Once all houses creaked and swayed and whistled with the wind, little leaks with pots that were emptied in the morning, a row of fine dust along the window sills and under the doors gifted from a night of wild wind. Now these things are considered nuisances, problems to be torn down and rebuilt new and unremarkable. His heart feels heavy tonight, the feeling of long years catching up on him and curling it's fingers around his soul.

Joe looks out the window of his and Nicky's little Maltese cottage, the moon shines bright enough behind shifting clouds that even the slivers of light allow Joe to see the branches of the apple tree in the front garden sway with the cool night's breeze. Many summers ago they'd laid in the shade of that tree, eating the sweetly tart fruit until they'd made themselves sick. He has a sketch - or eight - of the passing shadows dappling Nicky's face as he'd laid back, full and content.

A memory stacked upon another memory from the days they'd done the same with Andromache, years and years ago, four, five hundred years ago, filling their bellies with overripe apricots after several long hard years of fighting and barely being able to tell if they had even made a difference, let alone actually helped anyone. Even now Joe can close his eyes and see Qýuhn's hair blowing free in the cooling winds coming up along the Peloponnese peninsula. Andromache's fingers sticky with pasteli, her cheeks rosy where she laid them on Qýuhn's thigh. Nicolò, sunbleached and glowing in the golden of light of a Mediterranean sunset.

He remembers retelling the apple story when they'd all met up again, Booker with his ever present flask, Andy sharing long drinks from it, all them tired but smiling, leaning heavily of the heavenly taste of crisp apples and the folly of gorging on enough fresh fruit to upset their stomachs. Because it made Booker laugh. Because it gave them all something to laugh about, to distract themselves from the weather turning and Sèbastien's eyes growing cagey as the winter's teeth started to bite.

Nicky had stoked the cottage's fire til they'd been sweating in front of the tiny hearth, toasty and ridiculous in their undergarments, with thick woolen socks on their feet in respect for the wild weather that battered at the windows. He'd felt happy that they'd managed to turn that haunted look to smiling eyes that crinkled at the edges. Had that moment meant something? Anything? Nothing? Was the glow in his eyes merely momentary? A trick of light and the gleam of drunken eyes?

Would this be the rest of his days? Questioning every moment, desperately searching for where he went wrong, where he should have noticed Booker's pain. Looking for the moment that had been Sèbastien's last straw.

It's funny, Joe can joke, he can laugh, he can make vague reference and yell angry accusing words, he can recite a bit of original poem he's writing as he speaks, but he can't work out how to open his mouth and say the words why did you hurt me?

He's always horribly envied Nicky's ability to put his hurt away, to shelve it for later, or never if he feels it best. Even as he's pulled his hair out in frustration as his other half willfully tears himself to pieces in an effort to find a way to please everyone.

Oh, he knows they're both different shades of Not Dealing Well, both of them like a purpose to distract themselves.

Foolishly, stupidly, for a wild moment Joe wishes for someone else to try for them, to attack them, just so he can slip back into the head space of being a unit, a simple moving part in a machine much larger than himself, Nicky and him working hand in hand, two halves of a whole.

He desperately wishes for that feeling, for anything other than devastated, tearing, hating hurt that sits on his lungs like peine forte et dure, each time he feels like the worst of the pain has occurred he remembers some other occasion, some other memory now colored by betrayal.

He can forgive, he can sympathize, he can hold his brother close and cry for the losses he's suffered.

But anger stabs through at the thought of him not returning that empathy. Like he and all the kin before Booker haven't suffered days of death and nights of death. Day after day, month after month of unimaginable loss, not knowing how to stop it, how to help it, just enduring as time pass uncaring of the pain felt.

He's held Nicky as he begged for the end, for them to finally (please, please, please) be released from the unrelenting years of horrors, just as Nicky has pulled him close while he cried, screamed, wailed for even the slightest chance of reprieve. From the widow with dead eyes and fevered blush, burying her last child and going back to work at the sick houses, for the children with nothing – nothing - yet who could still muster a smile, for Nicky spitting blood, choking, drowning, dying, then coming back to do it all over again. Never ending and relentless.

This is stupid.

He is being stupid.

Awake in the middle of the night, stalking around their Malta house gun in hand, the most unnatural state of himself, but unable to rest, convinced that if he relaxed, if his guard dropped for a moment, he would lose it all.

He places the gun on the table, sits down, there's no peace or answers to be found in an old cottage kitchen by the sea at midnight.

