#no cause i need to know about Quynh!!

[urgaydemise]

Hi! You reblogged a post from me about the old guard leaving a tag saying that you hoped they make a second movie? Just wanted to let you know the good news that they are currently making a sequel and if I remember right it will be out next year.

[berrysphase]

tagged by @lazaefair and @astrabear. Thank you! I have been absolutely steamrollered by work recently, and it is nice to know that people still remember I occasionally write fic.

Rules: Pick any ten of your fics, scroll roughly to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag ten people.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness (The Old Guard, Joe/Nicky, Quynh, Andy)

"You didn't like the chestnuts," Nicolò murmured later. He was solid and warm against Yusuf, and their blankets were cozy, and Yusuf was starting to feel less grouchy about the lurking prospect of winter.

In some coming wind (The Old Guard, Joe/Nicky)

(I don't know why but this one has always been so hard to pick lines from. they all look flat to me when taken out. idk. this is from pretty close to halfway through chapter two)

"Sawda," Nicolò said, with the kind of relentless gentleness it was hard to turn aside, and Yusuf said, "We spent six weeks on the road because you asked for help. Don't tell us we cannot help you now."

cardinality (The Old Guard, ensemble gen)

"It's how I do, anyway," Josef said, bright eyes very sincere in the fading light. "Life by life, how else would you make the measure of man?"

How else? How else -- Sebastien knew plenty of safe, everyday ways to measure men. His -- he didn't know what to call them, his comrades in arms, he supposed -- they did not do too badly for dinner companions, now that they weren't awkwardly shifting around in their chairs and avoiding his wife's eyes.

A friend indeed (Silmarillion, Fingon/Maedhros)

"Oh -- politics!" Findekáno said, frustrated and dismayed. It was an unexpected sting, that Maitimo still felt the need to walk so carefully around their grandfather with him. "I came to you as a friend, I absolve you of politics."

Where there's smoke (The Old Guard meets Cadfael)

Startled, Cadfael glanced up, and was taken aback by the sheer fury in Nicolò's face.

"Ah," said Cadfael, and shifted Wadih so that his full weight fell onto Nicolò.

Across so wide a sea (Silmarillion, Finrod & Galadriel)

It was a perilous vision and very fair, and it had pulled at him, as if Artanis had caught his own breath up in it; and he did not know whether this was part of her art, or because he too had dreamt, from time to time, of greater glories than what might come to him in gentle summer days. But those were dreams, and he had never once thought of leaving.

A story for twilight (Silmarillion, Maedhros & Finarfin)

"Since we find," he was saying, "that this is the only way we can give our swords to their cause, which yet was first our own."

Fimbulwinter (Der Ring Das Nibelungen, Sieglinde)

"Traveller, I have not met your like," said the giantess. "You are dead, but not newly; you are mortal, but you stink of the gods."

"I had not thought," Sieglinde said, "that your mistress was choosy."

"It is true: death, fast or slow, is remorseless, and gods fall even as mortals do. Yet those whom the gods love seldom come up this road. State your name and business, or linger until you can."

The veins of a leaf (Les Mis, Grantaire & Combeferre, very very AU)

Sunlight woke her. She made a noise and rolled away, and sat up abruptly when she remembered it was not her bed. Sun streamed in through the open window, sun and with it the scent of grass, and the noisy morning argument of birds asserting their territory to the far corners of the world. Hyeon-su had already gone, and the duvet on his side of the bed was pulled neatly up.

A previous near-miss with history (Les Mis, Marius & Courfeyrac)

"Mmm," said Marius, with muddy, uncharitable reluctance. Prouvaire carelessly threw out in conversation the kind of lines that Marius had to stay up late at night to assemble painstakingly from pieces, and glowed with purpose besides; talking to him left Marius feeling wan and clumsy. Marius touched the coins in his pocket again, thinking, this, this is mine, I earned this with the fruit of my own thought; and said, impulsively, "But, Bossuet, Courfeyrac, forgive me, I couldn't help overhearing -- were you in need of money?"

As usual I am doing memes late and am not sure who would like to be tagged who hasn't been: here are some tags, if you want to play @robertawickham @circumference-pie @artificialities @undercat-overdog @clothonono

[non-un-topo]

oh please please tell us about the next qq fic 🥺🥺🥺

Hello, beloved!!! Thank you for enabling me lmao!!

So I desperately missed writing little queer quartet adventures, but was basically brain dead and fell into a heavy post-fic depression after my last mystery fic. But I've been spinning this idea around in my head for a long time now and will very soon have time to write!! Bits and pieces will likely change, but I can tell you some things so far.

Putting this under a read-more actually because I kind of rambled and I don't want to clog the dash lol

It will take place in India in the mid 1400s. The quartet will have come from Bulgaria, escaping the consequences of a certain mistake that Quynh might have made in battle. Not a small mistake, either. They make it to northeast India and have to stop because by that point they're penniless and starving. Conveniently, there happens to be a noble Hungarian family who has settled there for not-yet-known reasons, managed by the lady of the house, lady Morana, because the lord is off fighting the Ottomans. Anyway, Morana is causing problems with the locals by demanding that they mine for ~~something, ohh~~ even though she hopes she's being a good person by supplying them with jobs and extra food. But whatever she's mining for --- which she has not actually specified --- must be really valuable because she's offering all of the house's gold and riches as a reward to whomever finds it. She has men overseeing the mines who sift through all the resources people find, who might call on anyone at any time if they happen to find the thing. Anyway -- the quartet sees this noble family (and later a very sick population of locals) and think, "hmm. We should con them and redistribute the wealth." Naturally.

Somewhere along this line (I'm still figuring it out) they, or more specifically Yusuf or Quynh, realize the lady might be looking for a fabled substance that can turn iron into gold. That's right: the philosopher's stone. So this is sort of how they try to con her. Yusuf takes on the role/disguise of an alchemist and makes fool's gold, Nico has to pretend to be a leper for a little while. It's a whole thing.

But before all of that, Quynh and Andromache both get jobs working for this family because... food and money are needed, stat. Even though Quynh is morally opposed and grumpy about it, she gets a job as a servant, hoping it will put her closer to the lady of the house so she can learn her secrets (like wtf are you digging the land for, lady). It doesn't quite. Turns out Quynh is hired specifically to assist the lady Morana's daughter, Jana, who is blind. Jana is not helpless like her mother thinks, and she is very smart and well-read. She and Quynh develop a nice little friendship and do anarchy. Andromache is hired as a swordsman to train the eldest child of the noble house, Henrik, who is 16 and acts like it.

I could talk a lot about the OCs because I just spent a few days developing them, but I'll keep it under wraps for now unless anyone wants to know dsfgfd. I just figured the canon characters are probably a lot more interesting.

Andromache will eventually get to beat up the bratty young lord (for a good reason).

Yusuf will put his artist skills to good use, and miiight come across some problems as he pretends to be an alchemist (I mean, lying about the fact that you have THE miraculous alchemical substance has consequences).

In befriending Jana, Quynh may also befriend a Mysterious Character who also works for the household, ohhhh. I was thinking a lot about GoT and HotD lol. Many mysterious spy-like characters there.

And Nicolo will discover some things about medicine that will have lasting benefits. (He might also have to amputate something in order to look like a convincing leper, but he'll get better lol).

I can tell you there will be alchemy (well, not really but you know), lepers, moral issues / grey morality, OCs I am kind of proud of, drama as usual, and very many typical queer quartet shenanigans and jokes.

Anyway uhh yes! There it is... <3 I'm still figuring out the plot and doing my research, but it's definitely cooking. It will also switch POV between the four characters, which I don't think I've done before in one fic yet! I'm aiming for Quynh to be more of the focus though. If this ends up being like 40,000 words and super niche or disorganized, oh well. I'm just happy I have a new idea <3 Thanks again!!

[youssefguedira]

Oh oh oh hades au (because I literally just watched hadestown and holy SHIT it was incredible) and nicolegolas ofc!!

i need to watch hadestown sometime ive heard so much about it. my hades au is this one which is largely based on the video game. once i finally get around to writing the longfic its over for all of you but As A Brief Summary. we've got everything. joe who is not the son of hades who doesn't actually exist in this au but still prince of the underworld trying to get out of said underworld. nicky is there and is joint god of death with andromache (andromache is death in battle while nicky is peaceful death and i Do have a lot of thoughts about that actually. booker is my sisyphus equivalent because i Had to. nile is (a) goddess of the night (had been mortal before but became a goddess for mumble mumble reasons. newest goddess there. also Strongly recommend looking up nyx's design for hades the game and considering the possibilities). lykon is the hypnos equivalent and celeste is charon. AND quynh is a shade who had been a warrior in life but she and andromache got in trouble and now they're separated. its truly one of my favourite aus ive come up with. here is a snippet even (takes place after yusuf's first attempt to escape):

It's almost three weeks before Yusuf finally gets the chance to talk to Nicky properly, and only because Andromache tires of him asking. 

