#marwankensari

[leedongwook]

Nicolò destati, destati.

[b1nightwing]

Hand me a pen and I’ll rewrite the pain When you’re ready, we’ll turn the page together // rina sawayama

[hawkaye]

Nothing that lives lives forever. [...] One day your wounds just don't heal up anymore, and... we don't know when or why.

[enchantedbyhiddles]

The more I watch, the more I’m in awe by how different Marwan Kenzari is in every movie.

[aarontveit]

@marwankensari​ asked: luca marinelli or marwan kenzari

[amandaseyfriedd]

underated scenes - in my opinion -; The Old Guard Edition [2/5]. Three Minutes?

[guillermosfamiliar]

the old guard + hamilton lyrics

[bruciewayne]

we have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven

— Richard Siken

[leedongwook]

It’s you. It’s always been you.

[lesbiandivorce]

“If only it were that easy” + Joe x Nicky 🤓

“if only it were that easy,” nicolò says. he’s smiling, easy and teasing. it makes yusuf’s heart clench. “you’re not getting rid of me yet.”

yusuf laughs, bottling the frantic beating of his heart.

nicolò firmly clasps yusuf’s shoulder as he passes by, smile lingering on his lips like his blood on his clothes. he plucks yusuf’s sword from where it lays in the sand, throws it to him without looking.

yusuf does not look up as he catches it, eyes still trained on the ground where nicolò’s body just lay.

“hey,” nicolò says. yusuf glances up, and nicolò is already looking at him, eyes earnest. “i’m good.”

“i know,” yusuf says, forcing his lips into a smile.

nicolò leans in, hand reaching to hold yusuf’s neck. his hand is warm, freshly healed. “i will always come back to you.”

“you don’t know that,” yusuf says, quietly.

“i know you were the destiny the world has tried to keep me from,” nicolò says, his eyes seeming to see straight to where yusuf’s heart lives, “and it hasn’t succeeded yet.”

send me the first line and characters, and i’ll write (at least) the next five!

[coffeebeannate]

joenicky + disagreement 👀 go nuts nate

WELL WELL WELL-

Send Me a Sentence: I Write Next Five Lines

Or in this case..I failed utterly and you end up with this, instead. 

It wasn’t like they’d never fought before-they had. They’d had several arguments over the last few centuries. (Though none of those resulted in murder since at least the 12th century). Some could be bad, some could be nonsensical. Others born purely out of difficult environment, exhaustion and combating factors that neither could control and made both irritable. They’d long succeeded beyond any fighting making them insecure; worried it might be the end of what they had. But this?

This was..strange. This was somehow both incomprehensible and incredibly frustrating, and Nicky could feel himself shutting down in frustration, Joe’s voice-which kept threatening to climb, wavering between shouting and harsh low tone, a sign that this disagreement was about to become a full-blown fight if neither of them could figure something out, at some point. Neither of them could really even recall what the original catalyst was, but whatever it had been had spurned far beyond into something greater.

For weeks, they’d been working. Non-stop, no matter what they did, it was just endless. So much had decided to happen in such a short space of time. Over and over. Joe knew Nicky had probably amassed, at best, around four hours sleep the last six days, (he never slept well on mission), and Joe himself was wearing down. Low food, lower reserves. Tight quarters. It was just so much. And Nicky had done something, turned himself a certain way while cleaning their guns yet again and spilled half a bottle of gun oil across the floor. A dirt floor, impossible to retain any of the oil that had spilled. And while it wasn’t a huge deal, he’d cursed, putting it up right, and Joe had commented on how it was unfortunate, and Nicky had just gone taut, making snippy comments and shaking. 

That had lead to further arguing, because they were tired, congested, didn’t know what day it was and couldn’t even get a handle on when they’d be free again. These types of missions, in the middle of nowhereville civilization remote country, where moments and details changed by the second, were agitating already. Moreso when there really seemed to be no end in sight, they’d not bathed in a week or more and food was low. Not to mention water. 

Nicky’s gone silent, his shirt sticking to his chest from where he’d been mindlessly rumpling it, dust covering his hands now, dust in his hair, anxiety in his posture. It halts whatever retort Joe had festering on the tip of his tongue, seeing his husband that way, knowing that the bagged blue-green eyes and tense posture are not, and never were directed at him, and he caves. It’s too damned hot and gross to be touching, but Joe truly doesn’t care. Even if their clothes feel like little more than sweat-soaked rags at this point. Nicky sighing in defeat and setting the guns cleaning cloth aside-its black now, it used to be blue, and folding himself into the space Joe creates.