All there is, is the long shadows of moonlight between furniture, the evening dishes neatly washed and drying on the sink, a glass full of pens on the table, Joe's gun now sitting atop Nicky's latest writing attempt. Never long, never complicated, Joe found himself devastated by each small letter his husband left for him, even the three thousand that merely read I love you ♥♥♥♥, he held each one to equal esteem, though Nicky barely seemed to remember writing them, he would just smile and say I was thinking of you.

you unmake me.

you remake me.

everyday

Doodled across cheap lined notepaper, tucked under his dinner plate. They'd shared that meal just a few hours ago, Nicky's eyes had been tired but he'd kissed Joe's curls with a soft smile as he'd served dinner.

A meal that had taken more than half the day to create because if Nicky had the time he found peace in simmering oil and tomatoes, in adding all the extra ingredients that might make an Italian swear but had delighted them so when they'd first tasted them, that now they'd add them to whatever meal they could.

It'd been less than a week and Nicky was already on first name basis with the halal butcher a few blocks away, and many a day they stroll the streets, collecting fresh produce from the little garden markets, stopping by Zakaria's so he could wrap the evening meal with a only my finest cut for my favorite customers and a wink, despite having claimed the same to the little Italian grandmother before them, blushing and waving her hands in a flustered, delighted stop motion.

Joe closes his eyes, feeling suddenly overwhelmed, like his heart would be beat out of his chest, fall out onto the floorboards that they'd sanded and placed lovingly when they'd first started rebuilding this little cottage. Nicky could live his life with just Yusuf and the sea and be happy, but Joe needed people, needed to see people living their lives no matter how mundane. No matter how out of sorts he's been since they arrived, exhausted and devastated from London, Nicky hadn't forgotten that.

And so Nicolò knows the butcher by name, and, in turn, Zakaria's fisherman boyfriend, who stocks the butcher shop with the freshest of catches and shies away from company, with deep sad eyes and ankle bones that jut out like he needs a Nonna to fuss over him.

And so he's befriended the old ladies from the markets who give him unsolicited advice on his roses, on his apple tree, on the lush green vine that flowers bright bursts of color, on how to keep That Nice Young Man He's Always With happy.

And so each of these people is a friend of Joe's as well.

Joe takes one last long look out the window. Daring anyone who might be out there to take the moment. To give him a reprieve from his thoughts.

But the apple trees branches are the only thing moving. Wind rustling leaves the only sounds to be heard over the soft ebbing crash of waves in the distance.

There's no respite to be found tonight, he thinks as he put his pistol away. Part of him aches to remain armed, to keep vigilant, because last time, last time, but he won't walk into their bedroom with a loaded gun in hand. Not tonight when he feels like his very soul has been twisted, not when he still feels as if unseen eyes are watching him.

As Joe closes the bedroom door behind him, eyes open slow but sharp, immediately awake, perhaps awake before Joe came in. His Nicky is a light sleeper, more prone to 3 or 4 hours sleep before waking alert and ready to face the living hours,.

Nicky's eyes go soft, the faintest of gentle smiles curling his lips as he focuses on Yusuf.

“Where are you, my love?” he asks with quiet rasping voice of someone newly woken.

He doesn't know, he feels adrift, but Nicky's hand moves, reaches out and Joe crosses the room to take it as the lifeline he needs.

“What do you need?” His voice is steady and calm and ready to promise anything in his power to Joe.

And Joe feels his heart constrict, he can't live without this man, he thinks wildly

(a flash, a dagger in the dark, Nicolò on the ground, a halo of his blood, his beautiful skull, his precious brains scattered across the floor without second thought)

he wants to know Andy's okay, he wants her and Nile here immediately so he can see for himself that they're safe, he wants Qýuhn in his arms so much it physically aches. He wants her dark humor and her sharp eyes. He wants to hear her screech like stepped on cat whenever something delighted her. He wants Booker snorting into his wine at some stupid joke, he wants to know he's alive, that he hasn't thrown himself into another stupid situation.

In the morning, he thinks, in the morning he'll speak to Nile, her occasional furtive texting isn't quite as secretive as she perhaps thinks but none of them had felt the need to tell her to stop.

In the morning, he can wait til morning to soothe the lies and worries that his anxiety haunts him with. Til then, he threads his hands tighter with Nicky's, lets him pull Joe to bed, lets him rearrange them til he's flat on his back with Joe's head is resting on his chest, Nicolò's heartbeat in his ear.

He keeps a hold of Joe's hand, brings it up to his lips, presses a kiss to where they're joined, then curls it close to Joe and his chest, as if shielding it against the rest of the world.