"He's been busy," is what she tells him almost every time he asks, doing a terrible job of masking the lie. Andromache is his friend, but Nicky is her brother in every way that counts. 

He doesn't push, at first, because if Nicky needs time, then. It's the least Yusuf owes him. But Yusuf misses him. 

So the last time, when Andromache had inevitably told him Nicky's still busy, Yusuf had responded with "You mean he's avoiding me." 

"He's not avoiding you," Andromache said, taking a sip of her drink. The House had been quieter that day than it had been in a long time, and only a few tables in the lounge besides theirs were occupied. Lykon was on the surface with Nicky, and even Nile wasn't there. Most of the higher ranking shades were in other parts of the Underworld - which may have been Yusuf's fault, at least in part - and even the regular shades were quiet. 

"I haven't spoken to him in weeks, Andy," Yusuf had said. "I know he's busier than usual, but. If you could just tell him–" 

"I can try," Andy said, "but he won't talk to me about it either. He's been off ever since you left." 

That had caused a sharp twist of guilt in Yusuf's gut. He should have said something. 

"Just tell me when he's coming back, and I'll talk to him."

Andromache levelled him with a long, searching look. "He never left your side, after I brought you back. It took you almost a day to wake up. We didn't know if you would." 

The knowledge had carried another wave of guilt with it. "Andy–" 

"The boat's coming in in two days," she’d interrupted him. "But don't tell him I told you that."

[the73rdpostscript]

Both @beepbeepsan and @non-un-topo tagged me. Thank you both <33 (This ended up being a really nice way to spend my morning.)

Rules: Pick any ten of your fics, scroll roughly to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag ten people.

So this is very interesting because I don't finish or publish much of my fics under my current pseud these days. It looks like I only have 8 Old Guard fics up right now. So you guys will get to see a little piece of my old Christmas Carol fic. I wrote it in my 20s and I don't think it's as good as the long Christmas Carol fic that's been sitting in my drafts for 8 years. But I'm very fond of it anyway.

(And fuck it. I'm gonna throw in my old 3:10 to Yuma fic too. Cause even old shit that we don't love deserves to be acknowledged for what it was to us at the time.)

Nothing Here But Love (A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens)

This one time, Bob had insisted on driving alone – taking care of a situation without backup. And now he is stuck in his car.

“Tell our husband,” Betty has begun covering up a pie with foil, “that we’re eating in 15 minutes.”

2. Tonight We're Going Hard (The Old Guard)

Joe is still laughing long after everyone else stops, and his voice is heavy with emotion as he says, "I am your best friend. And I will take all your advice. When we first met, I thought there couldn't-"

Nicky doesn’t get to hear the rest of this particular soliloquy, because Quynh steals his attention by sliding over to stand beside him.

"You have that look in your eye,” she says, a teasing lilt in her voice.

3. Fighting Death (and Boredom) (The Old Guard)

Two hours later, Nicky comes home to find Joe curled up on the couch, holding Nile’s hand. On-screen, a giant electric sign comes swinging down from the top of a building and takes out a character with brutal efficiency. 

Joe shouts in alarm as Nile laughs and the credits roll.

4. Floored (The Magnificent Seven 1998)

But let it never be said that Ezra Standish doesn’t know how to hold his ground when faced with a hot and temperamental man. As Chris rounds on him, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him out of his seat - he keeps his face calm and his hands raised.

"You did it, Ezra," Chris hisses, his eyes wild, "You've gotten under my skin. Was that what you needed? Are you satisfied?"

5. Never Let Me Go (The Old Guard)

With visible effort Nicolo’s chest moves, and the swords that have pierced him all seem to shudder and dance at once. They clang in an ungodly chorus as they heave out of his body and tumble to the ground. Blood still coats Nicolo’s shirt, and his groan is inaudible under the sudden chaos of the men around Yusuf now noticing that their last desperate attempt to kill the white devil has failed again. 

6. A River Arrives in the House of the Dead Men (The Prodigious Flowering Rage) (The Old Guard)

Later, Booker sat next to Nicky on the couch and quietly muttered, “He certainly captured what made Goya unique.”

Nicky hummed; unsure what Booker was looking for.

“Will you talk to him?” Booker looked him in the eye as he asked, and Nicky nodded – surprised again by the intensity of Booker’s concern.

7. Yes Of Course (The Old Guard)

“Yes, I think it will sound very similar to her Frank Ocean.”

Joe is far too tired to try and guess who Nicky would be so confident about, but he nods sleepily and reaches up with one hand – blindly grabbing for something he can’t articulate but that he trusts Nicky to understand. With a laugh, Nicky catches his hand and holds it, kissing along the flesh and murmuring endearments.

8. Grief and Ravioli (The Old Guard)

Joe sits down slowly, settling in beside her with his legs crossed and his face placid, listening to her as she lets out the rant that’s been building for days.

9. Ten Ounces (The Old Guard)

“Nicky,” Joe begins.

"Please, Joe," Nicky whispers, suddenly, his hand lifting to press tightly against the beat of Joe's heart. "Go back inside.”

10. Every Step to the Daylight (3:10 to Yuma)

She remains still, her hips swaying a bit as she keeps her knees from locking. Between her and their place at the bar, there are at least six tables filled with men. Between her bullet and Ben Wade there is only Charlie.

This was wild. It was really encouraging to take a look at all my fics after taking a month or two off from writing. I forgot how much I love writing the Old Guard gang and all the ways they interact. And I'm...good at writing sometimes? Remarkable.

I think I'm late to this party, so I'm not totally sure who has or hasn't been tagged yet. I'm going to tag ANYONE who wants to do this.

[druckkugelschreiber]

I would like to read something about Artemis ❤️

Hi! Thanks for the ask!

Artemis is a The Old Guard OC (cause you know what else am I writing recently ^^) and she is an immortal on Andy's team (though the on team status is actually up for debate) and old enough to be the inspiritation for the goddess Artemis.

She, Andy, Quyhn and Lykon were a polycule for a long time until Lykon dies and Quynh is lost, due to the unfortunate circumstances around the witch trials.

Andy and Artemis have a major falling out over the whole thing because Artemis murders a lot of people in rage and desperation.

Their story picks up again in the 21st century, when Nile as a new immortal shows up and forces Artemis and Andy to interact again after 600 years of not seeing each other. Artemis helps the team and maybe she and Andy can reconnect. Who knows!

A snippet of their reunion below!

I entered my house. Ril was already asleep on his perch in my office. I spotted him easily through the open door. The windows were almost always open, except when there was a major storm rolling in. 

I let out a long breath, pulled out my hair tie and began undoing the complicated braid in a style this world hadn’t seen in millenia. 

“Still with the fancy braids?” an all too familiar voice said. 

I nearly jumped high enough to hit my head on the ceiling. “Zeus fucking balls!” My eyes found Andromache in the dark of the living room. A couple of the braids now fell into my face, while the others were braided along my skull. “How did you get in here?”

“You think I don’t know all the tricks you taught your huntresses?” Andy said and it sounded very ominous. 

I let my hands drop from my half undone braids and threw her a wary glance in the near pitchblack living room. Only moonlight fell in from the outside. “You know, you’re very badass assassin in that corner. Mind some light?”

Andy reached over and turned on the soft wall lights. “Better your grace?” she mocked. 

My heart tensed. My stomach coiled. Our argument from 600 years ago replayed in my mind, like it always did when I was feeling low, but now I felt like all the walls I had build around my heart, the stitches I had put in the cracks, Andy just tore them all open again, but 4000 years had taught me a couple of things. Mainly a good pokerface. “Actually, it’s ‘my lady’ or ‘high lady’ or ‘lady Artemis’ you may pick and choose.”

“Where’s the new one?” Andy’s voice was dark and threatening. 

“That’s why you’re here?” I couldn’t say I was surprised. “Actually probably helped you find me, right?”

“Artemis, I’ve known you for 4000 fucking years and you’ve never abandoned this temple.” 

Again fair point. “Yeah, I’m kind of bad at staying hidden from people who saw me grow up apparently.” I fought the urge to step closer. “Why do you care so much about the new one?”

