#nickyjoe

[krimsnkramsart]

[setokaibapetty]

Fic Friday 5 + 1 Roundup: Misunderstanding

Some fics with a miscommunication or misunderstanding; both unintentional and those that were encouraged once the gap in understanding is recognized.

Valentine's Day: An Observance in Memoriam (AO3) - “Are you telling us,” Izzy started, then stopped. Jace picked up her thread a few seconds later when it was clear that Izzy was out of words for the moment. “The Downworld celebrates a day in memory of Valentine?” Alec didn’t respond for a long moment. “I think ‘observes’ may be more accurate than celebrates,” he eventually clarified carefully."

In Which Tony Stark is a Philanthropist and All-Around Great Guy (AO3) - "Tony is determined to get Coulson laid. It's the least he can do."

only we know (AO3) - "Quinlan Vos starts spending more and more time hovering around the Republic military base. Fox starts sustaining... mysterious injuries. Thire can only assume the Jedi isn't treating his Commander right. (And so, the Coruscant Guard puts two and two together and gets five.)"

love and bruises (AO3) - "Jason kind of hates the people who say they have a gaydar, but the thing is, he doesn’t need a gaydar to tell with Bruce. He can just tell. Anyone with eyes can tell. The suits, the shoes, that one time Bruce couldn’t stop staring at some random nerdy reporter’s ass, the list goes on. Also, Bruce’s frequent liaisons with Batman are kind of a dead give away."

I Can't Believe It's Not Aliens! (AO3) - "Maybe Jason would condescend to look at Tim twice if he managed to conform more to the alpha ideal? There's nothing he can do about his height, but he's muscled enough to pull off a swagger. He can definitely trade his loose skater clothes for tighter fashion. He could even start projecting his scent and showing his teeth. It's a dumb plan. He knows it's a dumb plan. But if there's one thing he's learned with his Titans, it's that some plans are just dumb enough to work."

Bonus: with every inch of my heart (AO3) - "The apology in Nile’s eyes tells Nicky he’s let his expression slip in a way he hasn’t in centuries, his whole broken heart on display."

[raedear]

I’ve had a great time catching up on the musicians AU so here’s an attempt at a first line prompt that you’re free to use or ignore or use for something else:

“Somehow, there was a splash of tea on the sleeve of his shirt.”

every single time I start one of these I have to look and see what tense I'm supposed to be in and then I still get it wrong. da capo was in past tense so that's what I'm using HERE WE GO.

--

Somehow, there was a splash of tea on the sleeve of his shirt. Joe chose to try and focus on that instead of the frustration building like a stormcloud in his chest. It was even working, until:

'You're rushing,' Nicky's voice was dry and tired, and Joe had to breathe very carefully so as not to snap his bow.

'I am not rushing,' Joe protested as calmly as he was able. 'You're dragging.'

They weren't even playing their programme yet. Nicky had suggested warming up (warming up! Like it wasn't the pinnacle of some musicians' repertoires) with Summer, and Joe had never been one to back down from a challenge.

He also had never been one to beat someone he was trying his hardest to be friends with to death with his bow, but it was looking very appealing.

'You're leading, therefore you're the one rushing,' Nicky said primly, playing a tiny phrase with his left hand, the tumbling arpeggio rattling alongside offence down Joe's spine.

'Perhaps you've just forgotten how swiftly you need to play to keep up,' Joe snapped before he could rein himself in. He froze immediately after, unsure if he should apologise but also absolutely sure that he didn't want to. Past poor behaviour on his part didn't give Nicky carte blanch to be a dick.

Nicky's hands were very still on the keys. The already tiny practice room seemed even smaller with the weight of irritation and held breath inside it.

'Maybe we should come back to this later,' Joe said eventually, when it became clear Nicky wasn't about to dignify Joe's slight against his memory witha response. 'We have a lot to get through before technical rehearsals start.'

'Hmm.'

—

Joe dragged his feet on the way home, grateful he'd decided splitting rehearsals was silly. He only had his violin with him for once, and it was much easier to navigate the streets without the weight of his cello on his already slumped shoulders.

It wasn't often that Joe took the long route via Paddington station home. There were faster ways closer to the Albert hall, but he needed the walk to clear his head. It was exhausting, walking on eggshells around Nicky. It felt like they took a step forward, and then tripped two back before Joe could blink.

Nicky had made a habit of bringing Joe coffee every other day, so Joe brought Nicky coffee on the days in between. They didn't even acknowledge it beyond murmurs of thanks, but then they stepped from that detente straight into tense and frustrating rehearsals that went nowhere, and all their morning good will was gone by lunchtime.