“You, just you.” Joe tells the darkness.

“You have me,” Nicolò says, his breath, his lips, his jaw moving against Joe's curls.

“What do you need?” He asks again, free hand coming to rest, cradling Joe's head, gently gently he feels fingers move lightly in tiny soft circles.

“Tell me something.”

Joe pulls their joined hands close, presses his own kiss against Nicky's long fingers, holds it close enough for his breath to warm skin “Please. Tell me something good.”

It's a hard ask, he knows, he knows, every good moment of their lives can be tied to a bad one, the past could be a minefield with no directions or signs. But Nicolò rarely shied from a challenge.

“Did I ever tell you of the time Qýuhn demanded to know my intentions with you?”

“But she loved you!” He mumbles against their joined hands.

“Yes she did, but she loved your heart just as fiercely.” Nicky's chest moves against Joe's cheek as he snorts, amused, “We'd had to have been intimate for almost a year by this time, but she had me feeling like a sham of a man standing before the most beautiful man's guardian, offering a pauper's dowery.”

Joe starts shifting to argue but the hand on his head keeps him still, gentle but firm.

“It was good. To be reminded that you had someone else who would fight for your happiness, that my love for you was visible enough to be challenged, a reminder that we both still had family even if it looked very different to what we'd been born with. It'd been nice to know no matter how much I felt I didn't deserve, I'd been ready to fight for the right to let that be your decision.”

“You do deserve me,” the gentle circles on his scalp are making him sleepy but he puts a token argument, the principle of no one was allowed talk shit about Nicky, not even Nicky, one he was always ready to defend.

“Hush, you asked for a story, this is my story.”

“Scusi, scusi,” he kisses Nicky's hand again, “tell your story, tell me how you convinced me that Qýuhn you were worthy of my hand in marriage.”

He swears he can hear Nicky smile in the dark.

“I didn't, Andromache came in and declared they should leave us to make our mistakes and then stab which ever of us was most in the wrong.”

Joe can't help but laugh. “Qýuhn like that?”

He feels Nicky's soft laughter vibrate through his skin, he wants to die like this, in a moment like this, just the two of them entwined.

“No, she called Andy soulless and unromantic, they went outside to spar. We didn't see them again til morning, and Qýuhn never mentioned it again, so maybe Andy had a little romance in her.”

“How have I never head of this story?”

Nicky's answering chuckle is a delight.

“You came back and we had the house to ourselves for the entire night.” The hand on Joe's head flexes, like he wants to hold Joe as tight as he is can but its as much as their position allows. “It was a good day. We were loved, we are loved.”

He wants to crawl inside Nicolò, live forever embraced by his heart, to feel every lung full of breath press against him

“Sleep my love,” Nicky says leaning low to press his cheek against Joe's curls, to place an unaimed kiss to his forehead.

Sleep.

Nicky’s heartbeat is a sure and steady thing against his ear

(a monitor screaming as his lives hand falls limp against restraints)

Joe squeezes his eyes tightly shut then forces himself to relax, to hear the beat that's been by his side for a thousand years. He thinks of crinkles at the sides of Qýuhn's eyes when she grinned, the way she'd look to Joe when she found something fun to share.

He thinks of the way Booker's face grew soft in the late of the night when the game had long ended and everyone had gone to sleep and it was just the two of them, keeping the sleepless night company.

He thinks of the glow of Nile's face when they walked the halls of the National Museum, her excited but obviously knowledgeable commentary, how he itches to draw the lines of her joy over and over til he gets it just right.

He thinks of Andy in Marrakesh, the feel of her ribs reverberating with the force of her laugh as he swung her around. She's mother, weird aunt, odd stranger, honored elder, pain in the ass know-it-all older sister and so many more things he can not think to name, but she's theirs, and it's going to take a lot more than mortality to take her from them.

He swears it.

Finally he thinks of Nicky.

Nicky with long hair in his face, of the ever changing color his eyes across the firelight, of the weight of his body passed out, sated atop Yusuf, of the weight of his body lifeless as Joe pulled him somewhere to revive safely. The heaviness of his gaze and the weightlessness of even his smallest smile. Of his hands as they held Joe together, the gentleness of his touch as he put him back together. Of the unique light in his eyes, the fire that burns brightest when his sword is out. He thinks of words freely given when speech was hardest, he thinks of the uncountable I love you's, the innumerable languages he's learnt just to speak them and hear them back.