Andy’s eyes were as cold as a winter’s sky. It was always fascinating how they changed colour with her moods. How laughter put all the green back in them and anger made them ice blue. “Maybe I care about what you’ll make of her. You really think the world needs another you?”

I swallowed hard. My jaw tensed. “You really want to rehash that particular argument?” 

“No, I told you what I want”, Andy stood up from the armchair and slowly walked over to me. 

I took half a step back before I could stop myself. But Andy didn’t stop. She reached out to take one thin braid between her fingers, twirling it softly, the strand almost the same colour as the moonlight. 

“So, are you going to tell me?” Andy said softly but somehow not any less threatening, “or do I have to test quite how good your huntresses are?”

My eyes flew over Andy’s face. I fought the fear. Mostly fear for what she’d do to my emotions rather than fear for her attacking me. Even back then, after I had lost myself in rage and blood, she had never attacked me with more than words, but those had stung deeper than any weapon as I had found out soon enough.

[our-marvel-universe]

Ok so apparently Old Guard is based off a comic series and the guy who wrote it (the movie and also I believe the comics) intended the movie to be a trilogy. So it's very possible there will be a sequel and even a third if the second one does well.

Also in the comics Quynh has a different name and is Japanese and they changed it out of respect for the actress who is Vietnamese so shout out to them for actually being respectful for a POC heritage and not just grouping all Asians together

[wickedpact]

No one's gonna read this one 'cause its long but this made me Feel about Andy

“[Greg talking about Andy's weariness in the movie] Andy's question is fundamentally 'Why haven't I [died yet]?’ I mean, she is so incomprehensibly old, and I've said this elsewhere, but in the film never comes out and states her age... but... ballpark is, she is well over six thousand years old.

(...) The concept of living a hundred years is... is something that we can grasp. We know it can be done. 120 years... we know has been done. 200? Imagine being born in 1820. And how the world would have changed around you. Imagine being born in 1720... 1620... 1520... and you see where I'm going now? 1020 is, you know, it's before the Normans invade! You are so far back in just 300 years, 200 years! Just at Booker's age, the world has changed so much. To imagine what it's like to be Andy, and not solely to have seen everything you have seen, but to have lost everything you have lost. Over and over and over and over again. The sheer force of emotional strength required to want to talk to other people, to connect with other people? Is an unimaginable act of courage. The ability to still have empathy? To still feel for other people? After seeing so many just turned to ash? And if that is the truth, sort of, at her heart, then that's a truth that infects the whole film.

(...) It's one of those ideas that when you start with, you go 'okay cool. What would it be to be this woman at 6,000 years old?' And I have notes back from like 2013, when she first sort of really showed up in my head, about the fact that... literally, there's not a language that she cannot speak, and most languages she can also read and write simply because she's spent time immersed in them. There isn't a weapon that she has not --not only learned how to use, but become an expert in if she wanted to be, Because time never mattered. So, 'Oh, we have introduced the musket!' 'Great, I'll take 10 years and learn how to be a crack shot with a musket. Because I can do that every day for 10 years'.

Then of course the thing I'm fond of saying, is that 'if experience is the best teacher and we learn from our mistakes... what's the worst that's gonna happen?' I mean, she's not gonna die! If it goes really really wrong, she's gonna have to get new clothes and try again! She'll need a shower! These were things that I knew... but then as you start to unpack that, you also start to think --and this is maybe just where I go-- but I go immediately to the emotional of it... How memory plays tricks on us, and how hard it is for most of us to remember what we did yesterday, let alone what we did 15 years ago, let alone what we did 5,000 years ago. There was a bit, and we shot it and it's not in the cut, where, when Andy is in Afghanistan to get Nile... the silk road sequence in which you see Quynh and Lykon in the movie was a long sequence. And one of the triggers for it was her basically coming over this rise in the moonlight, and having that moment of like, 'oh I've been here before. I've been right here, on a moonlit night... It would have been about 1100 years ago, yeah! '. That sort of memory trigger.

So then when she tells Nile 'I can't remember what my mother looked like or what my sisters looked like' she's not lying! She can't remember them. She knows they were there. She thinks they maybe look like this, but the memory is fuzzy. Now maybe, in the same way that you get you get a sense trigger and you can remember your grandfather hugging you or whatnot... the memories are still there, and can come into focus... but it's a blur.”

[violetren]

The Old Guard did one of the best betrayal within a found family arcs I think I’ve ever seen.

It’s not some self righteous “I’m doing this for their own good” thing.

It’s not some “I’m sick of doing things your way” thing.

It’s not some “I deserve money/power/status” thing.

All of which have been done many times before, with wildly varying degrees of effectiveness. They’re not bad motives, just too often tossed in as shorthands rather than fully developed so that there is more time for action scenes.

What we get with The Old Guard though is just a very depressed man getting too caught up in his own head to reach out to the people he loves, and who love him, and making terrible decisions because of it. Booker is (up until Nile) the youngest of the immortals and is as cynical as Andy, who is at a conservative estimate about 30 times older than him.

We don’t hear about Andy or Nicky or Joe having much family before their change, or about what it was like for them to lose them, but we do hear about Booker’s. How he tried to be there for them, and how he ended up being hated by them for it. As far as we know his last time he saw his youngest alive resulted is his son telling calling him a horrible parent who never really loved him. Which is so obviously untrue just by the fact that Booker tried approaching him at all even though he’s smart enough to know how dangerous outing himself as immortal could be. Booker loves beyond reason, he would have given his immortality to his son in a heart beat even if he died on the spot in the process if it had been possible. If the opportunity arose for him to go back in time and do exactly that he probably would without a moment of hesitation. Instead he has to live for potentially milenia knowing he was helpless to save someone he loved.

So right there we have a well established clear and understandable reason quite literally presented to us as to why Booker would sell out the team to a big pharma company. It might kill him, something he believes he deserves, and it might save people who are dying from the same thing that killed his son.

But then on top of that there is another unmentioned reason. One that you’re just kind of left to realise for yourself. Quynh.

For little over 200 years Booker dreams of her drowning. Lost, alone, seemingly abandoned, and driven a little bit more insane with each revival. And it’s implied that he’s the only one up until Nile that has to deal with that. When he says he felt alone compared to Nicky and Joe it leaves the question of why didn’t he reach out to Andy who was also alone? Short answer he probably did for a lot of things. But how could he approach her about Quynh when she looks physically pained whenever the subject comes up? Even Nicky and Joe look uncomfortable thinking of her. Booker loves his found family as much as his old one. He can’t bare to cause pain to them on purpose, and talking about Quynh hurts them. If keeping the trauma of experiencing those dreams for so long to himself keeps them from being hurt then that’s just what he’ll do. 

Finding a way to die through his deal with Merrick means he gets to be free of all of it. Free of every ounce of survivors guilt he experiences for his family, and for Quynh. He’s prepared for his found family to hate him for it, he’s already lived this long with his original families hatred. They’re strong, and smart, they’ll escape and go on living eventually.

But then Merrick wants them all, and Andy isn’t healing, and he realises what a colossally bad idea all of it was, and throws himself into trying to fix his mistake. And its not some stupid last minute change of heart for plot convenience. It is 100% within expectations for his established character. Best of all when all the shooting is done he doesn’t expect instant forgiveness just because he swapped back to their side. He accepts that they’re all going to need time and that his actions had consequences. And it’s great.

[victoria-daydreams]

Till Kingdom Come

Chapter Sixteen: Interlude to a Cunning Cottage

AN: Long time no see! Writer’s block is a bitch, and honestly I still have it but somehow I was able to churn out this chapter. So, hopefully you enjoy.

Word Count: 2.6k

Trigger Warnings: none

Taglist: @leahnicole1219, @nerds4life246

Chapter Seventeen: A New Era Emerges

Third POV

Booker hadn't always been a drinking man, of course, he did appreciate the occasional glass of brandy or bottle of beer back in his day. However, after his first death in Russia and the subsequent discovery of the curse he called immortality, Booker soon found himself heavily drinking away his grief. Nursing a tumbler of whiskey, Booker furrowed his brows and stared at the half empty glass which he had been doing for the last hour or so.

"You trying to drown a broken heart?" the bartender asked, cleaning a shot glass while staring at Booker. "I can always tell when someone's trying to drink away a broken heart. Seen them one too many times," she commented, chuckling a little.

"Do not take this the wrong way, as I understand if you would," Booker responded quietly, never looking up. "But I'd prefer not to speak with anyone at this moment," he said, his finger lightly tapping the side of the cup.

"Hmm, suit yourself,” she answered, shrugging her shoulders. “All I know is, you're not going to find whatever answers you’re looking for at the bottom of that glass," the bartender pointed, turning away to continue her cleaning of the bar.