Today Nicky had almost slammed the key cover down on the piano before he caught himself. He hadn't even looked at Joe when he excused himself for a smoke. No matter what they did, they just couldn't seem to play together.

The long walk to the station let Joe pull himself together where his edges were blurring. The guilt over how he'd treated Nicky had sat in his bones for years. It festered with every day he tried and failed to find new common ground with him.

It was dark by the time he reached Paddington, and the evening rush was almost entirely over, just late workers and people heading out for the night milling around the station. It was still busy, in that way transport in London was always busy, but it was quiet enough that for once the sound of the crowd was a murmur and not a roar.

Or, maybe they were being quiet on purpose. Over the sound of the tannoy and people on the move, Joe could just about make out the familiar sound of a piano. It was just incongruous enough to stand out over the usual miasma of noise; a bright and cheerful sound that had heads turning and smiles blooming everywhere Joe could see. Helplessly curious, already smiling, he followed the noise to its source.

Near the statue of the eponymous bear, someone with their hood up played the last few bars of the Succession theme to polite applause.

The pianist shook out their hands, sitting back from the keys, and as Joe watched someone approached them, phone in hand. The pianist leaned down towards it, listening by the looks of it, before they nodded and lifted their hands again.

The pianist started again, leaning into the keys with their entire body, and Joe couldn't help grinning in delight at the familiar song.

What a wonderful thing, he thought, staring at the pianist as they swayed slightly with the music. Their posture at the piano was perfect, but there was real joy in their playing. The person who'd requested the piece gripped her friend's arm in delight, smiling so widely Joe could see her dimples from halfway across the concourse.

Joe kept half an ear out for announcements about his train as he watched the pianist play, resting with crossed arms against an out of the way wall.

For all he tried to stay involved in the community, tried to do more than tours for the same people over and over, it had been a long time since he'd been anywhere near as publicly accessible as the pianist. There was a freedom to their playing that Joe ached for. He remembered vividly busking as a teenager to make a little extra money as he studied. Even that hadn't been the kind of playful fun this person was engaging in, not when the quality of his food and clothes depended on it.

Joe was tapping his fingers along by the time the pianist finished, improvising an accompaniment to the pianist's interpretation of the ending of the song. He wondered if Nicky would ever consider adding something like this to their repertoire. Maybe that's what they were missing. Something purely joyful.

As the pianist finished, they turned to face the person who'd requested the song. Their playing had knocked back their hood very slightly, and the spot on the wall Joe had picked changed his view just enough that in turning to acknowledge the girl with the phone bared the pianist's profile to Joe.

He'd know that nose anywhere.

[sanitatemsss]

As If Not Bound

nickyjoe // teen and up // 4070 words ; oneshot

Fandom: the old guard

Warnings: major character death, brief description of suicidal thoughts, canon typical violence

Summary: "Joe rushes forward, sliding on his knees across the floor and he's by Nicky's head. He hovers over Nicky, grimacing. He looks away before breathing sharply and looking back, hand still hovering.

This is his least favourite part. He hates watching the others die, too, but it's so much worse when it's Nicky, his Nicky. He'll never get used to seeing Nicky's body so limp and lifeless when he is usually so full of life, of love, and joy, and warmth. Nothing ever feels as wrong as seeing Nicky dead."

[aphroditestummyrolls]

I have been tagged by my most dear @flowercrowngods to do this fun little game!

The rules are:

1. Make a 24-hour poll with the title of your current WIPs

2. Write as many sentences as you have votes for the top fic

3. If you finish that fic, start on the next one (If you get a lot of votes you can switch to word count instead of sentence count)

4. Tag some people. I think the “rules” are 10 but I’m only gonna do like, 5. As per my custom.

Tagging: @liggytheauthoress @maddielle @non-un-topo @its-tortle and @the73rdpostscript

This is your mission, should you choose to accept it! Have fun ❤️

[kipperlillycopperkettle]

i need to watch the old guard again. for my health.

[zairaalbereo]

Happy The Old Guard (2020) anniversary!! would you care to share your own favorite creation and/or recommend one by someone else to celebrate?

Happy to share some of my personal favourites among the incredible artwork gracing the TOG fandom. Especially some that maybe haven’t been as widely shared as others:

Monk Nicky by @artgroves — this one has touched me from the moment I saw it and never let me go. The yearning! And there’s a beautiful Yusuf to go with it and one of them both. These pieces are beyond beautiful, and I was so happy to match some words to them.

Nile and Nicky on a mission looking dashing by @beepbeepsan — can’t get over the fabric. It’s insane! Both of them look beautiful. And the colour!?