He thinks of hot blood spattered across his face and the way Nicolòs eyes would fight to meet his own when the end was coming. He thinks of the tightening of hands before they became unbearably limp. He thinks of the bad deaths, of eyelashes glued together with tears as hes gasped alive and the watery smile that followed. He thinks of Nicky moving, his sword swinging, on broken ankle, spitting blood and still moving.

His head, his heart, his life is full, and sometimes it feels like he'll drown with all that's in it.

Nicky's hand moves from his head, moves to stroke down his spine, long and slow in repetition.

Sleep he says again, his own voice thick at the edge of sleep himself.

Joe hugs a small breath, then slows his breathing to match the deep level breathing of Nicolò asleep. He thinks about the first time they slept like this, arms around each other, tangled and holding tight. He thinks of the countless times he's rubbed his nose against the back of Nicky's neck as he tried to catch just a little more sleep time.

There's a heaviness growing in his limbs as he half dreams of Nicky as he wraps himself around and burrows himself closer to Nicky. Slowly, steadily and then suddenly all at once, the sense memory of nine hundred years in this man's arms lulls him into sleep.

#the old guard #joe x nicky #yusuf al kaysani #tog fic #fic #nicolò di genova #mine #teamsuke

28 notes · View notes

lalka-laski · 3 years

Text

What do you waste your time doing the most? Scrolling social media for sure

Have you ever been backstabbed? If so, what for? Well kind of. But if anything, I sabotage MYSELF the most.

If you could be anything, what would you be? Mentally stable

If you could be any TV show character, who would you choose to be? Sabrina the Teenage Witch

If you switched genders for one day, what would you do? Not much, really. That doesn't appeal to me in the slightest.

What power would you choose to have if you were superhuman? Time travel

What stereotype/clique would you say you are more like? I was a floater who was friends with everyone, honestly.

How do you handle being under pressure? Oh I have a whole slew of unhealthy mechanisms! Take your pick!

What does your phone cover look like? It's pink & floral which is pretty much my whole aesthetic

Have you ever done anything illegal? If so, what was it? I jay-walk every day on my walk to work. Bad to the bone!

What is the perfect weather to you? Sunny & brisk

If you were a stripper, what would your stage name be? Vanilla Blonde

What is your favorite holiday, why? 4th of July because it's low-maintenance but lots of fun. I love the other "major" holidays but they come with too much stress

What is your least favorite bug? FUCK LADYBUGS. I hate them!

What is your favorite thing in the opposite sex? The way they put their hand on the passenger's seat when backing up, and the way they remove their shirts with one hand (like magic!)

What is your biggest fear? Losing my loved ones, dying, being alone, never reaching happiness/fulfillment

What is something your looking forward to? Date night tonight! And then going on my friend's boat tomorrow- fun weekend ahead of me! Just gotta get through this shift...

If you could live on any planet, which one would you choose? I'm barely equipped to live on Earth

What is your favorite junk food? Chips and dip!

If you could have any animal as a pet, which one would you choose? Goats

What is your favorite time of the day? Whenever I can lay in bed and just chill the hell out

What name do you wish you had? I love my name, I wouldn't have it any other way

What would your dream home be like? Airy but cozy, with a spa style bathroom (and tub) and a library

What is your favorite color? Pink pink pink

Where is your favorite place to be? In bed?

What is your favorite fruit? It's hard to narrow it down but I'd probably pick peaches or strawberries.

What is something you’re embarrassed about? I have plenty...

What is one thing you’d like to be the best at? I have no desire to be the BEST at anything, honestly. But I do wish I was more motivated to get BETTER at my existing skills.

Ever been on Chatroulette? (; Sure have

What is the song that you know every single word to? One that I'm really proud of is We Didn't Start the Fire. I printed the lyrics out one random summer day as a kid and studied them. It's my party trick!

Most painful memory? Nora passing. But in some ways, it's one of my most beautiful too. I got the chance to say goodbye and tell her how much I loved her, which is an absolute GIFT.

If you could be anywhere, where would you be? I'd be at home in bed. Or maybe on a warm beach.

What is your favorite place in the whole wide world? See above

A word that to you is impossible to spell? I never spells words like psychology, psychiatrist etc correctly. That letter combo trips me up!

What’s something that you collect? Books, journals, candles, David Bowie memorabilia

Listener or Talker? Listener, for sure

Thing you hate the most about the opposite sex? Just their overall like... lack of awareness? Women are so much more alert and in-tune with their surroundings. Men haven't a clue.

Could have anything you wanted right now, what would you have? No mental illnesses?

Scariest movie you’ve ever seen? Session Nine What is the most awkward moment you’ve been in? My entire life is just a series of back-to-back awkward moments

One of your quirks? Walking on my toes

What type of phone do you have? Iphone 7, I think?