Just as Booker brought the glass of whiskey to his lips, a raven-haired woman wearing a bright, red coat gracefully slid onto the stool next to him. It was silent as he swirled dark colored liquid around before slowly sipping his drink. He closed eyes briefly, savoring the burn of the drink.

"She left me," Booker stated gruffly, reopening his eyes.

"Of course she did," Quynh said, causing him to look at her. "You didn't actually think she would join you, did you?" she asked, signaling for the bartender.

"The slightest bit of hope," he answered, swirling his whiskey again. "But hope nonetheless," he murmured, as Quynh told the bartender her order.

"Well, in the end, both of you got what you wanted," she said, returning her gaze to the Frenchman.

Booker placed his tumbler down on the bar countertop, the glass lightly clinking against the wood.

"Meaning?"

Quynh quickly flashed the bartender a smile as they came with her order, a glass of red wine.

"You got to see Sabine after all this time, presumably sleep with her as well," she remarked, with a knowing expression. "And she got information she needed," she deduced.

He chuckled, "She pulled the information right out of me like I was one of her marks, and I never caught on," Booker remarked, shaking his head and picking up his drink again. "Clever woman," he commented, smiling into his cup.

“She’s probably landing in London right as we speak,” Quynh reasoned, raising her own glass.

“Most likely,” Booker agreed, his eyes meeting hers again. “But I know Sabine, she’s going to visit her old haunts in England before rejoining the team. She’s...sentimental like that,” he explained.

"Sabine’s very fond of England then?”

He slightly chuckled, “It wasn’t always like that,” Booker answered. “England had to grow on her due to some unsavory experiences during the Victorian era,”

“Hmm,” Quynh hummed, dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “Tell me more, I want to know all about Sabine Lavelle,”

~~~x~~~

Third POV

Nile softly let her finger run along Copley’s board that displayed timeline of events that the team was apart of, paying specific attention to anything that Sabine was involved. Some she had read about from Sabine’s journals or heard from Joe, Nicky, or Andy; but some events were still a mystery to Nile. Not all of Sabine’s journals were all in one place unfortunately. Nile began to walk along the board, still amazed by Sabine and everything she had endured and subsequently accomplished. The old photographs and paintings that Copley managed to find captured many moments now frozen time, waiting to be told.

"Nile!"

The arrival of the Italian caught her off guard, as she was still deep in thought.

“Josef said that Sabine is most likely in France right now,” Nile began, turning around to face him. “But what if she’s not? What if she went home, to America?” she asked.

Nicky laughed incredulously, “Oh no, I very much doubt that,” he answered, shaking his head.

“Why?”

“Because Sabine hates it there, quite frankly,” Nicky answered. “She rather live in Europe or Canada than step foot back in the States,” he explained. “That’s not to say, that either of those places don’t have their own terrible histories that they’re guilty of,” he said, walking closer to the board.

“So, she never visits America? At all?” Nile asked, slightly shocked. “I mean, I get why she wouldn’t, but she’s never curious to see if the country has changed?”

“Sabine visits occasionally, but she only goes to places that have meaning to her. Those are mainly her family’s graves and The Martin Plantation,” Nicky replied, briefly glancing at Nile before staring at the board himself.

Nile focused her attention on finding any photos from the turn of the century, Sabine’s last journal she could find was the 1889 journal she had just finished. Hopefully, she could find more journals from the twentieth century stashed away in their current safe house. That’s when her eyes landed on a vibrant painting filled with figures in a park.

In the most basic of descriptions it was a depiction of an Edwardian era park, the grass was manicured and a flower-strewn meadow on the edge of a dark forest in autumn. Women were dressed in lovely, in long-sleeves blouses and tulip skirts, while men wore bowler hats and waist coats. Her eyes were drawn to five particular figures that were either sitting or standing along the grass. Two women, one Black and one white, both sat on a picnic blanket and held umbrellas. While three familiar men stared down at them, each of them smiling at the seated women.

“Nicky, it seems someone found you all interesting subjects for their painting,” Nile commented, with a smile.

“Huh,” he chuckled. “So it seems,” he agreed.

“When was this?”

“Hmm,” Nicky hummed. “Maybe early 1900s based on the clothes, I think we’re in England,” he continued.

Nile folded her arms against her chest, moving further down Copley’s timeline. With each photo she passed, she began to notice a pattern. The team wasn’t pictured together as frequently as before.

“Did something happened between you all?” Nile asked, glancing at him. “I’m noticing that there’s less and less photos of you all together in the early years of the twentieth century,” she remarked, pointing towards a random picture on the board.

“No, nothing happened,” Nicky answered. “Sabine was gaining her independence from us. She felt that she was ready to venture out on her own and we felt that too,” he explained.

“Would Booker travel with her?”

“Often, they were inseparable,” he said fondly.

The sound of shuffling behind them caused Nile to look over shoulder. It was just Copley, carrying a small cardboard box, he sent them a small smile.

“Still trying to piece together Sabine’s life?” he asked knowingly, and she nodded.

“Hard not to,” Nile responded. “She’s quite the interesting character,” she continued, laughing a little.

“Well, allow me to intrigue you further,” he said, his lips curving.

Copley placed the box down onto a table and carefully shifted through its contents. One by one, Nile watched as different items emerged from the box. Old newspaper articles that were laminated, books, folded maps, and finally a small picture frame.

“Ah, here it is,” Copley said, flipping the frame face up. “Look like someone?” he asked, handing the picture to her.

Nile’s brow raised as she took the picture from him and glanced down at the old frame. Immediately, she was transfixed by the old, sepia-toned photograph in front of her. It depicted a beautiful, Black couple picnicking on the grass in front of the Eiffel Tower. Unmistakably, it was Sabine, but who the man was remained a mystery.

“It’s like I said, Paris is her favorite place to visit,” Nicky commented, looking over her shoulder.

Nile glanced at Copley, “I found it at a flea market of all places,” he said, answering her silent question.

“Were they lovers?” she asked, looking at Nicky.

“I don’t know,” he answered, with a small shrug. “If he was, she certainly kept quiet about it,” he added, as Nile handed Copley the picture back.

She plopped down on a nearby couch, “So...Booker didn’t mind her seeing other men while they were together?” Nile questioned, a frown forming on her face.

“Well,” Nicky began, scratching at his chin. “That’s why Joe said, ‘they were in a relationship of sorts’,” he reminded, sitting down next to her. “It was clear they had deep love for each other, but they did see other people when they weren’t traveling together,” Nicky explained.

“It was an open relationship, essentially,” Copley chimed in.

“One could say that,” Nicky responded, nodding in agreement. “They never put a label on their relationship,” he went on.

“Do you know why?” Copley asked, now curious himself.

Nicky shook his head, “Your guess is as good as mine,” he said, throwing his hands up slightly. “Although, I do have a theory. Of course, it can’t be proven but it’s the only one that makes sense to me,” he finished.

“What’s your theory?” Nile questioned, leaning forward.

“You must remember, Booker and Sabine both lost their spouses in traumatic ways,” he reminded, glancing between the two of them. “For Book, he outlived his wife and she resented him for it. Sabine, watched her husband be taken away to be auctioned off to a different plantation,” he continued. “I think they’re scared to commit to each other. Both of them are afraid of getting hurt again,”

“Huh,” Copley hummed, processing the information. “That does make sense,” he agreed, nodding. “But now I’m curious, so they never discussed their lovers to each other while they were together?”

“They made it a point to try and not to, however there past lovers did come up at times,” Nicky answered. “Usually it wasn’t all that bad....until the incident in the 1950s,” he informed.  “That was an ugly fight to witness,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Sabine—,” Nile began, stopping herself to breathe before she got too excited. “She wouldn’t happened to have any more journals lying about, would she?” she asked.

“How would you feel about an impromptu road trip?” Nicky asked back.

“I feel I would like that very much,”

~~~x~~~

Sabine’s POV

Although Renford Manor had been carefully preserved and restored to its original glory, Sabine could still see the tiny cracks that ran up the old, plaster walls near the ceiling of the countryside English manor in which she stood. The mint julep green painted walls were splitting like hairline cracks of a broken mirror. To the untrained eye these defects were unnoticeable, their attention would be drawn to the beautiful Florentine mirror on the far wall, a gold leaf baroque frame. Not to mention, the romantic and impressionist paintings that hung all along the walls.

"We are now about to enter the ballroom," the tour guide announced cheerfully, before pushing the large, richly carved double doors open with a grand flourish. 