Joe and Nicky with Tattoos by @begaydocrime-nickyjoe — this one is just so full of warmth and happiness and laughter. I want to live in this art. Joe’s hair is amazing! Please treat yourself!

Drowning by @hachinana87 — screaming, crying, throwing up. This is the one that always gets me.

Cuddles by @hesnotmy — they capture such an intimacy and love and warmth. Beautiful moments of Joe and Nicky being JoeandNicky.

Pray by @hoax1918 — it’s the quiet moments and the forehead touches!

Ghost Joe by @isabellehemlock — this has such a light and mysterious vibe and Nicky clinging to Joe is just heart-wrenching.

Nicky and Joe with flowers by @ournextdoorneighbor — it’s the vulnerability and the dichotomy of these warriors and the delicate flowers, and it just makes me feral.

Mamma Mia by @non-un-topo — this is just so hilarious and I can hear the song looking at the art!

Line cooks Nicky and Nile by @linaxart — It’s exquisite! The beauty of the mundane but also the colours and the lighting!? It looks like a stained glass window. With garbage cans. And that just makes me want to kneel down and worship this art.

Ange de Goussinville by @sassy-wartime-nun — Maybe the best Andy I know. The depth and perspective! *chef’s kiss*

Midnight by @seanchaidh7 — I love this one! The pose and their hands intertwined. It’s like a dream, a little wild, but beautiful.

Joe and Nicky and bathtubs by @shirohasu1 — one of many favourites. But I can’t resist a man in a bathtub. And the style is just so amazing in its simplicity. Love them.

There are many more, by these artists and others. Give TOG artists some love on this anniversary! 🥰

As for some favourites of mine…

Morning Coffee, Breathing Underwater, Holding on to You , Waterbound, Glasses are hot

[theartguard]

January-February 2024 Theme Wrap-Up

Sports

Here's what the last two months' theme inspired us to create:

@linaxart - Boxer Booker and Coach Joe

@begaydocrime-nickyjoe - Nicky in shorts

@goldheartedsky - Finish Line (nsfw)

Bonus: We celebrated Mr. Kenzari's birthday! Both as artists and art admirers!

March-April theme is: Word Play!

[hoziersmoon]

sleeping with the lights on by searows is SO nickyjoe i need you to listen to it

omg…. will report back as soon as i listen 🫡

[guarncre]

tagged by @non-un-topo for a "first sentence of you wips" challenge 💛, thank u!

She dreams in nine languages. [next h,d fic]

This job pays in migraines. [nickyjoe groundhog day / smokin' aces au]

“If he is an angel, where are his wings?” [man called mercy ch. 3]

“I hear that once you pay off your taxes you go straight to Heaven.” [marauders ch. 2]

“I was in Rome this morning. Now I am in New Mexico, United States,” Nicolo di Genova says. He looks exhausted. He looks like he doesn’t sleep on planes. “What more could you want from me?” [astornaut au i'm sketching up]

On June 17, 1995, the author Yusuf Al-Kaysani had woken up with the value of his head (decapitated) set at $1.8 million. (bodyguard au pending commitment.. funny how that date worked out]

tagging @laviejaguardia and @babygirlyusuf i wanna see what ya'll are working on!!

[krimsnkramsart]

[materassassino]

@begaydocrime-nickyjoe It's a wip for now, I'm still doing the research and hammering out the actual story. I do have other fics though.

Seven Sentence Sunday

Holy fuck it's still Sunday?! @emmalostinwonderland this is awful, I can't do Seven Sentence Smunday???

Anyway this is from the Renaissance Rome fic. It opens with Yusuf cutting all his hair off and just goes downhill from there.

“You are so very lucky you are charming and handsome and poetic,” Nicoló says. Gently he parts Yusuf’s legs with his knee, and steps between them, tilting Yusuf’s face up towards his. He strokes the dome of Yusuf’s head, looking thoughtful, and Yusuf cannot stop his eyes from fluttering at the feeling. If he were a cat, he would be purring. “It could be worse. You could be bald like that time in China, when we were burnt alive.” Yusuf snorts, setting his hands on Nicoló’s waist. “Never again, I hope!”

(A note on the accent in Nicky's name: I know it's grave, but my keyboard only does acute so I replace them later before I post.)

Tagging: @raedear, @non-un-topo, @polarcell, @maered613, @ctrldao3, @dangerouscommiesubversive and whoever else writes and sets their eyes on this.

[azira-fucking-phale]

Nonono you guys don't get it I NEED to spread The Old Guard propaganda.