Favorite quote or saying? Those who don't believe in magic will never find it

Something you wanna do before you die? Publish a book, see the Northern Lights, and have a family

What is a habit of yours? Excessive worrying Look around you.. What is the thing you like the most around you? My phone, I s'pose

Favorite possession? I love all my stuff.

Favorite shirt? Hmm, I like all of them

What is the name of your best friend? I have several

What is your favorite shoes? Flip flops I guess, but I'd prefer to just be barefoot over anything

Least favorite singer? Can't stand Halsey

Something you love and hate at the same time? I'll go with alcohol

Are you one of those people who don’t like to admit when their wrong? Nah, I'm quick to accept blame. Even when I shouldn't

Girls who try too much are annoying.. Aren’t they? Incorrect

What color makes you relax? I mean, colors themselves don't make me relax

Are you an awkward type of person? Sure as hell am!

Is it hard for you to make friends? No, I do that quite easily

How would you like to leave this earth? Painlessly and surrounded by loved ones

What do you find stupid but most people like? The show New Girl and just Zooey Deschanel. Sorry to be a hater but I CANNOT STAND that woman.

What is a hobby you have? Reading & writing

What’s your plans for next weekend? I have a pool party on Saturday WOOT WOOT! Have any big dreams? What are they? Didn't I already answer this?

Restaurant that is horrible. Chipotle.

Have a fetish for anything? Mhm, and anyone who knows me relatively well knows what they are.

Do you like long or short surveys? Long, in-depth ones

What age did you stop playing with dolls or action figures? I probably played with them a lot longer than average

Do you think your more mature then most of yours friends? I'm probably less mature than most of 'em

Do you enjoy running? Not even slightly

Something that you are horrible at but wish you were good at. Although I'm not horrible, I wish I was better at singing. I can carry a decent tune but I wish I was GOOD.

A sport you think is dumb? I mean, pretty much all of them. Sports aren't my thing.

What is your favorite food? Pizza, falafel, burritos, ice cream

Ever think about what it would be like to be someone else? Of course.

Night owl or Early Bird? Early Bird

What celebrity would you not mind meeting? Idris Elba

What’s your favorite TV channel? I don't watch actual TV

Have texting? Uh yeah. How old is this survey?

You have 3 wishes. What are they? My dream body, my dream home, endless money

What did you first think about when you woke up? How much I don't wanna get out of bed (frequent thought)

What’s the last thing you thought about before you went to sleep? How much I don't wanna go to work today What do you want to be when you grow up? Or what are you? Happy

Like cartoons? Which one is your favorite? As a kid I loved all the classic Nickelodeon ones. Rugrats, of course, being the best!

Do you watch what you eat? I ought to more...

Have a favorite number? What is it? 7 or 13

Are you quiet or loud? Quiet, mostly.

Were you an annoying baby? No I was actually very well-tempered and the easiest of my sisters.

Worst subject? Maths and sciences of pretty much any kind

Best subject? English, always

What’s your favorite brand of shoe? I don't have one. I like being barefoot best.

What’s your favorite month? Why? I've never really thought about this. Maybe July because it's the birthday month of several family members (myself included), and there's a lot of fun celebrations.

Favorite season? Spring

Least favorite holiday? I like 'em all! Especially ones I get the day off for ha

Do you try new foods or do you stick with what you know you like? I'm a pretty adventurous eater! Aside from the fact I'm vegetarian, I'll give anything a go. I love trying new dishes.

Love pictures or hate them? I HATE being in them and I especially hate when people pressure you into photographs. Let me be ugly in peace!

Have you ever thought about going to Fiji? That'd be nice but who's paying?

What’s your favorite movie character? Elle Words or Princess Aurora

Have any nicknames? What are they? Way too many, the most common being Little Bit/Libit, Lala and Lizzie.

Who do you miss? Nora

Someone have your heart? Someone of your heart but doesn’t know? Glenn, of course <3

Have any sports you love? What are they? Nah. I like watching soccer because I like the players and I (for the most part) understand the game. But I'm not a sports person overall.

Do you keep to yourself or are you out there? I very much keep to myself.

What’s your outlook on life? Weirdly vague question that I'm not sure how to answer...

What is the prettiest object/person/landscape/anything that you have seen? Glenn's face (sorry but it's true)

Do you wear your heart on your sleeve? Oh yes

What’s your style? Whatever I throw together

Did you like this survey? Cause I might make more! I did!

1 note · View note