And for a moment, Sabine could feel herself being transported back into the past. The faint clicking of her heels as she walked across the white Italian marble floors into ballroom’s wooden surface. The thick fabric of the dress she wore, cut to the style of the early twentieth century, in the shape of a bell.

“Was my dress blue or purple that night?” she thought.

Sabine could envision it now, the orchestra playing on one side of the room as men and women waltz underneath the huge and truly magnificent crystal chandelier lights that hung high above. Among one of the dancers was a young, light skinned woman with curly black hair styled in an updo and dressed in a green gown with flowers embroidered on it. The man she was dancing was young, with brown hair and was wearing a standard evening tuxedo for a man of his class. The two of them were very much deeply in love in with each other.

The creaking of floorboards snapped Sabine from her reverie, the foundation needed to settle from the weight of the sixty odd tourist group. Soft thumping of people’s shoes on the floor echoed in the room. Everyone filed in behind the woman, who moved to stand in the middle of the spacious room.

"This," she began, her tone bordering theatrical. "Is the pride and glory of Renford Manor," she said, spreading her arms out like a game show assistant.

As the tour guide spoke, Sabine took in her surroundings of the room, the walls were covered in maroon paint with artwork and family portraits decorating the space. Her eyes lifted to the ceiling and was greeted with the sight of the magnificent mural of angels depicting a variety of stories. It’s just as Sabine remembered, a surge of memories washed over her of that night. The party, the food, the dancing.

“We’re going to have so much fun tonight, Clara!”

Sabine lowered her eyes back to the woman, still droning on about the history of the room. She turned her gaze to a painting in the corner of room with mild curiosity, giving the figures a cursory glance. Quietly, she backed away from the group and moved over to the painting to get a closer look. The same two figures who she had envisioned gracefully waltzing earlier, now stared back down at her, captured forever in oil paint.

Lord Arthur Anderson & Lady Josephine Anderson, 1906.

Josephine was so terribly nervous that night, Arthur had proposed to her, but she wasn’t sure if she should accept, they had came from two very different worlds.  

"Man, to live a hundred years ago," a girl said, standing next to Sabine. “Those dresses they wore were simply stunning,” she remarked wistfully.

Sabine turned to the voice, her eyes meeting a teen girl in a school uniform, holding a tour provided phone for self guided tours.

“I suppose so, if you ignore the racism,”

The girl removed half of her headphones from ear, “Josephine, she was an illegitimate child from her father’s mistress and biracial,” she said, looking at the down the phone screen. “I couldn’t imagine living a tougher life than that back in those days,” she continued, briefly glancing up from the phone to look at the painting. “She got her father’s fortune in the end, so I guess that makes up for something,” she finished, shrugging her shoulders.

“Money doesn’t solve everything unfortunately, not when you’re half black during that era,“

The girl nodded in agreement as she stared at the two figures.

“Still, she got to meet a lot of interesting people because of her money. I read that Josephine met an African American woman, a small heiress, at the train station once and they became fast friends. They were described as being thick as thieves,” she informed.

A small wistful grin appeared on her lips, “Oh? What was the woman’s name?” Sabine asked curio sly, raising a brow.

“Clara Matthews,” the girl answered. “Apparently, she stayed here until the wedding before being forced to leave due to a family emergency. It’s quite sad, her and Josephine were never able to establish contact with each other again,” she sighed.

“I wonder what she like, this Clara,” Sabine mused.

“According staff and friends of the Lord and Lady, they described her as eccentric which I think is bullshit,” she stated, causing Sabine to snort. “Her eccentricities was believing in a woman’s right to vote, equal pay, civil rights, etc.” she listed. “They say Clara’s ‘eccentricities’ had rubbed off onto the lady of the house, she began to do charity work for those causes,” she informed.

“Sounds like my kinda gal, a progressive thinker ahead of her time,” Sabine stated, staring warmly at her old friend.

“Exactly!” the girl exclaimed quietly. “It’s sad that we’re not taught about people like Lady Josephine or even Clara who will be forgotten to the sands of time,” she complained. “It’s not fair,” she added, shaking her head.

Sabine turned to the young girl, “Sometimes, history has a funny way of staring at you right in the face, and you are none the wiser,”

[even-after-a-millennia]

I wanted to talk about Andy and guilt. It's something that plagues her through the movie. I wanted to examine why, and how she is so strong to keep going regardless.

After the kill floor, Andy snaps at Nicky and says, What did it get us? The world isn't getting better. I think she feels a great amount of responsibility for that fact, after seeing the world through such a long range of time. She has worked to due good throughout her immortality and she feels like nothing has actually changed. Luckily, she sees Copley's board at the end and understands the scope of the change she and the rest of her immortal family has achieved.

Going to Lykon, if you've seen the timeline video of The Old Guard of Netflix, you'll have seen a maybe 3 second clip of Andy riding up to Lykon on horseback before a battle. She says, "Watch your back." He grins at her and says, "That's your job, Andromache."

And then. Well. We know what happens.

I wonder, does Andy feel guilt at the fact he got that final wound? They didn't know their immortality was finite, but still, she cautioned him to watch his back. Did he get injured because she wasn't there to watch it herself? I think that would tear her up inside.

And now for the big source of guilt: Quynh. Whether you view them as bff's, gf's, or wives (I'm partial to the last one myself), she is devasted when Quynh is put in the iron maiden.

She eventually chooses to stop looking too, leaving Quynh down at the bottom of the ocean. I'm sure that wasn't an easy decision, and very much another huge source of guilt for her.

Then there's Booker. I have a tag for the two of them, the tired ones. They are both so tired. Sometimes, being around like minded people when going thru a bad situation can be a comfort. They understand. Other times, it is a snake eating its tail and spiraling into worse mentalities cause ones person's shit vibes too much with the other person's shit and then suddenly things have spiraled out of control. But I think Andy acknowledges the fact that they have both been stewing in guilt and depression when she says, "We've been doing a shit job of [living]."

And, most importantly, she says, "Now get up."

It ties into the overall idea that living is hard and it comes with struggles and after 6,000 years of not only her own struggles, but taking on humanity's struggles, of COURSE Andy feels guilt. Of COURSE she is tired.

But! She still smiles at her family.

She still takes the words of a complete, caring stranger to heart.

She sees the vitality and strength in Nile and sees who she used to be, before she was so tired.

While I've seen quotes saying Nicky is the heart of the team, and we saw Nile joke about Booker being the brains, I'd like to put out there that Andy is the team's spine. She holds them up. Bends without breaking. Carries the weight of the world on her back and continues on.

TL;DR: Andromache the Scythian has been through a lot and is still kind and persevering af.

(All photos are screenshots from videos on YouTube, can link videos if needed.)

[nevermindirah]

I saw something that was kinda cute as hell and kinda bummed me the hell out, so I wrote this lil modern au Book of Nile moment for myself and anyone else who could use the boost. ❤️

"Are you so drunk you're not gonna be able to get your dick up for me later?" Nile says, playful but with an edge of worry.

Booker looks at her like she's suddenly turned bright orange and grown pincers for hands or something. "What?"

Shit. She'd thought this vibe between them was finally going somewhere. Now she's realizing that last thing she'd said maybe could've come across as super creepy. "Are you so drunk you didn't notice how hard I've been flirting with you all night? Or maybe you're just trying to let me down easy, I'll totally stop if you're not into it, I'm sor—"

Her apology fades away as she sees Booker's whole face light up.

"Really? You— you like me too?"

God, he's cute. And such an idiot sometimes. "Why do you say that like it's such a surprise?"

"But you're Nile. And I'm me."

"How could I not be into a hot nerd who looks at me like I hung the moon?" She steps closer, reaches up to ruffle his hair. And then she just sort of... stands there. Breathless. Hoping.

Booker looks like he's lost the ability to speak. She can't help feeling gratified by it. But it's not just that he practically worships the ground she walks on, and she's realizing maybe he doesn't know how special their friendship is to her. How special he is to her.

"You have no idea, do you?" she says. "I know I'm a delight, but most people take me for granted, they rely on me but they don't say thank you, they don't really see me. And then here you are. You treat me like a goddess and a person. Nobody else I'd rather spend a Saturday afternoon goofing around with. Nobody else I'd trust more to have my back when shit's bad." She pauses, bites her lip. "Maybe I need to do a better job of appreciating you how you appreciate me."

She reaches up to brush a lock of hair out of his eyes. For a moment, time freezes. And then Nile feels his hands gently settle into place at her waist. She brushes her thumb across his softly scruffy cheek. He leans into her touch, dips down just a little. Just enough to invite her to lift up on her toes to meet him.