Think found family. Thinking of it? Okay good. Now think about it on steroids. THAT'S what this movie has.

You wanna know what else it has? Queer immortal soulmates. MULTIPLE queer immortal soulmates (though two of them are only explored in the comics as of right now, but we ARE getting a sequel that's in production)

There's great diversity. KILLER (literally) action sequences. GORGEOUS gorgeous gorgeous characters and character development.

And the characters themselves? We have:

Angry old immortal woman with an axe

Two soldiers who did a classic enemies to lovers on the battlefield

French guy who needs the BIGGEST fucking hug

The most LOVABLE newbie to the team who I would DIE FOR

Guys. Guys watch The Old Guard. Or read it! Or do both.

[aphroditestummyrolls]

Color and Light! :D

HELLO! ❤️ so much of Color and Light is written, but the middle section has been a hell scape of overthinking and misery. This, though? This was so easy to write.

He woke in a state of blissful ignorance— Yusuf didn’t know a single damned thing. What a gift. It was too dark to gage the time, his surroundings were too peacefully quiet for him to wonder where he was, and he was far too comfortable to care. He couldn’t parse a single thing from the ebb and flow of his own thoughts, and he was happy to let them pass.

Reluctantly, he came back to himself in increments.

His body was sore— deliciously, wonderfully tender. Soft and bruised like a sweet summer fruit.

Tentatively, he stretched his legs out of their loose curl and relished the pull of the stiff muscles in his thighs. He was warm and lush, with a bed under him and a heavy mound of blankets over top. But his cheek wasn’t resting on a pillow.

There was a steady thump of a heartbeat under his ear.

He flexed his hand and felt the soft brush of hair, the slight rise and fall of a strong body laying by his side.

Fuck.

The night flooded back to him in a wave of heat that felt like a swallow of whiskey— the shocking burn of it, the tingle of it settling in his bloodstream, the way it lingered.

He had kissed Nicolò. He kissed him and kissed him until there was no air left in his lungs, greedy and desperate for it. Every inch of his body was mapped out under Yusuf’s hands. Nicolò had been pressed him down into a nest of blankets in front of the hearth, and Yusuf felt himself spark, burn, and glow until the two of them were nothing but embers together.

His palm stroked over Nicolò’s chest now, relishing the soft focus of the memory as he felt the dips of his ribs, down to his hip.

The soft flesh just below his navel had been so charmingly sensitive— Yusuf had pressed the flat of his palm to it to hold his hips still as he kissed along his inner thighs. And the sound he’d made when Yusuf scraped his beard along the juncture of his hipbone and his strong, thick thigh. He could live in that moment. In that feeling. There was a buzzing in his chest, radiating and hot.

Slow with sleep, and unwilling to move a single second faster than he needed to, he nuzzled into the skin under his cheek and kissed the heartbeat there.

Nicolò hummed, rumbling against his lips. “Bongiorno.”

“Bongiorno, Habibi.” There was an arm around his back, stroking the divots of Yusuf’s spine, and he melted into his chest just that little bit further. “What time is it?”

If he was going to get back to the palace before fajr— before he was missed— he’d have to go soon.

The idea made him want to burrow into his gardener’s side until his father had to come out there himself and pry Yusuf away like a barnacle from a ship—

His father.

The palace.

Remembering how he came to be in the wooded glen, in the gardener’s cottage, in from the damned storm— it all hit him less like the drugging warmth of whiskey, and more like an ice bath.

Thanks for playing ❤️ ONE DAY THIS STORY WILL BE FINISHED. 2023 IS THE YEAR OF COMPLETING FICS.

[luminarai]

lazy mornings (or, the reason why joe and nicky would be the perfect cat dads)

[zairaalbereo]

I was tagged by my dear, dear bearded brother in arms @good-nightsocialite for the 10 songs, 10 people game. Thank you for the tag! 💕

And since I’m old and have felt a little nostalgic music wise lately, I’ll give you ten songs that make my heart rise with that feeling because they mean something. (Don’t you love that music can do that?)

Maria — Blondie

Torn — Natalie Imbruglia

Summer of ‘69 — Bryan Adams

The Story — Brandi Carlile

Run — Snow Patrol

No Basta — Franco de Vita

Hollywood Hills — Sunrise Avenue

Snow on the Sahara — Anggun

The Rising — Bruce Springsteen

Ein Hoch auf Uns— Andreas Bourani

And if they want to do it, I’m tagging @begaydocrime-nickyjoe @albymangroves @kushielsmercy @pinkninjapj @morganasand @spacewitchqueen @emjudo @laviejaguardia @bazinmousqueton @oldjane — no pressure!