“I stink.” He mumbles, Joe huffing into his hair, “I’m aware, I fare no better. I’m sorry, my love I-”

“No, I..this is exhausting.” 

Joe has never agreed with anything more, “We should have some confirmation soon, some more information where we can move out, we can do it. We can.”

Nicky twitches, Joe can feel it in his arms, the way he’s tensing, soothing him with a hand across his back, “Or it could be longer, I just wish we had some idea of what we are doing. These types..Joe, things are blurring out there.”

Nicky is not wrong, and they both know it. Which was what they were also waiting on, to make sure they had not done more harm than good. 

“Nicky, you need to sleep.” Joe says, carefully, “Your grip on your sniper shakes now.” 

As expected, Nicky tenses further-being off his game on his job costs lives, and Nicky would never have that. It’s not ego, it’s life or death, and Joe has always promised to be truthful with him. “I know..but I-”

Joe shushes him, sitting down flat on the floor, legs spread, letting Nicky sit facing him, head on his stomach, legs splayed out. Nicky’s sniper close to their legs, his handgun beside Joe’s thigh, longsword against the sniper.

Joe reaches for his scimitar, letting it sit beside his hand, an arm around Nicky’s back, alert.

“Sleep.” Joe says, reversing their most familiar of positions, Nicky tensing once, again, mouthing wordless thanks against Joe’s stomach, before starting to drift. Sheer exhaustion taking over.

Joe waits. And hopes this damned mission has some end in sight.

[hawkaye]

Yusuf + backwards cap

[enchantedbyhiddles]

Marwan Kenzari in Collide (2016)

[aarontveit]

Nothing. We’ve done nothing. The world isn’t getting any better. It’s getting worse. 

[amandaseyfriedd]

underated scenes - in my opinion -; The Old Guard Edition [1/5]. Immortal Husband (spy mode).

[guillermosfamiliar]

tell me, i’m your baby

Eve & Villanelle have a quiet moment together after the bridge...

They sit quietly, the bustle of the other patrons fading away to white noise. Villanelle stirs her cocktail with the little olive prone toothpick while Eve stares blankly into the murky brown of her own glass of whiskey. Each seems to be waiting for the other to make the first move, to say something. It’s been nearly two hours since they walked away from the bridge together, so close together that their hands brushed, and they sat down at the bar. Eve didn’t question it when Villanelle ordered for the both of them, but she did smile. Small and careful, and just this side of hopeful. Neither woman is sure what time it is when Eve finally asks,

“So what now?” 

“There’s always Studio 338,” Villanelle ventures. “I hear the nightlife there is impeccable.” 

Eve picks up the glass and downs at least half of her drink. She tries to think of a wise remark, something smart to say, but any sharp retort dies at the back of her throat. “Dancing would be nice,” Eve says instead. 

Villanelle nods. “Seeing as how we were so rudely interrupted last time.” 

“Do I want to know?” Eve muses and Villanelle inhales sharply; shakes her head. “Then don’t tell me.” There are some things about this murderous miracle of a woman that Eve has long come to realize that she is better off not being privy to. 

Villanelle reaches out, curls her hand around Eve’s, squeezes tightly, holds on like she’s scared that if she doesn’t, she’ll drift away. “Hey,” Villanelle says, voice oddly, heart-wrenchingly soft. “It’s going to be alright.” 

“I know,” Eve says, and she knows she’s said it too quickly the moment the words leave her mouth. She feels the pressure of tears at the back of her eyes and curses; she won’t cry again tonight. She can’t. Her heart is beating quick, erratic, as she shifts her hand beneath Villanelle’s and laces their fingers together. 

“I’ll protect you,” Villanelle says, eyes burning. “You won’t have to worry about anything, ever again.” 

Eve lifts her free hand, resting it gently against the side of Villanelle’s face, thumb stroking across her prominent cheekbone. “I know,” she says once more, and she realizes that she does. Some part of Eve has always known, and she realizes, mournfully, maddeningly, that she cannot remember the last time she was this happy.