Her heart's pounding. Without thinking she grabs onto his shoulder with her free hand, to steady herself, as if the reminder of those broad shoulders would do anything other than send her swooning.

And then finally, finally, she's kissing him.

She can feel in how his arms are tightening around her, how his fingers are digging into her back, that he's letting himself want her. God, this is even better than she imagined it might be.

Eventually their kisses turn shallower, pecks and nuzzles between gasps for air. Booker's hands feel so good across her back. It almost feels like they're the only people for miles around.

But they're not the only people for miles around — they're a few feet away from the dance floor, possibly causing some level of disruption at the wedding of two of their favorite people. Nile knows she should say something. They should either put the brakes on this for now or find somewhere more private.

She laughs a little against Booker's cheek when she remembers just how easy it will be for them to relocate to somewhere more private.

"Good thing," she says on impulse, "that we decided to split a hotel room for our rich friends' destination wedding, huh?"

"Good thing," he echoes, with a warm smile that's only a little self-deprecating.

Flashes of white fabric and dark hair spin dramatically across the dance floor, and Nile looks over to catch Andy and Quynh making kissy faces at her before they resume making somewhat less teasing kissy faces at each other.

"We should maybe talk more," he says. She's not one bit worried about how that conversation might go, not with the way he's blushing. "But, ah, your bed or mine?"

Nile gives him a brief, searing kiss, then she spins out of his arms and throws him a grin over her shoulder. "Race you for it!"

[cryhardanddanceharder]

I found this thread in twitter about the Night Witches and it made me think again about how Andy probably was part of them in the Word War II.

So, here have some facts:

They were female millitary aviators of the 588th Night Bomber Regiment, known later as the 46th "Taman" Guards Night Bomber Aviation Regiment, of the Soviet Air Forces1 ("Taman" for their outstanding performance during the heavy air combat in the Taman Peninsula in 1943, Battle of the Kuban Crossing)

The regiment was composed primarily of female volunteers in their late teens and early twenties. (Andy being the regiment commander of teens and early twenties young women? Yes, I would like to see that!!)

They practically carried out suicidal missions, but they came to cause terror among the Nazis. The strategy used by the 588th was harassment, carrying out night bombardments of the camps where the German army was resting and their surroundings. An attack technique involved idling the engine near the target and gliding to the bomb-release point with only wind noise left to reveal their presence. German soldiers likened the sound to broomsticks and hence named the pilots "Night Witches". (Suicidal missions? Andy I see you doing those missions, dying, surviving and keep going. Not even caring when the regiment was starting to be called "night witches" by other people and the risk it could mean to you in case they found out about your immortality. Also always remembering how Quynh's destiny was ruined by being acussed of witchcraft and being cautious about the tittle but also proud of it.)

They flew in precarious planes, to the point that they were actually used for fumigation. Without a parachute (until 1944), without radio and with an open cabin, they could only carry two bombs so the flights were constant even with the enormous risk that it entailed. Still they were spectacular. (Without parachute? Yes, we know you don't need one Andromache "we don't need a pilot, we can jump and survive" the Scythian)

They used all the disadvantages of their planes as strengths: they were very quiet, maneuverable and flew so low that it was very difficult for the superior Nazi planes to shoot them down. Their attacks themselves were low intensity, but they generated a lot of damage, especially mental, because they never knew when a bomb could fall on them. The Nazis had to create a special night combat regiment to counter them. (Andy knowing how to find strengths in the disadvantages to kill nazis? Of course, “that woman has forgotten more ways to kill than entire armies will ever learn")

They carried out more than 23,000 combat flights and dropped 3,000 tons of bombs. It was the most decorated female unit in the Soviet Air Force. Each pilot could have flown in more than 1,100 missions until the end of the war and twenty-three of its components got to obtain the title of Hero of the Soviet Union. (I'm sure Andy, being iconic as she is, recieved the tittle of Hero of the Soviet Union)

[youssefguedira]

yay 😃 alright, 41 and Joe x Nicky please 😌

hiya anon!! i hope you enjoy this!! it got... a little angsty. oops. ehe

41: washing each other’s hair

Hardly anyone has spoken a word since they left the lab. The car ride passes mostly in silence. Andy falls asleep about half an hour after they leave, and Nile follows not soon after, her head dropping onto Nicky’s shoulder. Booker stares out the window. Good, Joe thinks venomously. He doesn’t want to hear what Booker has to say right now.

Don’t think about Booker, he tells himself. He’s the one driving. He cannot fall apart now, not yet. He keeps his eyes on the road, and if he keeps a tight grip on the steering wheel, tight enough to turn his knuckles white, the others don’t notice.

All that said, he can’t stop himself from glancing at Nicky in the rearview mirror every now and then. Nicky meets his eyes every time, never saying a word, but he doesn’t need to. They can speak just fine without them.

I am here. I am okay, Nicky says with every look, and it helps Joe breathe just a little easier.

They hit a speed bump about ten minutes away from the safehouse Andy had instructed him to go to before falling asleep - one Booker hadn’t known about. It had been the place they stayed when they were on land in between searching for Quynh, and they’d mostly avoided it ever since. Andy still stops by, he thinks, when she returns to searching on her years off, but other than that the house carries too many painful memories. The sudden jolt startles Andy awake with a hissed curse, and Joe slows down almost reflexively, unwilling to cause her any more pain.

“Where are we?” she asks.

“Close.” Joe tries his best to keep his voice steady. 

“Good.” 

Joe pulls up just outside the safehouse and stops the car. Nicky shakes Nile awake, gently. She sits up, startled, and looks over at Nicky almost apologetically, but Nicky just smiles at her.

“Get out, I’ll park and join you,” Joe tells them all.

Nile is first out, walking around to help Andy. Booker isn’t far behind. Then it’s just him and Nicky.

“Go,” Joe says before Nicky can say anything. “I’ll be up in a moment, just going to…” He waves his hand.

“Are you sure?” Nicky asks softly, and Joe knows this isn’t about the car. 

“Just a moment,” Joe repeats, meeting Nicky’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

Nicky holds his gaze for a moment before reaching forward to squeeze Joe’s shoulder. Then he gets out, and Joe is alone.

He watches Nicky enter the building before starting the car again. There’s a parking garage only a few streets away that hadn’t been there when they bought the place. None of this had. But he’s used to that.

The solitude is almost a relief after the journey here. He parks as close to the exit as he can - he doesn’t want Andy to have to walk too far, when they leave. He knows she can handle it, but he does it anyway. Once he’s parked, he lingers just a little longer, resting his head on the steering wheel and taking a breath. 

He gives himself only a moment to collect himself before making his way inside.

-------------------------

The tension in the air is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Joe had turned on the TV an hour ago, just for something to break the silence - some antiques show - but he’s not watching it. Nile is, focused intently on the screen, or maybe it’s just that she, too, needs something to focus on that isn’t Booker sitting in one of the armchairs near them, or Andy’s occasional swearing as Nicky restitches her wound.

Joe’s knee bounces entirely of its own accord. He feels like a rabbit caught in a trap - on edge, heart racing, filled with nervous energy. It’s all he can do to keep himself from shaking. The day keeps playing itself on loop in his head - Andy in the lab, bleeding through her shirt; Booker saying I killed her; Nicky lying in a pool of his own blood-

Normally, Joe would be the one to diffuse the tension, to make a joke that would make Andy smile tiredly and Booker chuckle. But he doesn’t know what to do with this.

And how can he hold his family together when he’s falling apart?

Booker glances at him and looks away almost immediately, and Joe wants to scream. Or cry. Or laugh. He can’t tell anymore. The volume on the TV is just a notch too loud, but he doesn’t want to turn it down, not when the alternative is listening to Andy in pain and being reminded that she’s mortal. 

He feels too much, too much, too much.

Nicky’s hand on his shoulder makes him jump. “Come with me,” he says in Genoese. 

Joe looks meaningfully over at Booker. He can’t leave them, not when they can’t trust Booker anymore, and Andy is mortal, Booker shot her once, what’s to stop him from doing it again-

“He won’t do anything,” Nicky says reassuringly, as if reading Joe’s thoughts. “Come on, habibi. You have blood in your hair.”

Joe nods tiredly and lets Nicky lead him from the room, not before shooting Booker a warning look.

Nicky guides him into the bathroom, closing the door behind them. When he turns away to turn the shower on, Joe catches a glimpse of the dried blood on his neck and feels sick.

He’d done his best to wipe it away before they rejoined the others, but he hadn’t done much, and-

“I can hear you thinking,” Nicky says, interrupting his train of thought. “We’re safe, Joe.”

Are we, though? is what he doesn’t say. They’d thought they were safe in Goussainville, but Merrick had found them anyway, because Booker had told him where they would be. 

Booker, who had laughed with them only hours before selling them all out. Joe tries and tries, but he can’t understand why.

You and Nicky always had each other.

But Booker had had them too. Joe had tried to make sure he knew that. When did it all go wrong?

“Do you want me to leave?” Nicky asks.

Joe shakes his head. 

Nicky goes first, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as he stands under the spray. Joe watches as the water turns red, the blood washing away before his eyes. He can’t look anywhere else. 

“What do you need?” Nicky asks gently.

Joe looks at him, then at the blood still in his hair. “Can I…”

Nicky passes him the shampoo bottle without a word and turns around. 

It’s strangely therapeutic, methodically combing through the strands of hair at the back of Nicky’s neck with his fingers, working out the blood and bone fragments and other things he doesn’t want to let himself think about for too long. He does his best to keep his breathing steady as he does so. The blood washes down the drain, and with it, the memory of waiting for Nicky to wake, barely able to breathe for fear that this would be the last time. 

When he finishes, Nicky turns around with a soft smile. “Your turn.”

The first time they’d done this had been centuries ago, and Joe doesn’t remember much. He knows that there had been people who found out he couldn’t die, who wanted him to tell them how, and hurt him because of it. He doesn’t remember that part - just waking after an indefinite amount of time to find his captors dead and Nicoló kneeling over him, begging him to wake with something like fear in his voice. Nicoló had taken him back to the inn they were staying at, gotten him to eat and then coaxed him into the bath and washed the blood and dust from his hair, all with a gentleness Joe hadn’t known the other man had in him at the time. Since then, it had become a ritual after bad missions, when Joe was overwhelmed, when he just needed to wash the bad memories away, and Nicky had always been there for him to fall back on.

Now, Nicky handles him like he’s made of glass, impossibly gentle as he runs his fingers through Joe’s hair. And maybe it’s the familiarity, or the feeling of finally being safe, or just the weight of the past few days finally hitting him that causes it. Or maybe it’s all three.

Whatever it is, Joe falls apart, falling forward into Nicky’s arms with a choked sob, his tears mixing with the water from the shower. Nicky just rubs his back in soothing circles, continuing to work his fingers through Joe’s hair as Joe sobs into his shoulder.

“I know, hayati,” he whispers. “I know. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Joe cries and cries and cries until he runs out of tears, until the only thing left is a vague sense of emptiness. Only at that point does Nicky reach back to turn off the shower.

“Better?” he asks.

Joe nods.

“Come on, then.” 

There are already clothes in the bathroom - when did Nicky do that? Nicky’s found him a hoodie and sweatpants somewhere in the safehouse, and Joe changes quickly.

“Thank you,” he says, just before they leave. 

Nicky smiles and takes Joe’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and there is nothing more to be said.

As they leave the bathroom, Joe’s thumb finds the pulse point on Nicky’s wrist, the steady beat of Nicky’s heart a reminder that they are safe, they are okay, they are alive.

[hauntedfalcon]

fic prompt: in the future (couple hundred years or more) Nile and Quynh (lets presume that she rejoins the team in the next movie) go to find a new immortal

"Did you dream of it, when Andy came to find me?"

Quỳnh, in the midst of the lander's pre-flight checklist, cracks a smile. "We will not be shooting anyone in the head today," she says.

"No we won't," Nile sighs. They have time to be gentle to the new one, in delivering them to this life. Things aren't quiet by any means, which is why Joe and Nicky and Booker are staying with the ship. But no one is actively hunting them down for the moment.

And Nile and Quỳnh are not Andy. They both have plenty to grieve, but they don't carry it alone out of some misplaced responsibility to protect the others.

"When she found me," Quỳnh starts. She's quiet for the countdown to uncoupling, then she tries again as the lander detaches. "When we found Yusuf and Nicolò, we had dreamed of them for years. It was like coming home. There was so much they had already accepted and worked through together. I'm sure they struggled more than I saw, but they made it look easy."

"And when she found you?" Nile says, because long ago, Quỳnh made Nile promise that she would help her face these things.

Quỳnh is silent until gravity takes hold of the lander. "I did not make anything easy for her."

Nile laughs aloud.

There are more people scattered across the solar system than there are left on Earth now, but the new one didn't die on a colony or a station. Maybe it's Earth itself that grants them this gift. Maybe their feet must be planted on the soil or the sand in order to rise again.

From the flashes in their dreams and some cross-referencing with their Terran contact, they determined that the new one is in the NT Underground. Their first death was excruciating, crushed under stone in a collapsed tunnel. And then they got right back up and kept fighting. Every time she dreams, Nile feels their fear, their confusion, their loneliness, and the force of their will.

She checks their trajectory on the screen, then cranes her neck to look out the tiny window. "It's so weird to be back here. There's more ocean than I remember."

"Yes," Quỳnh says in a faraway voice.

They put down outside Alice Springs and start making their inquiries. The locals don't warm to outsiders, and there is no one more outside than the two of them--but Quỳnh has a way of winning the trust of dangerous and frightened people.

That evening they are escorted through limestone chambers to a dim and smokey room, where a figure is surrounded by... well, the first word that comes to Nile's mind, based on body language alone, is disciples. All the other people here are oriented toward the new one, waiting for whatever they'll say next.

A freedom fighter who can't die would look an awful lot like a savior.

But whoever they were before, they were not a leader, and they haven’t had the time Nile has to grow into the role. They shrink from the deference their associates show them now. "Can you give us the room?" they ask with an attempt at authority. The others slip away quietly.

When it's just the three of them, Nile sits on the edge of a supply crate and says, "My name is Nile. This is Quỳnh. How should we call you?"

"Gotjan, for now." Their chin stays jutted, lips tight. Gotjan is plump, and richly brown as the earth, with a head of loose curls faded by sun at the ends. Maybe a handful of years older than Nile was at her first death.

"Pronouns?" Quỳnh prompts.

"She. You?"

"Same," Nile says.

"Whatever works," Quỳnh says.

For an instant it looks like Gotjan might smile, but she steels herself again. "Why have you come here?"

"To meet you," Nile says as Quỳnh takes a handheld cutter from her bag. "The dreams are how we find each other."

The cutter sparks. Quỳnh sears a line across her palm without a whimper, and holds it up as it heals.

Gotjan's eyes go wide. "Who's we?" she breathes.

"You, me, Quỳnh, and those three men you've been dreaming of, back on our ship. They're waiting for you to join us."

"Six," Gotjan says. "There are six of us?" She lets out an incredulous laugh. "Do you know what we could accomplish with six of us?"

Nile hears that we for what it is: the Underground. She knows perfectly well what six of them can accomplish.

Gently she says, "We aren't running missions on Earth, for the time being. It got a little too hot for us." They need to wait out a few overhauls of physical media, until all the records of what they did in Vancouver forty years ago pass out of memory. "But there are a lot of ways to help a cause."

"From space?" Gotjan takes a step back. "No. I'm not leaving. I lost everything--those bastards took everything from me, and I finally have a chance to do something about it."

This is something Nile expected from the conviction she felt in the dreams, though it's novel to her. When Nile was new, she had only begun to realize how much she didn't believe in what she had fought for.

She says, "Have you ever killed anyone?"

Gotjan swallows. Yeah, that's what Nile thought.

"We're not here to force you to do anything," she soothes. "If you want us to go without you, we will, and Joe and Nicky and Booker will keep dreaming of you. We'll know if you're in trouble and we'll always come back. But before you make that decision, you need to think about whether staying will do the Underground any good. If you're captured, they can kill you and kill you, and your mind will crack eventually, and that's when they'll get secrets out of you that will lead to the deaths of people you love."

She can see from the shadow that passes across Gotjan's eyes and the way she slants her face away from them that she is thinking about it.

But before Gotjan can answer, Quỳnh says, "No."

Nile gives her a vexed look, which she ignores. She always picks the most inconvenient fucking times to go off script.

"No," Quỳnh says again, "we won't leave you behind. None of us should ever be alone. If you stay, we will stay and fight beside you to whatever end. If you run from us, we will follow. You can hate us for it, but we won't be moved."

Her voice is a thread reaching back thousands of years. It raises the hairs on Nile's arms. Gotjan stares at her with a fire in her eyes. It isn't gentle, but maybe in this moment, in her solitude, it's what she needs to hear.

Quỳnh says, "You don't yet know the depth of what you have gained. Come with us and we will show you."

Nile waits for the cavern to stop ringing from Quỳnh's fervor. Then she clears her throat. "We also have an ungodly amount of money to fund the Underground in your absence."

All the way up out of the gravity well, Gotjan has questions. They do their best to answer them.

Nile watches her face when the lander pivots to reattach to the ship, and Earth is visible once more through the window. There is an ache in Gotjan's dark eyes. It's the barest she's allowed herself to be in their presence.

"I never planned to leave," she whispers. "I know the work is better up here, but... that's our land."

"That is a connection you will always have," Quỳnh promises her.

A freedom fighter who can't die and who leaves to live in the sky will, in another century or so, look an awful lot like a folk hero.

"How long are you staying off Earth?"

Nile says, "Two, maybe three more generations."

"Generations," Gotjan echoes. "What are you, twenty?"

The Freeman babyface strikes again. "I'm four hundred and twelve," Nile says lightly. "Next Thursday."

"The fuck," Gotjan says, turning to stare at her. "When do you stop keeping track?"

"About five centuries ago," Quỳnh supplies.

Gotjan lifts her head to look at Quỳnh, but she doesn't ask the logical next question. Not yet, anyway.

The Andromache's docking clamps embrace the lander. Nile leads the way through her beloved corridors, moving slower than usual so Gotjan can get used to the magnetic boots.

Nile hears them while she's still outside the galley, cursing in Italian and French, with a frantic he didn't mean it for spice.

She stops at the door and glances at Quỳnh, on the other side of Gotjan. The oldest, and the newest. Quỳnh gives her a tiny, prized smile.

"Gentlemen," Nile says as the door slides open, and a trio of anything but gentlemen straighten up from a pantomime brawl as dinner bubbles in the cooker. Some things never change.

And some things do. Nile says, "This is Gotjan."

[monicashipsnickyjoe]

Everyone thinks we’re already dating, but we’re just best friends- oh wait (from this prompt list); modern au

Nicky doesn’t have a lot of experience dating, and why would he need it? Ever since secondary school he’s had Joe at his side. His best friend. And they’ve been roommates since they graduated.

When Nicky comes home from work, it’s Joe he wants to see, not some stranger. When a new movie comes out, Nicky wants to go with Joe, to smile when Joe leans over to him in the middle of the film to give a harrowing critique of the poor writing. Or to hear Joe laugh when a joke hits just right. To hold his hand if it gets too sad. To let Joe grab his arm if it’s scary.

So Nicky has never thought about dating, never needed to. But it still strikes him as odd when, while Booker and Andy are over visiting, Booker tries to talk Andy into making a dating profile and does not do the same to Nicky or Joe. Joe especially has a lot of love to give. Nicky knows. He’s been selfishly hoarding it for years.

“I have a girlfriend,” Andy tells him. “We’re long distance.”

“The mysterious Quynh,” Booker says like he doesn’t believe it.

“She’s real.” Joe stretches his arm around the back of the couch behind Nicky. “Nicky and I have met her.”

Andy gestures toward them. “See?”

“You can’t be serious,” Booker says, slumping in the chair. His laptop’s open on the coffee table, but he ignores it and stares at the ceiling instead. “How am I the only single one in this group?”

Nicky blinks. He looks at Joe, and Joe smiles back at him.

Nicky is not dating anyone. Maybe Booker didn’t know.

But... Does that mean... Is Joe seeing someone?

When would he have the time? Every hour they are not working is spent together. Surely whomever Joe is with would not approve of seeing or talking so infrequently. Nicky himself craves Joe’s nearness, even as good friends.

A pain shoots straight through his heart.

Joe’s smile falters, and Nicky, knowing he is the cause, glances away.

Andy reaches over and pats Booker on the knee. “You’ll be okay, Book.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

No one is correcting him. Even if Joe is seeing someone - there’s that sharp pain again - Nicky isn’t.

And if Joe has someone, then well... Maybe Nicky should stop being so selfish.

“Booker,” Nicky says. When all eyes on the room find him, he hesitates, not used to being the center of attention. He clears his throat, gathering his strength. If Joe has someone else, Nicky’s only choice is to give him the space he deserves to be happy. “I would like to set up a profile, too.”

Booker groans, “That’s not funny.”

At the same time, Joe laughs, “For who?”

Only Andy stays silent, watching. From this angle, Joe can’t see Nicky’s face.

Nicky swallows. Why is this so hard? “For me, Joe.”

Joe abruptly stops laughing. “What?” Nicky hasn’t the courage to face him. Nicky loves how things are now, but if Joe... if he needs the space to be in his relationship...

Andy says slowly, “What exactly are you saying, Nicky?”

“You mean to humiliate me further.” Nicky drops his face to his hands. “Don’t make me say it.”

“You’re going to have to say it,” Andy says.

Nicky tugs at his hair. “I’m single. You know this.”

“I do?” Andy says.

“You guys break up?” Booker asks.

Nicky lowers his elbows to his knees and his hands to the space between them.

Booker is looking between Nicky and Joe. “Why didn’t you say something? Here I am, the asshole, talking about dating sites when you guys -”

“Wait.” Andy sits back. She’s glancing between them, too. “I don’t believe this.” She stops on Nicky. “You really don’t know.”

Nicky shrugs, entirely helpless.

To Booker, “Get your stuff. We’re going.” She pulls his arm.

“Yeah, okay.” Booker closes his laptop and slips it into his bag. As they head for the door, he calls back, “Sorry.”

“They’ll be fine,” Andy says from the hall.

Nicky stands up when they do but doesn’t leave his spot. When they’re gone out the door, he sits back down.

Finally, he looks at Joe.

The arm that was behind Nicky has moved away. He’s covering the lower half of his face with a hand, and his eyes are closed. Yet even hiding as he is, Nicky can tell something is very wrong.

Nicky places his palm flat on Joe’s shoulder, offering what comfort he can. He’s missing something crucial, he knows, but he can’t imagine what it might be. Apparently there is much he’s missing, if he didn’t know Joe had someone else in his life.

“Nicky.” Joe lowers his hand from his mouth, revealing his deep-set frown. He doesn’t say anything else, and Nicky can’t stand the tension in his shoulders and his face, and in the air between them.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had someone?” Nicky says. He feels the world’s biggest fool. “I would have given you... distance, if that’s what you needed.”

Joe goes very still

Nicky lowers his hand, taking one of Joe’s and holding it. “I would do anything for you. You know this.”

For too long a moment, Joe says nothing. The longer he stays silent, the more Nicky’s worry grows. Why hadn’t he kept his mouth shut? He never meant to ruin things as he has.

But then Joe looks up at him. His features aren’t as heavy with despair now. They crumple up in confusion instead. He curls his fingers around Nicky’s, and says, “Nicky, you have not been making much sense.”

“Booker said he was the only single one,” Nicky tells him.

“Yes, that’s true.”

“So you must be dating someone.”

Joe opens his mouth. Closes it again. Opens once more. “I love you, Nicky.”

“I love you, too.” What did that have to do with anything?

“We share a bed,” Joe says.

“We’re very good friends.”

“We spoon.”

“We share a bed,” Nicky says with a shrug. “It saves space.” Plus, sometimes he would have nightmares and having Joe there with him when he woke up immediately calmed him. And then there were the nights they never talked about after, when quietly, in the dark, Nicky would reach out and Joe would - oh.

Oh.

“We share a bed,” Nicky says the same but means it differently.

The confusion slowly seeps from Joe’s face. He starts to smile. “Nicolo. My heart.”

The world’s biggest fool, indeed.

“I never dated anyone before,” Nicky says in his defense. Though as the fear of losing Joe diminishes, humiliation does too. Who has time for it, when hope is shining so blindingly? “This means you’re mine.”

“Nicky.” Joe’s smile is as bright as the sun. It’s everything Nicky’s ever needed, and all he wants. “I’ve always been yours.”

Nicky leans forward, emboldened, and kisses him, not fumbling in darkness but with purpose in daylight.

“Marry me,” Nicky says, when they part.

Joe laughs. “You’ve only thought us dating five minutes.”

“Too long.” Nicky drops soft kisses all over Joe’s face. So many things he’s wanted to do. So many he didn’t know he could.

Joe’s fingers tangle in Nicky’s hair. He leads Nicky’s mouth back to his, and whispers there, “My heart. My love. You might need more than a moment.”

“I’ve wasted too many already.”

“On that, we can agree.”

In the morning, Nicky will go to the store. He’ll buy a ring, and ask again. He will prove to Joe how serious he is. For now, he is content with the feel of this man beneath him, and the pieces of his heart finally sliding into place.